This is a modern-English version of The principles of science : a treatise on logic and scientific method, originally written by Jevons, William Stanley.
It has been thoroughly updated, including changes to sentence structure, words, spelling,
and grammar—to ensure clarity for contemporary readers, while preserving the original spirit and nuance. If
you click on a paragraph, you will see the original text that we modified, and you can toggle between the two versions.
Scroll to the bottom of this page and you will find a free ePUB download link for this book.
The text of this book has been preserved as closely as practicable to its original form. However, the author used some unusual symbols, and I have taken the liberty of using Unicode characters with similar appearance (ꖌ ᔕ) as substitutes, disregarding their official meaning and aware that they might not display on all devices. An archaic symbol used by the author to indicate the mathematical ‘factorial’ function has been replaced by the modern equivalent, viz. ! Unusual placements of some sub- and superscripted symbols remain as in the original text.
The text of this book has been kept as close to its original form as possible. However, the author used some unusual symbols, and I’ve replaced them with Unicode characters that look similar (ꖌ ᔕ), ignoring their official meanings and knowing that they might not show up on all devices. An outdated symbol the author used to indicate the mathematical ‘factorial’ function has been changed to the modern equivalent, which is !. Unconventional placements of some subscripted and superscripted symbols stay the same as in the original text.
Inconsistencies of punctuation have been corrected silently, but inconsistent spellings such as Roemer, Römer, Rœmer have not been altered. A list of corrected spellings is appended at the end of the book.
Inconsistencies in punctuation have been corrected silently, but inconsistent spellings like Roemer, Römer, Rœmer have not been changed. A list of corrected spellings is included at the end of the book.
>Footnotes have been renumbered consecutively and relocated to the end of the book. A missing footnote marker has been inserted on p.751 after tracking down the original document. A missing negative symbol has been added to an exponent in a formula on p.327.
>Footnotes have been renumbered in order and moved to the end of the book. A missing footnote marker has been added on p.751 after locating the original document. A missing negative sign has been included in an exponent of a formula on p.327.
There is a misleading calculation on p.194 and the table that follows, regarding progressive powers of two: ((22)2)2 is equivalent to (16)2 which equals 256 not 65,356 as stated, but 216 does equal 65,356.
There is a misleading calculation on p.194 and the table that follows, regarding progressive powers of two: ((22)2)2 is equivalent to (16)2 which equals 256 not 65,356 as stated, but 216 does equal 65,356.
[sic] has been inserted on p.179 alongside a statement that the alphabet contains 24 letters; however, the statement may well be correct given that it was written in 1704 by a Flemish author and the language is not specified.
[sic] has been added on p.179 next to a statement that the alphabet has 24 letters; however, the statement might be correct since it was written in 1704 by a Flemish author, and the language isn’t specified.
THE PRINCIPLES OF SCIENCE.
Science Principles.


The Basics of Science: A GUIDE TO LOGIC AND Scientific Method.
LONDON:
R. Clay, Sons, & Taylor, Printers,
BREAD STREET HILL.
LONDON:
R. Clay, Sons, & Taylor, Printers,
BREAD STREET HILL.
Stereotyped Edition.
Stereotyped Version.
vii
vii
PREFACE
FOR THE FIRST EDITION.
It may be truly asserted that the rapid progress of the physical sciences during the last three centuries has not been accompanied by a corresponding advance in the theory of reasoning. Physicists speak familiarly of Scientific Method, but they could not readily describe what they mean by that expression. Profoundly engaged in the study of particular classes of natural phenomena, they are usually too much engrossed in the immense and ever-accumulating details of their special sciences to generalise upon the methods of reasoning which they unconsciously employ. Yet few will deny that these methods of reasoning ought to be studied, especially by those who endeavour to introduce scientific order into less successful and methodical branches of knowledge.
It can be genuinely said that the fast advancement of the physical sciences over the past three centuries hasn't been matched by a similar development in the theory of reasoning. Physicists often talk about the Scientific Method, but they might struggle to clearly explain what that means. Deeply focused on studying specific types of natural phenomena, they tend to get too caught up in the vast, ever-growing details of their specialized fields to reflect on the reasoning methods they unconsciously use. Still, few would argue that these reasoning methods should be studied, particularly by those who aim to bring scientific order to less successful and organized areas of knowledge.
The application of Scientific Method cannot be restricted to the sphere of lifeless objects. We must sooner or later have strict sciences of those mental and social phenomena, which, if comparison be possible, are of more interest to us than purely material phenomena. But it is the proper course of reasoning to proceed from the known to the unknown—from the evident to the obscure—from the material and palpable to the subtle and refined. The physical sciences may therefore be properlyviii made the practice-ground of the reasoning powers, because they furnish us with a great body-of precise and successful investigations. In these sciences we meet with happy instances of unquestionable deductive reasoning, of extensive generalisation, of happy prediction, of satisfactory verification, of nice calculation of probabilities. We can note how the slightest analogical clue has been followed up to a glorious discovery, how a rash generalisation has at length been exposed, or a conclusive experimentum crucis has decided the long-continued strife between two rival theories.
The use of the Scientific Method shouldn't just be limited to inanimate objects. Eventually, we need to establish rigorous sciences for mental and social phenomena, which, if we can compare, are often more interesting to us than purely physical phenomena. However, it's logical to start from what we know and move to what we don't—from the obvious to the obscure—from the tangible to the more subtle and refined. Therefore, the physical sciences can effectively serve as the training ground for our reasoning abilities because they provide us with a substantial body of precise and successful research. In these sciences, we find excellent examples of clear deductive reasoning, broad generalizations, accurate predictions, satisfying verifications, and careful probability calculations. We can observe how a small analogical hint has led to a remarkable discovery, how an unfounded generalization has eventually been disproven, or how a decisive experiment has resolved the ongoing debate between two competing theories.
In following out my design of detecting the general methods of inductive investigation, I have found that the more elaborate and interesting processes of quantitative induction have their necessary foundation in the simpler science of Formal Logic. The earlier, and probably by far the least attractive part of this work, consists, therefore, in a statement of the so-called Fundamental Laws of Thought, and of the all-important Principle of Substitution, of which, as I think, all reasoning is a development. The whole procedure of inductive inquiry, in its most complex cases, is foreshadowed in the combinational view of Logic, which arises directly from these fundamental principles. Incidentally I have described the mechanical arrangements by which the use of the important form called the Logical Alphabet, and the whole working of the combinational system of Formal Logic, may be rendered evident to the eye, and easy to the mind and hand.
In pursuing my goal of identifying the general methods of inductive investigation, I’ve discovered that the more detailed and intriguing processes of quantitative induction are fundamentally based on the simpler science of Formal Logic. The earlier part of this work, which is probably the least appealing, consists of an explanation of the so-called Fundamental Laws of Thought, as well as the crucial Principle of Substitution, which I believe is the foundation of all reasoning. The entire process of inductive inquiry, even in its most complex instances, is hinted at in the combinational perspective of Logic that arises directly from these fundamental principles. Additionally, I’ve outlined the mechanical setups that make the use of the important form known as the Logical Alphabet, along with the entire functioning of the combinational system of Formal Logic, clear and straightforward to understand and apply.
The study both of Formal Logic and of the Theory of Probabilities has led me to adopt the opinion that there is no such thing as a distinct method of induction as contrasted with deduction, but that induction is simply an inverse employment of deduction. Within the last century a reaction has been setting in against the purely empirical procedure of Francis Bacon, and physicists haveix learnt to advocate the use of hypotheses. I take the extreme view of holding that Francis Bacon, although he correctly insisted upon constant reference to experience, had no correct notions as to the logical method by which from particular facts we educe laws of nature. I endeavour to show that hypothetical anticipation of nature is an essential part of inductive inquiry, and that it is the Newtonian method of deductive reasoning combined with elaborate experimental verification, which has led to all the great triumphs of scientific research.
The study of Formal Logic and the Theory of Probabilities has led me to believe that there isn’t a separate method of induction compared to deduction; instead, induction is just a reverse use of deduction. Over the last century, there has been a shift away from the purely empirical approach of Francis Bacon, and physicists have learned to support the use of hypotheses. I take a strong stance in saying that while Francis Bacon rightly emphasized the importance of constantly referring to experience, he did not have a clear understanding of the logical method by which we derive laws of nature from specific facts. I aim to show that the hypothetical anticipation of nature is a crucial part of inductive inquiry, and that the Newtonian method of deductive reasoning, combined with thorough experimental verification, has resulted in all the significant achievements of scientific research.
In attempting to give an explanation of this view of Scientific Method, I have first to show that the sciences of number and quantity repose upon and spring from the simpler and more general science of Logic. The Theory of Probability, which enables us to estimate and calculate quantities of knowledge, is then described, and especial attention is drawn to the Inverse Method of Probabilities, which involves, as I conceive, the true principle of inductive procedure. No inductive conclusions are more than probable, and I adopt the opinion that the theory of probability is an essential part of logical method, so that the logical value of every inductive result must be determined consciously or unconsciously, according to the principles of the inverse method of probability.
In trying to explain this perspective on the Scientific Method, I first need to show that the sciences of number and quantity are based on and come from the simpler and broader science of Logic. The Theory of Probability, which helps us estimate and calculate amounts of knowledge, is then outlined, with special emphasis on the Inverse Method of Probabilities, which I believe embodies the true principle of inductive reasoning. No inductive conclusions are anything more than probable, and I hold the view that the theory of probability is a crucial part of logical methodology, meaning that the logical value of every inductive result must be determined, whether consciously or unconsciously, according to the principles of the inverse method of probability.
The phenomena of nature are commonly manifested in quantities of time, space, force, energy, &c., and the observation, measurement, and analysis of the various quantitative conditions or results involved, even in a simple experiment, demand much employment of systematic procedure. I devote a book, therefore, to a simple and general description of the devices by which exact measurement is effected, errors eliminated, a probable mean result attained, and the probable error of that mean ascertained. I then proceed to the principal, and probably the most interesting, subject of the book, illustrating successively the conditions and precautions requisite forx accurate observation, for successful experiment, and for the sure detection of the quantitative laws of nature. As it is impossible to comprehend aright the value of quantitative laws without constantly bearing in mind the degree of quantitative approximation to the truth probably attained, I have devoted a special chapter to the Theory of Approximation, and however imperfectly I may have treated this subject, I must look upon it as a very essential part of a work on Scientific Method.
The phenomena of nature are often expressed in terms of time, space, force, energy, and so on. Observing, measuring, and analyzing the different quantitative conditions or results involved, even in a simple experiment, require a lot of systematic procedures. Therefore, I dedicate a book to a straightforward and general description of the tools used for accurate measurement, eliminating errors, achieving a probable average result, and determining the probable error of that average. I will then move on to the main, and likely the most interesting, topic of this book, demonstrating the necessary conditions and precautions for accurate observation, successful experimentation, and reliably detecting the quantitative laws of nature. Since it's impossible to fully grasp the value of quantitative laws without constantly considering the degree of quantitative accuracy achieved, I have dedicated a specific chapter to the Theory of Approximation. No matter how imperfectly I may have addressed this topic, I consider it an essential part of a work on Scientific Method.
It then remains to illustrate the sound use of hypothesis, to distinguish between the portions of knowledge which we owe to empirical observation, to accidental discovery, or to scientific prediction. Interesting questions arise concerning the accordance of quantitative theories and experiments, and I point out how the successive verification of an hypothesis by distinct methods of experiment yields conclusions approximating to but never attaining certainty. Additional illustrations of the general procedure of inductive investigations are given in a chapter on the Character of the Experimentalist, in which I endeavour to show, moreover, that the inverse use of deduction was really the logical method of such great masters of experimental inquiry as Newton, Huyghens, and Faraday.
It’s important to define the proper use of hypothesis and to separate the knowledge we gain from empirical observation, accidental discoveries, or scientific predictions. There are intriguing questions about how quantitative theories align with experiments, and I highlight how repeatedly confirming a hypothesis through different experimental methods leads to conclusions that get close to certainty but never fully reach it. Further examples of the overall process of inductive research are found in a chapter about the Character of the Experimentalist. In this chapter, I also aim to demonstrate that the reverse use of deduction was actually the logical approach used by great experimental thinkers like Newton, Huyghens, and Faraday.
In treating Generalisation and Analogy, I consider the precautions requisite in inferring from one case to another, or from one part of the universe to another part; the validity of all such inferences resting ultimately upon the inverse method of probabilities. The treatment of Exceptional Phenomena appeared to afford an interesting subject for a further chapter illustrating the various modes in which an outstanding fact may eventually be explained. The formal part of the book closes with the subject of Classification, which is, however, very inadequately treated. I have, in fact, almost restricted myself to showing that all classification is fundamentally carried out upon thexi principles of Formal Logic and the Logical Alphabet described at the outset.
In discussing Generalization and Analogy, I examine the necessary precautions when inferring from one case to another, or from one part of the universe to another. The validity of all these inferences ultimately depends on the inverse method of probabilities. The topic of Exceptional Phenomena seemed like a fascinating subject for a later chapter, showcasing the different ways an exceptional fact can eventually be explained. The formal section of the book wraps up with the topic of Classification, which is only briefly covered. I've mostly focused on demonstrating that all classification is fundamentally based on the principles of Formal Logic and the Logical Alphabet described at the beginning.
In certain concluding remarks I have expressed the conviction which the study of Logic has by degrees forced upon my mind, that serious misconceptions are entertained by some scientific men as to the logical value of our knowledge of nature. We have heard much of what has been aptly called the Reign of Law, and the necessity and uniformity of natural forces has been not uncommonly interpreted as involving the non-existence of an intelligent and benevolent Power, capable of interfering with the course of natural events. Fears have been expressed that the progress of Scientific Method must therefore result in dissipating the fondest beliefs of the human heart. Even the ‘Utility of Religion’ is seriously proposed as a subject of discussion. It seemed to be not out of place in a work on Scientific Method to allude to the ultimate results and limits of that method. I fear that I have very imperfectly succeeded in expressing my strong conviction that before a rigorous logical scrutiny the Reign of Law will prove to be an unverified hypothesis, the Uniformity of Nature an ambiguous expression, the certainty of our scientific inferences to a great extent a delusion. The value of science is of course very high, while the conclusions are kept well within the limits of the data on which they are founded, but it is pointed out that our experience is of the most limited character compared with what there is to learn, while our mental powers seem to fall infinitely short of the task of comprehending and explaining fully the nature of any one object. I draw the conclusion that we must interpret the results of Scientific Method in an affirmative sense only. Ours must be a truly positive philosophy, not that false negative philosophy which, building on a few material facts, presumes to assert that it has compassed the bounds of existence, while it nevertheless ignores the mostxii unquestionable phenomena of the human mind and feelings.
In my concluding remarks, I've shared the belief that my study of Logic has gradually led me to, which is that some scientists misunderstand the logical value of our knowledge about nature. We've heard a lot about what's been aptly called the Reign of Law, and the necessity and consistency of natural forces are often seen as suggesting that there’s no intelligent and benevolent Power that can interfere with the course of natural events. There are concerns that the advancement of Scientific Method will ultimately undermine the deepest beliefs of the human heart. Even the 'Utility of Religion' is seriously brought up for discussion. I thought it was fitting in a work on Scientific Method to mention the final outcomes and limits of that method. I worry that I've not communicated my strong belief effectively enough that, under strict logical analysis, the Reign of Law will turn out to be an unproven hypothesis, the Uniformity of Nature a vague term, and our confidence in scientific inferences largely a misconception. The value of science is, of course, very high, as long as conclusions are kept within the bounds of the data they're based on, but it should be noted that our experience is extremely limited compared to what there is to understand, while our mental capabilities seem to fall far short of fully grasping and explaining the nature of any single object. I conclude that we should interpret the findings of Scientific Method in a positive way only. Our approach must be a genuinely positive philosophy, not the false negative philosophy that, based on a few material facts, claims to have covered the limits of existence while ignoring the most undeniable phenomena of the human mind and emotions.
It is approximately certain that in freely employing illustrations drawn from many different sciences, I have frequently fallen into errors of detail. In this respect I must throw myself upon the indulgence of the reader, who will bear in mind, as I hope, that the scientific facts are generally mentioned purely for the purpose of illustration, so that inaccuracies of detail will not in the majority of cases affect the truth of the general principles illustrated.
It’s pretty clear that while using examples from various sciences, I’ve often made mistakes in the details. In this regard, I ask for the reader’s understanding, who I hope will remember that the scientific facts are mostly there just to illustrate a point, so inaccuracies in details usually won’t impact the overall truth of the main principles being discussed.
December 15, 1873.
December 15, 1873.
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xiii
PREFACE
FOR THE SECOND EDITION.
Few alterations of importance have been made in preparing this second edition. Nevertheless, advantage has been taken of the opportunity to revise very carefully both the language and the matter of the book. Correspondents and critics having pointed out inaccuracies of more or less importance in the first edition, suitable corrections and emendations have been made. I am under obligations to Mr. C. J. Monro, M.A., of Barnet, and to Mr. W. H. Brewer, M.A., one of Her Majesty’s Inspectors of Schools, for numerous corrections.
Few important changes have been made in preparing this second edition. However, we've taken the chance to carefully revise both the language and content of the book. Correspondents and critics pointed out inaccuracies of varying significance in the first edition, and appropriate corrections and updates have been applied. I would like to thank Mr. C. J. Monro, M.A., of Barnet, and Mr. W. H. Brewer, M.A., one of Her Majesty’s Inspectors of Schools, for their numerous corrections.
Among several additions which have been made to the text, I may mention the abstract (p. 143) of Professor Clifford’s remarkable investigation into the number of types of compound statement involving four classes of objects. This inquiry carries forward the inverse logical problem described in the preceding sections. Again, the need of some better logical method than the old Barbara Celarent, &c., is strikingly shown by Mr. Venn’s logical problem, described at p. 90. A great number of candidates in logic and philosophy were tested by Mr. Venn with this problem, which, though simple in reality, was solved by very few of those who were ignorant of Boole’s Logic. Other evidence could be adduced by Mr. Venn of the need for some better means of logical training. To enable thexiv logical student to test his skill in the solution of inductive logical problems, I have given (p. 127) a series of ten problems graduated in difficulty.
Among the several updates made to the text, I should highlight the summary (p. 143) of Professor Clifford’s impressive study on the various types of complex statements involving four categories of objects. This investigation continues the reverse logical issue mentioned in the earlier sections. Additionally, the need for a more effective logical method than the outdated Barbara, Celarent, etc., is clearly demonstrated by Mr. Venn’s logical problem, detailed on p. 90. A significant number of candidates in logic and philosophy were examined by Mr. Venn using this issue, which, although straightforward, was only solved by a few who were unfamiliar with Boole’s Logic. Mr. Venn could provide more evidence of the necessity for improved logical training. To help thexiv logical student assess their skills in solving inductive logical problems, I’ve included (p. 127) a set of ten problems arranged by difficulty.
To prevent misapprehension, it should be mentioned that, throughout this edition, I have substituted the name Logical Alphabet for Logical Abecedarium, the name applied in the first edition to the exhaustive series of logical combinations represented in terms of A, B, C, D (p. 94). It was objected by some readers that Abecedarium is a long and unfamiliar name.
To avoid any confusion, I want to clarify that, in this edition, I have replaced the term Logical Abecedarium with Logical Alphabet, which was the name used in the first edition for the complete series of logical combinations represented by A, B, C, D (p. 94). Some readers pointed out that Abecedarium is a lengthy and unfamiliar name.
To the chapter on Units and Standards of Measurement, I have added two sections, one (p. 325) containing a brief statement of the Theory of Dimensions, and the other (p. 319) discussing Professor Clerk Maxwell’s very original suggestion of a Natural System of Standards for the measurement of space and time, depending upon the length and rapidity of waves of light.
To the chapter on Units and Standards of Measurement, I’ve added two sections: one (p. 325) that provides a brief overview of the Theory of Dimensions, and the other (p. 319) that explores Professor Clerk Maxwell’s unique proposal for a Natural System of Standards for measuring space and time, based on the length and speed of light waves.
In my description of the Logical Machine in the Philosophical Transactions (vol. 160, p. 498), I said—“It is rarely indeed that any invention is made without some anticipation being sooner or later discovered; but up to the present time I am totally unaware of even a single previous attempt to devise or construct a machine which should perform the operations of logical inference; and it is only, I believe, in the satirical writings of Swift that an allusion to an actual reasoning machine is to be found.” Before the paper was printed, however, I was able to refer (p. 518) to the ingenious designs of the late Mr. Alfred Smee as attempts to represent thought mechanically. Mr. Smee’s machines indeed were never constructed, and, if constructed, would not have performed actual logical inference. It has now just come to light, however, that the celebrated Lord Stanhope actually did construct a mechanical device, capable of representing syllogistic inferences in a concrete form. It appears that logic was one of the favourite studies of this truly original and ingenious nobleman. There remain fragments of a logicalxv work, printed by the Earl at his own press, which show that he had arrived, before the year 1800, at the principle of the quantified predicate. He puts forward this principle in the most explicit manner, and proposes to employ it throughout his syllogistic system. Moreover, he converts negative propositions into affirmative ones, and represents these by means of the copula “is identic with.” Thus he anticipated, probably by the force of his own unaided insight, the main points of the logical method originated in the works of George Bentham and George Boole, and developed in this work. Stanhope, indeed, has no claim to priority of discovery, because he seems never to have published his logical writings, although they were put into print. There is no trace of them in the British Museum Library, nor in any other library or logical work, so far as I am aware. Both the papers and the logical contrivance have been placed by the present Earl Stanhope in the hands of the Rev. Robert Harley, F.R.S., who will, I hope, soon publish a description of them.1
In my description of the Logical Machine in the Philosophical Transactions (vol. 160, p. 498), I mentioned—“It's quite rare for any invention to come about without some prior inspiration being discovered eventually; but to date, I am completely unaware of even a single previous attempt to design or build a machine that performs logical inference. The only reference I've found to a real reasoning machine is in the satirical works of Swift.” Before the paper was published, however, I was able to reference (p. 518) the clever designs of the late Mr. Alfred Smee as efforts to mechanically represent thought. Mr. Smee’s machines were never actually built and, had they been, would not have conducted true logical inference. Recently, it has come to light that the famous Lord Stanhope did indeed create a mechanical device capable of representing syllogistic inferences in a tangible way. It turns out that logic was one of the favorite subjects of this truly original and clever nobleman. There are fragments of a logical work printed by the Earl at his own press, which indicate that he had reached the principle of the quantified predicate before the year 1800. He states this principle very clearly and intends to use it throughout his syllogistic system. Additionally, he transforms negative propositions into affirmative ones and represents them using the phrase “is identic with.” Thus, he likely anticipated, through his own independent insight, the key aspects of the logical method established in the works of George Bentham and George Boole, and further developed in this work. However, Stanhope cannot claim priority in discovery, as he seems never to have published his logical writings, even though they were printed. There's no record of them in the British Museum Library or in any other library or logical work, as far as I know. Both the papers and the logical device have been given by the current Earl Stanhope to the Rev. Robert Harley, F.R.S., who I hope will soon publish a description of them.1
By the kindness of Mr. Harley, I have been able to examine Stanhope’s logical contrivance, called by him the Demonstrator. It consists of a square piece of bay-wood with a square depression in the centre, across which two slides can be pushed, one being a piece of red glass, and the other consisting of wood coloured gray. The extent to which each of these slides is pushed in is indicated by scales and figures along the edges of the aperture, and the simple rule of inference adopted by Stanhope is: “To the gray add the red and subtract the holon,” meaning by holon (ὅλον) the whole width of the aperture. This rule of inference is a curious anticipation of De Morgan’s numerically definite syllogism (see below, p. 168), and of inferences founded on what Hamilton called “Ultra-total distribution.” Another curious point about Stanhope’sxvi device is, that one slide can be drawn out and pushed in again at right angles to the other, and the overlapping part of the slides then represents the probability of a conclusion, derived from two premises of which the probabilities are respectively represented by the projecting parts of the slides. Thus it appears that Stanhope had studied the logic of probability as well as that of certainty, here again anticipating, however obscurely, the recent progress of logical science. It will be seen, however, that between Stanhope’s Demonstrator and my Logical Machine there is no resemblance beyond the fact that they both perform logical inference.
Thanks to Mr. Harley's kindness, I have had the chance to examine Stanhope's logical device, which he calls the Demonstrator. It consists of a square piece of bay wood with a square indent in the center, across which two slides can be moved—one is made of red glass, and the other is wood colored gray. The extent to which each slide is pushed in is indicated by scales and numbers along the edges of the opening. Stanhope's simple rule of inference is: “To the gray add the red and subtract the holon,” where "holon" (ὅλον) refers to the entire width of the opening. This rule of inference is a fascinating early version of De Morgan’s numerically definite syllogism (see below, p. 168), and it connects to inferences based on what Hamilton called “Ultra-total distribution.” Another interesting aspect of Stanhope’s device is that one slide can be pulled out and pushed back in at a right angle to the other, with the overlapping part of the slides showing the probability of a conclusion that comes from two premises, which are represented by the parts of the slides that stick out. Thus, it seems Stanhope studied the logic of probability as well as certainty, again anticipating, albeit obscurely, the recent advancements in logical science. However, it is clear that there is no similarity between Stanhope’s Demonstrator and my Logical Machine beyond the fact that they both carry out logical inference.
In the first edition I inserted a section (vol. i. p. 25), on “Anticipations of the Principle of Substitution,” and I have reprinted that section unchanged in this edition (p. 21). I remark therein that, “In such a subject as logic it is hardly possible to put forth any opinions which have not been in some degree previously entertained. The germ at least of every doctrine will be found in earlier writings, and novelty must arise chiefly in the mode of harmonising and developing ideas.” I point out, as Professor T. M. Lindsay had previously done, that Beneke had employed the name and principle of substitution, and that doctrines closely approximating to substitution were stated by the Port Royal Logicians more than 200 years ago.
In the first edition, I included a section (vol. i. p. 25) on “Anticipations of the Principle of Substitution,” and I have reprinted that section unchanged in this edition (p. 21). I note there that, “In a field like logic, it's almost impossible to express any opinions that haven’t been considered to some extent before. The essence of every doctrine can be found in earlier writings, and newness largely comes from how we harmonize and develop ideas.” I also point out, as Professor T. M. Lindsay did before, that Beneke used the name and principle of substitution, and that ideas very similar to substitution were expressed by the Port Royal Logicians over 200 years ago.
I have not been at all surprised to learn, however, that other logicians have more or less distinctly stated this principle of substitution during the last two centuries. As my friend and successor at Owens College, Professor Adamson, has discovered, this principle can be traced back to no less a philosopher than Leibnitz.
I haven't been surprised to find out that other logicians have more or less clearly expressed this principle of substitution over the past two centuries. As my friend and successor at Owens College, Professor Adamson, has found, this principle can be traced back to a philosopher as significant as Leibnitz.
The remarkable tract of Leibnitz,2 entitled “Non inelegans Specimen Demonstrandi in Abstractis,” commences at once with a definition corresponding to the principle:—
The impressive work of Leibnitz,2 titled “Non inelegans Specimen Demonstrandi in Abstractis,” begins immediately with a definition that aligns with the principle:—
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“Eadem sunt quorum unum potest substitui alteri salva veritate. Si sint A et B, et A ingrediatur aliquam propositionem veram, et ibi in aliquo loco ipsius A pro ipso substituendo B fiat nova propositio æque itidem vera, idque semper succedat in quacunque tali propositione, A et B dicuntur esse eadem; et contra, si eadem sint A et B, procedet substitutio quam dixi.”
“Things are the same if one can be replaced by the other without losing the truth. If we have A and B, and A expresses a true statement, and there in some part of A, when we replace it with B, a new statement is made that is equally true, and this always works in any such statement, then A and B are said to be the same; and conversely, if A and B are the same, the replacement I mentioned will work.”
Leibnitz, then, explicitly adopts the principle of substitution, but he puts it in the form of a definition, saying that those things are the same which can be substituted one for the other, without affecting the truth of the proposition. It is only after having thus tested the sameness of things that we can turn round and say that A and B, being the same, may be substituted one for the other. It would seem as if we were here in a vicious circle; for we are not allowed to substitute A for B, unless we have ascertained by trial that the result is a true proposition. The difficulty does not seem to be removed by Leibnitz’ proviso, “idque semper succedat in quacunque tali propositione.” How can we learn that because A and B may be mutually substituted in some propositions, they may therefore be substituted in others; and what is the criterion of likeness of propositions expressed in the word “tali”? Whether the principle of substitution is to be regarded as a postulate, an axiom, or a definition, is just one of those fundamental questions which it seems impossible to settle in the present position of philosophy, but this uncertainty will not prevent our making a considerable step in logical science.
Leibnitz explicitly embraces the principle of substitution, but he defines it by saying that two things are the same if they can be swapped without changing the truth of the proposition. Only after testing the sameness of things can we say that A and B, being the same, can be interchanged. It seems like we might have a circular problem here because we can't swap A for B unless we've already checked that the outcome is a true proposition. Leibnitz's condition, "idque semper succedat in quacunque tali propositione," doesn’t seem to resolve the issue. How can we know that since A and B can be swapped in some propositions, they can also be swapped in others? What is the standard for the similarity of propositions indicated by the term “tali”? Whether we view the principle of substitution as a postulate, an axiom, or a definition is one of those basic questions that seems impossible to answer with our current philosophical understanding, but this uncertainty won’t stop us from making significant advancements in logical science.
Leibnitz proceeds to establish in the form of a theorem what is usually taken as an axiom, thus (Opera, p. 95): “Theorema I. Quæ sunt eadem uni tertio, eadem sunt inter se. Si A ∝ B et B ∝ C, erit A ∝ C. Nam si in propositione A ∝ B (vera ea hypothesi) substituitur C in locum B (quod facere licet per Def. I. quia B ∝ C ex hypothesi) fiet A ∝ C. Q. E. Dem.” Thus Leibnitz precisely anticipates the mode of treating inference with two simple identities described at p. 51 of this work.
Leibnitz goes on to establish as a theorem what is typically viewed as an axiom, thus (Opera, p. 95): “Theorem I. If two things are equal to a third, they are equal to each other. If A is related to B and B is related to C, then A is related to C. For if in the statement A ∝ B (assuming that it's true), C can be substituted for B (which is allowed by Def. I because B ∝ C by assumption), it follows that A ∝ C. Q.E.D.” Thus, Leibnitz clearly anticipates the approach to inference with two simple identities described on p. 51 of this work.
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Even the mathematical axiom that ‘equals added to equals make equals,’ is deduced from the principle of substitution. At p. 95 of Erdmann’s edition, we find: “Si eidem addantur coincidentia fiunt coincidentia. Si A ∝ B, erit A + C ∝ B + C. Nam si in propositione A + C ∝ A + C (quæ est vera per se) pro A semel substituas B (quod facere licet per Def. I. quia A ∝ B) fiet A + C ∝ B + C Q. E. Dem.” This is unquestionably the mode of deducing the several axioms of mathematical reasoning from the higher axiom of substitution, which is explained in the section on mathematical inference (p. 162) in this work, and which had been previously stated in my Substitution of Similars, p. 16.
Even the mathematical rule that ‘if you add equals to equals, you get equals’ comes from the principle of substitution. On page 95 of Erdmann’s edition, we find: “If you add coincident things, they become coincident. If A ∝ B, then A + C ∝ B + C. For if in the statement A + C ∝ A + C (which is true in itself) you substitute B for A (which you can do according to Def. I since A ∝ B), then it will follow that A + C ∝ B + C Q.E.D.” This is certainly how you derive the various axioms of mathematical reasoning from the broader axiom of substitution, which is discussed in the section on mathematical inference (p. 162) in this work, and which was previously mentioned in my Substitution of Similars, p. 16.
There are one or two other brief tracts in which Leibnitz anticipates the modern views of logic. Thus in the eighteenth tract in Erdmann’s edition (p. 92), called “Fundamenta Calculi Ratiocinatoris”, he says: “Inter ea quorum unum alteri substitui potest, salvis calculi legibus, dicetur esse æquipollentiam.” There is evidence, also, that he had arrived at the quantification of the predicate, and that he fully understood the reduction of the universal affirmative proposition to the form of an equation, which is the key to an improved view of logic. Thus, in the tract entitled “Difficultates Quædam Logicæ,”3 he says: “Omne A est B; id est æquivalent AB et A, seu A non B est non-ens.”
There are a couple of other short essays where Leibnitz anticipates modern ideas about logic. In the eighteenth essay in Erdmann’s edition (p. 92), called “Fundamenta Calculi Ratiocinatoris,” he states: “Among those things that can be substituted for one another, while following the rules of calculus, it will be called equivalence.” There's also evidence that he had figured out how to quantify the predicate and that he fully understood how to reduce the universal affirmative proposition to the form of an equation, which is crucial for a better understanding of logic. In the essay titled “Difficultates Quædam Logicæ,” he states: “Every A is B; that is equivalent to AB and A, or A not being B is non-existence.”
It is curious to find, too, that Leibnitz was fully acquainted with the Laws of Commutativeness and “Simplicity” (as I have called the second law) attaching to logical symbols. In the “Addenda ad Specimen Calculi Universalis” we read as follows.4 “Transpositio literarum in eodem termino nihil mutat, ut ab coincidet cum ba, seu animal rationale et rationale animal.”
It’s interesting to note that Leibnitz was well aware of the Laws of Commutativeness and “Simplicity” (as I’ve referred to the second law) related to logical symbols. In the “Addenda ad Specimen Calculi Universalis,” we read: “Rearranging letters in the same term doesn’t change anything, as ab will match ba, or rational animal and animal rationale.”
“Repetitio ejusdem literæ in eodem termino est inutilis, ut b est aa; vel bb est a; homo est animal animal, vel homo homo est animal. Sufficit enim dici a est b, seu homo est animal.”
“Repeating the same letter at the same point is pointless, as b is aa; or bb is a; a human is an animal animal, or a human human is an animal. It’s enough to say a is b, or a human is an animal.”
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Comparing this with what is stated in Boole’s Mathematical Analysis of Logic, pp. 17–18, in his Laws of Thought, p. 29, or in this work, pp. 32–35, we find that Leibnitz had arrived two centuries ago at a clear perception of the bases of logical notation. When Boole pointed out that, in logic, xx = x, this seemed to mathematicians to be a paradox, or in any case a wholly new discovery; but here we have it plainly stated by Leibnitz.
Comparing this with what Boole states in his Mathematical Analysis of Logic, pp. 17–18, in his Laws of Thought, p. 29, or in this work, pp. 32–35, we see that Leibnitz had clearly understood the foundations of logical notation two centuries ago. When Boole pointed out that, in logic, xx = x, it seemed like a paradox or at least a completely new discovery to mathematicians; however, Leibnitz stated it clearly here.
The reader must not assume, however, that because Leibnitz correctly apprehended the fundamental principles of logic, he left nothing for modern logicians to do. On the contrary, Leibnitz obtained no useful results from his definition of substitution. When he proceeds to explain the syllogism, as in the paper on “Definitiones Logicæ,”5 he gives up substitution altogether, and falls back upon the notion of inclusion of class in class, saying, “Includens includentis est includens inclusi, seu si A includit B et B includit C, etiam A includet C.” He proceeds to make out certain rules of the syllogism involving the distinction of subject and predicate, and in no important respect better than the old rules of the syllogism. Leibnitz’ logical tracts are, in fact, little more than brief memoranda of investigations which seem never to have been followed out. They remain as evidence of his wonderful sagacity, but it would be difficult to show that they have had any influence on the progress of logical science in recent times.
The reader shouldn't assume that just because Leibnitz understood the basic principles of logic, he left nothing for modern logicians to explore. In fact, Leibnitz didn't achieve any practical outcomes from his definition of substitution. When he goes on to explain the syllogism, as seen in the paper on “Definitiones Logicæ,”5 he completely abandons substitution and relies instead on the idea of class inclusion, stating, “If A includes B and B includes C, then A also includes C.” He then creates some rules for the syllogism that differentiate between subject and predicate, which are not significantly better than the traditional syllogistic rules. Leibnitz's logical writings are essentially just brief notes of inquiries that appear to have never been fully developed. They serve as evidence of his remarkable insight, but it would be hard to argue that they have influenced the advancement of logical science in recent times.
I should like to explain how it happened that these logical writings of Leibnitz were unknown to me, until within the last twelve months. I am so slow a reader of Latin books, indeed, that my overlooking a few pages of Leibnitz’ works would not have been in any case surprising. But the fact is that the copy of Leibnitz’ works of which I made occasional use, was one of the edition of Dutens, contained in Owens College Library. The logical tracts in question were not printed in thatxx edition, and with one exception, they remained in manuscript in the Royal Library at Hanover, until edited by Erdmann, in 1839–40. The tract “Difficultates Quædam Logicæ,” though not known to Dutens, was published by Raspe in 1765, in his collection called Œuvres Philosophiques de feu Mr. Leibnitz; but this work had not come to my notice, nor does the tract in question seem to contain any explicit statement of the principle of substitution.
I want to explain how it happened that I was unaware of Leibnitz's logical writings until the past year. I'm such a slow reader of Latin books that it wouldn't have been surprising if I missed a few pages of Leibnitz's works. The truth is, the copy of Leibnitz's works I occasionally used was from the Dutens edition found in the Owens College Library. The logical essays I’m talking about weren’t printed in that edition, and with one exception, they stayed in manuscript form at the Royal Library in Hanover until Erdmann edited them in 1839-40. The essay “Difficultates Quædam Logicæ,” which Dutens didn’t know about, was published by Raspe in 1765 in his collection called Œuvres Philosophiques de feu Mr. Leibnitz; however, I never came across this work, and the essay in question doesn’t seem to contain any clear statement of the principle of substitution.
It is, I presume, the comparatively recent publication of Leibnitz’ most remarkable logical tracts which explains the apparent ignorance of logicians as regards their contents and importance. The most learned logicians, such as Hamilton and Ueberweg, ignore Leibnitz’ principle of substitution. In the Appendix to the fourth volume of Hamilton’s Lectures on Metaphysics and Logic, is given an elaborate compendium of the views of logical writers concerning the ultimate basis of deductive reasoning. Leibnitz is briefly noticed on p. 319, but without any hint of substitution. He is here quoted as saying, “What are the same with the same third, are the same with each other; that is, if A be the same with B, and C be the same with B, it is necessary that A and C should also be the same with one another. For this principle flows immediately from the principle of contradiction, and is the ground and basis of all logic; if that fail, there is no longer any way of reasoning with certainty.” This view of the matter seems to be inconsistent with that which he adopted in his posthumous tract.
I assume that the relatively recent publication of Leibnitz's most remarkable logical writings explains why logicians seem unaware of their content and significance. Even the most educated logicians, like Hamilton and Ueberweg, overlook Leibnitz's principle of substitution. In the Appendix to the fourth volume of Hamilton's Lectures on Metaphysics and Logic, there's a detailed summary of the perspectives of logical writers regarding the fundamental basis of deductive reasoning. Leibnitz is briefly mentioned on page 319, but without any reference to substitution. He is quoted as saying, “What is the same with the same third, is the same with each other; that is, if A is the same as B, and C is the same as B, then it must follow that A and C are also the same with one another. This principle follows directly from the principle of contradiction and serves as the foundation of all logic; if that fails, there's no longer any reliable way to reason.” This interpretation seems to contradict the one he presented in his posthumous writings.
Dr. Thomson, indeed, was acquainted with Leibnitz’ tracts, and refers to them in his Outline of the Necessary Laws of Thought. He calls them valuable; nevertheless, he seems to have missed the really valuable point; for in making two brief quotations,6 he omits all mention of the principle of substitution.
Dr. Thomson was indeed familiar with Leibnitz's writings and mentions them in his Outline of the Necessary Laws of Thought. He describes them as valuable; however, he appears to have overlooked the truly important aspect, as in making two short quotes,6 he fails to mention the principle of substitution.
Ueberweg is probably considered the best authorityxxi concerning the history of logic, and in his well-known System of Logic and History of Logical Doctrines,7 he gives some account of the principle of substitution, especially as it is implicitly stated in the Port Royal Logic. But he omits all reference to Leibnitz in this connection, nor does he elsewhere, so far as I can find, supply the omission. His English editor, Professor T. M. Lindsay, in referring to my Substitution of Similars, points out how I was anticipated by Beneke; but he also ignores Leibnitz. It is thus apparent that the most learned logicians, even when writing especially on the history of logic, displayed ignorance of Leibnitz’ most valuable logical writings.
Ueberweg is likely regarded as the leading authorityxxi on the history of logic, and in his well-known System of Logic and History of Logical Doctrines,7 he provides an overview of the principle of substitution, particularly as it's implicitly expressed in the Port Royal Logic. However, he fails to mention Leibnitz in this context, nor does he address this omission elsewhere, as far as I can tell. His English editor, Professor T. M. Lindsay, when discussing my Substitution of Similars, notes how I was anticipated by Beneke; yet he also overlooks Leibnitz. It's clear that even the most knowledgeable logicians, when writing specifically about the history of logic, show a lack of awareness of Leibnitz's most important logical works.
It has been recently pointed out to me, however, that the Rev. Robert Harley did draw attention, at the Nottingham Meeting of the British Association, in 1866, to Leibnitz’ anticipations of Boole’s laws of logical notation,8 and I am informed that Boole, about a year after the publication of his Laws of Thought, was made acquainted with these anticipations by R. Leslie Ellis.
It was recently brought to my attention that Rev. Robert Harley highlighted, at the Nottingham Meeting of the British Association in 1866, Leibniz’s predictions about Boole’s laws of logical notation,8 and I was told that Boole, about a year after publishing his Laws of Thought, learned about these predictions from R. Leslie Ellis.
There seems to have been at least one other German logician who discovered, or adopted, the principle of substitution. Reusch, in his Systema Logicum, published in 1734, laboured to give a broader basis to the Dictum de Omni et Nullo. He argues, that “the whole business of ordinary reasoning is accomplished by the substitution of ideas in place of the subject or predicate of the fundamental proposition. This some call the equation of thoughts.” But, in the hands of Reusch, substitution does not seem to lead to simplicity, since it has to be carried on according to the rules of Equipollence, Reciprocation, Subordination, and Co-ordination.9 Reusch is elsewhere spoken of10 as the “celebrated Reusch”; nevertheless, I have not been able toxxii find a copy of his book in London, even in the British Museum Library; it is not mentioned in the printed catalogue of the Bodleian Library; Messrs. Asher have failed to obtain it for me by advertisement in Germany; and Professor Adamson has been equally unsuccessful. From the way in which the principle of substitution is mentioned by Reusch, it would seem likely that other logicians of the early part of the eighteenth century were acquainted with it; but, if so, it is still more curious that recent historians of logical science have overlooked the doctrine.
There seems to have been at least one other German logician who discovered or adopted the principle of substitution. Reusch, in his Systema Logicum, published in 1734, worked to provide a broader foundation for the Dictum de Omni et Nullo. He argues that “the whole process of ordinary reasoning happens through the substitution of ideas in place of the subject or predicate of the fundamental proposition. Some call this the equation of thoughts.” However, in Reusch's work, substitution doesn’t seem to lead to simplicity, as it has to be carried out according to the rules of Equipollence, Reciprocation, Subordination, and Co-ordination.9 Reusch is referred to elsewhere10 as the “celebrated Reusch”; nevertheless, I have not been able toxxii find a copy of his book in London, not even in the British Museum Library; it’s not mentioned in the printed catalogue of the Bodleian Library; Messrs. Asher have failed to obtain it for me by advertising in Germany; and Professor Adamson has had the same lack of success. Given how the principle of substitution is referenced by Reusch, it seems likely that other logicians from the early eighteenth century were aware of it; yet, if that’s the case, it’s even more intriguing that recent historians of logical science have overlooked this doctrine.
It is a strange and discouraging fact, that true views of logic should have been discovered and discussed from one to two centuries ago, and yet should have remained, like George Bentham’s work in this century, without influence on the subsequent progress of the science. It may be regarded as certain that none of the discoverers of the quantification of the predicate, Bentham, Hamilton, Thomson, De Morgan, and Boole, were in any way assisted by the hints of the principle contained in previous writers. As to my own views of logic, they were originally moulded by a careful study of Boole’s works, as fully stated in my first logical essay.11 As to the process of substitution, it was not learnt from any work on logic, but is simply the process of substitution perfectly familiar to mathematicians, and with which I necessarily became familiar in the course of my long-continued study of mathematics under the late Professor De Morgan.
It’s a strange and disheartening reality that genuine insights into logic were uncovered and discussed one to two centuries ago, yet they have remained, like George Bentham’s work in this century, without impacting the future development of the science. It’s pretty certain that none of the pioneers of the quantification of the predicate—Bentham, Hamilton, Thomson, De Morgan, and Boole—were at all helped by the suggestions found in earlier writings. My own thoughts on logic were initially shaped by a careful examination of Boole’s works, as I detailed in my first logical essay.11 Regarding the process of substitution, I didn’t learn it from any logic texts; it’s simply the substitution process that’s well-known to mathematicians, and I naturally became acquainted with it during my extensive study of mathematics under the late Professor De Morgan.
I find that the Theory of Number, which I explained in the eighth chapter of this work, is also partially anticipated in a single scholium of Leibnitz. He first gives as an axiom the now well-known law of Boole, as follows:—
I see that the Theory of Number, which I discussed in the eighth chapter of this work, is also somewhat foreshadowed in a single note by Leibnitz. He first presents the now-famous law of Boole as an axiom, stating:—
“Axioma I. Si idem secum ipso sumatur, nihil constituitur novum, seu A + A ∝ A.” Then follows thisxxiii remarkable scholium: “Equidem in numeris 4 + 4 facit 8, seu bini nummi binis additi faciunt quatuor nummos, sed tunc bini additi sunt alii a prioribus; si iidem essent nihil novi prodiret et perinde esset ac si joco ex tribus ovis facere vellemus sex numerando, primum 3 ova, deinde uno sublato residua 2, ac denique uno rursus sublato residuum.”
“Axiom I. If the same is taken with itself, nothing new is established, or A + A ∝ A.” Then follows thisxxiii remarkable note: “In numbers, 4 + 4 equals 8, or two coins added to two coins make four coins, but then the two being added are different from the previous ones; if they were the same, nothing new would come out, and it would be as if we tried to make six by counting from three sheep, first 3 sheep, then removing one leaving 2, and finally removing one more to get 1.”
Translated this would read as follows:—
Translated this would read as follows:—
“Axiom I. If the same thing is taken together with itself, nothing new arises, or A + A = A.
“Axiom I. If the same thing is combined with itself, nothing new comes from it, or A + A = A.
“Scholium. In numbers, indeed, 4 + 4 makes 8, or two coins added to two coins make four coins, but then the two added are different from the former ones; if they were the same nothing new would be produced, and it would be just as if we tried in joke to make six eggs out of three, by counting firstly the three eggs, then, one being removed, counting the remaining two, and lastly, one being again removed, counting the remaining egg.”
“Scholium. In numbers, 4 + 4 equals 8, or two coins plus two coins make four coins, but the two added are different from the original ones; if they were the same, nothing new would come from it, and it would be like trying to jokingly make six eggs from three, by first counting the three eggs, then removing one and counting the remaining two, and finally, removing one more and counting the last egg.”
Compare the above with pp. 156 to 162 of the present work.
Compare the above with pp. 156 to 162 of this work.
M. Littré has quite recently pointed out12 what he thinks is an analogy between the system of formal logic, stated in the following pages, and the logical devices of the celebrated Raymond Lully. Lully’s method of invention was described in a great number of mediæval books, but is best stated in his Ars Compendiosa Inveniendi Veritatem, seu Ars Magna et Major. This method consisted in placing various names of things in the sectors of concentric circles, so that when the circles were turned, every possible combination of the things was easily produced by mechanical means. It might, perhaps, be possible to discover in this method a vague and rude anticipation of combinational logic; but it is well known that the results of Lully’s method were usually of a fanciful, if not absurd character.
M. Littré has recently pointed out12 what he sees as a similarity between the formal logic system outlined in the following pages and the logical techniques used by the famous Raymond Lully. Lully’s invention method was explained in numerous medieval texts but is best captured in his Ars Compendiosa Inveniendi Veritatem, seu Ars Magna et Major. This method involved arranging various names of things within the sections of concentric circles, so that by rotating the circles, every possible combination of the items could be easily created through mechanical means. It might be possible to see in this method a rough and early form of combinational logic; however, it is well known that the outcomes of Lully’s approach were often whimsical, if not absurd.
A much closer analogue of the Logical Alphabet is probably to be found in the Logical Square, invented byxxiv John Christian Lange, and described in a rare and unnoticed work by him which I have recently found in the British Museum.13 This square involved the principle of bifurcate classification, and was an improved form of the Ramean and Porphyrian tree (see below, p. 702). Lange seems, indeed, to have worked out his Logical Square into a mechanical form, and he suggests that it might be employed somewhat in the manner of Napier’s Bones (p. 65). There is much analogy between his Square and my Abacus, but Lange had not arrived at a logical system enabling him to use his invention for logical inference in the manner of the Logical Abacus. Another work of Lange is said to contain the first publication of the well known Eulerian diagrams of proposition and syllogism.14
A closer comparison to the Logical Alphabet can probably be found in the Logical Square, created byxxiv John Christian Lange, and described in a rare and overlooked work by him that I recently discovered in the British Museum.13 This square used the principle of split classification and was an enhanced version of the Ramean and Porphyrian tree (see below, p. 702). Lange seems to have developed his Logical Square into a mechanical format and suggested that it could be used similarly to Napier’s Bones (p. 65). There is a significant similarity between his Square and my Abacus, but Lange hadn't developed a logical system that would allow him to use his invention for logical reasoning like the Logical Abacus. Another work of Lange is said to be the first publication of the well-known Eulerian diagrams of proposition and syllogism.14
Since the first edition was published, an important work by Mr. George Lewes has appeared, namely, his Problems of Life and Mind, which to a great extent treats of scientific method, and formulates the rules of philosophising. I should have liked to discuss the bearing of Mr. Lewes’s views upon those here propounded, but I have felt it to be impossible in a book already filling nearly 800 pages, to enter upon the discussion of a yet more extensive book. For the same reason I have not been able to compare my own treatment of the subject of probability with the views expressed by Mr. Venn in his Logic of Chance. With Mr. J. J. Murphy’s profound and remarkable works on Habit and Intelligence, and on The Scientific Basis of Faith, I was unfortunately unacquainted when I wrote the following pages. They cannot safely be overlooked by any one who wishes to comprehend the tendency of philosophy and scientific method in the present day.
Since the first edition was published, an important work by Mr. George Lewes has come out, titled Problems of Life and Mind, which largely discusses scientific method and outlines the rules of philosophy. I would have liked to explore how Mr. Lewes’s ideas relate to those presented here, but I found it impossible in a book that's already nearing 800 pages to delve into an even more extensive work. For the same reason, I haven't been able to compare my own approach to the topic of probability with the views expressed by Mr. Venn in his Logic of Chance. I was unfortunately unaware of Mr. J. J. Murphy’s profound and remarkable works on Habit and Intelligence and The Scientific Basis of Faith when I wrote the following pages. These should not be overlooked by anyone who wants to understand the current trends in philosophy and scientific method.
It seems desirable that I should endeavour to answer some of the critics who have pointed out what theyxxv consider defects in the doctrines of this book, especially in the first part, which treats of deduction. Some of the notices of the work were indeed rather statements of its contents than critiques. Thus, I am much indebted to M. Louis Liard, Professor of Philosophy at Bordeaux, for the very careful exposition15 of the substitutional view of logic which he gave in the excellent Revue Philosophique, edited by M. Ribot. (Mars, 1877, tom. iii. p. 277.) An equally careful account of the system was given by M. Riehl, Professor of Philosophy at Graz, in his article on “Die Englische Logik der Gegenwart,” published in the Vierteljahrsschrift für wissenschaftliche Philosophie. (1 Heft, Leipzig, 1876.) I should like to acknowledge also the careful and able manner in which my book was reviewed by the New York Daily Tribune and the New York Times.
It seems important for me to try to address some of the critics who have pointed out what they consider flaws in the theories of this book, especially in the first part, which focuses on deduction. Some of the reviews were more summaries of the content rather than actual critiques. I want to express my gratitude to M. Louis Liard, Professor of Philosophy at Bordeaux, for the thorough explanation of the substitutional view of logic that he provided in the excellent Revue Philosophique, edited by M. Ribot. (March, 1877, vol. iii, p. 277.) M. Riehl, Professor of Philosophy at Graz, also gave an equally thoughtful overview of the system in his article “Die Englische Logik der Gegenwart,” published in the Vierteljahrsschrift für wissenschaftliche Philosophie. (1st Issue, Leipzig, 1876.) I would also like to acknowledge the careful and skillful reviews of my book by the New York Daily Tribune and the New York Times.
The most serious objections which have been brought against my treatment of logic have regard to my failure to enter into an analysis of the ultimate nature and origin of the Laws of Thought. The Spectator,16 for instance, in the course of a careful review, says of the principle of substitution, “Surely it is a great omission not to discuss whence we get this great principle itself; whether it is a pure law of the mind, or only an approximate lesson of experience; and if a pure product of the mind, whether there are any other products of the same kind, furnished by our knowing faculty itself.” Professor Robertson, in his very acute review,17 likewise objects to the want ofxxvi psychological and philosophical analysis. “If the book really corresponded to its title, Mr. Jevons could hardly have passed so lightly over the question, which he does not omit to raise, concerning those undoubted principles of knowledge commonly called the Laws of Thought.... Everywhere, indeed, he appears least at ease when he touches on questions properly philosophical; nor is he satisfactory in his psychological references, as on pp. 4, 5, where he cannot commit himself to a statement without an accompaniment of ‘probably,’ ‘almost,’ or ‘hardly.’ Reservations are often very much in place, but there are fundamental questions on which it is proper to make up one’s mind.”
The main serious objections raised against my approach to logic relate to my failure to analyze the ultimate nature and origin of the Laws of Thought. The Spectator,16 for example, in a detailed review, states about the principle of substitution, “It’s definitely a significant oversight not to discuss where this important principle comes from; whether it’s a pure law of the mind or just a rough lesson from experience; and if it is a pure product of the mind, are there other similar products provided by our ability to know.” Professor Robertson, in his sharp review,17 also criticizes the lack of psychological and philosophical analysis. “If the book truly reflected its title, Mr. Jevons could hardly have glossed over the question he raises about those indisputable principles of knowledge commonly known as the Laws of Thought.... He seems to be least comfortable when he addresses questions that are inherently philosophical; nor does he satisfactorily engage in his psychological references, as seen on pp. 4, 5, where he hesitates to make a statement without using words like ‘probably,’ ‘almost,’ or ‘hardly.’ While reservations are often very appropriate, there are fundamental questions where it’s important to reach a conclusion.”
These remarks appear to me to be well founded, and I must state why it is that I have ventured to publish an extensive work on logic, without properly making up my mind as to the fundamental nature of the reasoning process. The fault after all is one of omission rather than of commission. It is open to me on a future occasion to supply the deficiency if I should ever feel able to undertake the task. But I do not conceive it to be an essential part of any treatise to enter into an ultimate analysis of its subject matter. Analyses must always end somewhere. There were good treatises on light which described the laws of the phenomenon correctly before it was known whether light consisted of undulations or of projected particles. Now we have treatises on the Undulatory Theory which are very valuable and satisfactory, although they leave us in almost complete doubt as to what the vibrating medium really is. So I think that, in the present day, we need a correct and scientific exhibition of the formal laws of thought, and of the forms of reasoning based on them, although we may not be able to enter into any complete analysis of the nature of those laws. What would the science of geometry be like now if the Greek geometers had decided that it was improper to publish any propositions before they had decided onxxvii the nature of an axiom? Where would the science of arithmetic be now if an analysis of the nature of number itself were a necessary preliminary to a development of the results of its laws? In recent times there have been enormous additions to the mathematical sciences, but very few attempts at psychological analysis. In the Alexandrian and early mediæval schools of philosophy, much attention was given to the nature of unity and plurality chiefly called forth by the question of the Trinity. In the last two centuries whole sciences have been created out of the notion of plurality, and yet speculation on the nature of plurality has dwindled away. This present treatise contains, in the eighth chapter, one of the few recent attempts to analyse the notion of number itself.
These comments seem to be well founded, and I should explain why I’ve decided to publish a comprehensive work on logic without fully determining the fundamental nature of the reasoning process. The issue, after all, is one of omission rather than commission. I can address this shortcoming in the future if I ever feel capable of tackling it. However, I don't think it’s essential for any treatise to delve into an ultimate analysis of its subject matter. Analyses must always conclude somewhere. There have been good works on light that accurately described the laws of the phenomenon long before it was understood whether light was made up of waves or emitted particles. Today, we have valuable and satisfactory treatises on the Undulatory Theory, even though they leave us largely uncertain about what the vibrating medium actually is. Therefore, I believe that today we need a correct and scientific presentation of the formal laws of thought and the forms of reasoning based on them, even if we can’t provide a complete analysis of the nature of those laws. What would the science of geometry be like now if the Greek geometers had decided it was wrong to publish any propositions until they had figured out what an axiom is? Where would the science of arithmetic be today if analyzing the nature of numbers themselves were a necessary step before developing the results from its laws? Recently, there have been huge advancements in the mathematical sciences, but very few attempts at psychological analysis. In the Alexandrian and early medieval philosophical schools, a lot of focus was placed on the nature of unity and plurality, mainly due to questions regarding the Trinity. In the last two centuries, entire sciences have emerged from the concept of plurality, yet speculation on the nature of plurality has faded away. This current treatise includes, in the eighth chapter, one of the few recent attempts to analyze the concept of number itself.
If further illustration is needed, I may refer to the differential calculus. Nobody calls in question the formal truth of the results of that calculus. All the more exact and successful parts of physical science depend upon its use, and yet the mathematicians who have created so great a body of exact truths have never decided upon the basis of the calculus. What is the nature of a limit or the nature of an infinitesimal? Start the question among a knot of mathematicians, and it will be found that hardly two agree, unless it is in regarding the question itself as a trifling one. Some hold that there are no such things as infinitesimals, and that it is all a question of limits. Others would argue that the infinitesimal is the necessary outcome of the limit, but various shades of intermediate opinion spring up.
If more clarification is needed, I can reference differential calculus. No one doubts the formal accuracy of the results from that calculus. Much of the precise and successful parts of physical science rely on its application, yet the mathematicians who have developed such a vast body of exact truths have never agreed on the foundation of the calculus. What exactly is a limit, or what is an infinitesimal? Bring up the question among a group of mathematicians, and you'll find that hardly two of them agree, unless they all see the question itself as insignificant. Some believe that infinitesimals don't exist and that it's all about limits. Others argue that the infinitesimal is the inevitable result of a limit, but various shades of opinion emerge in between.
Now it is just the same with logic. If the forms of deductive and inductive reasoning given in the earlier part of this treatise are correct, they constitute a definite addition to logical science, and it would have been absurd to decline to publish such results because I could not at the same time decide in my own mind about the psychology and philosophy of the subject. It comes in short to this, that my book is a book on Formal Logic andxxviii Scientific Method, and not a book on psychology and philosophy.
Now it’s the same with logic. If the forms of deductive and inductive reasoning discussed earlier in this treatise are correct, they definitely add to the field of logical science. It would have been ridiculous to refuse to publish these findings just because I couldn't also figure out the psychology and philosophy behind the topic. In short, my book is about Formal Logic andxxviii Scientific Method, not psychology and philosophy.
It may be objected, indeed, as the Spectator objects, that Mill’s System of Logic is particularly strong in the discussion of the psychological foundations of reasoning, so that Mill would appear to have successfully treated that which I feel myself to be incapable of attempting at present. If Mill’s analysis of knowledge is correct, then I have nothing to say in excuse for my own deficiencies. But it is well to do one thing at a time, and therefore I have not occupied any considerable part of this book with controversy and refutation. What I have to say of Mill’s logic will be said in a separate work, in which his analysis of knowledge will be somewhat minutely analysed. It will then be shown, I believe, that Mill’s psychological and philosophical treatment of logic has not yielded such satisfactory results as some writers seem to believe.18
It might be argued, as the Spectator does, that Mill’s System of Logic is particularly strong in discussing the psychological foundations of reasoning, suggesting that Mill has successfully addressed what I feel unable to tackle at the moment. If Mill’s analysis of knowledge is accurate, then I have no excuses for my own shortcomings. However, it’s best to focus on one thing at a time, which is why I haven’t spent much of this book on debate and rebuttal. What I have to say about Mill’s logic will be covered in a separate work, where his analysis of knowledge will be examined in more detail. I believe it will be demonstrated that Mill’s psychological and philosophical approach to logic has not produced the satisfactory results that some writers seem to believe.18
Various minor but still important criticisms were made by Professor Robertson, a few of which have been noticed in the text (pp. 27, 101). In other cases his objections hardly admit of any other answer than such as consists in asking the reader to judge between the work and the criticism. Thus Mr. Robertson asserts19 that the most complex logical problems solved in this book (up to p. 102 of this edition) might be more easily and shortly dealt with upon the principles and with the recognised methods of the traditional logic. The burden of proof here lies upon Mr. Robertson, and his only proof consists in a single case, where he is able, as it seems to me accidentally, to get a special conclusion by the old form of dilemma. It would be a long labour to test the old logic upon every result obtained by my notation, and I must leave suchxxix readers as are well acquainted with the syllogistic logic to pronounce upon the comparative simplicity and power of the new and old systems. For other acute objections brought forward by Mr. Robertson, I must refer the reader to the article in question.
Several minor but still significant criticisms were made by Professor Robertson, a few of which are mentioned in the text (pp. 27, 101). In other instances, his objections can only be addressed by asking the reader to choose between the work and the criticism. For example, Mr. Robertson claims19 that the most complex logical problems tackled in this book (up to p. 102 of this edition) could be approached more easily and briefly using the principles and established methods of traditional logic. The responsibility to provide proof lies with Mr. Robertson, and his only evidence consists of a single case where he seemingly coincidentally arrives at a specific conclusion using the old form of dilemma. It would take extensive effort to evaluate the old logic against every result achieved through my notation, and I must leave it to those readers who are well-versed in syllogistic logic to judge the relative simplicity and effectiveness of the new and old systems. For other insightful objections presented by Mr. Robertson, I refer the reader to the relevant article.
One point in my last chapter, that on the Results and Limits of Scientific Method, has been criticised by Professor W. K. Clifford in his lecture20 on “The First and the Last Catastrophe.” In vol. ii. p. 438 of the first edition (p. 744 of this edition) I referred to certain inferences drawn by eminent physicists as to a limit to the antiquity of the present order of things. “According to Sir W. Thomson’s deductions from Fourier’s theory of heat, we can trace down the dissipation of heat by conduction and radiation to an infinitely distant time when all things will be uniformly cold. But we cannot similarly trace the Heat-history of the Universe to an infinite distance in the past. For a certain negative value of the time, the formulæ give impossible values, indicating that there was some initial distribution of heat which could not have resulted, according to known laws of nature, from any previous distribution.”
One point in my last chapter, which discusses the Results and Limits of Scientific Method, has been criticized by Professor W. K. Clifford in his lecture on “The First and the Last Catastrophe.” In vol. ii, p. 438 of the first edition (p. 744 of this edition), I mentioned certain conclusions drawn by prominent physicists regarding a limit to the age of the current state of the universe. “According to Sir W. Thomson’s deductions from Fourier’s theory of heat, we can track the dissipation of heat through conduction and radiation back to an infinitely distant time when everything will be uniformly cold. However, we cannot trace the heat history of the Universe back infinitely in time. For a specific negative value of time, the formulas yield impossible results, suggesting there was some initial distribution of heat that could not have arisen, based on known laws of nature, from any prior distribution.”
Now according to Professor Clifford I have here misstated Thomson’s results. “It is not according to the known laws of nature, it is according to the known laws of conduction of heat, that Sir William Thomson is speaking. . . . All these physical writers, knowing what they were writing about, simply drew such conclusions from the facts which were before them as could be reasonably drawn. They say, here is a state of things which could not have been produced by the circumstances we are at present investigating. Then your speculator comes, he reads a sentence and says, ‘Here is an opportunity for me to have my fling.’ And he has his fling, and makes a purely baseless theory about the necessary origin of the present order of nature at some definite point of time, which might be calculated.”
Now, according to Professor Clifford, I have misstated Thomson’s results. “It’s not based on the known laws of nature; it’s based on the known laws of heat conduction that Sir William Thomson is talking about. . . . All these scientists, understanding their topics, drew reasonable conclusions from the facts they had. They say, 'Here’s a situation that couldn’t have been created by the circumstances we’re currently examining.' Then, along comes your speculator, reads a sentence, and thinks, ‘Here’s a chance for me to make my bold claim.’ And he does, constructing a completely unfounded theory about the necessary origins of the current state of nature at a specific point in time, which could be calculated.”
Professor Clifford proceeds to explain that Thomson’s formulæ only give a limit to the heat history of, say, the earth’s crust in the solid state. We are led back to the time when it became solidified from the fluid condition. There is discontinuity in the history of the solid matter, but still discontinuity which is within our comprehension. Still further back we should come to discontinuity again, when the liquid was formed by the condensation of heated gaseous matter. Beyond that event, however, there is no need to suppose further discontinuity of law, for the gaseous matter might consist of molecules which had been falling together from different parts of space through infinite past time. As Professor Clifford says (p. 481) of the bodies of the universe, “What they have actually done is to fall together and get solid. If we should reverse the process we should see them separating and getting cool, and as a limit to that, we should find that all these bodies would be resolved into molecules, and all these would be flying away from each other. There would be no limit to that process, and we could trace it as far back as ever we liked to trace it.”
Professor Clifford goes on to explain that Thomson’s formulas only provide a limit to the heat history of something like the earth’s crust in its solid state. This leads us back to when it solidified from a fluid state. There is a break in the history of solid matter, but it’s a break that we can comprehend. Going even further back, we encounter another break when the liquid formed from the condensation of heated gas. However, beyond that point, there's no need to assume further breaks in the law, since the gas could consist of molecules that have been coming together from different parts of space over infinite time. As Professor Clifford mentions (p. 481) regarding the bodies in the universe, “What they have actually done is to fall together and get solid. If we were to reverse the process, we would see them separating and cooling, and as a limit to that, we would find that all these bodies would be broken down into molecules, and all these would be moving away from each other. There would be no limit to that process, and we could trace it back as far as we wanted.”
Assuming that I have erred, I should like to point out that I have erred in the best company, or more strictly, being a speculator, I have been led into error by the best physical writers. Professor Tait, in his Sketch of Thermodynamics, speaking of the laws discovered by Fourier for the motion of heat in a solid, says, “Their mathematical expressions point also to the fact that a uniform distribution of heat, or a distribution tending to become uniform, must have arisen from some primitive distribution of heat of a kind not capable of being produced by known laws from any previous distribution.” In the latter words it will be seen that there is no limitation to the laws of conduction, and, although I had carefully referred to Sir W. Thomson’s original paper, it is not unnaturalxxxi that I should take Professor Tait’s interpretation of its meaning.21
Assuming that I am mistaken, I want to point out that I've made my error alongside the best minds, or more accurately, as a speculator, I've been led into this mistake by the top writers in physics. Professor Tait, in his Sketch of Thermodynamics, discussing the laws discovered by Fourier regarding the motion of heat in a solid, states, “Their mathematical expressions also indicate that a uniform distribution of heat, or a distribution tending toward uniformity, must have originated from some initial distribution of heat that cannot be produced by known laws from any prior distribution.” In those last words, it's clear that there are no limitations on the laws of conduction, and although I carefully referenced Sir W. Thomson’s original paper, it's understandable that I would adopt Professor Tait’s interpretation of its significance.21
In his new work On some Recent Advances in Physical Science, Professor Tait has recurred to the subject as follows:22 “A profound lesson may be learned from one of the earliest little papers of Sir W. Thomson, published while he was an undergraduate at Cambridge, where he shows that Fourier’s magnificent treatment of the conduction of heat [in a solid body] leads to formulæ for its distribution which are intelligible (and of course capable of being fully verified by experiment) for all time future, but which, except in particular cases, when extended to time past, remain intelligible for a finite period only, and then indicate a state of things which could not have resulted under known laws from any conceivable previous distribution [of heat in the body]. So far as heat is concerned, modern investigations have shown that a previous distribution of the matter involved may, by its potential energy, be capable of producing such a state of things at the moment of its aggregation; but the example is now adduced not for its bearing on heat alone, but as a simple illustration of the fact that all portions of our Science, especially that beautiful one, the Dissipation of Energy, point unanimously to a beginning, to a state of things incapable of being derived by present laws [of tangible matter and its energy] from any conceivable previous arrangement.” As this was published nearly a year after Professor Clifford’s lecture, it may be inferredxxxii that Professor Tait adheres to his original opinion that the theory of heat does give evidence of “a beginning.”
In his new work On some Recent Advances in Physical Science, Professor Tait revisits the topic as follows:22 “A significant lesson can be learned from one of Sir W. Thomson's earliest papers, published when he was an undergraduate at Cambridge, where he demonstrates that Fourier’s remarkable approach to heat conduction [in a solid body] leads to formulas for its distribution that are understandable (and clearly can be fully confirmed by experimentation) for all future time. However, except in specific cases, when applied to the past, these formulas remain comprehensible for only a limited period and then suggest a situation that could not have arisen from any reasonable previous distribution [of heat in the body] under known laws. As far as heat is concerned, modern research has shown that a prior distribution of the matter involved can, through its potential energy, create such a situation at the moment of aggregation. This example is presented not just for its relevance to heat, but as a straightforward illustration of the fact that all areas of our Science, particularly the beautiful field of Energy Dissipation, unanimously point to a beginning, to a situation that cannot be explained by current laws [of tangible matter and its energy] based on any imaginable previous arrangement.” Since this was published nearly a year after Professor Clifford’s lecture, one can inferxxxii that Professor Tait maintains his original view that the theory of heat does indicate “a beginning.”
I may add that Professor Clerk Maxwell’s words seem to countenance the same view, for he says,23 “This is only one of the cases in which a consideration of the dissipation of energy leads to the determination of a superior limit to the antiquity of the observed order of things.” The expression “observed order of things” is open to much ambiguity, but in the absence of qualification I should take it to include the aggregate of the laws of nature known to us. I should interpret Professor Maxwell as meaning that the theory of heat indicates the occurrence of some event of which our science cannot give any further explanation. The physical writers thus seem not to be so clear about the matter as Professor Clifford assumes.
I should mention that Professor Clerk Maxwell’s words seem to support the same idea, as he states,23 “This is just one of the cases where looking at energy dissipation helps determine a maximum limit to the age of the observed order of things.” The phrase “observed order of things” can be quite ambiguous, but without further clarification, I would interpret it to include all the laws of nature we know. I believe Professor Maxwell is suggesting that the theory of heat points to an event that our science can't explain any further. It appears that the physical writers aren't as clear on this issue as Professor Clifford thinks.
So far as I may venture to form an independent opinion on the subject, it is to the effect that Professor Clifford is right, and that the known laws of nature do not enable us to assign a “beginning.” Science leads us backwards into infinite past duration. But that Professor Clifford is right on this point, is no reason why we should suppose him to be right in his other opinions, some of which I am sure are wrong. Nor is it a reason why other parts of my last chapter should be wrong. The question only affects the single paragraph on pp. 744–5 of this book, which might, I believe, be struck out without necessitating any alteration in the rest of the text. It is always to be remembered that the failure of an argument in favour of a proposition does not, generally speaking, add much, if any, probability to the contradictory proposition. I cannot conclude without expressing my acknowledgments to Professor Clifford for his kind expressions regarding my work as a whole.
As far as I can confidently share my own thoughts on this topic, I believe Professor Clifford is correct in saying that the laws of nature don’t let us pinpoint a "beginning." Science takes us back into an infinite past. However, just because Professor Clifford is right about this doesn’t mean we should agree with him on his other views, some of which I’m sure are incorrect. This also doesn’t imply that other sections of my last chapter are wrong. The issue only concerns the single paragraph on pp. 744–5 of this book, which I think could be removed without needing to change anything else in the text. It's important to remember that proving an argument against a statement doesn’t usually make the opposite statement any more likely to be true. I can't wrap up without thanking Professor Clifford for his kind remarks about my work overall.
2, The Chestnuts,
West Heath,
Hampstead, N. W.
2, The Chestnuts,
West Heath,
Hampstead, NW.
August 15, 1877.
August 15, 1877.
xxxiii
xxxiii
CONTENTS.
BOOK I. | ||
FORMAL LOGIC, DEDUCTIVE AND INDUCTIVE. | ||
CHAPTER I. | ||
INTRODUCTION. | ||
SECTION | PAGE |
|
1. |
Introduction | |
2. |
The Powers of Mind concerned in the Creation of Science | |
3. |
Laws of Identity and Difference | |
4. |
The Nature of the Laws of Identity and Difference | |
5. |
The Process of Inference | |
6. |
Deduction and Induction | |
7. |
Symbolic Expression of Logical Inference | |
8. |
Expression of Identity and Difference | |
9. |
General Formula of Logical Inference | |
10. |
The Propagating Power of Similarity | |
11. |
Anticipations of the Principle of Substitution | |
12. |
The Logic of Relatives | |
CHAPTER II. | ||
TERMS. | ||
1. |
Terms | |
2. |
Twofold meaning of General Names | |
3. |
Abstract Terms | |
4. |
Substantial Terms | 28xxxiv |
5. |
Collective Terms | |
6. |
Synthesis of Terms | |
7. |
Symbolic Expression of the Law of Contradiction | |
8. |
Certain Special Conditions of Logical Symbols | |
CHAPTER III. | ||
PROPOSITIONS. | ||
1. |
Propositions | |
2. |
Simple Identities | |
3. |
Partial Identities | |
4. |
Limited Identities | |
5. |
Negative Propositions | |
6. |
Conversion of Propositions | |
7. |
Twofold Interpretation of Propositions | |
CHAPTER IV. | ||
DEDUCTIVE REASONING. | ||
1. |
Deductive Reasoning | |
2. |
Immediate Inference | |
3. |
Inference with Two Simple Identities | |
4. |
Inference with a Simple and a Partial Identity | |
5. |
Inference of a Partial from Two Partial Identities | |
6. |
On the Ellipsis of Terms in Partial Identities | |
7. |
Inference of a Simple from Two Partial Identities | |
8. |
Inference of a Limited from Two Partial Identities | |
9. |
Miscellaneous Forms of Deductive Inference | |
10. |
Fallacies | |
CHAPTER V. | ||
DISJUNCTIVE PROPOSITIONS. | ||
1. |
Disjunctive Propositions | |
2. |
Expression of the Alternative Relation | |
3. |
Nature of the Alternative Relation | |
4. |
Laws of the Disjunctive Relation | |
5. |
Symbolic Expression of the Law of Duality | |
6. |
Various Forms of the Disjunctive Proposition | |
7. |
Inference by Disjunctive Propositions | 76xxxv |
CHAPTER VI. | ||
THE INDIRECT METHOD OF INFERENCE. | ||
1. |
The Indirect Method of Inference | |
2. |
Simple Illustrations | |
3. |
Employment of the Contrapositive Proposition | |
4. |
Contrapositive of a Simple Identity | |
5. |
Miscellaneous Examples of the Method | |
6. |
Mr. Venn’s Problem | |
7. |
Abbreviation of the Process | |
8. |
The Logical Alphabet | |
9. |
The Logical Slate | |
10. |
Abstraction of Indifferent Circumstances | |
11. |
Illustrations of the Indirect Method | |
12. |
Second Example | |
13. |
Third Example | |
14. |
Fourth Example | |
15. |
Fifth Example | |
16. |
Fallacies Analysed by the Indirect Method | |
17. |
The Logical Abacus | |
18. |
The Logical Machine | |
19. |
The Order of Premises | |
20. |
The Equivalence of Propositions | |
21. |
The Nature of Inference | |
CHAPTER VII. | ||
INDUCTION. | ||
1. |
Induction | |
2. |
Induction an Inverse Operation | |
3. |
Inductive Problems for Solution by the Reader | |
4. |
Induction of Simple Identities | |
5. |
Induction of Partial Identities | |
6. |
Solution of the Inverse or Inductive Problem, involving Two Classes | |
7. |
The Inverse Logical Problem, involving Three Classes | |
8. |
Professor Clifford on the Types of Compound Statement involving Four Classes | |
9. |
Distinction between Perfect and Imperfect Induction | |
10. |
Transition from Perfect to Imperfect Induction | 149xxxvi |
BOOK II. | ||
NUMBER, VARIETY, AND PROBABILITY. | ||
CHAPTER VIII. | ||
PRINCIPLES OF NUMBER. | ||
1. |
Principles of Number | |
2. |
The Nature of Numbe | |
3. |
Of Numerical Abstraction | |
4. |
Concrete and Abstract Number | |
5. |
Analogy of Logical and Numerical Terms | |
6. |
Principle of Mathematical Inference | |
7. |
Reasoning by Inequalities | |
8. |
Arithmetical Reasoning | |
9. |
Numerically Definite Reasoning | |
10. |
Numerical meaning of Logical Conditions | |
CHAPTER IX. | ||
THE VARIETY OF NATURE, OR THE DOCTRINE OF COMBINATIONS AND PERMUTATIONS. | ||
1. |
The Variety of Nature | |
2. |
Distinction of Combinations and Permutations | |
3. |
Calculation of Number of Combinations | |
4. |
The Arithmetical Triangle | |
5. |
Connexion between the Arithmetical Triangle and the Logical Alphabet | |
6. |
Possible Variety of Nature and Art | |
7. |
Higher Orders of Variety | |
CHAPTER X. | ||
THEORY OF PROBABILITY. | ||
1. |
Theory of Probability | |
2. |
Fundamental Principles of the Theory | |
3. |
Rules for the Calculation of Probabilities | |
4. |
The Logical Alphabet in questions of Probability | 205xxxvii |
5. |
Comparison of the Theory with Experience | |
6. |
Probable Deductive Arguments | |
7. |
Difficulties of the Theory | |
CHAPTER XI. | ||
PHILOSOPHY OF INDUCTIVE INFERENCE. | ||
1. |
Philosophy of Inductive Inference | |
2. |
Various Classes of Inductive Truths | |
3. |
The Relation of Cause and Effect | |
4. |
Fallacious Use of the Term Cause | |
5. |
Confusion of Two Questions | |
6. |
Definition of the Term Cause | |
7. |
Distinction of Inductive and Deductive Results | |
8. |
The Grounds of Inductive Inference | |
9. |
Illustrations of the Inductive Process | |
10. |
Geometrical Reasoning | |
11. |
Discrimination of Certainty and Probability | |
CHAPTER XII. | ||
THE INDUCTIVE OR INVERSE APPLICATION OF THE THEORY OF PROBABILITY. | ||
1. |
The Inductive or Inverse Application of the Theory | |
2. |
Principle of the Inverse Method | |
3. |
Simple Applications of the Inverse Method | |
4. |
The Theory of Probability in Astronomy | |
5. |
The General Inverse Problem | |
6. |
Simple Illustration of the Inverse Problem | |
7. |
General Solution of the Inverse Problem | |
8. |
Rules of the Inverse Method | |
9. |
Fortuitous Coincidences | |
10. |
Summary of the Theory of Inductive Inference | 265xxxviii |
BOOK III. | ||
METHODS OF MEASUREMENT. | ||
CHAPTER XIII. | ||
THE EXACT MEASUREMENT OF PHENOMENA. | ||
1. |
The Exact Measurement of Phenomena | |
2. |
Division of the Subject | |
3. |
Continuous quantity | |
4. |
The Fallacious Indications of the Senses | |
5. |
Complexity of Quantitative Questions | |
6. |
The Methods of Accurate Measurement | |
7. |
Conditions of Accurate Measurement | |
8. |
Measuring Instruments | |
9. |
The Method of Repetition | |
10. |
Measurements by Natural Coincidence | |
11. |
Modes of Indirect Measurement | |
12. |
Comparative Use of Measuring Instruments | |
13. |
Systematic Performance of Measurements | |
14. |
The Pendulum | |
15. |
Attainable Accuracy of Measurement | |
CHAPTER XIV. | ||
UNITS AND STANDARDS OF MEASUREMENT. | ||
1. |
Units and Standards of Measurement | |
2. |
Standard Unit of Time | |
3. |
The Unit of Space and the Bar Standard | |
4. |
The Terrestrial Standard | |
5. |
The Pendulum Standard | |
6. |
Unit of Density | |
7. |
Unit of Mass | |
8. |
Natural System of Standards | |
9. |
Subsidiary Units | |
10. |
Derived Units | |
11. |
Provisional Units | |
12. |
Theory of Dimensions | |
13. |
Natural Constants | |
14. |
Mathematical Constants | |
15. |
Physical Constants | |
16. |
Astronomical Constants | |
17. |
Terrestrial Numbers | |
18. |
Organic Numbers | |
19. |
Social Numbers | 334xxxix |
CHAPTER XV. | ||
ANALYSIS OF QUANTITATIVE PHENOMENA. | ||
1. |
Analysis of Quantitative Phenomena | |
2. |
Illustrations of the Complication of Effects | |
3. |
Methods of Eliminating Error | |
4. |
Method of Avoidance of Error | |
5. |
Differential Method | |
6. |
Method of Correction | |
7. |
Method of Compensation | |
8. |
Method of Reversal | |
CHAPTER XVI. | ||
THE METHOD OF MEANS. | ||
1. |
The Method of Means | |
2. |
Several Uses of the Mean Result | |
3. |
The Mean and the Average | |
4. |
On the Average or Fictitious Mean | |
5. |
The Precise Mean Result | |
6. |
Determination of the Zero Point | |
7. |
Determination of Maximum Points | |
CHAPTER XVII. | ||
THE LAW OF ERROR. | ||
1. |
The Law of Error | |
2. |
Establishment of the Law of Error | |
3. |
Herschel’s Geometrical Proof | |
4. |
Laplace’s and Quetelet’s Proof of the Law | |
5. |
Logical Origin of the Law of Error | |
6. |
Verification of the Law of Error | |
7. |
The Probable Mean Result | |
8. |
The Probable Error of Results | |
9. |
Rejection of the Mean Result | |
10. |
Method of Least Squares | |
11. |
Works upon the Theory of Probability | |
12. |
Detection of Constant Errors | 396xl |
BOOK IV. | ||
INDUCTIVE INVESTIGATION. | ||
CHAPTER XVIII. | ||
OBSERVATION. | ||
1. |
Observation | |
2. |
Distinction of Observation and Experiment | |
3. |
Mental Conditions of Correct Observation | |
4. |
Instrumental and Sensual Conditions of Correct Observation | |
5. |
External Conditions of Correct Observation | |
6. |
Apparent Sequence of Events | |
7. |
Negative Arguments from Non-Observation | |
CHAPTER XIX. | ||
EXPERIMENT. | ||
1. |
Experiment | |
2. |
Exclusion of Indifferent Circumstances | |
3. |
Simplification of Experiments | |
4. |
Failure in the Simplification of Experiments | |
5. |
Removal of Usual Conditions | |
6. |
Interference of Unsuspected Conditions | |
7. |
Blind or Test Experiments | |
8. |
Negative Results of Experiment | |
9. |
Limits of Experiment | |
CHAPTER XX. | ||
METHOD OF VARIATIONS. | ||
1. |
Method of Variations | |
2. |
The Variable and the Variant | |
3. |
Measurement of the Variable | |
4. |
Maintenance of Similar Conditions | |
5. |
Collective Experiments | |
6. |
Periodic Variations | |
7. |
Combined Periodic Changes | |
8. |
Principle of Forced Vibrations | |
9. |
Integrated Variations | 452the |
CHAPTER XXI. | ||
THEORY OF APPROXIMATION. | ||
1. |
Theory of Approximation | |
2. |
Substitution of Simple Hypotheses | |
3. |
Approximation to Exact Laws | |
4. |
Successive Approximations to Natural Conditions | |
5. |
Discovery of Hypothetically Simple Laws | |
6. |
Mathematical Principles of Approximation | |
7. |
Approximate Independence of Small Effects | |
8. |
Four Meanings of Equality | |
9. |
Arithmetic of Approximate Quantities | |
CHAPTER XXII. | ||
QUANTITATIVE INDUCTION. | ||
1. |
Quantitative Induction | |
2. |
Probable Connexion of Varying Quantities | |
3. |
Empirical Mathematical Laws | |
4. |
Discovery of Rational Formulæ | |
5. |
The Graphical Method | |
6. |
Interpolation and Extrapolation | |
7. |
Illustrations of Empirical Quantitative Laws | |
8. |
Simple Proportional Variation | |
CHAPTER XXIII. | ||
THE USE OF HYPOTHESIS. | ||
1. |
The Use of Hypothesis | |
2. |
Requisites of a good Hypothesis | |
3. |
Possibility of Deductive Reasoning | |
4. |
Consistency with the Laws of Nature | |
5. |
Conformity with Facts | |
6. |
Experimentum Crucis | |
7. |
Descriptive Hypotheses | 522xlii |
CHAPTER XXIV. | ||
EMPIRICAL KNOWLEDGE, EXPLANATION AND PREDICTION. | ||
1. |
Empirical Knowledge, Explanation and Prediction | |
2. |
Empirical Knowledge | |
3. |
Accidental Discovery | |
4. |
Empirical Observations subsequently Explained | |
5. |
Overlooked Results of Theory | |
6. |
Predicted Discoveries | |
7. |
Predictions in the Science of Light | |
8. |
Predictions from the Theory of Undulations | |
9. |
Prediction in other Sciences | |
10. |
Prediction by Inversion of Cause and Effect | |
11. |
Facts known only by Theory | |
CHAPTER XXV. | ||
ACCORDANCE OF QUANTITATIVE THEORIES. | ||
1. |
Accordance of Quantitative Theories | |
2. |
Empirical Measurements | |
3. |
Quantities indicated by Theory, but Empirically Measured | |
4. |
Explained Results of Measurement | |
5. |
Quantities determined by Theory and verified by Measurement | |
6. |
Quantities determined by Theory and not verified | |
7. |
Discordance of Theory and Experiment | |
8. |
Accordance of Measurements of Astronomical Distances | |
9. |
Selection of the best Mode of Measurement | |
10. |
Agreement of Distinct Modes of Measurement | |
11. |
Residual Phenomena | |
CHAPTER XXVI. | ||
CHARACTER OF THE EXPERIMENTALIST. | ||
1. |
Character of the Experimentalist | |
2. |
Error of the Baconian Method | |
3. |
Freedom of Theorising | |
4. |
The Newtonian Method, the True Organum | |
5. |
Candour and Courage of the Philosophic Mind | |
6. |
The Philosophic Character of Faraday | |
7. |
Reservation of Judgment | 592xliii |
BOOK V. | ||
GENERALISATION, ANALOGY, AND CLASSIFICATION. | ||
CHAPTER XXVII. | ||
GENERALISATION. | ||
1. |
Generalisation | |
2. |
Distinction of Generalisation and Analogy | |
3. |
Two Meanings of Generalisation | |
4. |
Value of Generalisation | |
5. |
Comparative Generality of Properties | |
6. |
Uniform Properties of all Matter | |
7. |
Variable Properties of Matter | |
8. |
Extreme Instances of Properties | |
9. |
The Detection of Continuity | |
10. |
The Law of Continuity | |
11. |
Failure of the Law of Continuity | |
12. |
Negative Arguments on the Principle of Continuity | |
13. |
Tendency to Hasty Generalisation | |
CHAPTER XXVIII. | ||
ANALOGY. | ||
1. |
Analogy | |
2. |
Analogy as a Guide in Discovery | |
3. |
Analogy in the Mathematical Sciences | |
4. |
Analogy in the Theory of Undulations | |
5. |
Analogy in Astronomy | |
6. |
Failures of Analogy | |
CHAPTER XXIX. | ||
EXCEPTIONAL PHENOMENA. | ||
1. |
Exceptional Phenomena | |
2. |
Imaginary or False Exceptions | |
3. |
Apparent but Congruent Exceptions | |
4. |
Singular Exceptions | |
5. |
Divergent Exceptions | |
6. |
Accidental Exceptions | |
7. |
Novel and Unexplained Exceptions | |
8. |
Limiting Exceptions | |
9. |
Real Exceptions to Supposed Laws | |
10. |
Unclassed Exceptions | 668xliv |
CHAPTER XXX. | ||
CLASSIFICATION. | ||
1. |
Classification | |
2. |
Classification involving Induction | |
3. |
Multiplicity of Modes of Classification | |
4. |
Natural and Artificial Systems of Classification | |
5. |
Correlation of Properties | |
6. |
Classification in Crystallography | |
7. |
Classification an Inverse and Tentative Operation | |
8. |
Symbolic Statement of the Theory of Classification | |
9. |
Bifurcate Classification | |
10. |
The Five Predicates | |
11. |
Summum Genus and Infima Species | |
12. |
The Tree of Porphyry | |
13. |
Does Abstraction imply Generalisation? | |
14. |
Discovery of Marks or Characteristics | |
15. |
Diagnostic Systems of Classification | |
16. |
Index Classifications | |
17. |
Classification in the Biological Sciences | |
18. |
Classification by Types | |
19. |
Natural Genera and Species | |
20. |
Unique or Exceptional Objects | |
21. |
Limits of Classification | |
BOOK VI. | ||
CHAPTER XXXI. | ||
REFLECTIONS ON THE RESULTS AND LIMITS OF SCIENTIFIC METHOD. | ||
1. |
Reflections on the Results and Limits of Scientific Method | |
2. |
The Meaning of Natural Law | |
3. |
Infiniteness of the Universe | |
4. |
The Indeterminate Problem of Creation | |
5. |
Hierarchy of Natural Laws | |
6. |
The Ambiguous Expression—“Uniformity of Nature” | |
7. |
Possible States of the Universe | |
8. |
Speculations on the Reconcentration of Energy | |
9. |
The Divergent Scope for New Discovery | |
10. |
Infinite Incompleteness of the Mathematical Sciences | |
11. |
The Reign of Law in Mental and Social Phenomena | |
12. |
The Theory of Evolution | |
13. |
Possibility of Divine Interference | |
14. |
Conclusion | |
INDEX | 773 |
1
1
THE PRINCIPLES OF SCIENCE.
THE PRINCIPLES OF SCIENCE.
CHAPTER I.
INTRO.
Science arises from the discovery of Identity amidst Diversity. The process may be described in different words, but our language must always imply the presence of one common and necessary element. In every act of inference or scientific method we are engaged about a certain identity, sameness, similarity, likeness, resemblance, analogy, equivalence or equality apparent between two objects. It is doubtful whether an entirely isolated phenomenon could present itself to our notice, since there must always be some points of similarity between object and object. But in any case an isolated phenomenon could be studied to no useful purpose. The whole value of science consists in the power which it confers upon us of applying to one object the knowledge acquired from like objects; and it is only so far, therefore, as we can discover and register resemblances that we can turn our observations to account.
Science comes from finding what’s the same in what’s different. We might use different words to describe this process, but our language should always reflect that there's a common and essential element involved. In every act of reasoning or scientific method, we focus on a certain identity, whether it’s sameness, similarity, likeness, resemblance, analogy, equivalence, or equality that appears between two objects. It’s uncertain if a completely isolated phenomenon could be noticed, since there must always be some points of similarity between objects. However, even if we encountered an isolated phenomenon, studying it wouldn’t be very useful. The real value of science lies in the ability it gives us to apply knowledge from similar objects to one object; thus, we can only benefit from our observations as far as we can identify and record resemblances.
Nature is a spectacle continually exhibited to our senses, in which phenomena are mingled in combinations of endless variety and novelty. Wonder fixes the mind’s attention; memory stores up a record of each distinct impression; the powers of association bring forth the record when the like is felt again. By the higher faculties of judgment and reasoning the mind compares the new with2 the old, recognises essential identity, even when disguised by diverse circumstances, and expects to find again what was before experienced. It must be the ground of all reasoning and inference that what is true of one thing will be true of its equivalent, and that under carefully ascertained conditions Nature repeats herself.
Nature is a show that constantly engages our senses, where different phenomena mix together in endless combinations of variety and novelty. Wonder captures our attention; memory keeps a record of each unique impression; the powers of association pull up those memories when we experience something similar again. With our higher abilities of judgment and reasoning, we compare the new with the old, recognizing the essential similarities, even if they're hidden by different circumstances, and we expect to encounter what we've experienced before. It must be the basis of all reasoning and inference that what is true of one thing will be true of its equivalent, and that under carefully determined conditions, Nature repeats herself.
Were this indeed a Chaotic Universe, the powers of mind employed in science would be useless to us. Did Chance wholly take the place of order, and did all phenomena come out of an Infinite Lottery, to use Condorcet’s expression, there could be no reason to expect the like result in like circumstances. It is possible to conceive a world in which no two things should be associated more often, in the long run, than any other two things. The frequent conjunction of any two events would then be purely fortuitous, and if we expected conjunctions to recur continually, we should be disappointed. In such a world we might recognise the same kind of phenomenon as it appeared from time to time, just as we might recognise a marked ball as it was occasionally drawn and re-drawn from a ballot-box; but the approach of any phenomenon would be in no way indicated by what had gone before, nor would it be a sign of what was to come after. In such a world knowledge would be no more than the memory of past coincidences, and the reasoning powers, if they existed at all, would give no clue to the nature of the present, and no presage of the future.
If this were truly a Chaotic Universe, the mental efforts put into science would be pointless. If Chance completely replaced order, and if all events stemmed from an Infinite Lottery, as Condorcet said, there would be no reason to expect similar outcomes in similar situations. It's possible to imagine a world where no two things are linked more often, in the long run, than any other two things. The repeated occurrence of any two events would then be purely random, and if we hoped for those occurrences to happen repeatedly, we’d likely be let down. In such a world, we might recognize the same type of event when it came up occasionally, just like we would identify a marked ball as it was drawn and re-drawn from a ballot box; however, the occurrence of any event would not be indicated by prior events, nor would it suggest what would happen next. In such a world, knowledge would be nothing more than the recollection of past coincidences, and reasoning abilities, if they existed at all, would provide no insight into the present and no indication of the future.
Happily the Universe in which we dwell is not the result of chance, and where chance seems to work it is our own deficient faculties which prevent us from recognising the operation of Law and of Design. In the material framework of this world, substances and forces present themselves in definite and stable combinations. Things are not in perpetual flux, as ancient philosophers held. Element remains element; iron changes not into gold. With suitable precautions we can calculate upon finding the same thing again endowed with the same properties. The constituents of the globe, indeed, appear in almost endless combinations; but each combination bears its fixed character, and when resolved is found to be the compound of definite substances. Misapprehensions must continually occur, owing to the limited extent of our experience. We3 can never have examined and registered possible existences so thoroughly as to be sure that no new ones will occur and frustrate our calculations. The same outward appearances may cover any amount of hidden differences which we have not yet suspected. To the variety of substances and powers diffused through nature at its creation, we should not suppose that our brief experience can assign a limit, and the necessary imperfection of our knowledge must be ever borne in mind.
Fortunately, the Universe we live in is not just a random occurrence; when it seems like chance is at play, it's usually our own limited understanding that prevents us from seeing the underlying laws and design. In the physical structure of this world, materials and forces come together in specific and stable ways. Things are not constantly changing as the ancient philosophers believed. Elements stay as they are; iron doesn’t turn into gold. With the right precautions, we can expect to find the same things again with the same properties. The components of the Earth do appear in nearly infinite combinations, but each combination has its distinct characteristics, and when broken down, it reveals a specific mix of substances. Misunderstandings are bound to happen because of the limited scope of our experiences. We can never examine every possible existence thoroughly enough to guarantee that no new ones will emerge and throw off our calculations. The same outward appearances might disguise numerous hidden differences that we haven't yet considered. Given the wide variety of substances and forces present in nature from the very beginning, we shouldn't assume that our short experiences can set any limits, and we must always remember that our knowledge is inevitably imperfect.
Yet there is much to give us confidence in Science. The wider our experience, the more minute our examination of the globe, the greater the accumulation of well-reasoned knowledge,—the fewer in all probability will be the failures of inference compared with the successes. Exceptions to the prevalence of Law are gradually reduced to Law themselves. Certain deep similarities have been detected among the objects around us, and have never yet been found wanting. As the means of examining distant parts of the universe have been acquired, those similarities have been traced there as here. Other worlds and stellar systems may be almost incomprehensively different from ours in magnitude, condition and disposition of parts, and yet we detect there the same elements of which our own limbs are composed. The same natural laws can be detected in operation in every part of the universe within the scope of our instruments; and doubtless these laws are obeyed irrespective of distance, time, and circumstance.
Yet there is a lot that gives us confidence in Science. The more we explore and examine the world, the more we build a solid foundation of well-thought-out knowledge. This likely means that the number of mistakes in reasoning is far fewer than the successes. The exceptions to the general rules are slowly becoming rules themselves. We’ve found certain deep similarities among the things around us that have always held true. As we’ve developed the tools to examine distant parts of the universe, we’ve discovered those similarities extend beyond our own world. Other planets and star systems may be vastly different from ours in size, conditions, and arrangement of parts, but we still find the same elements that make up our own bodies. The same natural laws can be observed at work everywhere in the universe that our instruments can reach, and undoubtedly these laws apply no matter the distance, time, or situation.
It is the prerogative of Intellect to discover what is uniform and unchanging in the phenomena around us. So far as object is different from object, knowledge is useless and inference impossible. But so far as object resembles object, we can pass from one to the other. In proportion as resemblance is deeper and more general, the commanding powers of knowledge become more wonderful. Identity in one or other of its phases is thus always the bridge by which we pass in inference from case to case; and it is my purpose in this treatise to trace out the various forms in which the one same process of reasoning presents itself in the ever-growing achievements of Scientific Method.
It is the right of Intellect to uncover what is consistent and unchanging in the phenomena around us. As long as one object is different from another, knowledge is pointless and inference is impossible. However, as long as one object resembles another, we can connect them. The deeper and more general the resemblance, the more powerful our understanding becomes. Identity, in one form or another, is always the bridge that allows us to infer from one case to another; and in this treatise, I aim to explore the various ways that this same reasoning process appears in the continuously advancing achievements of Scientific Method.
4
4
The Powers of Mind concerned in the Creation of Science.
It is no part of the purpose of this work to investigate the nature of mind. People not uncommonly suppose that logic is a branch of psychology, because reasoning is a mental operation. On the same ground, however, we might argue that all the sciences are branches of psychology. As will be further explained, I adopt the opinion of Mr. Herbert Spencer, that logic is really an objective science, like mathematics or mechanics. Only in an incidental manner, then, need I point out that the mental powers employed in the acquisition of knowledge are probably three in number. They are substantially as Professor Bain has stated them24:—
It is not the goal of this work to explore the nature of the mind. People often assume that logic is a part of psychology because reasoning is a mental process. However, by that logic, we could say that all sciences are branches of psychology. As I will clarify later, I agree with Mr. Herbert Spencer that logic is actually an objective science, similar to mathematics or mechanics. Therefore, I only need to briefly mention that the mental abilities involved in gaining knowledge are likely three in total. They are essentially as Professor Bain has described them24:—
1. The Power of Discrimination.
The Impact of Discrimination.
2. The Power of Detecting Identity.
2. The Power of Identifying Identity.
3. The Power of Retention.
3. The Power of Keeping Users.
We exert the first power in every act of perception. Hardly can we have a sensation or feeling unless we discriminate it from something else which preceded. Consciousness would almost seem to consist in the break between one state of mind and the next, just as an induced current of electricity arises from the beginning or the ending of the primary current. We are always engaged in discrimination; and the rudiment of thought which exists in the lower animals probably consists in their power of feeling difference and being agitated by it.
We hold the primary power in every act of perception. We can hardly experience a sensation or feeling without distinguishing it from something that came before. Consciousness often seems to exist in the gap between one state of mind and the next, similar to how an induced current of electricity comes from the start or end of the primary current. We are constantly engaged in making distinctions; and the basic form of thought that exists in lower animals likely comes from their ability to sense differences and respond to them.
Yet had we the power of discrimination only, Science could not be created. To know that one feeling differs from another gives purely negative information. It cannot teach us what will happen. In such a state of intellect each sensation would stand out distinct from every other; there would be no tie, no bridge of affinity between them. We want a unifying power by which the present and the future may be linked to the past; and this seems to be accomplished by a different power of mind. Lord Bacon has pointed out that different men possess in very different degrees the powers of discrimination and identification. It may be said indeed that discrimination necessarily implies the action of the opposite process of identification; and so5 it doubtless does in negative points. But there is a rare property of mind which consists in penetrating the disguise of variety and seizing the common elements of sameness; and it is this property which furnishes the true measure of intellect. The name of “intellect” expresses the interlacing of the general and the single, which is the peculiar province of mind.25 To cogitate is the Latin coagitare, resting on a like metaphor. Logic, also, is but another name for the same process, the peculiar work of reason; for λογος is derived from λεγειν, which like the Latin legere meant originally to gather. Plato said of this unifying power, that if he met the man who could detect the one in the many, he would follow him as a god.
Yet if we only had the ability to distinguish things, we wouldn't be able to create Science. Knowing that one feeling is different from another only provides negative information. It can't tell us what will happen next. In such a state of understanding, each sensation would be completely separate from the others; there would be no connection or shared characteristics between them. We need a unifying force that links the present and the future to the past, and this seems to be achieved by a different mental ability. Lord Bacon pointed out that different people have varying degrees of the abilities to discriminate and identify. It can be said that discrimination necessarily involves the opposite process of identification; and so it does, in a negative sense. But there is a rare mental capability that allows one to see through the variety and recognize the common elements of similarity, and this ability truly measures intellect. The term "intellect" reflects the intertwining of the general and the specific, which is unique to the mind. To cogitate comes from the Latin coagitare, based on a similar metaphor. Logic is just another term for this same process, the special function of reason; for λογος comes from λεγειν, which like the Latin legere originally meant to gather. Plato said of this unifying ability that if he met the person who could see the one in the many, he would follow him like a god.
Laws of Identity and Difference.
At the base of all thought and science must lie the laws which express the very nature and conditions of the discriminating and identifying powers of mind. These are the so-called Fundamental Laws of Thought, usually stated as follows:—
At the core of all thinking and science must be the principles that define the nature and conditions of the mind's ability to distinguish and identify. These are known as the Fundamental Laws of Thought, typically expressed as follows:—
1. The Law of Identity. Whatever is, is.
1. The Law of Identity. Whatever exists, exists.
2. The Law of Contradiction. A thing cannot both be and not be.
2. The Law of Contradiction. A thing can't both exist and not exist.
3. The Law of Duality. A thing must either be or not be.
3. The Law of Duality. A thing must either exist or not exist.
The first of these statements may perhaps be regarded as a description of identity itself, if so fundamental a notion can admit of description. A thing at any moment is perfectly identical with itself, and, if any person were unaware of the meaning of the word “identity,” we could not better describe it than by such an example.
The first of these statements could be seen as a description of identity itself, if such a basic idea can actually be described. At any given moment, a thing is completely identical to itself, and if someone didn’t understand what the word “identity” means, we couldn’t illustrate it better than with this example.
The second law points out that contradictory attributes can never be joined together. The same object may vary in its different parts; here it may be black, and there white; at one time it may be hard and at another time6 soft; but at the same time and place an attribute cannot be both present and absent. Aristotle truly described this law as the first of all axioms—one of which we need not seek for any demonstration. All truths cannot be proved, otherwise there would be an endless chain of demonstration; and it is in self-evident truths like this that we find the simplest foundations.
The second law states that contradictory characteristics can never be combined. An object can have different properties; it might be black in one part and white in another; it could be hard at one moment and soft at another6; but at the same time and in the same place, it cannot be both present and absent. Aristotle accurately described this law as the foundation of all axioms—one that doesn’t require any proof. Not all truths can be proven; otherwise, there would be an endless loop of proof; and it is in self-evident truths like this that we find the simplest foundations.
The third of these laws completes the other two. It asserts that at every step there are two possible alternatives—presence or absence, affirmation or negation. Hence I propose to name this law the Law of Duality, for it gives to all the formulæ of reasoning a dual character. It asserts also that between presence and absence, existence and non-existence, affirmation and negation, there is no third alternative. As Aristotle said, there can be no mean between opposite assertions: we must either affirm or deny. Hence the inconvenient name by which it has been known—The Law of Excluded Middle.
The third of these laws completes the other two. It states that at every step, there are two possible options—presence or absence, affirmation or negation. Therefore, I suggest calling this law the Law of Duality, as it gives all the formulas of reasoning a dual character. It also states that between presence and absence, existence and non-existence, affirmation and negation, there is no third option. As Aristotle said, there can be no middle ground between opposing statements: we must either affirm or deny. Hence the awkward name it has been known by—The Law of Excluded Middle.
It may be allowed that these laws are not three independent and distinct laws; they rather express three different aspects of the same truth, and each law doubtless presupposes and implies the other two. But it has not hitherto been found possible to state these characters of identity and difference in less than the threefold formula. The reader may perhaps desire some information as to the mode in which these laws have been stated, or the way in which they have been regarded, by philosophers in different ages of the world. Abundant information on this and many other points of logical history will be found in Ueberweg’s System of Logic, of which an excellent translation has been published by Professor T. M. Lindsay (see pp. 228–281).
It could be argued that these laws aren’t three completely separate laws; they actually represent three different aspects of the same truth, and each law definitely assumes and involves the other two. However, so far it hasn't been possible to express these similarities and differences in anything less than a three-part formula. The reader might want some information about how these laws have been articulated or how philosophers in various eras have viewed them. A wealth of information on this and many other aspects of logical history can be found in Ueberweg’s System of Logic, which has a great translation published by Professor T. M. Lindsay (see pp. 228–281).
The Nature of the Laws of Identity and Difference.
I must at least allude to the profoundly difficult question concerning the nature and authority of these Laws of Identity and Difference. Are they Laws of Thought or Laws of Things? Do they belong to mind or to material nature? On the one hand it may be said that science is a purely mental existence, and must therefore conform to the laws of that which formed it. Science is in the mind and7 not in the things, and the properties of mind are therefore all important. It is true that these laws are verified in the observation of the exterior world; and it would seem that they might have been gathered and proved by generalisation, had they not already been in our possession. But on the other hand, it may well be urged that we cannot prove these laws by any process of reasoning or observation, because the laws themselves are presupposed, as Leibnitz acutely remarked, in the very notion of a proof. They are the prior conditions of all thought and all knowledge, and even to question their truth is to allow them true. Hartley ingeniously refined upon this argument, remarking that if the fundamental laws of logic be not certain, there must exist a logic of a second order whereby we may determine the degree of uncertainty: if the second logic be not certain, there must be a third; and so on ad infinitum. Thus we must suppose either that absolutely certain laws of thought exist, or that there is no such thing as certainty whatever.26
I have to at least touch on the really tough question about the nature and authority of these Laws of Identity and Difference. Are they Laws of Thought or Laws of Things? Do they belong to the mind or to the physical world? On one hand, you could argue that science is purely a mental construct and therefore must follow the laws of whatever created it. Science exists in the mind and not in the physical things, so the properties of the mind are crucial. It's true that these laws are confirmed through our observations of the external world, and it would seem we could have figured them out and proven them through generalization, if we hadn't already had them. But on the other hand, it can be argued that we can't prove these laws through any reasoning or observation process because, as Leibnitz insightfully pointed out, the laws themselves are assumed in the very idea of proof. They are the foundational conditions for all thought and all knowledge, and even questioning their truth acknowledges their validity. Hartley cleverly built on this argument by saying that if the fundamental laws of logic aren’t certain, then there must be a second-order logic to help us figure out how uncertain we are; if that second logic isn’t certain, then we would need a third; and this could continue indefinitely. So, we must assume either that there are absolutely certain laws of thought or that certainty itself doesn't exist at all.26
Logicians, indeed, appear to me to have paid insufficient attention to the fact that mistakes in reasoning are always possible, and of not unfrequent occurrence. The Laws of Thought are often called necessary laws, that is, laws which cannot but be obeyed. Yet as a matter of fact, who is there that does not often fail to obey them? They are the laws which the mind ought to obey rather than what it always does obey. Our thoughts cannot be the criterion of truth, for we often have to acknowledge mistakes in arguments of moderate complexity, and we sometimes only discover our mistakes by collision between our expectations and the events of objective nature.
Logicians seem to me to have not paid enough attention to the fact that mistakes in reasoning are always possible and happen quite frequently. The Laws of Thought are often referred to as necessary laws, meaning laws that must be followed. Yet in reality, who doesn’t often fail to follow them? They are the laws the mind should follow, rather than what it consistently does follow. Our thoughts can’t be the standard for truth, as we often have to admit we made mistakes in arguments that aren't even very complex, and sometimes we only realize our errors when our expectations clash with actual events in the world.
Mr. Herbert Spencer holds that the laws of logic are objective laws,27 and he regards the mind as being in a state of constant education, each act of false reasoning or miscalculation leading to results which are likely to prevent similar mistakes from being again committed. I am quite inclined to accept such ingenious views; but at the same time it is necessary to distinguish between the accumulation of knowledge, and the constitution of the mind which allows of the acquisition of knowledge. Before the mind can perceive or reason at all it must have8 the conditions of thought impressed upon it. Before a mistake can be committed, the mind must clearly distinguish the mistaken conclusion from all other assertions. Are not the Laws of Identity and Difference the prior conditions of all consciousness and all existence? Must they not hold true, alike of things material and immaterial? and if so, can we say that they are only subjectively true or objectively true? I am inclined, in short, to regard them as true both “in the nature of thought and things,” as I expressed it in my first logical essay;28 and I hold that they belong to the common basis of all existence. But this is one of the most difficult questions of psychology and metaphysics which can be raised, and it is hardly one for the logician to decide. As the mathematician does not inquire into the nature of unity and plurality, but develops the formal laws of plurality, so the logician, as I conceive, must assume the truth of the Laws of Identity and Difference, and occupy himself in developing the variety of forms of reasoning in which their truth may be manifested.
Mr. Herbert Spencer believes that the laws of logic are objective laws,27 and he sees the mind as being in a state of constant learning, with each act of false reasoning or miscalculation leading to outcomes that are likely to prevent similar mistakes in the future. I'm quite open to accepting such clever views; however, it's essential to differentiate between the accumulation of knowledge and the structure of the mind that allows for the acquisition of knowledge. Before the mind can perceive or reason at all, it must have the conditions for thought impressed upon it. Before a mistake can happen, the mind must clearly differentiate the incorrect conclusion from all other claims. Aren't the Laws of Identity and Difference the fundamental conditions of all awareness and existence? Shouldn't they hold true for both physical and non-physical things? If so, can we say they are only subjectively true or objectively true? In short, I tend to view them as true both "in the nature of thought and things," as I mentioned in my first logical essay;28 and I believe they are part of the common foundation of all existence. But this is one of the most challenging questions in psychology and metaphysics, and it's hard for a logician to resolve. Just as a mathematician doesn't question the nature of unity and plurality but develops the formal laws of plurality, the logician, as I see it, must assume the truth of the Laws of Identity and Difference and focus on developing the various forms of reasoning in which their truth can be shown.
Again, I need hardly dwell upon the question whether logic treats of language, notions, or things. As reasonably might we debate whether a mathematician treats of symbols, quantities, or things. A mathematician certainly does treat of symbols, but only as the instruments whereby to facilitate his reasoning concerning quantities; and as the axioms and rules of mathematical science must be verified in concrete objects in order that the calculations founded upon them may have any validity or utility, it follows that the ultimate objects of mathematical science are the things themselves. In like manner I conceive that the logician treats of language so far as it is essential for the embodiment and exhibition of thought. Even if reasoning can take place in the inner consciousness of man without the use of any signs, which is doubtful, at any rate it cannot become the subject of discussion until by some system of material signs it is manifested to other persons. The logician then uses words and symbols as instruments of reasoning, and leaves the nature and peculiarities of language to the grammarian. But signs again must9 correspond to the thoughts and things expressed, in order that they shall serve their intended purpose. We may therefore say that logic treats ultimately of thoughts and things, and immediately of the signs which stand for them. Signs, thoughts, and exterior objects may be regarded as parallel and analogous series of phenomena, and to treat any one of the three series is equivalent to treating either of the other series.
Again, I hardly need to discuss whether logic deals with language, concepts, or things. It's just as reasonable to argue whether a mathematician works with symbols, quantities, or objects. A mathematician definitely works with symbols, but only as tools to help analyze quantities; and since the principles and rules of mathematics need to be validated in real-world objects for the calculations based on them to hold any value or usefulness, it follows that the ultimate subjects of mathematics are the objects themselves. Similarly, I believe that the logician deals with language as far as it is necessary for expressing and demonstrating thought. Even if reasoning could happen in a person's mind without any signs, which is questionable, it can't be discussed until it is represented through some system of physical signs to others. So, the logician uses words and symbols as tools for reasoning and leaves the specifics of language to the grammarian. However, signs must correspond to the thoughts and objects they represent, to be effective. Therefore, we can say that logic ultimately concerns itself with thoughts and objects, and directly with the signs that represent them. Signs, thoughts, and external objects can be viewed as parallel and analogous sets of phenomena, and studying any one of these sets is effectively studying the others.
The Process of Inference.
The fundamental action of our reasoning faculties consists in inferring or carrying to a new instance of a phenomenon whatever we have previously known of its like, analogue, equivalent or equal. Sameness or identity presents itself in all degrees, and is known under various names; but the great rule of inference embraces all degrees, and affirms that so far as there exists sameness, identity or likeness, what is true of one thing will be true of the other. The great difficulty doubtless consists in ascertaining that there does exist a sufficient degree of likeness or sameness to warrant an intended inference; and it will be our main task to investigate the conditions under which reasoning is valid. In this place I wish to point out that there is something common to all acts of inference, however different their apparent forms. The one same rule lends itself to the most diverse applications.
The main action of our reasoning abilities involves inferring or applying what we already know about one instance of a phenomenon to another similar instance. Sameness or identity appears in various degrees and is known by different names; however, the key rule of inference applies to all degrees and states that as long as there is sameness, identity, or likeness, what is true for one thing will also be true for the other. The real challenge lies in determining whether there is enough likeness or sameness to justify the intended inference; our main goal will be to explore the conditions under which reasoning is valid. Here, I want to highlight that there is a common element in all acts of inference, regardless of their different forms. The same fundamental rule can be applied in many different ways.
The simplest possible case of inference, perhaps, occurs in the use of a pattern, example, or, as it is commonly called, a sample. To prove the exact similarity of two portions of commodity, we need not bring one portion beside the other. It is sufficient that we take a sample which exactly represents the texture, appearance, and general nature of one portion, and according as this sample agrees or not with the other, so will the two portions of commodity agree or differ. Whatever is true as regards the colour, texture, density, material of the sample will be true of the goods themselves. In such cases likeness of quality is the condition of inference.
The simplest case of inference might be when we use a pattern, example, or what is commonly referred to as a sample. To prove that two portions of a product are exactly alike, we don’t need to place one portion next to the other. It’s enough to take a sample that accurately represents the texture, appearance, and overall nature of one portion. Based on whether this sample aligns with the other, we can determine if the two portions of the product are similar or different. Everything that is true about the color, texture, density, and material of the sample will also be true of the actual products. In these instances, having similar quality is essential for making an inference.
Exactly the same mode of reasoning holds true of magnitude and figure. To compare the sizes of two objects, we need not lay them beside each other. A10 staff, string, or other kind of measure may be employed to represent the length of one object, and according as it agrees or not with the other, so must the two objects agree or differ. In this case the proxy or sample represents length; but the fact that lengths can be added and multiplied renders it unnecessary that the proxy should always be as large as the object. Any standard of convenient size, such as a common foot-rule, may be made the medium of comparison. The height of a church in one town may be carried to that in another, and objects existing immovably at opposite sides of the earth may be vicariously measured against each other. We obviously employ the axiom that whatever is true of a thing as regards its length, is true of its equal.
The same way of thinking applies to size and shape. To compare the sizes of two objects, we don't have to put them next to each other. We can use a stick, a piece of string, or any other measuring tool to represent the length of one object, and based on how that compares to the other, we can determine if the two objects are similar or different. In this case, the measuring tool represents length; but since lengths can be added and multiplied, it doesn’t have to be the same size as the object being measured. Any convenient standard size, like a regular foot ruler, can be used for comparison. The height of a church in one town can be compared to that in another town, and objects fixed on opposite sides of the earth can be measured against one another as well. We obviously rely on the principle that whatever is true about one thing in terms of its length is also true for anything that is equal to it.
To every other simple phenomenon in nature the same principle of substitution is applicable. We may compare weights, densities, degrees of hardness, and degrees of all other qualities, in like manner. To ascertain whether two sounds are in unison we need not compare them directly, but a third sound may be the go-between. If a tuning-fork is in unison with the middle C of York Minster organ, and we afterwards find it to be in unison with the same note of the organ in Westminster Abbey, then it follows that the two organs are tuned in unison. The rule of inference now is, that what is true of the tuning-fork as regards the tone or pitch of its sound, is true of any sound in unison with it.
The same principle of substitution applies to every simple phenomenon in nature. We can compare weights, densities, hardness levels, and other qualities in the same way. To determine if two sounds are in unison, we don’t need to compare them directly; a third sound can serve as an intermediary. If a tuning fork matches the middle C of the York Minster organ, and we later find it matches the same note of the Westminster Abbey organ, it means the two organs are tuned to the same pitch. The rule of inference here is that what is true for the tuning fork in terms of pitch or tone is also true for any sound that is in unison with it.
The skilful employment of this substitutive process enables us to make measurements beyond the powers of our senses. No one can count the vibrations, for instance, of an organ-pipe. But we can construct an instrument called the siren, so that, while producing a sound of any pitch, it shall register the number of vibrations constituting the sound. Adjusting the sound of the siren in unison with an organ-pipe, we measure indirectly the number of vibrations belonging to a sound of that pitch. To measure a sound of the same pitch is as good as to measure the sound itself.
The clever use of this substitute process allows us to take measurements that go beyond what our senses can detect. For example, no one can count the vibrations of an organ pipe. But we can create a device called a siren that, while producing sound at any pitch, registers the number of vibrations that make up that sound. By adjusting the siren's sound to match that of the organ pipe, we can indirectly measure the number of vibrations associated with a sound at that pitch. Measuring a sound at the same pitch is just as effective as measuring the sound itself.
Sir David Brewster, in a somewhat similar manner, succeeded in measuring the refractive indices of irregular fragments of transparent minerals. It was a troublesome, and sometimes impracticable work to grind the minerals11 into prisms, so that the power of refracting light could be directly observed; but he fell upon the ingenious device of compounding a liquid possessing the same refractive power as the transparent fragment under examination. The moment when this equality was attained could be known by the fragments ceasing to reflect or refract light when immersed in the liquid, so that they became almost invisible in it. The refractive power of the liquid being then measured gave that of the solid. A more beautiful instance of representative measurement, depending immediately upon the principle of inference, could not be found.29
Sir David Brewster, in a similar way, managed to measure the refractive indices of irregular bits of transparent minerals. It was a frustrating, and sometimes impossible, job to grind the minerals into prisms so that the ability to refract light could be directly observed; however, he came up with the clever idea of creating a liquid that had the same refractive power as the transparent fragment he was studying. The moment this equality was achieved could be noticed by the fragments no longer reflecting or refracting light when submerged in the liquid, making them almost invisible in it. Measuring the refractive power of the liquid then provided the value for the solid. A more impressive example of representative measurement, based directly on the principle of inference, would be hard to find.29
Throughout the various logical processes which we are about to consider—Deduction, Induction, Generalisation, Analogy, Classification, Quantitative Reasoning—we shall find the one same principle operating in a more or less disguised form.
Throughout the different logical processes we are about to explore—Deduction, Induction, Generalization, Analogy, Classification, Quantitative Reasoning—we will find the same principle at work, though it may appear in various disguises.
Deduction and Induction.
The processes of inference always depend on the one same principle of substitution; but they may nevertheless be distinguished according as the results are inductive or deductive. As generally stated, deduction consists in passing from more general to less general truths; induction is the contrary process from less to more general truths. We may however describe the difference in another manner. In deduction we are engaged in developing the consequences of a law. We learn the meaning, contents, results or inferences, which attach to any given proposition. Induction is the exactly inverse process. Given certain results or consequences, we are required to discover the general law from which they flow.
The processes of inference always rely on the same basic principle of substitution; however, they can be distinguished based on whether the results are inductive or deductive. Generally speaking, deduction involves moving from more general truths to less general ones, while induction is the opposite process, going from less general to more general truths. We can also explain the difference in another way. In deduction, we focus on developing the consequences of a law. We learn the meaning, content, results, or inferences associated with a specific proposition. Induction is the exact opposite process. Given certain results or consequences, we aim to find the general law that explains them.
In a certain sense all knowledge is inductive. We can only learn the laws and relations of things in nature by observing those things. But the knowledge gained from the senses is knowledge only of particular facts, and we require some process of reasoning by which we may collect out of the facts the laws obeyed by them.12 Experience gives us the materials of knowledge: induction digests those materials, and yields us general knowledge. When we possess such knowledge, in the form of general propositions and natural laws, we can usefully apply the reverse process of deduction to ascertain the exact information required at any moment. In its ultimate foundation, then, all knowledge is inductive—in the sense that it is derived by a certain inductive reasoning from the facts of experience.
In a sense, all knowledge is based on induction. We can only learn the laws and relationships of things in nature by observing them. However, the knowledge we gain through our senses is only about specific facts, and we need a way to reason through these facts to discover the laws that govern them.12 Experience provides the raw materials of knowledge; induction organizes those materials and gives us general knowledge. Once we have that knowledge, in the form of general statements and natural laws, we can effectively apply the opposite process of deduction to find the specific information we need at any given moment. Ultimately, all knowledge is inductive, meaning it is derived from a certain inductive reasoning based on the facts we experience.
It is nevertheless true,—and this is a point to which insufficient attention has been paid, that all reasoning is founded on the principles of deduction. I call in question the existence of any method of reasoning which can be carried on without a knowledge of deductive processes. I shall endeavour to show that induction is really the inverse process of deduction. There is no mode of ascertaining the laws which are obeyed in certain phenomena, unless we have the power of determining what results would follow from a given law. Just as the process of division necessitates a prior knowledge of multiplication, or the integral calculus rests upon the observation and remembrance of the results of the differential calculus, so induction requires a prior knowledge of deduction. An inverse process is the undoing of the direct process. A person who enters a maze must either trust to chance to lead him out again, or he must carefully notice the road by which he entered. The facts furnished to us by experience are a maze of particular results; we might by chance observe in them the fulfilment of a law, but this is scarcely possible, unless we thoroughly learn the effects which would attach to any particular law.
It is still true—and this is a point that hasn’t received enough attention—that all reasoning is based on the principles of deduction. I challenge the idea that there’s any method of reasoning that can happen without understanding deductive processes. I will try to demonstrate that induction is essentially the reverse process of deduction. We can't determine the laws that govern certain phenomena unless we can figure out what results would come from a specific law. Just like division requires a prior understanding of multiplication, or integral calculus relies on knowledge of the results of differential calculus, induction needs a foundational knowledge of deduction. An inverse process is the reversal of the direct process. A person who enters a maze has to either rely on luck to get out or pay close attention to the path they took to enter. The facts provided by our experiences form a maze of specific results; we might happen to notice a law being fulfilled within them, but that’s unlikely unless we fully understand the effects linked to any specific law.
Accordingly, the importance of deductive reasoning is doubly supreme. Even when we gain the results of induction they would be of no use unless we could deductively apply them. But before we can gain them at all we must understand deduction, since it is the inversion of deduction which constitutes induction. Our first task in this work, then, must be to trace out fully the nature of identity in all its forms of occurrence. Having given any series of propositions we must be prepared to develop deductively the whole meaning embodied in them, and the whole of the consequences which flow from them.
Accordingly, the importance of deductive reasoning is extremely high. Even when we obtain results through induction, they are useless unless we can apply them deductively. However, before we can achieve that, we need to understand deduction, as it is the reverse of deduction that makes induction possible. Our first task in this work, then, must be to thoroughly explore the nature of identity in all its forms. Once we have a series of propositions, we need to be ready to develop the complete meaning carried by them and all the consequences that arise from them.
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Symbolic Expression of Logical Inference.
In developing the results of the Principle of Inference we require to use an appropriate language of signs. It would indeed be quite possible to explain the processes of reasoning by the use of words found in the dictionary. Special examples of reasoning, too, may seem to be more readily apprehended than general symbolic forms. But it has been shown in the mathematical sciences that the attainment of truth depends greatly upon the invention of a clear, brief, and appropriate system of symbols. Not only is such a language convenient, but it is almost essential to the expression of those general truths which are the very soul of science. To apprehend the truth of special cases of inference does not constitute logic; we must apprehend them as cases of more general truths. The object of all science is the separation of what is common and general from what is accidental and different. In a system of logic, if anywhere, we should esteem this generality, and strive to exhibit clearly what is similar in very diverse cases. Hence the great value of general symbols by which we can represent the form of a reasoning process, disentangled from any consideration of the special subject to which it is applied.
In developing the results of the Principle of Inference, we need to use a suitable language of signs. It’s certainly possible to explain reasoning processes using dictionary words. Specific examples of reasoning might seem easier to understand than general symbolic forms. However, as demonstrated in the mathematical sciences, achieving truth heavily relies on creating a clear, concise, and suitable system of symbols. Not only is such a language handy, but it is also almost essential for expressing the general truths that are the foundation of science. Understanding the truth of specific inference cases alone does not define logic; we need to see them as instances of broader truths. The aim of all science is to distinguish what is common and general from what is accidental and unique. In a system of logic, we should value this generality and aim to clearly show what is similar across very different cases. This highlights the significant worth of general symbols that allow us to represent the structure of a reasoning process, separated from any specific subject to which it is applied.
The signs required in logic are of a very simple kind. As sameness or difference must exist between two things or notions, we need signs to indicate the things or notions compared, and other signs to denote the relations between them. We need, then, (1) symbols for terms, (2) a symbol for sameness, (3) a symbol for difference, and (4) one or two symbols to take the place of conjunctions.
The signs needed in logic are quite straightforward. Since there must be either sameness or difference between two things or ideas, we require signs to show the things or ideas being compared, along with other signs to express the relationships between them. So, we need: (1) symbols for terms, (2) a symbol for sameness, (3) a symbol for difference, and (4) one or two symbols to replace conjunctions.
Ordinary nouns substantive, such as Iron, Metal, Electricity, Undulation, might serve as terms, but, for the reasons explained above, it is better to adopt blank letters, devoid of special signification, such as A, B, C, &c. Each letter must be understood to represent a noun, and, so far as the conditions of the argument allow, any noun. Just as in Algebra, x, y, z, p, q, &c. are used for any quantities, undetermined or unknown, except when the special conditions of the problem are taken into account, so will our letters stand for undetermined or unknown things.
Common nouns like Iron, Metal, Electricity, and Undulation could be used as terms, but, for the reasons mentioned earlier, it's better to use blank letters that don’t have a specific meaning, like A, B, C, etc. Each letter should be understood to represent a noun, and, as much as the argument allows, any noun. Just like in Algebra, where x, y, z, p, q, etc. are used for any quantities that are undetermined or unknown unless specific conditions of the problem are considered, our letters will represent undetermined or unknown things.
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These letter-terms will be used indifferently for nouns substantive and adjective. Between these two kinds of nouns there may perhaps be differences in a metaphysical or grammatical point of view. But grammatical usage sanctions the conversion of adjectives into substantives, and vice versâ; we may avail ourselves of this latitude without in any way prejudging the metaphysical difficulties which may be involved. Here, as throughout this work, I shall devote my attention to truths which I can exhibit in a clear and formal manner, believing that in the present condition of logical science, this course will lead to greater advantage than discussion upon the metaphysical questions which may underlie any part of the subject.
These letter-terms will be used interchangeably for nouns and adjectives. There might be some differences between these two types of nouns from a metaphysical or grammatical perspective. However, grammar allows us to convert adjectives into nouns, and vice versa; we can use this flexibility without assuming any metaphysical difficulties that may arise. Here, as throughout this work, I will focus on truths that I can present clearly and formally, believing that, given the current state of logical science, this approach will be more beneficial than delving into the metaphysical questions that might underlie any part of the topic.
Every noun or term denotes an object, and usually implies the possession by that object of certain qualities or circumstances common to all the objects denoted. There are certain terms, however, which imply the absence of qualities or circumstances attaching to other objects. It will be convenient to employ a special mode of indicating these negative terms, as they are called. If the general name A denotes an object or class of objects possessing certain defined qualities, then the term Not A will denote any object which does not possess the whole of those qualities; in short, Not A is the sign for anything which differs from A in regard to any one or more of the assigned qualities. If A denote “transparent object,” Not A will denote “not transparent object.” Brevity and facility of expression are of no slight importance in a system of notation, and it will therefore be desirable to substitute for the negative term Not A a briefer symbol. De Morgan represented negative terms by small Roman letters, or sometimes by small italic letters;30 as the latter seem to be highly convenient, I shall use a, b, c, . . . p, q, &c., as the negative terms corresponding to A, B, C, . . . P, Q, &c. Thus if A means “fluid,” a will mean “not fluid.”
Every noun or term refers to an object and usually suggests that this object has certain qualities or circumstances that all the objects share. However, there are some terms that imply the lack of qualities or circumstances associated with other objects. It's useful to have a special way to indicate these negative terms, as they're called. If the general name A refers to an object or class of objects with certain defined qualities, then the term Not A will refer to any object that doesn’t have all those qualities; in other words, Not A is a label for anything that differs from A in one or more of the specified qualities. If A means “transparent object,” then Not A means “not transparent object.” Clarity and ease of expression are really important in a notation system, so it would be better to replace the negative term Not A with a shorter symbol. De Morgan used small Roman letters for negative terms, or sometimes small italic letters; since the latter seem to be very convenient, I will use a, b, c, . . . p, q, etc., as the negative terms that correspond to A, B, C, . . . P, Q, etc. Therefore, if A means “fluid,” a will mean “not fluid.”
Expression of Identity and Difference.
To denote the relation of sameness or identity I unhesitatingly adopt the sign =, so long used by mathematicians to denote equality. This symbol was originally appropriated15 by Robert Recorde in his Whetstone of Wit, to avoid the tedious repetition of the words “is equal to;” and he chose a pair of parallel lines, because no two things can be more equal.31 The meaning of the sign has however been gradually extended beyond that of equality of quantities; mathematicians have themselves used it to indicate equivalence of operations. The force of analogy has been so great that writers in most other branches of science have employed the same sign. The philologist uses it to indicate the equivalence of meaning of words: chemists adopt it to signify identity in kind and equality in weight of the elements which form two different compounds. Not a few logicians, for instance Lambert, Drobitsch, George Bentham,32 Boole,33 have employed it as the copula of propositions. De Morgan declined to use it for this purpose, but still further extended its meaning so as to include the equivalence of a proposition with the premises from which it can be inferred;34 and Herbert Spencer has applied it in a like manner.35
To express the relationship of sameness or identity, I confidently use the sign =, a symbol long used by mathematicians to represent equality. This symbol was originally created by Robert Recorde in his Whetstone of Wit to avoid the tedious repetition of the phrase “is equal to;” he chose a pair of parallel lines because nothing can be more equal than two things.31 The meaning of the sign, however, has gradually expanded beyond just equality of quantities; mathematicians have also used it to denote equivalence of operations. The power of analogy has been so strong that writers in most other scientific fields have adopted the same sign. Linguists use it to show the equivalence of meaning in words; chemists use it to indicate identity in kind and equality in weight of the elements in two different compounds. Several logicians, including Lambert, Drobitsch, George Bentham,32 and Boole,33 have used it as the connector in propositions. De Morgan chose not to use it for this purpose, but he did broaden its meaning to include the equivalence of a proposition with the premises from which it can be inferred;34 and Herbert Spencer has applied it similarly.35
Many persons may think that the choice of a symbol is a matter of slight importance or of mere convenience; but I hold that the common use of this sign = in so many different meanings is really founded upon a generalisation of the widest character and of the greatest importance—one indeed which it is a principal purpose of this work to explain. The employment of the same sign in different cases would be unphilosophical unless there were some real analogy between its diverse meanings. If such analogy exists, it is not only allowable, but highly desirable and even imperative, to use the symbol of equivalence with a generality of meaning corresponding to the generality of the principles involved. Accordingly De Morgan’s refusal to use the symbol in logical propositions indicated his opinion that there was a want of analogy between logical propositions and mathematical equations. I use the sign because I hold the contrary opinion.
Many people might think that choosing a symbol is a minor issue or just a matter of convenience; however, I believe that the widespread use of this sign = in so many different contexts is based on a broad generalization that is very significant—indeed, one of the main goals of this work is to explain it. Using the same sign in various cases wouldn't make sense unless there was a genuine analogy among its different meanings. If such an analogy does exist, it's not only acceptable but also highly desirable and even necessary to use the symbol of equivalence with a broad meaning that matches the general principles at play. Therefore, De Morgan's refusal to use the symbol in logical propositions reflected his belief that there was a lack of analogy between logical statements and mathematical equations. I use the sign because I have the opposite view.
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I conceive that the sign = as commonly employed, always denotes some form or degree of sameness, and the particular form is usually indicated by the nature of the terms joined by it. Thus “6,720 pounds = 3 tons” is evidently an equation of quantities. The formula — × — = + expresses the equivalence of operations. “Exogens = Dicotyledons” is a logical identity expressing a profound truth concerning the character and origin of a most important group of plants.
I believe that the symbol =, as it's commonly used, always signifies some form or level of equality, and the specific type is usually shown by the nature of the terms it connects. For instance, "6,720 pounds = 3 tons" clearly indicates a comparison of quantities. The formula — × — = + represents the equivalence of operations. "Exogens = Dicotyledons" is a logical identity that expresses a deep truth about the nature and origin of a very important group of plants.
We have great need in logic of a distinct sign for the copula, because the little verb is (or are), hitherto used both in logic and ordinary discourse, is thoroughly ambiguous. It sometimes denotes identity, as in “St. Paul’s is the chef-d’œuvre of Sir Christopher Wren;” but it more commonly indicates inclusion of class within class, or partial identity, as in “Bishops are members of the House of Lords.” This latter relation involves identity, but requires careful discrimination from simple identity, as will be shown further on.
We really need a clear symbol for the copula in logic because the small verb is (or are), which we've been using in both logic and everyday conversation, is quite ambiguous. Sometimes it means identity, like in “St. Paul’s is the chef-d’œuvre of Sir Christopher Wren;” but more often, it indicates a class inclusion or partial identity, like in “Bishops are members of the House of Lords.” This last relationship does involve identity, but it needs to be carefully distinguished from simple identity, as will be explained later.
When with this sign of equality we join two nouns or logical terms, as in
When we use this sign of equality to connect two nouns or logical terms, like in
we signify that the object or group of objects denoted by one term is identical with that denoted by the other, in everything except the names. The general formula
we indicate that the object or group of objects referred to by one term is the same as that referred to by the other, in every way except for the names. The general formula
must be taken to mean that A and B are symbols for the same object or group of objects. This identity may sometimes arise from the mere imposition of names, but it may also arise from the deepest laws of the constitution of nature; as when we say
must be taken to mean that A and B are symbols for the same object or group of objects. This identity may sometimes come from simply giving names, but it may also come from the fundamental laws of nature; as when we say
We shall need carefully to distinguish between relations of terms which can be modified at our own will and those which are fixed as expressing the laws of nature; but at present we are considering only the mode of expression which may be the same in either case.
We need to carefully differentiate between relationships of terms that we can change at will and those that are fixed as representing the laws of nature; however, for now, we are only looking at the way of expressing them, which may be the same in either situation.
Sometimes, but much less frequently, we require a symbol to indicate difference or the absence of complete17 sameness. For this purpose we may generalise in like manner the symbol ~, which was introduced by Wallis to signify difference between quantities. The general formula
Sometimes, but much less often, we need a symbol to show a difference or the lack of complete17 sameness. For this purpose, we can similarly use the symbol ~, which was introduced by Wallis to indicate differences between quantities. The general formula
denotes that B and C are the names of two objects or groups which are not identical with each other. Thus we may say
denotes that B and C are the names of two objects or groups that are not the same as each other. So we can say
I shall also occasionally use the sign ᔕ to signify in the most general manner the existence of any relation between the two terms connected by it. Thus ᔕ might mean not only the relations of equality or inequality, sameness or difference, but any special relation of time, place, size, causation, &c. in which one thing may stand to another. By A ᔕ B I mean, then, any two objects of thought related to each other in any conceivable manner.
I will also sometimes use the sign ᔕ to generally indicate that there is some kind of relation between the two terms it connects. So, ᔕ could represent not just relationships of equality or inequality, similarity or difference, but also any specific relationship of time, place, size, causation, etc. between two things. By A ᔕ B, I mean any two ideas that are related to each other in any imaginable way.
General Formula of Logical Inference.
The one supreme rule of inference consists, as I have said, in the direction to affirm of anything whatever is known of its like, equal or equivalent. The Substitution of Similars is a phrase which seems aptly to express the capacity of mutual replacement existing in any two objects which are like or equivalent to a sufficient degree. It is matter for further investigation to ascertain when and for what purposes a degree of similarity less than complete identity is sufficient to warrant substitution. For the present we think only of the exact sameness expressed in the form
The one key rule of reasoning, as I've mentioned, is to affirm anything that is known about something else similar, equal, or equivalent to it. The Substitution of Similars is a phrase that effectively captures the ability for two objects that are similar or equivalent to a sufficient degree to replace each other. It's worth further exploring when and for what reasons a degree of similarity less than complete identity is enough to justify substitution. For now, we are focused solely on the exact sameness expressed in the form
Now if we take the letter C to denote any third conceivable object, and use the sign ᔕ in its stated meaning of indefinite relation, then the general formula of all inference may be thus exhibited:—
Now, if we use the letter C to represent any third possible object, and use the symbol ᔕ with its defined meaning of indefinite relation, then we can express the general formula for all inference like this:—
or, in words—In whatever relation a thing stands to a second thing, in the same relation it stands to the like or equivalent of that second thing. The identity between A18 and B allows us indifferently to place A where B was, or B where A was; and there is no limit to the variety of special meanings which we can bestow upon the signs used in this formula consistently with its truth. Thus if we first specify only the meaning of the sign ᔕ, we may say that if C is the weight of B, then C is also the weight of A. Similarly
or, in words—In whatever relationship one thing has to another, it has the same relationship to something similar or equivalent to that second thing. The identity between A18 and B allows us to interchange A and B without any issue; we can place A where B was, or B where A was. There is no limit to the different specific meanings we can assign to the signs used in this formula while still keeping it true. Therefore, if we first define the meaning of the sign ᔕ, we can say that if C represents the weight of B, then C also represents the weight of A. Similarly
and so on ad infinitum.
and so on forever.
We may also endow with special meanings the letter-terms A, B, and C, and the process of inference will never be false. Thus let the sign ᔕ mean “is height of,” and let
We can also give special meanings to the letter-terms A, B, and C, and the process of inference will never be incorrect. So let the sign ᔕ mean “is height of,” and let
then it obviously follows since “3,590 feet is the height of Snowdon,” and “Snowdon = the highest mountain in England or Wales,” that, “3,590 feet is the height of the highest mountain in England or Wales.”
then it clearly follows since “3,590 feet is the height of Snowdon,” and “Snowdon is the highest mountain in England or Wales,” that, “3,590 feet is the height of the highest mountain in England or Wales.”
One result of this general process of inference is that we may in any aggregate or complex whole replace any part by its equivalent without altering the whole. To alter is to make a difference; but if in replacing a part I make no difference, there is no alteration of the whole. Many inferences which have been very imperfectly included in logical formulas at once follow. I remember the late Prof. De Morgan remarking that all Aristotle’s logic could not prove that “Because a horse is an animal, the head of a horse is the head of an animal.” I conceive that this amounts merely to replacing in the complete notion head of a horse, the term “horse,” by its equivalent some animal or an animal. Similarly, since
One outcome of this general process of reasoning is that we can replace any part of a whole with something equivalent without changing the whole. To change something means to make a difference; but if replacing a part doesn't change anything, then the whole remains unchanged. Many inferences that have been poorly captured in logical formulas come to mind. I recall the late Prof. De Morgan saying that Aristotle’s logic couldn't demonstrate that “Because a horse is an animal, the head of a horse is the head of an animal.” I think this simply means substituting in the complete concept head of a horse, the term “horse,” with its equivalent some animal or an animal. Similarly, since
it follows that
it follows that
and any event, circumstance or thing, which stands in a19 certain relation to the one will stand in like relation to the other. Milton reasons in this way when he says, in his Areopagitica, “Who kills a man, kills a reasonable creature, God’s image.” If we may suppose him to mean
and any event, circumstance, or thing that relates to one will relate similarly to the other. Milton argues this when he says in his Areopagitica, “Who kills a man, kills a reasonable creature, God’s image.” If we assume he means
it follows that “The killer of a man is the killer of some reasonable creature,” and also “The killer of God’s image.”
it follows that “The killer of a person is the killer of some reasonable creature,” and also “The killer of God’s image.”
This replacement of equivalents may be repeated over and over again to any extent. Thus if person is identical in meaning with individual, it follows that
This replacement of equivalents can be done repeatedly as much as needed. So if person means the same as individual, it follows that
and if assemblage = meeting, we may make a new replacement and show that
and if assemblage = meeting, we may make a new replacement and show that
We may in fact found upon this principle of substitution a most general axiom in the following terms36:—
We can actually base a very broad principle of substitution on this idea as follows36:—
If, for instance, exactly similar bricks and other materials be used to build two houses, and they be similarly placed in each house, the two houses must be similar. There are millions of cells in a human body, but if each cell of one person were represented by an exactly similar cell similarly placed in another body, the two persons would be undistinguishable, and would be only numerically different. It is upon this principle, as we shall see, that all accurate processes of measurement depend. If for a weight in a scale of a balance we substitute another weight, and the equilibrium remains entirely unchanged, then the weights must be exactly equal. The general test of equality is substitution. Objects are equally bright when on replacing one by the other the eye perceives no difference. Objects are equal in dimensions when tested by the same gauge they fit in the same manner. Generally speaking, two objects are alike so far as when substituted one for another no alteration is produced, and vice versâ when alike no alteration is produced by the substitution.
If, for example, identical bricks and other materials are used to build two houses, and they are arranged the same way in each house, the two houses must be similar. There are millions of cells in a human body, but if each cell from one person is represented by an identical cell placed the same way in another body, the two people would be indistinguishable and would only be different numerically. This principle is the foundation for all accurate measurement processes. If we replace a weight on a balance scale with another weight and the balance stays completely unchanged, then the weights must be exactly equal. The general test for equality is substitution. Objects appear equally bright when replacing one with the other causes no difference to be noticed by the eye. Objects have equal dimensions when tested with the same gauge and fit the same way. Generally speaking, two objects are alike if substituting one for the other results in no change, and vice versa, no change occurs when the objects are alike.
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The Propagating Power of Similarity.
The relation of similarity in all its degrees is reciprocal. So far as things are alike, either may be substituted for the other; and this may perhaps be considered the very meaning of the relation. But it is well worth notice that there is in similarity a peculiar power of extending itself among all the things which are similar. To render a number of things similar to each other we need only render them similar to one standard object. Each coin struck from a pair of dies not only resembles the matrix or original pattern from which the dies were struck, but resembles every other coin manufactured from the same original pattern. Among a million such coins there are not less than 499,999,500,000 pairs of coins resembling each other. Similars to the same are similars to all. It is one great advantage of printing that all copies of a document struck from the same type are necessarily identical each with each, and whatever is true of one copy will be true of every copy. Similarly, if fifty rows of pipes in an organ be tuned in perfect unison with one row, usually the Principal, they must be in unison with each other. Similarity can also reproduce or propagate itself ad infinitum: for if a number of tuning-forks be adjusted in perfect unison with one standard fork, all instruments tuned to any one fork will agree with any instrument tuned to any other fork. Standard measures of length, capacity, weight, or any other measurable quality, are propagated in the same manner. So far as copies of the original standard, or copies of copies, or copies again of those copies, are accurately executed, they must all agree each with every other.
The relationship of similarity in all its forms is mutual. As long as things are alike, either can be swapped for the other; this could be seen as the true essence of the relationship. However, it’s important to note that similarity has a unique ability to extend among all similar things. To make a number of things similar to each other, we only need to make them similar to one standard object. Each coin minted from a pair of dies not only looks like the original model the dies were made from but also resembles every other coin made from that same model. Among a million such coins, there are no less than 499,999,500,000 pairs of coins that look alike. Things similar to one are also similar to all. One significant benefit of printing is that all copies of a document made from the same type are necessarily identical to each other, so whatever is true for one copy is true for all copies. Likewise, if fifty rows of pipes in an organ are perfectly tuned to one row, typically the Principal, they will also be in tune with each other. Similarity can also reproduce or spread itself ad infinitum: if a set of tuning forks is perfectly tuned to one standard fork, all instruments tuned to any of those forks will be in agreement with any instrument tuned to any other fork. Standard measurements of length, capacity, weight, or any other measurable quality are propagated in the same way. As long as copies of the original standard, or copies of copies, or even copies of those copies are accurately made, they must all match each other.
It is the capability of mutual substitution which gives such great value to the modern methods of mechanical construction, according to which all the parts of a machine are exact facsimiles of a fixed pattern. The rifles used in the British army are constructed on the American interchangeable system, so that any part of any rifle can be substituted for the same part of another. A bullet fitting one rifle will fit all others of the same bore. Sir J.21 Whitworth has extended the same system to the screws and screw-bolts used in connecting together the parts of machines, by establishing a series of standard screws.
The ability for parts to be interchangeable is what gives modern mechanical construction such significant value, where every part of a machine is an exact copy of a standard design. The rifles used by the British army are made using the American interchangeable system, allowing any part from one rifle to be swapped with the same part from another. A bullet that fits one rifle will fit all others of the same caliber. Sir J.21 Whitworth has applied this same approach to the screws and bolts used to connect machine parts, by creating a series of standard screws.
Anticipations of the Principle of Substitution.
In such a subject as logic it is hardly possible to put forth any opinions which have not been in some degree previously entertained. The germ at least of every doctrine will be found in earlier writers, and novelty must arise chiefly in the mode of harmonising and developing ideas. When I first employed the process and name of substitution in logic,37 I was led to do so from analogy with the familiar mathematical process of substituting for a symbol its value as given in an equation. In writing my first logical essay I had a most imperfect conception of the importance and generality of the process, and I described, as if they were of equal importance, a number of other laws which now seem to be but particular cases of the one general rule of substitution.
In a topic like logic, it’s tough to present any ideas that haven't been considered to some extent before. The basic concept of every doctrine can be traced back to earlier thinkers, and any new insights mainly come from how we connect and expand on those ideas. When I first used the process and term substitution in logic,37 I was inspired by the well-known mathematical method of replacing a symbol with its value from an equation. While writing my initial logical essay, I had a very limited understanding of how significant and broad the process was, and I mentioned several other principles as if they held equal weight, which now seem to be special cases of the broader rule of substitution.
My second essay, “The Substitution of Similars,” was written shortly after I had become aware of the great simplification which may be effected by a proper application of the principle of substitution. I was not then acquainted with the fact that the German logician Beneke had employed the principle of substitution, and had used the word itself in forming a theory of the syllogism. My imperfect acquaintance with the German language had prevented me from acquiring a complete knowledge of Beneke’s views; but there is no doubt that Professor Lindsay is right in saying that he, and probably other logicians, were in some degree familiar with the principle.38 Even Aristotle’s dictum may be regarded as an imperfect statement of the principle of substitution; and, as I have pointed out, we have only to modify that dictum in accordance with the quantification of the predicate in order to arrive at the complete22 process of substitution.39 The Port-Royal logicians appear to have entertained nearly equivalent views, for they considered that all moods of the syllogism might be reduced under one general principle.40 Of two premises they regard one as the containing proposition (propositio continens), and the other as the applicative proposition. The latter proposition must always be affirmative, and represents that by which a substitution is made; the former may or may not be negative, and is that in which a substitution is effected. They also show that this method will embrace certain cases of complex reasoning which had no place in the Aristotelian syllogism. Their views probably constitute the greatest improvement in logical doctrine made up to that time since the days of Aristotle. But a true reform in logic must consist, not in explaining the syllogism in one way or another, but in doing away with all the narrow restrictions of the Aristotelian system, and in showing that there exists an infinite variety of logical arguments immediately deducible from the principle of substitution of which the ancient syllogism forms but a small and not even the most important part.
My second essay, “The Substitution of Similars,” was written shortly after I realized how much simplification can be achieved by properly applying the principle of substitution. At that time, I wasn't aware that the German logician Beneke had used the principle of substitution and had actually coined the term while developing a theory of the syllogism. My limited knowledge of German prevented me from fully understanding Beneke’s ideas; however, it’s clear that Professor Lindsay is correct in stating that he, and likely other logicians, were at least somewhat familiar with the principle. Even Aristotle’s saying might be viewed as an incomplete expression of the principle of substitution; as I have noted, all we need to do is tweak that saying in line with the quantification of the predicate to reach the complete process of substitution. The Port-Royal logicians seem to have held nearly similar views, as they believed that all syllogistic moods could be categorized under one general principle. They saw one of the premises as the containing proposition (propositio continens) and the other as the applicative proposition. The latter must always be affirmative and represents the basis for making a substitution; the former can be either affirmative or negative and is where the substitution takes place. They also demonstrated that this method would encompass certain situations of complex reasoning that weren't addressed in the Aristotelian syllogism. Their ideas likely represent the most significant advancement in logical theory since Aristotle's time. However, a true reform in logic should not merely explain the syllogism in different ways; it should eliminate all the restrictive limitations of the Aristotelian system and reveal that there is an infinite variety of logical arguments that can be directly derived from the principle of substitution, of which the ancient syllogism is just a small and not even the most significant part.
The Logic of Relatives.
There is a difficult and important branch of logic which may be called the Logic of Relatives. If I argue, for instance, that because Daniel Bernoulli was the son of John, and John the brother of James, therefore Daniel was the nephew of James, it is not possible to prove this conclusion by any simple logical process. We require at any rate to assume that the son of a brother is a nephew. A simple logical relation is that which exists between properties and circumstances of the same object or class. But objects and classes of objects may also be related according to all the properties of time and space. I believe it may be shown, indeed, that where an inference concerning such relations is drawn, a process of substitution is really employed and an identity must exist;23 but I will not undertake to prove the assertion in this work. The relations of time and space are logical relations of a complicated character demanding much abstract and difficult investigation. The subject has been treated with such great ability by Peirce,41 De Morgan,42 Ellis,43 and Harley, that I will not in the present work attempt any review of their writings, but merely refer the reader to the publications in which they are to be found.
There is a challenging and important area of logic known as the Logic of Relatives. For example, if I argue that Daniel Bernoulli was the son of John and John was James's brother, then Daniel must be James's nephew. However, we can’t prove this conclusion through any straightforward logical process. We at least need to assume that the son of a brother is a nephew. A simple logical relationship exists between the properties and circumstances of the same object or class. But objects and classes can also be related by various time and space properties. I believe it can be demonstrated that when we draw an inference regarding these relations, we actually use a process of substitution, meaning an identity must exist; 23 however, I won't attempt to prove this claim in this work. The relationships involving time and space are complex logical relations that require considerable abstract and intricate investigation. This topic has been tackled with great skill by Peirce,41 De Morgan,42 Ellis,43 and Harley, so I won’t attempt to review their work here but will simply direct the reader to their publications.
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CHAPTER II.
Terms.
Every proposition expresses the resemblance or difference of the things denoted by its terms. As inference treats of the relation between two or more propositions, so a proposition expresses a relation between two or more terms. In the portion of this work which treats of deduction it will be convenient to follow the usual order of exposition. We will consider in succession the various kinds of terms, propositions, and arguments, and we commence in this chapter with terms.
Every statement shows the similarities or differences between the things its words refer to. Just as inference deals with the relationship between two or more statements, a statement reveals a relationship between two or more terms. In the section of this work that covers deduction, it will be helpful to follow the typical order of presentation. We will look at the different types of terms, statements, and arguments one after the other, starting in this chapter with terms.
The simplest and most palpable meaning which can belong to a term consists of some single material object, such as Westminster Abbey, Stonehenge, the Sun, Sirius, &c. It is probable that in early stages of intellect only concrete and palpable things are the objects of thought. The youngest child knows the difference between a hot and a cold body. The dog can recognise his master among a hundred other persons, and animals of much lower intelligence know and discriminate their haunts. In all such acts there is judgment concerning the likeness of physical objects, but there is little or no power of analysing each object and regarding it as a group of qualities.
The simplest and most obvious meaning of a term involves a specific, tangible object, like Westminster Abbey, Stonehenge, the Sun, Sirius, etc. It's likely that in early stages of understanding, only concrete and noticeable things are the focus of thought. Even the youngest child can tell the difference between something hot and something cold. A dog can recognize its owner among a hundred other people, and animals with much lower intelligence can identify and differentiate their familiar areas. In all these instances, there's some judgment about the similarities of physical objects, but there's little to no ability to analyze each object and see it as a collection of qualities.
The dignity of intellect begins with the power of separating points of agreement from those of difference. Comparison of two objects may lead us to perceive that they are at once like and unlike. Two fragments of rock may differ entirely in outward form, yet they may have the same colour, hardness, and texture. Flowers which agree in colour may differ in odour. The mind learns to regard25 each object as an aggregate of qualities, and acquires the power of dwelling at will upon one or other of those qualities to the exclusion of the rest. Logical abstraction, in short, comes into play, and the mind becomes capable of reasoning, not merely about objects which are physically complete and concrete, but about things which may be thought of separately in the mind though they exist not separately in nature. We can think of the hardness of a rock, or the colour of a flower, and thus produce abstract notions, denoted by abstract terms, which will form a subject for further consideration.
The dignity of intelligence starts with the ability to distinguish between points of agreement and points of difference. When we compare two objects, we may see that they are both alike and different at the same time. Two pieces of rock might look completely different on the outside, yet share the same color, hardness, and texture. Flowers that match in color might smell completely different. The mind learns to view each object as a collection of qualities and gains the ability to focus on one of those qualities while ignoring the others. In short, logical abstraction comes into play, and the mind becomes capable of reasoning not just about objects that are physically whole and concrete, but about things that can be thought of separately in the mind even if they don’t exist separately in nature. We can think about the hardness of a rock or the color of a flower, allowing us to generate abstract ideas expressed through abstract terms, which can then be further analyzed.
At the same time arise general notions and classes of objects. We cannot fail to observe that the quality hardness exists in many objects, for instance in many fragments of rock; mentally joining these together, we create the class hard object, which will include, not only the actual objects examined, but all others which may happen to agree with them, as they agree with each other. As our senses cannot possibly report to us all the contents of space, we cannot usually set any limits to the number of objects which may fall into any such class. At this point we begin to perceive the power and generality of thought, which enables us in a single act to treat of indefinitely or even infinitely numerous objects. We can safely assert that whatever is true of any one object coming under a class is true of any of the other objects so far as they possess the common qualities implied in their belonging to the class. We must not place a thing in a class unless we are prepared to believe of it all that is believed of the class in general; but it remains a matter of important consideration to decide how far and in what manner we can safely undertake thus to assign the place of objects in that general system of classification which constitutes the body of science.
At the same time, general ideas and categories of objects emerge. We can’t help but notice that the quality hardness exists in many objects, like various pieces of rock. By mentally grouping these together, we form the category hard object, which will include not only the specific objects we’ve examined but also all others that share the same qualities. Since our senses can’t possibly report everything in space, we usually can’t limit the number of objects that might fit into any such category. At this point, we start to recognize the power and breadth of thought, which allows us to discuss a potentially limitless number of objects in a single thought. We can confidently assert that whatever is true for any one object in a category is true for all the other objects, as long as they share the qualities that define the category. We must not categorize something unless we’re ready to accept everything believed about the category in general; however, it’s crucial to consider how far and in what way we can accurately place objects within the broader classification system that forms the foundation of science.
Twofold Meaning of General Names.
Etymologically the meaning of a name is that which we are caused to think of when the name is used. Now every general name causes us to think of some one or more of the objects belonging to a class; it may also cause us to think of the common qualities possessed by those objects.26 A name is said to denote the object of thought to which it may be applied; it implies at the same time the possession of certain qualities or circumstances. The objects denoted form the extent of meaning of the term; the qualities implied form the intent of meaning. Crystal is the name of any substance of which the molecules are arranged in a regular geometrical manner. The substances or objects in question form the extent of meaning; the circumstance of having the molecules so arranged forms the intent of meaning.
Etymologically, the meaning of a name is what comes to mind when the name is used. Every general name makes us think of one or more objects that belong to a class; it can also bring to mind the common qualities those objects have.26 A name is said to denote the object of thought that it refers to; it implies certain qualities or circumstances at the same time. The objects denoted make up the extent of meaning of the term; the qualities implied make up the intent of meaning. Crystal is the name for any substance whose molecules are arranged in a regular geometrical pattern. The substances or objects in question make up the extent of meaning; the fact that the molecules are arranged this way makes up the intent of meaning.
When we compare general terms together, it may often be found that the meaning of one is included in the meaning of another. Thus all crystals are included among material substances, and all opaque crystals are included among crystals; here the inclusion is in extension. We may also have inclusion of meaning in regard to intension. For, as all crystals are material substances, the qualities implied by the term material substance must be among those implied by crystal. Again, it is obvious that while in extension of meaning opaque crystals are but a part of crystals, in intension of meaning crystal is but part of opaque crystal. We increase the intent of meaning of a term by joining to it adjectives, or phrases equivalent to adjectives, and the removal of such adjectives of course decreases the intensive meaning. Now, concerning such changes of meaning, the following all-important law holds universally true:—When the intent of meaning of a term is increased the extent is decreased; and vice versâ, when the extent is increased the intent is decreased. In short, as one is increased the other is decreased.
When we compare general terms, we often find that the meaning of one is included in the meaning of another. For example, all crystals fall under the category of material substances, and all opaque crystals are classified as crystals; in this case, the inclusion is based on extension. We can also consider inclusion of meaning in terms of intension. Since all crystals are material substances, the qualities associated with the term material substance must also be part of what is implied by crystal. Furthermore, it's clear that while in terms of extension, opaque crystals are just a subset of crystals, in terms of intension, crystal is merely a part of opaque crystal. We increase the depth of meaning of a term by adding adjectives or phrases that act like adjectives, while removing such adjectives naturally reduces the intensive meaning. Now, regarding these changes in meaning, the following crucial rule holds true universally:—When the depth of meaning of a term increases, the range decreases; and vice versa, when the range increases, the depth decreases. In short, as one increases, the other decreases.
This law refers only to logical changes. The number of steam-engines in the world may be undergoing a rapid increase without the intensive meaning of the name being altered. The law will only be verified, again, when there is a real change in the intensive meaning, and an adjective may often be joined to a noun without making a change. Elementary metal is identical with metal; mortal man with man; it being a property of all metals to be elements, and of all men to be mortals.
This law only applies to logical changes. The number of steam engines in the world may be rapidly increasing without altering the essential meaning of the term. The law will only be confirmed again when there is a true change in the essential meaning, and an adjective can often be added to a noun without making a change. Elementary metal is the same as metal; mortal man is the same as man; it is a property of all metals to be elements, and of all men to be mortals.
There is no limit to the amount of meaning which a term may have. A term may denote one object, or many, or an infinite number; it may imply a single quality, if such27 there be, or a group of any number of qualities, and yet the law connecting the extension and intension will infallibly apply. Taking the general name planet, we increase its intension and decrease its extension by prefixing the adjective exterior; and if we further add nearest to the earth, there remains but one planet, Mars, to which the name can then be applied. Singular terms, which denote a single individual only, come under the same law of meaning as general names. They may be regarded as general names of which the meaning in extension is reduced to a minimum. Logicians have erroneously asserted, as it seems to me, that singular terms are devoid of meaning in intension, the fact being that they exceed all other terms in that kind of meaning, as I have elsewhere tried to show.44
There’s no limit to how much meaning a term can have. A term might refer to one object, several, or even an infinite amount; it might suggest a single quality, if there is one, or a group of various qualities, and yet the rule connecting extension and intension will always apply. Taking the general term planet, we increase its intension and decrease its extension by adding the adjective exterior; and if we add nearest to the earth, then only one planet, Mars, can be applied to that name. Singular terms, which only refer to one individual, follow the same meaning rules as general names. They can be seen as general names where the meaning in extension is minimized. Logicians have mistakenly claimed, in my view, that singular terms lack meaning in intension, when in fact, they surpass all other terms in that type of meaning, as I have previously tried to explain.44
Abstract Terms.
Comparison of objects, and analysis of the complex resemblances and differences which they present, lead us to the conception of abstract qualities. We learn to think of one object as not only different from another, but as differing in some particular point, such as colour, or weight, or size. We may then convert points of agreement or difference into separate objects of thought which we call qualities and denote by abstract terms. Thus the term redness means something in which a number of objects agree as to colour, and in virtue of which they are called red. Redness forms, in fact, the intensive meaning of the term red.
Comparing objects and analyzing the complex similarities and differences they have leads us to the idea of abstract qualities. We start to think of one object as not just different from another, but as varying in specific aspects like color, weight, or size. We can then turn points of agreement or disagreement into distinct things to think about, which we refer to as qualities and represent with abstract terms. For example, the term redness refers to a common characteristic shared by several objects concerning color, which is why we call them red. Redness essentially captures the deeper meaning of the term red.
Abstract terms are strongly distinguished from general terms by possessing only one kind of meaning; for as they denote qualities there is nothing which they cannot in addition imply. The adjective “red” is the name of red objects, but it implies the possession by them of the quality28 redness; but this latter term has one single meaning—the quality alone. Thus it arises that abstract terms are incapable of plurality. Red objects are numerically distinct each from each, and there are multitudes of such objects; but redness is a single quality which runs through all those objects, and is the same in one as it is in another. It is true that we may speak of rednesses, meaning different kinds or tints of redness, just as we may speak of colours, meaning different kinds of colours. But in distinguishing kinds, degrees, or other differences, we render the terms so far concrete. In that they are merely red there is but a single nature in red objects, and so far as things are merely coloured, colour is a single indivisible quality. Redness, so far as it is redness merely, is one and the same everywhere, and possesses absolute oneness. In virtue of this unity we acquire the power of treating all instances of such quality as we may treat any one. We possess, in short, general knowledge.
Abstract terms are clearly different from general terms because they have only one type of meaning. While they describe qualities, they can imply more. The adjective "red" refers to red objects, but it also suggests that these objects have the quality of redness; however, that term has only one meaning—the quality itself. This makes abstract terms incapable of being plural. Red objects are each distinct from one another, and there are countless such objects; but redness is a single quality that exists in all of them and is the same in one as it is in another. It's true that we can talk about rednesses, referring to different shades or variations of red, just like we can talk about colours to denote different kinds of colours. However, in identifying types, degrees, or other differences, we make the terms somewhat more concrete. Since red objects are simply red, there’s only one nature in them, and as far as things are just coloured, colour is a single, indivisible quality. Redness, as it exists in its pure form, is consistent everywhere and has absolute oneness. Because of this unity, we can treat all examples of this quality in the same way we would treat any single instance. In short, we have general knowledge.
Substantial Terms.
Logicians appear to have taken little notice of a class of terms which partake in certain respects of the character of abstract terms and yet are undoubtedly the names of concrete existing things. These terms are the names of substances, such as gold, carbonate of lime, nitrogen, &c. We cannot speak of two golds, twenty carbonates of lime, or a hundred nitrogens. There is no such distinction between the parts of a uniform substance as will allow of a discrimination of numerous individuals. The qualities of colour, lustre, malleability, density, &c., by which we recognise gold, extend through its substance irrespective of particular size or shape. So far as a substance is gold, it is one and the same everywhere; so that terms of this kind, which I propose to call substantial terms, possess the peculiar unity of abstract terms. Yet they are not abstract; for gold is of course a tangible visible body, entirely concrete, and existing independently of other bodies.
Logicians seem to have paid little attention to a group of terms that, in some ways, are like abstract terms, yet are definitely names of concrete, existing things. These terms refer to substances, like gold, limestone, nitrogen, etc. We can't talk about two types of gold, twenty kinds of limestone, or a hundred different nitrogens. There's no distinction between the parts of a uniform substance that allows us to identify numerous individual instances. The qualities we use to recognize gold—like color, shine, malleability, density, etc.—are present throughout its substance regardless of size or shape. As far as a substance is gold, it remains the same everywhere; thus, these terms, which I would like to call substantial terms, have the unique unity of abstract terms. However, they are not abstract, because gold is clearly a tangible, visible object, completely concrete, and exists independently of other things.
It is only when, by actual mechanical division, we break up the uniform whole which forms the meaning of a substantial term, that we introduce number. Piece of gold29 is a term capable of plurality; for there may be a great many pieces discriminated either by their various shapes and sizes, or, in the absence of such marks, by simultaneously occupying different parts of space. In substance they are one; as regards the properties of space they are many.45 We need not further pursue this question, which involves the distinction between unity and plurality, until we consider the principles of number in a subsequent chapter.
It’s only when we break down the solid concept represented by a substantial term that we bring in the notion of number. Piece of gold29 is a term that can represent multiple items; there can be many pieces distinguished by their different shapes and sizes or, if there are no specific traits, by being in separate spaces at the same time. Essentially, they are one; in terms of spatial properties, they are many.45 We don’t need to explore this question, which addresses the difference between unity and plurality, until we look at the principles of number in the next chapter.
Collective Terms.
We must clearly distinguish between the collective and the general meanings of terms. The same name may be used to denote the whole body of existing objects of a certain kind, or any one of those objects taken separately. “Man” may mean the aggregate of existing men, which we sometimes describe as mankind; it is also the general name applying to any man. The vegetable kingdom is the name of the whole aggregate of plants, but “plant” itself is a general name applying to any one or other plant. Every material object may be conceived as divisible into parts, and is therefore collective as regards those parts. The animal body is made up of cells and fibres, a crystal of molecules; wherever physical division, or as it has been called partition, is possible, there we deal in reality with a collective whole. Thus the greater number of general terms are at the same time collective as regards each individual whole which they denote.
We need to clearly distinguish between the collective and the general meanings of terms. The same name can be used to refer to the entire group of existing objects of a certain type, or to any one of those objects individually. “Man” can refer to the total number of existing men, which we sometimes call mankind; it’s also the general term for any man. The vegetable kingdom is the term for the entire group of plants, but “plant” itself is a general term that applies to any one plant. Every physical object can be thought of as being made up of parts, making it collective in relation to those parts. The animal body consists of cells and fibers, while a crystal is made up of molecules; whenever physical division, or what’s called partition, is possible, we are actually dealing with a collective whole. Thus, most general terms are also collective in relation to each individual whole they refer to.
It need hardly be pointed out that we must not infer of a collective whole what we know only of the parts, nor of the parts what we know only of the whole. The relation of whole and part is not one of identity, and does not allow of substitution. There may nevertheless be qualities which are true alike of the whole and of its parts. A number of organ-pipes tuned in unison produce an aggregate of sound which is of exactly the same pitch as each30 separate sound. In the case of substantial terms, certain qualities may be present equally in each minutest part as in the whole. The chemical nature of the largest mass of pure carbonate of lime is the same as the nature of the smallest particle. In the case of abstract terms, again, we cannot draw a distinction between whole and part; what is true of redness in any case is always true of redness, so far as it is merely red.
It’s important to understand that we can’t make assumptions about a whole based on what we know about its parts, nor can we apply what we know about the whole to its parts. The relationship between a whole and its parts is not one of identity and doesn’t allow for substitution. However, there may be qualities that are true for both the whole and its parts. For example, a set of organ pipes tuned to the same pitch produces a collective sound that matches the pitch of each individual pipe. In terms of substantial objects, certain qualities can be found in both the smallest part and the entire whole. The chemical composition of the largest mass of pure calcium carbonate is the same as that of the smallest particle. When it comes to abstract concepts, we can’t differentiate between the whole and its parts; whatever is true about redness in one instance is true about redness in general, as long as it simply refers to being red.
Synthesis of Terms.
We continually combine simple terms together so as to form new terms of more complex meaning. Thus, to increase the intension of meaning of a term we write it with an adjective or a phrase of adjectival nature. By joining “brittle” to “metal,” we obtain a combined term, “brittle metal,” which denotes a certain portion of the metals, namely, such as are selected on account of possessing the quality of brittleness. As we have already seen, “brittle metal” possesses less extension and greater intension than metal. Nouns, prepositional phrases, participial phrases and subordinate propositions may also be added to terms so as to increase their intension and decrease their extension.
We constantly put simple terms together to create new terms with more complex meanings. To deepen the meaning of a term, we add an adjective or an adjectival phrase. By combining “brittle” with “metal,” we create the term “brittle metal,” which refers to a specific group of metals chosen for their characteristic of brittleness. As we’ve already discussed, “brittle metal” has a narrower scope and a more specific meaning than just metal. We can also add nouns, prepositional phrases, participial phrases, and subordinate clauses to terms to enhance their meaning and narrow their scope.
In our symbolic language we need some mode of indicating this junction of terms, and the most convenient device will be the juxtaposition of the letter-terms. Thus if A mean brittle, and B mean metal, then AB will mean brittle metal. Nor need there be any limit to the number of letters thus joined together, or the complexity of the notions which they may represent.
In our symbolic language, we need a way to show this combination of terms, and the easiest method will be placing the letter-terms next to each other. So, if A stands for brittle and B stands for metal, then AB will represent brittle metal. There doesn't have to be any limit to how many letters can be combined or how complex the ideas they stand for can be.
Thus if we take the letters
Thus if we take the letters
Q = white,
R = monovalent,
S = of specific gravity 10·5,
T = melting above 1000° C.,
V = good conductor of heat and electricity,
then we can form a combined term PQRSTV, which will denote “a white monovalent metal, of specific gravity 10·5, melting above 1000° C., and a good conductor of heat and electricity.”
then we can create a combined term PQRSTV, which will refer to “a white monovalent metal, with a specific gravity of 10.5, melting above 1000° C., and a good conductor of heat and electricity.”
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There are many grammatical usages concerning the junction of words and phrases to which we need pay no attention in logic. We can never say in ordinary language “of wood table,” meaning “table of wood;” but we may consider “of wood” as logically an exact equivalent of “wooden”; so that if
There are many grammatical usages regarding the connection of words and phrases that we don’t need to focus on in logic. We can never say in everyday language “of wood table,” meaning “table of wood;” but we can consider “of wood” as logically an exact equivalent of “wooden”; so that if
Y = table,
there is no reason why, in our symbols, XY should not be just as correct an expression for “table of wood ” as YX. In this case indeed we might substitute for “of wood ” the corresponding adjective “wooden,” but we should often fail to find any adjective answering exactly to a phrase. There is no single word by which we could express the notion “of specific gravity 10·5:” but logically we may consider these words as forming an adjective; and denoting this by S and metal by P, we may say that SP means “metal of specific gravity 10·5.” It is one of many advantages in these blank letter-symbols that they enable us completely to neglect all grammatical peculiarities and to fix our attention solely on the purely logical relations involved. Investigation will probably show that the rules of grammar are mainly founded upon traditional usage and have little logical signification. This indeed is sufficiently proved by the wide grammatical differences which exist between languages, though the logical foundation must be the same.
There’s no reason why, in our symbols, XY shouldn’t be just as valid a way to express “table of wood” as YX. In this case, we could replace “of wood” with the adjective “wooden,” but we often won’t find an adjective that perfectly matches a phrase. There isn’t a single word that conveys the idea “of specific gravity 10.5,” but logically, we can treat those words as an adjective; if we denote this by S and metal by P, we can say that SP means “metal of specific gravity 10.5.” One of the many advantages of these blank letter symbols is that they allow us to completely ignore all grammatical quirks and focus solely on the logical relationships involved. Investigations will likely show that grammar rules are mainly based on traditional usage and have little logical significance. This is clearly demonstrated by the wide grammatical differences among languages, even though the underlying logic must be the same.
Symbolic Expression of the Law of Contradiction.
The synthesis of terms is subject to the all-important Law of Thought, described in a previous section (p. 5) and called the Law of Contradiction, It is self-evident that no quality can be both present and absent at the same time and place. This fundamental condition of all thought and of all existence is expressed symbolically by a rule that a term and its negative shall never be allowed to come into combination. Such combined terms as Aa, Bb, Cc, &c., are self-contradictory and devoid of all intelligible meaning. If they could represent anything, it would be what cannot exist, and cannot even be imagined in the mind. They can therefore only enter into our consideration to suffer32 immediate exclusion. The criterion of false reasoning, as we shall find, is that it involves self-contradiction, the affirming and denying of the same statement. We might represent the object of all reasoning as the separation of the consistent and possible from the inconsistent and impossible; and we cannot make any statement except a truism without implying that certain combinations of terms are contradictory and excluded from thought. To assert that “all A’s are B’s” is equivalent to the assertion that “A’s which are not B’s cannot exist.”
The combination of terms follows the crucial Law of Thought, discussed earlier (p. 5) and known as the Law of Contradiction. It's obvious that no quality can be present and absent at the same time and place. This basic principle of all thought and existence is symbolically represented by a rule that a term and its opposite should never be combined. Terms like Aa, Bb, Cc, etc., are self-contradictory and lack any clear meaning. If they could signify anything, it would be something that cannot exist and cannot even be imagined. Therefore, they can only be considered for immediate exclusion. The hallmark of false reasoning, as we will see, is that it involves self-contradiction — affirming and denying the same statement. We could portray the goal of all reasoning as separating the consistent and possible from the inconsistent and impossible; and we can't make any statement other than a truism without indicating that certain combinations of terms are contradictory and excluded from thought. To claim that “all A’s are B’s” is the same as stating that “A’s that are not B’s cannot exist.”
It will be convenient to have the means of indicating the exclusion of the self-contradictory, and we may use the familiar sign for nothing, the cipher 0. Thus the second law of thought may be symbolised in the forms
It will be useful to have a way to show the exclusion of contradictions, and we can use the familiar symbol for nothing, the digit 0. So, the second law of thought can be represented in the following forms
We may variously describe the meaning of 0 in logic as the non-existent, the impossible, the self-inconsistent, the inconceivable. Close analogy exists between this meaning and its mathematical signification.
We can describe the meaning of 0 in logic in different ways as the non-existent, the impossible, the self-inconsistent, or the inconceivable. There is a close analogy between this meaning and its mathematical significance.
Certain Special Conditions of Logical Symbols.
In order that we may argue and infer truly we must treat our logical symbols according to the fundamental laws of Identity and Difference. But in thus using our symbols we shall frequently meet with combinations of which the meaning will not at first sight be apparent. If in one case we learn that an object is “yellow and round,” and in another case that it is “round and yellow,” there arises the question whether these two descriptions are identical in meaning or not. Again, if we proved that an object was “round round,” the meaning of such an expression would be open to doubt. Accordingly we must take notice, before proceeding further, of certain special laws which govern the combination of logical terms.
To argue and draw conclusions accurately, we need to handle our logical symbols according to the basic rules of Identity and Difference. However, while using our symbols, we often encounter combinations where the meaning isn't immediately clear. For instance, if we find that an object is “yellow and round” in one case and “round and yellow” in another, we must consider whether these two descriptions mean the same thing or not. Similarly, if we demonstrated that an object was “round round,” the meaning of that phrase would be questionable. Therefore, before moving on, we must acknowledge some specific rules that govern how logical terms combine.
In the first place the combination of a logical term with itself is without effect, just as the repetition of a statement does not alter the meaning of the statement; “a round round object” is simply “a round object.” What is yellow yellow is merely yellow; metallic metals cannot differ from metals, nor circular circles from circles. In our33 symbolic language we may similarly hold that AA is identical with A, or
In the first place, combining a logical term with itself has no effect, just like repeating a statement doesn’t change its meaning; “a round round object” is simply “a round object.” What is yellow yellow is just yellow; metallic metals can’t differ from metals, nor can circular circles differ from circles. In our33 symbolic language, we can similarly state that AA is identical to A, or
The late Professor Boole is the only logician in modern times who has drawn attention to this remarkable property of logical terms;46 but in place of the name which he gave to the law, I have proposed to call it The Law of Simplicity.47 Its high importance will only become apparent when we attempt to determine the relations of logical and mathematical science. Two symbols of quantity, and only two, seem to obey this law; we may say that 1 × 1 = 1, and 0 × 0 = 0 (taking 0 to mean absolute zero or 1 – 1); there is apparently no other number which combined with itself gives an unchanged result. I shall point out, however, in the chapter upon Number, that in reality all numerical symbols obey this logical principle.
The late Professor Boole is the only logician in modern times who noticed this remarkable quality of logical terms;46 but instead of the name he gave to the law, I've chosen to call it The Law of Simplicity.47 Its significance will only be clear when we try to define the relationships between logical and mathematical science. Only two symbols of quantity seem to follow this law; we can say that 1 × 1 = 1, and 0 × 0 = 0 (assuming 0 means absolute zero or 1 – 1); there doesn’t seem to be any other number that, when combined with itself, produces the same result. However, I will point out in the chapter about Number that in reality, all numerical symbols adhere to this logical principle.
It is curious that this Law of Simplicity, though almost unnoticed in modern times, was known to Boëthius, who makes a singular remark in his treatise De Trinitate et Unitate Dei (p. 959). He says: “If I should say sun, sun, sun, I should not have made three suns, but I should have named one sun so many times.”48 Ancient discussions about the doctrine of the Trinity drew more attention to subtle questions concerning the nature of unity and plurality than has ever since been given to them.
It’s interesting that this Law of Simplicity, though almost overlooked in modern times, was recognized by Boëthius, who makes a unique comment in his work De Trinitate et Unitate Dei (p. 959). He states: “If I say sun, sun, sun, I don’t create three suns; I just name one sun multiple times.”48 Ancient debates about the doctrine of the Trinity focused more on intricate questions about the nature of unity and plurality than any discussions since.
It is a second law of logical symbols that order of combination is a matter of indifference. “Rich and rare gems” are the same as “rare and rich gems,” or even as “gems, rich and rare.” Grammatical, rhetorical, or poetic usage may give considerable significance to order of expression. The limited power of our minds prevents our grasping many ideas at once, and thus the order of statement may produce some effect, but not in a simply logical manner. All life proceeds in the succession of time, and we are obliged to write, speak, or even think of things and their qualities one after the other; but between the things and their qualities there need be no such relation of order in34 time or space. The sweetness of sugar is neither before nor after its weight and solubility. The hardness of a metal, its colour, weight, opacity, malleability, electric and chemical properties, are all coexistent and coextensive, pervading the metal and every part of it in perfect community, none before nor after the others. In our words and symbols we cannot observe this natural condition; we must name one quality first and another second, just as some one must be the first to sign a petition, or to walk foremost in a procession. In nature there is no such precedence.
The second law of logical symbols states that the order in which we combine them doesn’t really matter. “Rich and rare gems” is the same as “rare and rich gems,” or even “gems, rich and rare.” While grammar, rhetoric, or poetic style can give significant meaning to the order of expression, our limited mental capacity prevents us from grasping many ideas at once. Because of this, the order in which we state things may have some impact, but not in a purely logical way. Life unfolds in the sequence of time, and we have to write, speak, or even think about things and their qualities one after another. However, there doesn’t need to be a specific order between things and their qualities in terms of time or space. The sweetness of sugar is neither before nor after its weight and solubility. The hardness of a metal, its color, weight, opacity, malleability, electric, and chemical properties all coexist and are present throughout the metal, with none preceding or following the others. In our words and symbols, we can’t reflect this natural state; we must name one quality first and another second, just like someone has to be the first to sign a petition or lead a procession. In nature, there’s no such hierarchy.
I find that the opinion here stated, to the effect that relations of space and time do not apply to many of our ideas, is clearly adopted by Hume in his celebrated Treatise on Human Nature (vol. i. p. 410). He says:49—“An object may be said to be no where, when its parts are not so situated with respect to each other, as to form any figure or quantity; nor the whole with respect to other bodies so as to answer to our notions of contiguity or distance. Now this is evidently the case with all our perceptions and objects, except those of sight and feeling. A moral reflection cannot be placed on the right hand or on the left hand of a passion, nor can a smell or sound be either of a circular or a square figure. These objects and perceptions, so far from requiring any particular place, are absolutely incompatible with it, and even the imagination cannot attribute it to them.”
I believe that the opinion expressed here, which states that the concepts of space and time don't apply to many of our ideas, is clearly embraced by Hume in his famous Treatise on Human Nature (vol. i. p. 410). He says:49—“An object can be considered as being nowhere when its parts are not arranged in a way that forms any shape or quantity; nor is the whole positioned in relation to other bodies in a way that aligns with our ideas of closeness or distance. This is obviously true for all our perceptions and objects, except for those related to sight and touch. A moral thought cannot be positioned to the right or left of a feeling, nor can a smell or sound possess a circular or square shape. These objects and perceptions, far from needing a specific location, are entirely incompatible with it, and even the imagination cannot assign one to them.”
A little reflection will show that knowledge in the highest perfection would consist in the simultaneous possession of a multitude of facts. To comprehend a science perfectly we should have every fact present with every other fact. We must write a book and we must read it successively word by word, but how infinitely higher would be our powers of thought if we could grasp the whole in one collective act of consciousness! Compared with the brutes we do possess some slight approximation to such power, and it is conceivable that in the indefinite future mind may acquire an increase of capacity, and be less restricted to the piecemeal examination of a subject. But I wish here to make plain that there is no logical foundation for the successive character of thought and reasoning unavoidable under our present mental conditions.35 We are logically weak and imperfect in respect of the fact that we are obliged to think of one thing after another. We must describe metal as “hard and opaque,” or “opaque and hard,” but in the metal itself there is no such difference of order; the properties are simultaneous and coextensive in existence.
A little reflection will show that the highest level of knowledge would involve the simultaneous possession of a multitude of facts. To fully understand a science, we should have every fact in mind alongside every other fact. We write a book and read it word by word, but how much greater our ability to think would be if we could grasp everything in one collective act of consciousness! Compared to animals, we have some slight ability in this regard, and it is possible that in the distant future, the mind may expand its capacity and be less limited to examining subjects piece by piece. However, I want to clarify that there is no logical basis for the sequential nature of thought and reasoning that we are stuck with under our current mental conditions.35 We are logically weak and imperfect because we have to think of one thing after another. We must describe metal as “hard and opaque” or “opaque and hard,” but in the metal itself, there is no such difference in order; the properties exist simultaneously and are coextensive.
Setting aside all grammatical peculiarities which render a substantive less moveable than an adjective, and disregarding any meaning indicated by emphasis or marked order of words, we may state, as a general law of logic, that AB is identical with BA, or AB = BA. Similarly, ABC = ACB = BCA = &c.
Disregarding all the grammatical quirks that make a noun less flexible than an adjective, and ignoring any meaning suggested by emphasis or word order, we can say, as a general rule of logic, that AB is the same as BA, or AB = BA. Similarly, ABC = ACB = BCA = etc.
Boole first drew attention in recent years to this property of logical terms, and he called it the property of Commutativeness.50 He not only stated the law with the utmost clearness, but pointed out that it is a Law of Thought rather than a Law of Things. I shall have in various parts of this work to show how the necessary imperfection of our symbols expressed in this law clings to our modes of expression, and introduces complication into the whole body of mathematical formulæ, which are really founded on a logical basis.
Boole recently highlighted this characteristic of logical terms and referred to it as the property of Commutativeness.50 He not only articulated the law very clearly, but also emphasized that it is a Law of Thought rather than a Law of Things. In different sections of this work, I will demonstrate how the inherent limitations of our symbols, as expressed in this law, affect our ways of expressing ideas and complicate the entire system of mathematical formulas, which are fundamentally based on logic.
It is of course apparent that the power of commutation belongs only to terms related in the simple logical mode of synthesis. No one can confuse “a house of bricks” with “bricks of a house,” “twelve square feet” with “twelve feet square,” “the water of crystallization” with “the crystallization of water.” All relations which involve differences of time and space are inconvertible; the higher must not be made to change places with the lower, nor the first with the last. For the parties concerned there is all the difference in the world between A killing B and B killing A. The law of commutativeness simply asserts that difference of order does not attach to the connection between the properties and circumstances of a thing—to what I call simple logical relation.
It’s obvious that the power of commutation only applies to terms that are related in a straightforward logical way of synthesis. No one would mix up “a house of bricks” with “bricks of a house,” “twelve square feet” with “twelve feet square,” or “the water of crystallization” with “the crystallization of water.” All relationships that involve differences in time and space cannot be interchanged; the higher cannot be swapped with the lower, nor the first with the last. For the parties involved, there is a significant difference between A killing B and B killing A. The law of commutativeness simply states that the order doesn’t matter when it comes to the connection between the properties and circumstances of a thing—to what I call simple logical relation.
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CHAPTER III.
Ideas.
We now proceed to consider the variety of forms of propositions in which the truths of science must be expressed. I shall endeavour to show that, however diverse these forms may be, they all admit the application of the one same principle of inference that what is true of a thing is true of the like or same. This principle holds true whatever be the kind or manner of the likeness, provided proper regard be had to its nature. Propositions may assert an identity of time, space, manner, quantity, degree, or any other circumstance in which things may agree or differ.
We now move on to examine the different types of propositions in which scientific truths must be communicated. I will try to demonstrate that, no matter how varied these forms are, they all allow for the application of the same principle of inference: what is true about one thing is also true about similar things. This principle applies regardless of the type or nature of the similarity, as long as we consider its characteristics. Propositions can express an identity of time, space, manner, quantity, degree, or any other aspect in which things may align or differ.
We find an instance of a proposition concerning time in the following:—“The year in which Newton was born, was the year in which Galileo died.” This proposition expresses an approximate identity of time between two events; hence whatever is true of the year in which Galileo died is true of that in which Newton was born, and vice versâ. “Tower Hill is the place where Raleigh was executed” expresses an identity of place; and whatever is true of the one spot is true of the spot otherwise defined, but in reality the same. In ordinary language we have many propositions obscurely expressing identities of number, quantity, or degree. “So many men, so many minds,” is a proposition concerning number, that is to say, an equation; whatever is true of the number of men is true of the number of minds, and vice versâ. “The density of Mars is (nearly) the same as that of the Earth,” “The force of gravity is directly as the product of the masses, and37 inversely as the square of the distance,” are propositions concerning magnitude or degree. Logicians have not paid adequate attention to the great variety of propositions which can be stated by the use of the little conjunction as, together with so. “As the home so the people,” is a proposition expressing identity of manner; and a great number of similar propositions all indicating some kind of resemblance might be quoted. Whatever be the special kind of identity, all such expressions are subject to the great principle of inference; but as we shall in later parts of this work treat more particularly of inference in cases of number and magnitude, we will here confine our attention to logical propositions which involve only notions of quality.
We find an example of a statement about time in the following:—“The year Newton was born was the year Galileo died.” This statement shows an approximate similarity of time between two events; therefore, whatever is true about the year Galileo died is also true about the year Newton was born, and vice versa. “Tower Hill is where Raleigh was executed” expresses a similarity of location; whatever is true about one location is true about the other, even though they are defined differently, but are essentially the same. In everyday language, there are many statements that vaguely express similarities in number, quantity, or degree. “So many men, so many minds” is a statement about number, which is to say, an equation; whatever is true about the number of men is also true about the number of minds, and vice versa. “The density of Mars is (almost) the same as that of Earth,” “The force of gravity is directly related to the product of the masses and inversely related to the square of the distance,” are statements about magnitude or degree. Logicians have not sufficiently considered the wide range of statements that can be made using the simple conjunction “as,” along with “so.” “As the home, so the people,” is a statement expressing a similarity in manner; many similar statements indicating some kind of resemblance could be quoted. Regardless of the specific kind of similarity, all such expressions are governed by the fundamental principle of inference; however, since we will discuss inference in terms of number and magnitude in later sections of this work, we will focus here on logical statements that only involve notions of quality.
Simple Identities.
The most important class of propositions consists of those which fall under the formula
The most important type of statements consists of those that fall under the formula
and may be called simple identities. I may instance, in the first place, those most elementary propositions which express the exact similarity of a quality encountered in two or more objects. I may compare the colour of the Pacific Ocean with that of the Atlantic, and declare them identical. I may assert that “the smell of a rotten egg is like that of hydrogen sulphide;” “the taste of silver hyposulphite is like that of cane sugar;” “the sound of an earthquake resembles that of distant artillery.” Such are propositions stating, accurately or otherwise, the identity of simple physical sensations. Judgments of this kind are necessarily pre-supposed in more complex judgments. If I declare that “this coin is made of gold,” I must base the judgment upon the exact likeness of the substance in several qualities to other pieces of substance which are undoubtedly gold. I must make judgments of the colour, the specific gravity, the hardness, and of other mechanical and chemical properties; each of these judgments is expressed in an elementary proposition, “the colour of this coin is the colour of gold,” and so on. Even when we establish the identity of a thing with itself under a different name or aspect, it is by distinct judgments38 concerning single circumstances. To prove that the Homeric χαλκός is copper we must show the identity of each quality recorded of χαλκός with a quality of copper. To establish Deal as the landing-place of Cæsar all material circumstances must be shown to agree. If the modern Wroxeter is the ancient Uriconium, there must be the like agreement of all features of the country not subject to alteration by time.
and may be called simple identities. First, I can point out those basic statements that express the exact similarity of a quality found in two or more objects. I can compare the color of the Pacific Ocean to that of the Atlantic and say they’re the same. I can assert that “the smell of a rotten egg is like that of hydrogen sulfide;” “the taste of silver hyposulfite is like that of cane sugar;” “the sound of an earthquake resembles that of distant artillery.” These are statements that describe, accurately or not, the identity of basic physical sensations. Such judgments are necessarily assumed in more complex judgments. If I say that “this coin is made of gold,” I must base that judgment on the exact similarity of the substance in several qualities to other pieces of substance that are definitely gold. I have to make judgments about color, specific gravity, hardness, and other physical and chemical properties; each of these judgments is expressed in a basic statement, “the color of this coin is the color of gold,” and so on. Even when we confirm that a thing is the same as itself under a different name or perspective, it is through distinct judgments about individual circumstances. To prove that the Homeric χαλκός is copper, we need to show the identity of each quality attributed to χαλκός with a quality of copper. To establish Deal as the landing place of Cæsar, all relevant circumstances must be shown to match. If modern Wroxeter is the ancient Uriconium, then all features of the land that are not altered by time must also agree.
Such identities must be expressed in the form A = B. We may say
Such identities must be expressed as A = B. We can say
In these and similar propositions we assert identity of single qualities or causes of sensation. In the same form we may also express identity of any group of qualities, as in
In these and similar statements, we claim that individual qualities or causes of sensation are the same. We can express the identity of any group of qualities in the same way, as in
Deal = Landing-place of Cæsar.
A multitude of propositions involving singular terms fall into the same form, as in
A lot of statements that include specific terms share the same structure, like in
In mathematical and scientific theories we often meet with simple identities capable of expression in the same form. Thus in mechanical science “The process for finding the resultant of forces = the process for finding the resultant of simultaneous velocities.” Theorems in geometry often give results in this form, as
In math and science theories, we often encounter simple identities that can be expressed in the same way. For example, in mechanics, "The method for finding the resultant of forces = the method for finding the resultant of simultaneous velocities." Geometry theorems frequently provide results in this way, as
The more profound and important laws of nature are often expressible in the form of simple identities; in addition to some instances which have already been given, I may suggest,
The deeper and more significant laws of nature are often stated as simple identities; besides a few examples that have already been provided, I can suggest,
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All definitions are necessarily of this form, whether the objects defined be many, few, or singular. Thus we may say,
All definitions are inevitably like this, regardless of whether the objects defined are numerous, few, or unique. So we can say,
It is an extraordinary fact that propositions of this elementary form, all-important and very numerous as they are, had no recognised place in Aristotle’s system of Logic. Accordingly their importance was overlooked until very recent times, and logic was the most deformed of sciences. But it is impossible that Aristotle or any other person should avoid constantly using them; not a term could be defined without their use. In one place at least Aristotle actually notices a proposition of the kind. He observes: “We sometimes say that that white thing is Socrates, or that the object approaching is Callias.”51 Here we certainly have simple identity of terms; but he considered such propositions purely accidental, and came to the unfortunate conclusion, that “Singulars cannot be predicated of other terms.”
It’s an interesting fact that simple statements like these, which are very important and quite numerous, didn’t have an acknowledged place in Aristotle’s system of Logic. Because of this, their significance was ignored until very recently, making logic one of the most misunderstood sciences. However, it’s impossible for Aristotle or anyone else to avoid using them; you can’t define a term without relying on them. At least once, Aristotle does mention this kind of statement. He points out: “We sometimes say that that white thing is Socrates, or that the object approaching is Callias.”51 Here we definitely have straightforward identity of terms; however, he viewed such statements as merely accidental and sadly concluded that “Singulars cannot be predicated of other terms.”
Propositions may also express the identity of extensive groups of objects taken collectively or in one connected whole; as when we say,
Propositions can also represent the identity of large groups of objects considered together or as a single unit; for example, when we say,
When Blackstone asserts that “The only true and natural foundation of society are the wants and fears of individuals,” we must interpret him as meaning that the whole of the wants and fears of individuals in the aggregate form the foundation of society. But many propositions which might seem to be collective are but groups of singular propositions or identities. When we say “Potassium and sodium are the metallic bases of potash and soda,” we obviously mean,
When Blackstone says that “The only true and natural foundation of society are the wants and fears of individuals,” we should understand him to mean that the combined wants and fears of individuals create the foundation of society. However, many ideas that seem collective are actually just collections of individual ideas or identities. When we say, “Potassium and sodium are the metallic bases of potash and soda,” we clearly mean,
Sodium = Metallic base of soda.
It is the work of grammatical analysis to separate the various propositions often combined into a single sentence. Logic cannot be properly required to interpret the forms and devices of language, but only to treat the meaning when clearly exhibited.
It is the job of grammatical analysis to break down the different statements often blended into one sentence. Logic shouldn't be expected to interpret the structures and techniques of language, but rather to address the meaning once it is clearly presented.
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Partial Identities.
A second highly important kind of proposition is that which I propose to call a partial identity. When we say that “All mammalia are vertebrata,” we do not mean that mammalian animals are identical with vertebrate animals, but only that the mammalia form a part of the class vertebrata. Such a proposition was regarded in the old logic as asserting the inclusion of one class in another, or of an object in a class. It was called a universal affirmative proposition, because the attribute vertebrate was affirmed of the whole subject mammalia; but the attribute was said to be undistributed, because not all vertebrata were of necessity involved in the proposition. Aristotle, overlooking the importance of simple identities, and indeed almost denying their existence, unfortunately founded his system upon the notion of inclusion in a class, instead of adopting the basis of identity. He regarded inference as resting upon the rule that what is true of the containing class is true of the contained, in place of the vastly more general rule that what is true of a class or thing is true of the like. Thus he not only reduced logic to a fragment of its proper self, but destroyed the deep analogies which bind together logical and mathematical reasoning. Hence a crowd of defects, difficulties and errors which will long disfigure the first and simplest of the sciences.
A second very important type of statement is what I’ll refer to as a partial identity. When we say, “All mammals are vertebrates,” we don’t mean that mammals are the same as vertebrates, but rather that mammals are a part of the class vertebrates. Old logic viewed this type of statement as indicating the inclusion of one class in another or an object in a class. It was known as a universal affirmative statement because the attribute vertebrate was affirmed for the entire subject mammals; however, the attribute was considered undistributed because not all vertebrates had to be included in the statement. Aristotle, overlooking the significance of simple identities and almost denying their existence, unfortunately based his system on the idea of inclusion in a class rather than adopting the foundation of identity. He believed that inference depended on the principle that what is true of the encompassing class is true of the contained, instead of the much broader principle that what is true of a class or thing is true of similar things. In doing so, he not only limited logic to a fraction of its true self but also undermined the deep connections that tie together logical and mathematical reasoning. As a result, this caused a range of flaws, challenges, and mistakes that will continue to mar the most basic of sciences for a long time.
It is surely evident that the relation of inclusion rests upon the relation of identity. Mammalian animals cannot be included among vertebrates unless they be identical with part of the vertebrates. Cabinet Ministers are included almost always in the class Members of Parliament, because they are identical with some who sit in Parliament. We may indicate this identity with a part of the larger class in various ways; as for instance,
It is surely clear that the relationship of inclusion is based on the relationship of identity. Mammals cannot be included among vertebrates unless they are identical to part of the vertebrates. Cabinet Ministers are usually included in the category of Members of Parliament because they are identical to some who sit in Parliament. We can show this identity with a part of the larger category in various ways; for example,
Diatomaceæ = a class of plants.
In ordinary language the verbs is and are express mere inclusion more often than not. Men are mortals, means41 that men form a part of the class mortal; but great confusion exists between this sense of the verb and that in which it expresses identity, as in “The sun is the centre of the planetary system.” The introduction of the indefinite article a often expresses partiality; when we say “Iron is a metal” we clearly mean that iron is one only of several metals.
In everyday language, the verbs is and are usually indicate simple inclusion. For example, when we say Men are mortals, it means that men are part of the category mortal. However, there's often confusion between this meaning and the way the verb indicates identity, like in “The sun is the center of the planetary system.” Using the indefinite article a often implies a specific subset; when we say “Iron is a metal,” we clearly mean that iron is one of several metals.
Certain recent logicians have proposed to avoid the indefiniteness in question by what is called the Quantification of the Predicate, and they have generally used the little word some to show that only a part of the predicate is identical with the subject. Some is an indeterminate adjective; it implies unknown qualities by which we might select the part in question if the qualities were known, but it gives no hint as to their nature. I might make use of such an indeterminate sign to express partial identities in this work. Thus, taking the special symbol V = Some, the general form of a partial identity would be A = VB, and in Boole’s Logic expressions of the kind were much used. But I believe that indeterminate symbols only introduce complexity, and destroy the beauty and simple universality of the system which may be created without their use. A vague word like some is only used in ordinary language by ellipsis, and to avoid the trouble of attaining accuracy. We can always employ more definite expressions if we like; but when once the indefinite some is introduced we cannot replace it by the special description. We do not know whether some colour is red, yellow, blue, or what it is; but on the other hand red colour is certainly some colour.
Certain recent logicians have suggested avoiding the ambiguity in question by using something called Quantification of the Predicate. They typically use the word some to indicate that only a portion of the predicate is identical to the subject. Some is an indeterminate adjective; it hints at unknown qualities that could help us identify the part in question if those qualities were known, but it doesn't indicate what those qualities are. I might use such an indeterminate term to express partial identities in this work. Thus, using the special symbol V = Some, the general form of a partial identity would be A = VB, and similar expressions were frequently used in Boole’s Logic. However, I believe that indeterminate symbols only add complexity and undermine the elegance and universal simplicity of the system that could be developed without them. A vague term like some is typically employed in everyday language through ellipsis, and to avoid the effort of being precise. We can always use more specific terms if we choose; but once the indefinite some is introduced, we can't replace it with a specific description. We don’t know if some color is red, yellow, blue, or something else; but on the flip side, red color is definitely some color.
Throughout this system of logic I shall dispense with such indefinite expressions; and this can readily be done by substituting one of the other terms. To express the proposition “All A’s are some B’s” I shall not use the form A = VB, but
Throughout this system of logic, I will avoid using vague expressions; this can easily be achieved by replacing them with one of the other terms. To express the proposition “All A’s are some B’s,” I will not use the form A = VB, but
This formula states that the class A is identical with the class AB; and as the latter must be a part at least of the class B, it implies the inclusion of the class A in that of B. We might represent our former example thus,
This formula says that class A is the same as class AB; and since the latter has to be at least part of class B, it means class A is included in class B. We could illustrate our previous example like this,
This proposition asserts identity between a part (or it may42 be the whole) of the vertebrata and the mammalia. If it is asked What part? the proposition affords no answer, except that it is the part which is mammalian; but the assertion “mammalia = some vertebrata” tells us no more.
This statement claims that there is a similarity between a part (or possibly the whole) of vertebrates and mammals. If someone asks, "What part?" the statement doesn't provide an answer, other than that it is the part that is mammalian; however, the claim “mammals = some vertebrates” doesn't clarify anything further.
It is quite likely that some readers will think this mode of representing the universal affirmative proposition artificial and complicated. I will not undertake to convince them of the opposite at this point of my exposition. Justification for it will be found, not so much in the immediate treatment of this proposition, as in the general harmony which it will enable us to disclose between all parts of reasoning. I have no doubt that this is the critical difficulty in the relation of logical to other forms of reasoning. Grant this mode of denoting that “all A’s are B’s,” and I fear no further difficulties; refuse it, and we find want of analogy and endless anomaly in every direction. It is on general grounds that I hope to show overwhelming reasons for seeking to reduce every kind of proposition to the form of an identity.
It’s very likely that some readers will find this way of representing the universal affirmative statement artificial and complicated. I won’t try to convince them otherwise at this stage of my explanation. The justification for it will come, not so much from the immediate discussion of this statement, but from the overall consistency it will help us reveal among all parts of reasoning. I’m sure this is the main challenge in connecting logical reasoning to other types of reasoning. Accept this way of expressing that “all A’s are B’s,” and I see no further issues; reject it, and we encounter a lack of analogy and countless inconsistencies in every direction. On general grounds, I hope to present strong reasons for aiming to reduce every type of statement to the form of an identity.
I may add that not a few logicians have accepted this view of the universal affirmative proposition. Leibnitz, in his Difficultates Quædam Logicæ, adopts it, saying, “Omne A est B; id est æquivalent AB et A, seu A non B est nonens.” Boole employed the logical equation x = xy concurrently with x = vy; and Spalding52 distinctly says that the proposition “all metals are minerals” might be described as an assertion of partial identity between the two classes. Hence the name which I have adopted for the proposition.
I should mention that quite a few logicians have accepted this perspective on the universal affirmative proposition. Leibniz, in his Difficultates Quædam Logicæ, supports it, stating, “Every A is B; this means that AB and A, or A not B is non-existent.” Boole used the logical equation x = xy at the same time as x = vy; and Spalding52 clearly states that the proposition “all metals are minerals” could be considered an assertion of partial identity between the two classes. Therefore, this is the term I have chosen for the proposition.
Limited Identities.
An important class of propositions have the form
An important class of propositions takes the form
expressing the identity of the class AB with the class AC. In other words, “Within the sphere of the class A, all the B’s are all the C’s;” or again, “The B’s and C’s, which are A’s, are identical.” But it will be observed that nothing is asserted concerning things which are outside of the class A; and thus the identity is of limited extent. It is the proposition B = C limited to the sphere of things called A.43 Thus we may say, with some approximation to truth, that “Large plants are plants devoid of locomotive power.”
expressing the identity of class AB with class AC. In other words, “Within the category of class A, all the B’s are all the C’s;” or again, “The B’s and C’s that are A’s are the same.” However, it's important to note that nothing is mentioned about things outside of class A; therefore, the identity is limited. It is the statement B = C confined to the category of things referred to as A.43 Thus, we can say, with some degree of accuracy, that “Large plants are plants without the ability to move.”
A barrister may make numbers of most general statements concerning the relations of persons and things in the course of an argument, but it is of course to be understood that he speaks only of persons and things under the English Law. Even mathematicians make statements which are not true with absolute generality. They say that imaginary roots enter into equations by pairs; but this is only true under the tacit condition that the equations in question shall not have imaginary coefficients.53 The universe, in short, within which they habitually discourse is that of equations with real coefficients. These implied limitations form part of that great mass of tacit knowledge which accompanies all special arguments.
A barrister can make a lot of general statements about how people and things relate during an argument, but it's important to remember that he’s only talking about people and things under English Law. Even mathematicians make claims that aren’t universally true. They say that imaginary roots come in pairs, but that’s only true if we assume that the equations don’t have imaginary coefficients.53 Basically, the world they usually discuss involves equations with real coefficients. These unspoken limitations are part of the vast amount of shared knowledge that goes along with any specific arguments.
To De Morgan is due the remark, that we do usually think and argue in a limited universe or sphere of notions, even when it is not expressly stated.54
To De Morgan goes the observation that we typically think and argue within a limited universe or range of ideas, even when it isn't explicitly mentioned.54
It is worthy of inquiry whether all identities are not really limited to an implied sphere of meaning. When we make such a plain statement as “Gold is malleable” we obviously speak of gold only in its solid state; when we say that “Mercury is a liquid metal” we must be understood to exclude the frozen condition to which it may be reduced in the Arctic regions. Even when we take such a fundamental law of nature as “All substances gravitate,” we must mean by substance, material substance, not including that basis of heat, light, and electrical undulations which occupies space and possesses many wonderful mechanical properties, but not gravity. The proposition then is really of the form
It’s worth questioning whether all identities are actually restricted to a specific range of meaning. When we make a straightforward statement like “Gold is malleable,” we obviously refer to gold only in its solid form; when we say “Mercury is a liquid metal,” we need to be understood as excluding the frozen state it can reach in the Arctic. Even when we consider a basic natural law like “All substances gravitate,” we’re implying that substances are material ones, not including the basis of heat, light, and electrical waves that take up space and have many fascinating mechanical properties but don’t involve gravity. The proposition is really structured as
Negative Propositions.
In every act of intellect we are engaged with a certain identity or difference between things or sensations compared together. Hitherto I have treated only of identities; and yet it might seem that the relation of difference must be44 infinitely more common than that of likeness. One thing may resemble a great many other things, but then it differs from all remaining things in the world. Diversity may almost be said to constitute life, being to thought what motion is to a river. The perception of an object involves its discrimination from all other objects. But we may nevertheless be said to detect resemblance as often as we detect difference. We cannot, in fact, assert the existence of a difference, without at the same time implying the existence of an agreement.
In every act of thinking, we’re dealing with some kind of similarity or difference between things or sensations that we compare. So far, I’ve only focused on similarities, but it might seem that the concept of difference is actually much more common than similarity. One thing can look like many other things, but it also differs from everything else in the world. Variety could almost be said to define life, just as movement defines a river. Recognizing an object means distinguishing it from all other objects. However, we can also say that we notice similarities as often as we notice differences. In fact, we can't claim that a difference exists without also suggesting that there’s some kind of similarity.
If I compare mercury, for instance, with other metals, and decide that it is not solid, here is a difference between mercury and solid things, expressed in a negative proposition; but there must be implied, at the same time, an agreement between mercury and the other substances which are not solid. As it is impossible to separate the vowels of the alphabet from the consonants without at the same time separating the consonants from the vowels, so I cannot select as the object of thought solid things, without thereby throwing together into another class all things which are not solid. The very fact of not possessing a quality, constitutes a new quality which may be the ground of judgment and classification. In this point of view, agreement and difference are ever the two sides of the same act of intellect, and it becomes equally possible to express the same judgment in the one or other aspect.
If I compare mercury to other metals and decide that it is not solid, I’m pointing out a difference between mercury and solid objects. However, this also implies a connection between mercury and other substances that aren’t solid. Just like you can’t separate the vowels from the consonants in the alphabet without also separating the consonants from the vowels, I can’t focus on solid things without also grouping all things that are not solid together. The simple fact of lacking a quality becomes a new quality itself, which can lead to judgments and classifications. From this perspective, agreement and difference are always two sides of the same intellectual process, and it’s just as valid to express the same judgment in either aspect.
Between affirmation and negation there is accordingly a perfect equilibrium. Every affirmative proposition implies a negative one, and vice versâ. It is even a matter of indifference, in a logical point of view, whether a positive or negative term be used to denote a given quality and the class of things possessing it. If the ordinary state of a man’s body be called good health, then in other circumstances he is said not to be in good health; but we might equally describe him in the latter state as sickly, and in his normal condition he would be not sickly. Animal and vegetable substances are now called organic, so that the other substances, forming an immensely greater part of the globe, are described negatively as inorganic. But we might, with at least equal logical correctness, have described the preponderating class of substances as mineral, and then vegetable and animal substances would have been non-mineral.
Between affirmation and negation, there is a perfect balance. Every positive statement implies a negative one, and vice versa. From a logical perspective, it doesn't matter whether we use a positive or negative term to describe a certain quality and the category of things that have it. If we say a person's normal state is good health, then in other situations, we say they are not in good health; but we could just as easily call them sickly in that state, and when they are healthy, we would say they are not sickly. Currently, animal and plant substances are referred to as organic, which means that other substances, making up a much larger part of the Earth, are described negatively as inorganic. However, we could also correctly refer to the majority of substances as mineral, and then animal and plant substances would be non-mineral.
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It is plain that any positive term and its corresponding negative divide between them the whole universe of thought: whatever does not fall into one must fall into the other, by the third fundamental Law of Thought, the Law of Duality. It follows at once that there are two modes of representing a difference. Supposing that the things represented by A and B are found to differ, we may indicate (see p. 17) the result of the judgment by the notation
It’s clear that any positive term and its corresponding negative split the entire universe of thought: whatever doesn’t fit into one must fit into the other, according to the third fundamental Law of Thought, the Law of Duality. This immediately leads to two ways of showing a difference. If we find that the things represented by A and B are different, we can indicate (see p. 17) the result of the judgment by the notation
We may now represent the same judgment by the assertion that A agrees with those things which differ from B, or that A agrees with the not-B’s. Using our notation for negative terms (see p. 14), we obtain
We can now express the same judgment by saying that A aligns with things that are different from B, or that A aligns with the non-B’s. Using our notation for negative terms (see p. 14), we obtain
as the expression of the ordinary negative proposition. Thus if we take A to mean quicksilver, and B solid, then we have the following proposition:—
as the expression of the usual negative statement. So if we take A to mean mercury, and B to mean solid, then we have the following statement:—
There may also be several other classes of negative propositions, of which no notice was taken in the old logic. We may have cases where all A’s are not-B’s, and at the same time all not-B’s are A’s; there may, in short, be a simple identity between A and not-B, which may be expressed in the form
There may also be several other kinds of negative statements that were overlooked in the old logic. We might encounter situations where all A’s are not-B’s, and at the same time, all not-B’s are A’s; there could, in short, be a direct identity between A and not-B, which can be expressed in the form
An example of this form would be
An example of this form would be
We shall also frequently have to deal as results of deduction, with simple, partial, or limited identities between negative terms, as in the forms
We will often have to work with simple, partial, or limited identities between negative terms, as seen in the forms
It would be possible to represent affirmative propositions in the negative form. Thus “Iron is solid,” might be expressed as “Iron is not not-solid,” or “Iron is not fluid;” or, taking A and b for the terms “iron,” and “not-solid,” the form would be A ~ b.
It’s possible to state affirmative propositions in negative terms. For example, “Iron is solid” could be rephrased as “Iron is not not-solid” or “Iron is not fluid.” Alternatively, using A and b to represent the terms “iron” and “not-solid,” it would be A ~ b.
But there are very strong reasons why we should employ all propositions in their affirmative form. All inference proceeds by the substitution of equivalents, and a proposition expressed in the form of an identity is ready to yield all its consequences in the most direct manner. As will be more fully shown, we can infer in a negative proposition,46 but not by it. Difference is incapable of becoming the ground of inference; it is only the implied agreement with other differing objects which admits of deductive reasoning; and it will always be found advantageous to employ propositions in the form which exhibits clearly the implied agreements.
But there are very strong reasons to use all propositions in their affirmative form. All reasoning relies on substituting equivalents, and a proposition stated as an identity clearly shows its consequences in the most straightforward way. As will be explained further, we can infer in a negative proposition,46 but not by it. Difference cannot serve as the basis for inference; only the implied agreement with other differing objects allows for deductive reasoning. It will always be beneficial to use propositions in a way that clearly highlights the implied agreements.
Conversion of Propositions.
The old books of logic contain many rules concerning the conversion of propositions, that is, the transposition of the subject and predicate in such a way as to obtain a new proposition which will be true when the original proposition is true. The reduction of every proposition to the form of an identity renders all such rules and processes needless. Identity is essentially reciprocal. If the colour of the Atlantic Ocean is the same as that of the Pacific Ocean, that of the Pacific must be the same as that of the Atlantic. Sodium chloride being identical with common salt, common salt must be identical with sodium chloride. If the number of windows in Salisbury Cathedral equals the number of days in the year, the number of days in the year must equal the number of the windows. Lord Chesterfield was not wrong when he said, “I will give anybody their choice of these two truths, which amount to the same thing; He who loves himself best is the honestest man; or, The honestest man loves himself best.” Scotus Erigena exactly expresses this reciprocal character of identity in saying, “There are not two studies, one of philosophy and the other of religion; true philosophy is true religion, and true religion is true philosophy.”
The old logic books have many rules about converting propositions, which means swapping the subject and predicate to create a new proposition that holds true if the original one does. Reducing every proposition to the form of an identity makes all these rules and processes unnecessary. Identity is inherently reciprocal. If the color of the Atlantic Ocean is the same as the Pacific Ocean, then the Pacific's color has to be the same as the Atlantic's. Since sodium chloride is the same as table salt, table salt must be the same as sodium chloride. If the number of windows in Salisbury Cathedral equals the number of days in a year, then the number of days in the year must equal the number of windows. Lord Chesterfield was right when he said, “I’ll let anyone choose between these two truths, which are essentially the same: He who loves himself most is the most honest person; or, The most honest person loves himself the most.” Scotus Erigena perfectly captures this reciprocal nature of identity when he states, “There are not two studies, one of philosophy and the other of religion; true philosophy is true religion, and true religion is true philosophy.”
A mathematician would not think it worth while to mention that if x = y then also y = x. He would not consider these to be two equations at all, but one equation accidentally written in two different manners. In written symbols one of two names must come first, and the other second, and a like succession must perhaps be observed in our thoughts: but in the relation of identity there is no need for succession in order (see p. 33), each is simultaneously equal and identical to the other. These remarks will hold true both of logical and mathematical identity; so that I shall consider the two forms
A mathematician wouldn't think it's worth mentioning that if x = y, then y = x. He wouldn't view these as two separate equations, but rather as one equation expressed in two different ways. When using written symbols, one name has to come first, and the other second, and a similar order might be followed in our thoughts. However, in terms of identity, there’s no need for a specific order (see p. 33), as each is simultaneously equal and identical to the other. These points apply to both logical and mathematical identity, so I will look at the two forms.
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to express exactly the same identity differently written. All need for rules of conversion disappears, and there will be no single proposition in the system which may not be written with either end foremost. Thus A = AB is the same as AB = A, aC = bC is the same as bC = aC, and so forth.
to express the same identity written in a different way. The need for conversion rules disappears, and there won’t be a single statement in the system that cannot be written with either end first. So, A = AB is the same as AB = A, aC = bC is the same as bC = aC, and so on.
The same remarks are partially true of differences and inequalities, which are also reciprocal to the extent that one thing cannot differ from a second without the second differing from the first. Mars differs in colour from Venus, and Venus must differ from Mars. The Earth differs from Jupiter in density; therefore Jupiter must differ from the Earth. Speaking generally, if A ~ B we shall also have B ~ A, and these two forms may be considered expressions of the same difference. But the relation of differing things is not wholly reciprocal. The density of Jupiter does not differ from that of the Earth in the same way that that of the Earth differs from that of Jupiter. The change of sensation which we experience in passing from Venus to Mars is not the same as what we experience in passing back to Venus, but just the opposite in nature. The colour of the sky is lighter than that of the ocean; therefore that of the ocean cannot be lighter than that of the sky, but darker. In these and all similar cases we gain a notion of direction or character of change, and results of immense importance may be shown to rest on this notion. For the present we shall be concerned with the mere fact of identity existing or not existing.
The same comments apply to differences and inequalities, which are also mutually dependent; one thing cannot differ from another without the second differing from the first. Mars has a different color than Venus, and Venus must differ from Mars. The Earth differs from Jupiter in density; therefore, Jupiter must differ from the Earth. Generally speaking, if A ~ B, then we also have B ~ A, and these two forms can be viewed as expressions of the same difference. However, the relationship between differing things isn't entirely reciprocal. The density of Jupiter does not differ from that of Earth in the same way that Earth's density differs from Jupiter's. The change in sensation we experience when moving from Venus to Mars isn't the same as when we return to Venus, but rather the opposite. The color of the sky is lighter than that of the ocean; therefore, the ocean cannot be lighter than the sky, but darker. In these and similar cases, we understand the concept of direction or the nature of change, and significant outcomes can be shown to depend on this concept. For now, we will focus on the simple fact of whether identity exists or not.
Twofold Interpretation of Propositions.
Terms, as we have seen (p. 25), may have a meaning either in extension or intension; and according as one or the other meaning is attributed to the terms of a proposition, so may a different interpretation be assigned to the proposition itself. When the terms are abstract we must read them in intension, and a proposition connecting such terms must denote the identity or non-identity of the qualities respectively denoted by the terms. Thus if we say
Terms, as we've seen (p. 25), can have meanings in either extension or intension; depending on which meaning we assign to the terms in a statement, we can interpret the statement differently. When the terms are abstract, we need to interpret them in intension, and a statement linking such terms must indicate whether the qualities represented by the terms are the same or different. So, if we say
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the assertion means that the circumstance of being equal exactly corresponds with the circumstance of being identical in magnitude. Similarly in
the assertion means that the situation of being equal exactly matches the situation of being identical in size. Similarly in
the quality of being incapable of transmitting light is declared to be the same as the intended meaning of the word opacity.
the quality of being unable to transmit light is stated to be the same as the intended meaning of the word opacity.
When general names form the terms of a proposition we may apply a double interpretation. Thus
When general names form the terms of a proposition, we can use a double interpretation. Thus
means either that the qualities which belong to all exogens are the same as those which belong to all dicotyledons, or else that every individual falling under one name falls equally under the other. Hence it may be said that there are two distinct fields of logical thought. We may argue either by the qualitative meaning of names or by the quantitative, that is, the extensive meaning. Every argument involving concrete plural terms might be converted into one involving only abstract singular terms, and vice versâ. But there are reasons for believing that the intensive or qualitative form of reasoning is the primary and fundamental one. It is sufficient to point out that the extensive meaning of a name is a changeable and fleeting thing, while the intensive meaning may nevertheless remain fixed. Very numerous additions have been lately made to the extensive meanings both of planet and element. Every iron steam-ship which is made or destroyed adds to or subtracts from the extensive meaning of the name steam-ship, without necessarily affecting the intensive meaning. Stage coach means as much as ever in one way, but in extension the class is nearly extinct. Chinese railway, on the other hand, is a term represented only by a single instance; in twenty years it may be the name of a large class.
means either that the qualities that apply to all exogens are the same as those that apply to all dicotyledons, or that every individual under one name also falls under the other. Therefore, it can be said that there are two distinct areas of logical thought. We can argue either from the qualitative meaning of names or from the quantitative, which is the extensive meaning. Any argument involving concrete plural terms could be transformed into one involving only abstract singular terms, and vice versa. However, there are reasons to believe that the intensive or qualitative form of reasoning is the primary and foundational one. It is enough to point out that the extensive meaning of a name is a variable and temporary thing, while the intensive meaning can remain constant. Recently, there have been many additions to the extensive meanings of both planet and element. Every iron steamship that is built or decommissioned adds to or subtracts from the extensive meaning of the term steamship, without necessarily affecting the intensive meaning. Stagecoach still has the same meaning in one way, but in terms of its class, it is nearly extinct. The term Chinese railway, on the other hand, currently refers to just one instance; in twenty years, it could represent a large class.
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CHAPTER IV.
Deductive reasoning.
The general principle of inference having been explained in the previous chapters, and a suitable system of symbols provided, we have now before us the comparatively easy task of tracing out the most common and important forms of deductive reasoning. The general problem of deduction is as follows:—From one or more propositions called premises to draw such other propositions as will necessarily be true when the premises are true. By deduction we investigate and unfold the information contained in the premises; and this we can do by one single rule—For any term occurring in any proposition substitute the term which is asserted in any premise to be identical with it. To obtain certain deductions, especially those involving negative conclusions, we shall require to bring into use the second and third Laws of Thought, and the process of reasoning will then be called Indirect Deduction. In the present chapter, however, I shall confine my attention to those results which can be obtained by the process of Direct Deduction, that is, by applying to the premises themselves the rule of substitution. It will be found that we can combine into one harmonious system, not only the various moods of the ancient syllogism but a great number of equally important forms of reasoning, which had no recognised place in the old logic. We can at the same time dispense entirely with the elaborate apparatus of logical rules and mnemonic lines, which were requisite so long as the vital principle of reasoning was not clearly expressed.
Now that we've explained the basic idea of inference in the previous chapters and provided a suitable system of symbols, we can focus on the relatively straightforward task of outlining the most common and significant types of deductive reasoning. The main problem of deduction is this:—From one or more propositions known as premises, draw other propositions that must be true if the premises are true. Through deduction, we explore and clarify the information contained in the premises; we can do this with one simple rule—For any term in any proposition, replace it with the term that any premise claims is identical to it. To achieve certain deductions, particularly those that lead to negative conclusions, we will also need to use the second and third Laws of Thought, and this reasoning process will be called Indirect Deduction. However, in this chapter, I will focus solely on the outcomes that can be derived through Direct Deduction, which means applying the substitution rule directly to the premises. We will find that we can unify various moods of the ancient syllogism along with many other important forms of reasoning that had no recognized place in the old logic. At the same time, we can completely eliminate the complex logical rules and mnemonic systems that were necessary as long as the fundamental principle of reasoning was not clearly articulated.
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Immediate Inference.
Probably the simplest of all forms of inference is that which has been called Immediate Inference, because it can be performed upon a single proposition. It consists in joining an adjective, or other qualifying clause of the same nature, to both sides of an identity, and asserting the equivalence of the terms thus produced. For instance, since
Probably the simplest form of inference is called Immediate Inference because it can be done with just one proposition. It involves linking an adjective or another similar qualifying phrase to both sides of an identity and claiming the terms created this way are equivalent. For example, since
it follows that
it makes sense that
If we suppose that
If we assume that
it follows that
therefore
In general terms, from the identity
In general terms, from the identity
we can infer the identity
we can figure out the identity
This is but a case of plain substitution; for by the first Law of Thought it must be admitted that
This is just a simple case of substitution; because according to the first Law of Thought, it has to be accepted that
and if, in the second side of this identity, we substitute for A its equivalent B, we obtain
and if, in the second part of this identity, we replace A with its equivalent B, we get
In like manner from the partial identity
In the same way, from the partial identity
we may obtain
we might get
by an exactly similar act of substitution; and in every other case the rule will be found capable of verification by the principle of inference. The process when performed as here described will be quite free from the liability to error which I have shown55 to exist in “Immediate Inference by added Determinants,” as described by Dr. Thomson.56
by a completely similar act of substitution; and in every other instance, the rule can be verified through the principle of inference. The process, when carried out as described here, will be completely free from the risk of error that I have pointed out55 to be present in “Immediate Inference by added Determinants,” as explained by Dr. Thomson.56
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Inference with Two Simple Identities.
One of the most common forms of inference, and one to which I shall especially direct attention, is practised with two simple identities. From the two statements that “London is the capital of England” and “London is the most populous city in the world,” we instantaneously draw the conclusion that “The capital of England is the most populous city in the world.” Similarly, from the identities
One of the most common ways to infer things, and one I'll focus on in particular, uses two straightforward statements. From the two statements that “London is the capital of England” and “London is the most populous city in the world,” we immediately conclude that “The capital of England is the most populous city in the world.” Similarly, from the identitie
we infer
we conclude
The general form of the argument is exhibited in the symbols
The overall structure of the argument is shown in the symbols.
B = A | (1) |
|
B = C | (2) |
|
hence | A = C. | (3) |
We may describe the result by saying that terms identical with the same term are identical with each other; and it is impossible to overlook the analogy to the first axiom of Euclid that “things equal to the same thing are equal to each other.” It has been very commonly supposed that this is a fundamental principle of thought, incapable of reduction to anything simpler. But I entertain no doubt that this form of reasoning is only one case of the general rule of inference. We have two propositions, A = B and B = C, and we may for a moment consider the second one as affirming a truth concerning B, while the former one informs us that B is identical with A; hence by substitution we may affirm the same truth of A. It happens in this particular case that the truth affirmed is identity to C, and we might, if we preferred it, have considered the substitution as made by means of the second identity in the first. Having two identities we have a choice of the mode in which we will make the substitution, though the result is exactly the same in either case.
We can describe the outcome by stating that terms that are the same as a certain term are also the same as each other. It's hard to miss the similarity to Euclid’s first axiom, which says, “things equal to the same thing are equal to each other.” Many people have believed that this is a basic principle of thought that can’t be simplified any further. However, I have no doubt that this kind of reasoning is just one example of a broader rule of inference. We have two statements, A = B and B = C, and we can momentarily think of the second one as stating a truth about B, while the first tells us that B is the same as A; therefore, by substituting, we can assert the same truth for A. In this case, the truth being asserted is its identity with C, and we could, if we chose, have viewed the substitution as being made through the second identity in the first. With two identities, we have the option of how we want to make the substitution, although the outcome remains exactly the same in either scenario.
Now compare the three following formulæ,
Now compare the three following formulas,
(1) | A = B = C, hence A = C |
(2) | A = B ~ C, hence A ~ C |
(3) | A ~ B ~ C, no inference. |
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In the second formula we have an identity and a difference, and we are able to infer a difference; in the third we have two differences and are unable to make any inference at all. Because A and C both differ from B, we cannot tell whether they will or will not differ from each other. The flowers and leaves of a plant may both differ in colour from the earth in which the plant grows, and yet they may differ from each other; in other cases the leaves and stem may both differ from the soil and yet agree with each other. Where we have difference only we can make no inference; where we have identity we can infer. This fact gives great countenance to my assertion that inference proceeds always through identity, but may be equally well effected in propositions asserting difference or identity.
In the second formula, we have both an identity and a difference, allowing us to infer a difference. In the third formula, we have two differences but can’t draw any conclusions. Since A and C differ from B, we can’t tell if A and C will differ from each other. The flowers and leaves of a plant might have different colors than the soil they grow in, yet still differ from one another; in other situations, the leaves and stem might differ from the soil but be the same as each other. When we only have differences, we can’t infer anything; when we have identity, we can make inferences. This shows that inference always works through identity, but can also occur in statements claiming either difference or identity.
Deferring a more complete discussion of this point, I will only mention now that arguments from double identity occur very frequently, and are usually taken for granted, owing to their extreme simplicity. In regard to the equivalence of words this form of inference must be constantly employed. If the ancient Greek χαλκός is our copper, then it must be the French cuivre, the German kupfer, the Latin cuprum, because these are words, in one sense at least, equivalent to copper. Whenever we can give two definitions or expressions for the same term, the formula applies; thus Senior defined wealth as “All those things, and those things only, which are transferable, are limited in supply, and are directly or indirectly productive of pleasure or preventive of pain.” Wealth is also equivalent to “things which have value in exchange;” hence obviously, “things which have value in exchange = all those things, and those things only, which are transferable, &c.” Two expressions for the same term are often given in the same sentence, and their equivalence implied. Thus Thomson and Tait say,57 “The naturalist may be content to know matter as that which can be perceived by the senses, or as that which can be acted upon by or can exert force.” I take this to mean—
Deferring a more complete discussion of this point, I will only mention now that arguments about double identity come up frequently and are usually assumed to be true because they are very straightforward. In terms of word equivalence, this type of reasoning needs to be used all the time. If the ancient Greek χαλκός is our copper, then it must be the French cuivre, the German kupfer, and the Latin cuprum, because these words, at least in one sense, are equivalent to copper. Whenever we can provide two definitions or expressions for the same term, this formula applies; for instance, Senior defined wealth as “All those things, and those things only, which are transferable, are limited in supply, and are directly or indirectly productive of pleasure or preventive of pain.” Wealth is also described as “things which have value in exchange;” therefore, obviously, “things which have value in exchange = all those things, and those things only, which are transferable, etc.” Two expressions for the same term are often presented in the same sentence, implying their equivalence. For example, Thomson and Tait say,57 “The naturalist may be content to know matter as that which can be perceived by the senses, or as that which can be acted upon by or can exert force.” I take this to mean—
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For the term “matter” in either of these identities we may substitute its equivalent given in the other definition. Elsewhere they often employ sentences of the form exemplified in the following:58 “The integral curvature, or whole change of direction of an arc of a plane curve, is the angle through which the tangent has turned as we pass from one extremity to the other.” This sentence is certainly of the form—
For the term “matter” in either of these identities, we can use its equivalent from the other definition. They often use sentences that look like this:58 “The total curvature, or overall change in direction of a section of a plane curve, is the angle through which the tangent has rotated as we move from one end to the other.” This sentence definitely has the form—
Disguised cases of the same kind of inference occur throughout all sciences, and a remarkable instance is found in algebraic geometry. Mathematicians readily show that every equation of the form y = mx + c corresponds to or represents a straight line; it is also easily proved that the same equation is equivalent to one of the general form Ax + By + C = 0, and vice versâ. Hence it follows that every equation of the form in question, that is to say, every equation of the first degree, corresponds to or represents a straight line.59
Disguised cases of the same type of reasoning occur throughout all sciences, and a notable example is seen in algebraic geometry. Mathematicians easily demonstrate that every equation of the form y = mx + c represents a straight line; it is also straightforward to prove that the same equation is equivalent to one of the general form Ax + By + C = 0, and vice versa. Therefore, it follows that every equation of the specified form, that is to say, every equation of the first degree, corresponds to or represents a straight line.59
Inference with a Simple and a Partial Identity.
A form of reasoning somewhat different from that last considered consists in inference-between a simple and a partial identity. If we have two propositions of the forms
A type of reasoning that differs somewhat from the previous one involves drawing inferences between a simple and a partial identity. If we have two propositions in the forms
B = BC,
we may then substitute for B in either proposition its equivalent in the other, getting in both cases A = BC; in this we may if we like make a second substitution for B, getting
we can then replace B in either statement with its equivalent from the other, resulting in both cases A = BC; here, we can, if we want, make a second replacement for B, getting
Thus, since “The Mont Blanc is the highest mountain in Europe, and the Mont Blanc is deeply covered with snow,” we infer by an obvious substitution that “The highest mountain in Europe is deeply covered with snow.” These propositions when rigorously stated fall into the forms above exhibited.
Thus, since “Mont Blanc is the highest mountain in Europe, and Mont Blanc is heavily covered with snow,” we can clearly substitute to say “The highest mountain in Europe is heavily covered with snow.” When stated rigorously, these propositions fit into the forms shown above.
This mode of inference is constantly employed when for54 a term we substitute its definition, or vice versâ. The very purpose of a definition is to allow a single noun to be employed in place of a long descriptive phrase. Thus, when we say “A circle is a curve of the second degree,” we may substitute a definition of the circle, getting “A curve, all points of which are at equal distances from one point, is a curve of the second degree.” The real forms of the propositions here given are exactly those shown in the symbolic statement, but in this and many other cases it will be sufficient to state them in ordinary elliptical language for sake of brevity. In scientific treatises a term and its definition are often both given in the same sentence, as in “The weight of a body in any given locality, or the force with which the earth attracts it, is proportional to its mass.” The conjunction or in this statement gives the force of equivalence to the parenthetic phrase, so that the propositions really are
This way of reasoning is constantly used when we replace a term with its definition, or vice versa. The main purpose of a definition is to let us use a single word instead of a lengthy descriptive phrase. So, when we say “A circle is a curve of the second degree,” we can swap in the definition of a circle, resulting in “A curve, all points of which are at equal distances from one point, is a curve of the second degree.” The actual formats of the statements provided here are exactly those shown in the symbolic representation, but in this and many other cases, it’s fine to express them in straightforward elliptical language for brevity. In scientific writings, a term and its definition are often included in the same sentence, as in “The weight of a body in any given location, or the force with which the earth attracts it, is proportional to its mass.” The word "or" in this statement indicates that the parenthetical phrase is equivalent, so the propositions really are
A slightly different case of inference consists in substituting in a proposition of the form A = AB, a definition of the term B. Thus from A = AB and B = C we get A = AC. For instance, we may say that “Metals are elements” and “Elements are incapable of decomposition.”
A slightly different case of inference involves replacing the term B in a statement like A = AB with a definition. So from A = AB and B = C, we get A = AC. For example, we could say that "Metals are elements" and "Elements cannot be broken down."
Hence
So
It is almost needless to point out that the form of these arguments does not suffer any real modification if some of the terms happen to be negative; indeed in the last example “incapable of decomposition” may be treated as a negative term. Taking
It’s almost unnecessary to mention that the way these arguments are structured doesn’t change significantly if some of the terms are negative; in fact, in the last example, “incapable of decomposition” can be considered a negative term. Taking
A = metal | C = capable of decomposition |
B = element | c = incapable of decomposition; |
the propositions are of the forms
the propositions are in the following forms
B = c
whence, by substitution,
where, by substitution,
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Inference of a Partial from Two Partial Identities.
However common be the cases of inference already noticed, there is a form occurring almost more frequently, and which deserves much attention, because it occupied a prominent place in the ancient syllogistic system. That system strangely overlooked all the kinds of argument we have as yet considered, and selected, as the type of all reasoning, one which employs two partial identities as premises. Thus from the propositions
However common the cases of inference already mentioned may be, there is a form that occurs even more often, and it deserves significant attention because it held a prominent place in the ancient syllogistic system. That system oddly ignored all the kinds of arguments we've discussed so far and chose, as the standard of all reasoning, one that uses two partial identities as premises. So from the propositions
Sodium is a metal | (1) |
Metals conduct electricity, | (2) |
we may conclude that
we can conclude that
Taking A, B, C to represent the three terms respectively, the premises are of the forms
Taking A, B, and C to represent the three terms respectively, the premises are of the following forms
B = BC. (2)
Now for B in (1) we can substitute its expression as given in (2), obtaining
Now for B in (1), we can replace it with the expression provided in (2), resulting in
or, in words, from
or, in other words, from
Sodium = sodium metal, | (1) |
Metal = metal conducting electricity, | (2) |
we infer
we conclude
which, in the elliptical language of common life, becomes
which, in the simplified language of everyday life, becomes
The above is a syllogism in the mood called Barbara60 in the truly barbarous language of ancient logicians; and the first figure of the syllogism contained Barbara and three other moods which were esteemed distinct forms of argument. But it is worthy of notice that, without any real change in our form of inference, we readily include these three other moods under Barbara. The negative mood Celarent will be represented by the example
The above is a syllogism in the mood called Barbara60 in the rather outdated language of ancient logicians; and the first figure of the syllogism included Barbara and three other moods that were considered separate types of argument. However, it's worth noting that, without any significant change in our way of reasoning, we easily group these three other moods under Barbara. The negative mood Celarent will be represented by the example
Neptune is a planet, | (1) |
|
No planet has retrograde motion; | (2) |
|
Hence | Neptune has not retrograde motion. | (3) |
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If we put A for Neptune, B for planet, and C for “having retrograde motion,” then by the corresponding negative term c, we denote “not having retrograde motion.” The premises now fall into the forms
If we use A for Neptune, B for planet, and C for “having retrograde motion,” then the corresponding negative term c represents “not having retrograde motion.” The premises now fit into the forms
A = AB | (1) |
B = Bc, | (2) |
and by substitution for B, exactly as before, we obtain
and by replacing B, just like before, we get
What is called in the old logic a particular conclusion may be deduced without any real variation in the symbols. Particular quantity is indicated, as before mentioned (p. 41), by joining to the term an indefinite adjective of quantity, such as some, a part of, certain, &c., meaning that an unknown part of the term enters into the proposition as subject. Considerable doubt and ambiguity arise out of the question whether the part may not in some cases be the whole, and in the syllogism at least it must be understood in this sense.61 Now, if we take a letter to represent this indefinite part, we need make no change in our formulæ to express the syllogisms Darii and Ferio. Consider the example—
What is referred to in old logic as a particular conclusion can be derived without any significant change in the symbols. A particular quantity is indicated, as mentioned previously (p. 41), by adding an indefinite adjective of quantity to the term, such as some, a part of, certain, etc., which means that an unknown portion of the term is included as the subject in the proposition. This brings considerable doubt and ambiguity regarding whether the part might sometimes be the whole, and in syllogisms, at least, it must be understood in this sense.61 Now, if we use a letter to represent this indefinite part, we don't need to change our formulas to express the syllogisms Darii and Ferio. Consider the example—
Some metals are of less density than water, | (1) |
All bodies of less density than water will float upon the surface of water; hence | (2) |
Some metals will float upon the surface of water. | (3) |
Let | A = some metals, |
B = body of less density than water, | |
C = floating on the surface of water |
then the propositions are evidently as before,
then the propositions are clearly the same as before,
A = AB, | (1) | |
B = BC; | (2) | |
hence | A = ABC, | (3) |
Thus the syllogism Darii does not really differ from Barbara. If the reader prefer it, we can readily employ a distinct symbol for the indefinite sign of quantity.
Thus the syllogism of Darii doesn't really differ from Barbara. If the reader prefers, we can easily use a different symbol for the indefinite sign of quantity.
Let | P = some, |
Q = metal, |
B and C having the same meanings as before. Then the premises become
B and C have the same meanings as before. Then the premises become
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PQ = PQB, | (1) |
B = BC; | (2) |
hence, by substitution, as before,
so, by substitution, as before,
Except that the formulæ look a little more complicated there is no difference whatever.
Except that the formulas look a bit more complicated, there’s no difference at all.
The mood Ferio is of exactly the same character as Darii or Barbara, except that it involves the use of a negative term. Take the example,
The mood Ferio is exactly like Darii or Barbara, but it includes a negative term. Take the example,
Assigning the letters as follows:—
Assigning the letters like this:
B = bodies equally elastic in all directions,
C = doubly refracting light,
c = not doubly refracting light.
Our argument is of the same form as before, and may be concisely stated in one line,
Our argument is the same as before and can be summed up in one line,
If it is preferred to put PQ for the indefinite some crystals, we have
If it's preferred to use PQ for the indefinite some crystals, we have
The only difference is that the negative term c takes the place of C in the mood Darii.
The only difference is that the negative term c replaces C in the mood Darii.
Ellipsis of Terms in Partial Identities.
The reader will probably have noticed that the conclusion which we obtain from premises is often more full than that drawn by the old Aristotelian processes. Thus from “Sodium is a metal,” and “Metals conduct electricity,” we inferred (p. 55) that “Sodium = sodium, metal, conducting electricity,” whereas the old logic simply concludes that “Sodium conducts electricity.” Symbolically, from A = AB, and B = BC, we get A = ABC, whereas the old logic gets at the most A = AC. It is therefore well to show that without employing any other principles of inference than those already described, we may infer A = AC from A = ABC, though we cannot infer the latter58 more full and accurate result from the former. We may show this most simply as follows:—
The reader will likely have noticed that the conclusion we draw from premises is often more comprehensive than the one reached by traditional Aristotelian methods. For example, from “Sodium is a metal” and “Metals conduct electricity,” we inferred (p. 55) that “Sodium = sodium, metal, conducting electricity,” while the old logic simply concludes that “Sodium conducts electricity.” Symbolically, from A = AB and B = BC, we get A = ABC, whereas the old logic reaches at most A = AC. It’s important to demonstrate that using only the inference principles we’ve already outlined, we can derive A = AC from A = ABC, although we cannot derive the latter, a more complete and precise result, from the former. We can show this most simply as follows:—
By the first Law of Thought it is evident that
By the first Law of Thought, it's clear that
and if we have given the proposition A = ABC, we may substitute for both the A’s in the second side of the above, obtaining
and if we have the proposition A = ABC, we can substitute both A’s on the second side of the above, resulting in
But from the property of logical symbols expressed in the Law of Simplicity (p. 33) some of the repeated letters may be made to coalesce, and we have
But from the characteristics of logical symbols described in the Law of Simplicity (p. 33), some of the repeated letters can be combined, and we have
Substituting again for ABC its equivalent A, we obtain
Substituting A for ABC again, we get
the desired result.
the expected outcome.
By a similar process of reasoning it may be shown that we can always drop out any term appearing in one member of a proposition, provided that we substitute for it the whole of the other member. This process was described in my first logical Essay,62 as Intrinsic Elimination, but it might perhaps be better entitled the Ellipsis of Terms. It enables us to get rid of needless terms by strict substitutive reasoning.
By using similar reasoning, we can always remove any term found in one part of a proposition, as long as we replace it with the entire other part. I referred to this process in my first logical essay,62 as Intrinsic Elimination, but it could possibly be better named Ellipsis of Terms. This process allows us to eliminate unnecessary terms through precise substitutive reasoning.
Inference of a Simple from Two Partial Identities.
Two terms may be connected together by two partial identities in yet another manner, and a case of inference then arises which is of the highest importance. In the two premises
Two terms can be linked together by two partial identities in another way, leading to an important situation of inference. In the two premises
B = AB (2)
the second member of each is the same; so that we can by obvious substitution obtain
the second member of each is the same; so we can easily substitute to get
Thus, in plain geometry we readily prove that “Every equilateral triangle is also an equiangular triangle,” and we can with equal ease prove that “Every equiangular triangle is an equilateral triangle.” Thence by substitution, as explained above, we pass to the simple identity,
Thus, in basic geometry we easily show that “Every equilateral triangle is also an equiangular triangle,” and we can just as easily prove that “Every equiangular triangle is an equilateral triangle.” From there, by substitution, as explained above, we arrive at the simple identity,
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We thus prove that one class of triangles is entirely identical with another class; that is to say, they differ only in our way of naming and regarding them.
We therefore demonstrate that one group of triangles is completely the same as another group; in other words, they only differ in how we name and perceive them.
The great importance of this process of inference arises from the fact that the conclusion is more simple and general than either of the premises, and contains as much information as both of them put together. It is on this account constantly employed in inductive investigation, as will afterwards be more fully explained, and it is the natural mode by which we arrive at a conviction of the truth of simple identities as existing between classes of numerous objects.
The significant value of this inference process comes from the conclusion being simpler and more general than both premises, yet it holds as much information as they do combined. For this reason, it is frequently used in inductive research, as will be explained in more detail later, and it is the natural way we come to believe in the truth of basic identities that exist among various classes of objects.
Inference of a Limited from Two Partial Identities.
We have considered some arguments which are of the type treated by Aristotle in the first figure of the syllogism. But there exist two other types of argument which employ a pair of partial identities. If our premises are as shown in these symbols,
We have looked at some arguments similar to those addressed by Aristotle in the first figure of the syllogism. However, there are two other types of arguments that use a couple of partial identities. If our premises are represented by these symbols,
B = CB, (2)
we may substitute for B either by (1) in (2) or by (2) in (1), and by both modes we obtain the conclusion
we can replace B either by (1) in (2) or by (2) in (1), and using both methods leads us to the conclusion
a proposition of the kind which we have called a limited identity (p. 42). Thus, for example,
a proposition of the kind we've referred to as a limited identity (p. 42). So, for instance,
Potassium = potassium metal | (1) |
Potassium = potassium capable of floating on water; | (2) |
hence
therefore
Potassium metal = potassium capable of floating on water. | (3) |
This is really a syllogism of the mood Darapti in the third figure, except that we obtain a conclusion of a more exact character than the old syllogism gives. From the premises “Potassium is a metal” and “Potassium floats on water,” Aristotle would have inferred that “Some metals float on water.” But if inquiry were made what the “some metals” are, the answer would certainly be “Metal which is potassium.” Hence Aristotle’s conclusion simply leaves out some of the information afforded in the premises. It60 even leaves us open to interpret the some metals in a wider sense than we are warranted in doing. From these distinct defects of the old syllogism the process of substitution is free, and the new process only incurs the possible objection of being tediously minute and accurate.
This is really a syllogism of the mood Darapti in the third figure, but we reach a more precise conclusion than the old syllogism does. From the premises “Potassium is a metal” and “Potassium floats on water,” Aristotle would have concluded that “Some metals float on water.” However, if we were to ask what the “some metals” are, the answer would definitely be “Metal which is potassium.” Thus, Aristotle’s conclusion misses some of the information provided in the premises. It even allows us to interpret the some metals more broadly than we should. Because of these clear shortcomings in the old syllogism, the process of substitution is valid, and the new process only risks being overly detailed and precise.
Miscellaneous Forms of Deductive Inference.
The more common forms of deductive reasoning having been exhibited and demonstrated on the principle of substitution, there still remain many, in fact an indefinite number, which may be explained with nearly equal ease. Such as involve the use of disjunctive propositions will be described in a later chapter, and several of the syllogistic moods which include negative terms will be more conveniently treated after we have introduced the symbolic use of the second and third laws of thought.
The more common types of deductive reasoning have been shown and demonstrated based on the principle of substitution. However, there are still many, in fact, an unlimited number, that can be explained with almost the same level of ease. Those that involve disjunctive propositions will be discussed in a later chapter, and several of the syllogistic moods that include negative terms will be addressed more conveniently after we have introduced the symbolic use of the second and third laws of thought.
We sometimes meet with a chain of propositions which allow of repeated substitution, and form an argument called in the old logic a Sorites. Take, for instance, the premises
We sometimes come across a series of statements that can be replaced over and over, creating an argument known in traditional logic as a Sorites. For example, consider the premises
Iron is a metal, | (1) |
Metals are good conductors of electricity, | (2) |
Good conductors ofelectricity are useful for telegraphic purposes. | (3) |
It obviously follows that
It's clear that
Iron is useful for telegraphic purposes. | (4) |
Now if we take our letters thus,
Now if we take our letters like this,
the premises will assume the forms
the premises will take on the forms
A = AB, | (1) |
B = BC, | (2) |
C = CD. | (3) |
For B in (1) we can substitute its equivalent in (2) obtaining, as before,
For B in (1), we can replace it with its equivalent in (2), resulting in the same outcome as before,
Substituting for C in this intermediate result its equivalent as given in (3), we obtain the complete conclusion
Substituting C in this intermediate result with its equivalent as given in (3), we arrive at the final conclusion.
A = ABCD. | (4) |
The full interpretation is that Iron is iron, metal, good conductor of electricity, useful for telegraphic purposes, which61 is abridged in common language by the ellipsis of the circumstances which are not of immediate importance.
The full interpretation is that Iron is iron, metal, a good conductor of electricity, useful for telegraphic purposes, which61 is shortened in everyday language by leaving out the details that aren't immediately important.
Instead of all the propositions being exactly of the same kind as in the last example, we may have a series of premises of various character; for instance,
Instead of all the statements being exactly the same as in the last example, we might have a series of premises of different types; for example,
Common salt is sodium chloride, | (1) |
Sodium chloride crystallizes in a cubical form, | (2) |
What crystallizes in a cubical form does not possess the power of double refraction; | (3) |
it will follow that
it will follow that
Common salt does not possess the power of double refraction. | (4) |
Taking our letter-terms thus,
Using our letter terms,
B = Sodium chloride,
C = Crystallizing in a cubical form,
D = Possessing the power of double refraction,
we may state the premises in the forms
we can state the premises in the forms
A = B, | (1) |
B = BC, | (2) |
C = Cd. | (3) |
Substituting by (3) in (2) and then by (2) as thus altered in (1) we obtain
Substituting (3) into (2) and then using the modified version of (2) in (1) gives us
A = BCd, | (4) |
which is a more precise version of the common conclusion.
which is a more accurate version of the common conclusion.
We often meet with a series of propositions describing the qualities or circumstances of the one same thing, and we may combine them all into one proposition by the process of substitution. This case is, in fact, that which Dr. Thomson has called “Immediate Inference by the sum of several predicates,” and his example will serve my purpose well.63 He describes copper as “A metal—of a red colour—and disagreeable smell—and taste—all the preparations of which are poisonous—which is highly malleable—ductile—and tenacious—with a specific gravity of about 8.83.” If we assign the letter A to copper, and the succeeding letters of the alphabet in succession to the series of predicates, we have nine distinct statements, of the form A = AB (1) A = AC (2) A = AD (3) . . . A = AK (9). We can readily combine these propositions into one by62 substituting for A in the second side of (1) its expression in (2). We thus get
We often come across a series of statements that describe the qualities or circumstances of the same thing, and we can combine them all into one statement through substitution. This situation is what Dr. Thomson referred to as “Immediate Inference by the sum of several predicates,” and his example fits my purpose perfectly.63 He describes copper as “A metal—red in color—and having an unpleasant smell—and taste—all its compounds are toxic—which is highly malleable—ductile—and strong—with a specific gravity of about 8.83.” If we assign the letter A to copper and the following letters of the alphabet to the series of predicates, we have nine distinct statements in the form A = AB (1) A = AC (2) A = AD (3) . . . A = AK (9). We can easily combine these statements into one by62 substituting for A in the second part of (1) its expression in (2). We thus get
and by repeating the process over and over again we obviously get the single proposition
and by repeating the process over and over again we obviously get the single proposition
But Dr. Thomson is mistaken in supposing that we can obtain in this manner a definition of copper. Strictly speaking, the above proposition is only a description of copper, and all the ordinary descriptions of substances in scientific works may be summed up in this form. Thus we may assert of the organic substances called Paraffins that they are all saturated hydrocarbons, incapable of uniting with other substances, produced by heating the alcoholic iodides with zinc, and so on. It may be shown that no amount of ordinary description can be equivalent to a definition of any substance.
But Dr. Thomson is wrong to think that we can get a definition of copper this way. To be precise, the statement above is just a description of copper, and all standard descriptions of substances in scientific texts can be summed up like this. For example, we can say that organic substances known as Paraffins are all saturated hydrocarbons that can't combine with other substances, created by heating alcoholic iodides with zinc, and so on. It can be demonstrated that no amount of standard description can replace a definition of any substance.
Fallacies.
I have hitherto been engaged in showing that all the forms of reasoning of the old syllogistic logic, and an indefinite number of other forms in addition, may be readily and clearly explained on the single principle of substitution. It is now desirable to show that the same principle will prevent us falling into fallacies. So long as we exactly observe the one rule of substitution of equivalents it will be impossible to commit a paralogism, that is to break any one of the elaborate rules of the ancient system. The one new rule is thus proved to be as powerful as the six, eight, or more rules by which the correctness of syllogistic reasoning was guarded.
I have previously demonstrated that all the reasoning forms in traditional syllogistic logic, along with countless other forms, can be easily and clearly explained using the single principle of substitution. Now, it’s important to show that the same principle can help us avoid falling into fallacies. As long as we strictly follow the one rule of substituting equivalents, it will be impossible to make a paralogism, meaning we won't break any of the detailed rules of the old system. This one new rule is thus shown to be as effective as the six, eight, or more rules that ensured the correctness of syllogistic reasoning.
It was a fundamental rule, for instance, that two negative premises could give no conclusion. If we take the propositions
It was a basic rule, for example, that two negative premises couldn't lead to a conclusion. If we take the propositions
Granite is not a sedimentary rock, | (1) |
Basalt is not a sedimentary rock, | (2) |
we ought not to be able to draw any inference concerning the relation between granite and basalt. Taking our letter-terms thus:
we shouldn't be able to draw any conclusions about the relationship between granite and basalt. Taking our letter terms this way:
the premises may be expressed in the forms
the premises can be stated in the following ways
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A ~ B, | (1) |
C ~ B. | (2) |
We have in this form two statements of difference; but the principle of inference can only work with a statement of agreement or identity (p. 63). Thus our rule gives us no power whatever of drawing any inference; this is exactly in accordance with the fifth rule of the syllogism.
We have in this form two statements of difference; however, the principle of inference can only function with a statement of agreement or identity (p. 63). Therefore, our rule provides us with no ability to draw any inference; this is completely consistent with the fifth rule of the syllogism.
It is to be remembered, indeed, that we claim the power of always turning a negative proposition into an affirmative one (p. 45); and it might seem that the old rule against negative premises would thus be circumvented. Let us try. The premises (1) and (2) when affirmatively stated take the forms
It’s important to remember that we assert the ability to always turn a negative statement into a positive one (p. 45); and it may seem that the traditional rule against negative premises could be avoided this way. Let’s give it a try. The premises (1) and (2) when stated positively take the forms
A = Ab | (1) |
C = Cb. | (2) |
The reader will find it impossible by the rule of substitution to discover a relation between A and C. Three terms occur in the above premises, namely A, b, and C; but they are so combined that no term occurring in one has its exact equivalent stated in the other. No substitution can therefore be made, and the principle of the fifth rule of the syllogism holds true. Fallacy is impossible.
The reader will find it impossible, according to the rule of substitution, to identify a relationship between A and C. Three terms appear in the premises above: A, b, and C; however, they are combined in such a way that no term found in one has an exact equivalent in the other. Therefore, no substitution can be made, and the principle of the fifth rule of the syllogism remains valid. Fallacy is not possible.
It would be a mistake, however, to suppose that the mere occurrence of negative terms in both premises of a syllogism renders them incapable of yielding a conclusion. The old rule informed us that from two negative premises no conclusion could be drawn, but it is a fact that the rule in this bare form does not hold universally true; and I am not aware that any precise explanation has been given of the conditions under which it is or is not imperative. Consider the following example:
It would be a mistake, however, to assume that the presence of negative terms in both premises of a syllogism makes it impossible to reach a conclusion. The old rule told us that you can't draw a conclusion from two negative premises, but the reality is that this rule doesn't always apply; and I don't know of any clear explanation for when it does or doesn’t apply. Consider the following example:
Whatever is not metallic is not capable of powerful magnetic influence, | (1) |
Carbon is not metallic, | (2) |
Therefore, carbon is not capable of powerful magnetic influence. | (3) |
Here we have two distinctly negative premises (1) and (2), and yet they yield a perfectly valid negative conclusion (3). The syllogistic rule is actually falsified in its bare and general statement. In this and many other cases we can convert the propositions into affirmative ones which will yield a conclusion by substitution without any difficulty.64
Here we have two clearly negative premises (1) and (2), but they lead to a perfectly valid negative conclusion (3). The syllogistic rule is actually disproven in its simple and general form. In this case and many others, we can change the propositions into affirmative ones that will easily produce a conclusion through substitution.64
To show this let
To demonstrate this let
B = metallic,
The premises readily take the forms
The premises easily take the forms
b = bc, | (1) |
A = Ab, | (2) |
and substitution for b in (2) by means of (1) gives the conclusion
and replacing b in (2) using (1) leads to the conclusion
A = Abc. | (3) |
Our principle of inference then includes the rule of negative premises whenever it is true, and discriminates correctly between the cases where it does and does not hold true.
Our rule of inference now includes the guideline for negative premises whenever it's valid and accurately distinguishes between the situations where it is and isn't true.
The paralogism, anciently called the Fallacy of Undistributed Middle, is also easily exhibited and infallibly avoided by our system. Let the premises be
The paralogism, once known as the Fallacy of Undistributed Middle, is also easily demonstrated and completely avoided by our system. Let the premises be
Hydrogen is an element, | (1) |
All metals are elements. | (2) |
According to the syllogistic rules the middle term “element” is here undistributed, and no conclusion can be obtained; we cannot tell then whether hydrogen is or is not a metal. Represent the terms as follows
According to the syllogistic rules, the middle term “element” is not distributed here, so no conclusion can be drawn; we can’t say whether hydrogen is a metal or not. Represent the terms as follows:
B = element,
C = metal.
The premises then become
The premises then become
A = AB, | (1) |
C = CB. | (2) |
The reader will here, as in a former page (p. 62), find it impossible to make any substitution. The only term which occurs in both premises is B, but it is differently combined in the two premises. For B we must not substitute A, which is equivalent to AB, not to B. Nor must we confuse together CB and AB, which, though they contain one common letter, are different aggregate terms. The rule of substitution gives us no right to decompose combinations; and if we adhere rigidly to the rule, that if two terms are stated to be equivalent we may substitute one for the other, we cannot commit the fallacy. It is apparent that the form of premises stated above is the same as that which we obtained by translating two negative premises into the affirmative form.
The reader will here, as on a previous page (p. 62), find it impossible to make any substitutions. The only term that appears in both premises is B, but it's combined differently in each. For B, we can’t substitute A, which is equivalent to AB, not B. We also shouldn't confuse CB and AB, which, despite sharing a common letter, are different combined terms. The rule of substitution doesn’t allow us to break down combinations; and if we strictly follow the rule that if two terms are said to be equivalent we can substitute one for the other, we won't fall into the fallacy. It’s clear that the structure of the premises stated above is the same as what we got by translating two negative premises into affirmative form.
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The old fallacy, technically called the Illicit Process of the Major Term, is more easy to commit and more difficult to detect than any other breach of the syllogistic rules. In our system it could hardly occur. From the premises
The old mistake, technically called the Illicit Process of the Major Term, is easier to make and harder to spot than any other violation of the syllogistic rules. In our system, it’s unlikely to happen. From the premises
All planets are subject to gravity, | (1) |
Fixed stars are not planets, | (2) |
we might inadvertently but fallaciously infer that, “Fixed stars are not subject to gravity.” To reduce the premises to symbolic form, let
we might inadvertently but incorrectly conclude that, “Fixed stars are not affected by gravity.” To simplify the arguments into symbolic form, let
B = fixed star
C = subject to gravity;
then we have the propositions
then we have the proposals
A = AC | (1) |
B = Ba. | (2) |
The reader will try in vain to produce from these premises by legitimate substitution any relation between B and C; he could not then commit the fallacy of asserting that B is not C.
The reader will struggle in vain to establish any relationship between B and C from these premises through legitimate substitution; he cannot then make the mistake of claiming that B is not C.
There remain two other kinds of paralogism, commonly known as the fallacy of Four Terms and the Illicit Process of the Minor Term. They are so evidently impossible while we obey the rule of the substitution of equivalents, that it is not necessary to give any illustrations. When there are four distinct terms in two propositions as in A = B and C = D, there could evidently be no opening for substitution. As to the Illicit Process of the Minor Term it consists in a flagrant substitution for a term of another wider term which is not known to be equivalent to it, and which is therefore not allowed by our rule to be substituted for it.
There are two other types of faulty reasoning, commonly referred to as the fallacy of Four Terms and the Illicit Process of the Minor Term. They are clearly impossible when we follow the rule of substituting equivalents, so it’s unnecessary to provide examples. When there are four distinct terms in two statements like A = B and C = D, there’s obviously no room for substitution. As for the Illicit Process of the Minor Term, it involves incorrectly replacing a term with a broader term that isn’t known to be equivalent, which our rule forbids.
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CHAPTER V.
DISJUNCTIVE STATEMENTS.
In the previous chapter I have exhibited various cases of deductive reasoning by the process of substitution, avoiding the introduction of disjunctive propositions; but we cannot long defer the consideration of this more complex class of identities. General terms arise, as we have seen (p. 24), from classifying or mentally uniting together all objects which agree in certain qualities, the value of this union consisting in the fact that the power of knowledge is multiplied thereby. In forming such classes or general notions, we overlook or abstract the points of difference which exist between the objects joined together, and fix our attention only on the points of agreement. But every process of thought may be said to have its inverse process, which consists in undoing the effects of the direct process. Just as division undoes multiplication, and evolution undoes involution, so we must have a process which undoes generalization, or the operation of forming general notions. This inverse process will consist in distinguishing the separate objects or minor classes which are the constituent parts of any wider class. If we mentally unite together certain objects visible in the sky and call them planets, we shall afterwards need to distinguish the contents of this general notion, which we do in the disjunctive proposition—
In the previous chapter, I showed various examples of deductive reasoning through substitution, steering clear of disjunctive propositions. However, we can't delay considering this more complex category of identities for much longer. General terms come up, as we've seen (p. 24), from grouping or mentally uniting all objects that share certain qualities, with the value of this grouping lying in the fact that it enhances our ability to gain knowledge. When we create these classes or general concepts, we overlook or ignore the differences that exist between the objects involved, focusing only on their similarities. Yet, every thought process has its opposite, which is about reversing the effects of the direct process. Just like division reverses multiplication and evolution reverses involution, there must be a process that reverses generalization, or the act of forming general concepts. This reverse process will involve distinguishing the individual objects or smaller classes that make up any broader category. If we mentally group certain objects we see in the sky and label them as planets, we'll later need to break down this general idea, which we do through the disjunctive proposition—
Having formed the very wide class “vertebrate animal,” we may specify its subordinate classes thus:—“A vertebrate67 animal is either a mammal, bird, reptile, or fish.” Nor is there any limit to the number of possible alternatives. “An exogenous plant is either a ranunculus, a poppy, a crucifer, a rose, or it belongs to some one of the other seventy natural orders of exogens at present recognized by botanists.” A cathedral church in England must be either that of London, Canterbury, Winchester, Salisbury, Manchester, or of one of about twenty-four cities possessing such churches. And if we were to attempt to specify the meaning of the term “star,” we should require to enumerate as alternatives, not only the many thousands of stars recorded in catalogues, but the many millions unnamed.
Having defined the broad category of "vertebrate animals," we can break it down into its subcategories like this: "A vertebrate animal is either a mammal, bird, reptile, or fish." There's no limit to the number of possible options. "An exogenous plant is either a ranunculus, a poppy, a crucifer, a rose, or it belongs to one of the other seventy natural orders of exogens currently recognized by botanists." A cathedral in England must be one of the following: London, Canterbury, Winchester, Salisbury, Manchester, or one of about twenty-four other cities with such churches. And if we tried to define the term "star," we would need to list not only the thousands of stars recorded in catalogues but also the millions that are unnamed.
Whenever we thus distinguish the parts of a general notion we employ a disjunctive proposition, in at least one side of which are several alternatives joined by the so-called disjunctive conjunction or, a contracted form of other. There must be some relation between the parts thus connected in one proposition; we may call it the disjunctive or alternative relation, and we must carefully inquire into its nature. This relation is that of ignorance and doubt, giving rise to choice. Whenever we classify and abstract we must open the way to such uncertainty. By fixing our attention on certain attributes to the exclusion of others, we necessarily leave it doubtful what those other attributes are. The term “molar tooth” bears upon the face of it that it is a part of the wider term “tooth.” But if we meet with the simple term “tooth” there is nothing to indicate whether it is an incisor, a canine, or a molar tooth. This doubt, however, may be resolved by further information, and we have to consider what are the appropriate logical processes for treating disjunctive propositions in connection with other propositions disjunctive or otherwise.
Whenever we distinguish the parts of a general idea, we use a disjunctive proposition, which has several alternatives linked by the conjunction "or," a shortened form of "other." There has to be some connection between the parts joined in one proposition; we can call it the disjunctive or alternative relation, and we need to examine its nature carefully. This relation involves uncertainty and doubt, leading to choice. Whenever we classify and abstract, we inevitably allow for some uncertainty. By focusing on specific attributes while ignoring others, we create ambiguity about what those other attributes might be. The term "molar tooth" clearly indicates that it is part of the broader term "tooth." But when we come across the simple term "tooth," there's no indication whether it's an incisor, a canine, or a molar tooth. However, this uncertainty can be resolved with more information, and we need to consider the appropriate logical methods for working with disjunctive propositions alongside other propositions, whether disjunctive or not.
Expression of the Alternative Relation.
In order to represent disjunctive propositions with convenience we require a sign of the alternative relation, equivalent to one meaning at least of the little conjunction or so frequently used in common language. I propose to use for this purpose the symbol ꖌ. In my first logical essay I followed the practice of Boole and adopted68 the sign +; but this sign should not be employed unless there exists exact analogy between mathematical addition and logical alternation. We shall find that the analogy is imperfect, and that there is such profound difference between logical and mathematical terms as should prevent our uniting them by the same symbol. Accordingly I have chosen a sign ꖌ, which seems aptly to suggest whatever degree of analogy may exist without implying more. The exact meaning of the symbol we will now proceed to investigate.
To conveniently represent disjunctive propositions, we need a symbol for the alternative relationship, which is equivalent to one meaning of the conjunction or that's commonly used in everyday language. I propose to use the symbol ꖌ for this purpose. In my first logical essay, I followed Boole's approach and used the + sign; however, that sign should only be used if there is a perfect analogy between mathematical addition and logical alternatives. We will find that the analogy is not perfect and that there's a significant difference between logical and mathematical terms, which should prevent us from using the same symbol for both. Therefore, I have chosen the symbol ꖌ, which seems to appropriately suggest whatever degree of analogy may exist without implying anything beyond that. We will now proceed to investigate the exact meaning of this symbol.
Nature of the Alternative Relation.
Before treating disjunctive propositions it is indispensable to decide whether the alternatives must be considered exclusive or unexclusive. By exclusive alternatives we mean those which cannot contain the same things. If we say “Arches are circular or pointed,” it is certainly to be understood that the same arch cannot be described as both circular and pointed. Many examples, on the other hand, can readily be suggested in which two or more alternatives may hold true of the same object. Thus
Before discussing disjunctive propositions, it's essential to determine whether the alternatives should be seen as exclusive or non-exclusive. By exclusive alternatives, we mean those that cannot share the same elements. For instance, if we say “Arches are circular or pointed,” it’s clear that the same arch cannot be both circular and pointed at the same time. However, there are many examples where two or more alternatives can apply to the same object. Thus
It is undoubtedly possible, by the laws of optics, that the same surface may at one and the same moment give off light of its own and reflect light from other bodies. We speak familiarly of deaf or dumb persons, knowing that the majority of those who are deaf from birth are also dumb.
It is definitely possible, according to the laws of optics, for the same surface to emit its own light and reflect light from other objects at the same time. We commonly refer to deaf or dumb people, understanding that most individuals who are deaf from birth are also unable to speak.
There can be no doubt that in a great many cases, perhaps the greater number of cases, alternatives are exclusive as a matter of fact. Any one number is incompatible with any other; one point of time or place is exclusive of all others. Roger Bacon died either in 1284 or 1292; it is certain that he could not die in both years. Henry Fielding was born either in Dublin or Somersetshire; he could not be born in both places. There is so much more precision and clearness in the use of exclusive alternatives that we ought doubtless to select them when possible. Old works on logic accordingly contained a rule directing that the Membra dividentia, the69 parts of a division or the constituent species of a genus, should be exclusive of each other.
There’s no doubt that in many cases, probably in most cases, alternatives are exclusive. Any one number doesn't go with any other; one specific time or place rules out all others. Roger Bacon died either in 1284 or 1292; it's clear he couldn’t have died in both years. Henry Fielding was born either in Dublin or Somersetshire; he couldn’t have been born in both places. There’s a lot more precision and clarity in using exclusive alternatives, so we should definitely choose them when we can. Older works on logic had a rule stating that the Membra dividentia, the parts of a division or the constituent species of a genus, should not overlap.
It is no doubt owing to the great prevalence and convenience of exclusive divisions that the majority of logicians have held it necessary to make every alternative in a disjunctive proposition exclusive of every other one. Aquinas considered that when this was not the case the proposition was actually false, and Kant adopted the same opinion.64 A multitude of statements to the same effect might readily be quoted, and if the question were to be determined by the weight of historical evidence, it would certainly go against my view. Among recent logicians Hamilton, as well as Boole, took the exclusive side. But there are authorities to the opposite effect. Whately, Mansel, and J. S. Mill have all pointed out that we may often treat alternatives as Compossible, or true at the same time. Whately gives us an example,65 “Virtue tends to procure us either the esteem of mankind, or the favour of God,” and he adds—“Here both members are true, and consequently from one being affirmed we are not authorized to deny the other. Of course we are left to conjecture in each case, from the context, whether it is meant to be implied that the members are or are not exclusive.” Mansel says,66 “We may happen to know that two alternatives cannot be true together, so that the affirmation of the second necessitates the denial of the first; but this, as Boethius observes, is a material, not a formal consequence.” Mill has also pointed out the absurdities which would arise from always interpreting alternatives as exclusive. “If we assert,” he says,67 “that a man who has acted in some particular way must be either a knave or a fool, we by no means assert, or intend to assert, that he cannot be both.” Again, “to make an entirely unselfish use of despotic power, a man must be either a saint or a philosopher.... Does the disjunctive premise necessarily imply, or must it be construed as supposing, that the same person cannot be both a70 saint and a philosopher? Such a construction would be ridiculous.”
There's no doubt that the widespread use and convenience of exclusive divisions have led most logicians to believe that every alternative in a disjunctive proposition must exclude all others. Aquinas argued that if this isn't the case, the proposition is actually false, and Kant shared this opinion. A lot of statements could easily be cited to support this view, and if the question were decided by the amount of historical evidence, it would likely go against my perspective. Among more recent logicians, Hamilton and Boole took an exclusive stance. However, there are authorities who disagree. Whately, Mansel, and J. S. Mill all pointed out that we can often treat alternatives as Compossible, meaning they can be true at the same time. Whately provides an example,65 “Virtue tends to win us either the esteem of society or the favor of God,” and he adds, “In this case, both statements are true, and therefore if one is affirmed, we can’t deny the other. Of course, we must infer from the context whether it’s intended to suggest that the statements are exclusive or not.” Mansel states,66 “We may happen to know that two alternatives cannot be true at the same time, so that affirming the second requires denying the first; but, as Boethius notes, this is a material, not a formal consequence.” Mill has also highlighted the absurdities that would arise from always interpreting alternatives as exclusive. “If we assert,” he says,67 “that a man who has acted in a certain way must be either a knave or a fool, we’re not claiming or intending to claim that he can’t be both.” Again, “to make an entirely unselfish use of despotic power, a man must be either a saint or a philosopher.... Does the disjunctive premise necessarily imply, or must it be interpreted as assuming, that the same person cannot be both a saint and a philosopher? Such an interpretation would be ridiculous.”
I discuss this subject fully because it is really the point which separates my logical system from that of Boole. In his Laws of Thought (p. 32) he expressly says, “In strictness, the words ‘and,’ ‘or,’ interposed between the terms descriptive of two or more classes of objects, imply that those classes are quite distinct, so that no member of one is found in another.” This I altogether dispute. In the ordinary use of these conjunctions we do not join distinct terms only; and when terms so joined do prove to be logically distinct, it is by virtue of a tacit premise, something in the meaning of the names and our knowledge of them, which teaches us that they are distinct. If our knowledge of the meanings of the words joined is defective it will often be impossible to decide whether terms joined by conjunctions are exclusive or not.
I fully discuss this topic because it really is the point that separates my logical system from Boole's. In his Laws of Thought (p. 32), he specifically says, “In strictness, the words ‘and’ and ‘or,’ placed between terms that describe two or more classes of objects, imply that those classes are completely distinct, so that no member of one is found in another.” I completely disagree with this. In everyday use of these conjunctions, we don’t just combine distinct terms; and when the terms we combine turn out to be logically distinct, it’s due to an implied premise, something about the meaning of the names and our understanding of them, which tells us they are distinct. If our understanding of the meanings of the combined words is lacking, it will often be impossible to determine whether the terms combined with conjunctions are exclusive or not.
In the sentence “Repentance is not a single act, but a habit or virtue,” it cannot be implied that a virtue is not a habit; by Aristotle’s definition it is. Milton has the expression in one of his sonnets, “Unstain’d by gold or fee,” where it is obvious that if the fee is not always gold, the gold is meant to be a fee or bribe. Tennyson has the expression “wreath or anadem.” Most readers would be quite uncertain whether a wreath may be an anadem, or an anadem a wreath, or whether they are quite distinct or quite the same. From Darwin’s Origin of Species, I take the expression, “When we see any part or organ developed in a remarkable degree or manner.” In this, or is used twice, and neither time exclusively. For if part and organ are not synonymous, at any rate an organ is a part. And it is obvious that a part may be developed at the same time both in an extraordinary degree and an extraordinary manner, although such cases may be comparatively rare.
In the sentence “Repentance is not a single act, but a habit or virtue,” it doesn't imply that a virtue isn’t a habit; by Aristotle’s definition, it is. Milton uses the phrase in one of his sonnets, “Unstain’d by gold or fee,” where it’s clear that if the fee isn’t always gold, the gold is intended to be a fee or bribe. Tennyson mentions “wreath or anadem.” Most readers would be unsure whether a wreath can be an anadem, or an anadem a wreath, or if they are completely different or essentially the same. From Darwin’s Origin of Species, I take the phrase, “When we see any part or organ developed in a remarkable degree or manner.” Here, or is used twice, and in both cases, not exclusively. Because if part and organ aren’t synonyms, at least an organ is a part. And it’s clear that a part can be developed both in an extraordinary degree and in an extraordinary manner at the same time, although such instances may be relatively rare.
From a careful examination of ordinary writings, it will thus be found that the meanings of terms joined by “and,” “or” vary from absolute identity up to absolute contrariety. There is no logical condition of distinctness at all, and when we do choose exclusive alternatives, it is because our subject demands it. The matter, not the form of an71 expression, points out whether terms are exclusive or not.68 In bills, policies, and other kinds of legal documents, it is sometimes necessary to express very distinctly that alternatives are not exclusive. The form andor is then used, and, as Mr. J. J. Murphy has remarked, this form coincides exactly in meaning with the symbol ꖌ.
From a careful look at everyday writings, it can be seen that the meanings of terms connected by “and” or “or” range from being completely the same to being completely opposite. There isn’t any clear condition of distinctness, and when we do choose exclusive options, it's because our subject requires it. The substance, not the structure of an71 expression, indicates whether terms are exclusive or not.68 In contracts, policies, and other types of legal documents, it’s sometimes essential to clearly express that alternatives are not exclusive. The structure and/or is then used, and, as Mr. J. J. Murphy has noted, this structure has the exact same meaning as the symbol ꖌ.
In the first edition of this work (vol. i., p. 81), I took the disjunctive proposition “Matter is solid, or liquid, or gaseous,” and treated it as an instance of exclusive alternatives, remarking that the same portion of matter cannot be at once solid and liquid, properly speaking, and that still less can we suppose it to be solid and gaseous, or solid, liquid, and gaseous all at the same time. But the experiments of Professor Andrews show that, under certain conditions of temperature and pressure, there is no abrupt change from the liquid to the gaseous state. The same substance may be in such a state as to be indifferently described as liquid and gaseous. In many cases, too, the transition from solid to liquid is gradual, so that the properties of solidity are at least partially joined with those of liquidity. The proposition then, instead of being an instance of exclusive alternatives, seems to afford an excellent instance to the opposite effect. When such doubts can arise, it is evidently impossible to treat alternatives as absolutely exclusive by the logical nature of the relation. It becomes purely a question of the matter of the proposition.
In the first edition of this work (vol. i., p. 81), I presented the disjunctive statement “Matter is solid, liquid, or gaseous,” and discussed it as an example of exclusive alternatives, noting that the same piece of matter cannot be both solid and liquid at the same time, and even less can it be solid and gaseous, or solid, liquid, and gaseous all at once. However, Professor Andrews' experiments demonstrate that under specific conditions of temperature and pressure, there’s no sudden shift from the liquid to the gaseous state. The same substance can exist in a state that can accurately be described as both liquid and gaseous. Additionally, in many scenarios, the transition from solid to liquid is gradual, meaning that the characteristics of solidity can partially coexist with those of liquidity. Therefore, rather than being an example of exclusive alternatives, this proposition seems to illustrate the opposite. When such uncertainties arise, it’s clear that we cannot consider alternatives as completely exclusive based on the logical nature of the relationship. It ultimately becomes a question of the content of the proposition.
The question, as we shall afterwards see more fully, is one of the greatest theoretical importance, because it concerns the true distinction between the sciences of Logic and Mathematics. It is the foundation of number that every unit shall be distinct from every other unit; but Boole imported the conditions of number into the science of Logic, and produced a system which, though wonderful in its results, was not a system of logic at all.
The question, which we will explore in more detail later, is of significant theoretical importance because it deals with the real difference between the fields of Logic and Mathematics. The basis of numbers is that each unit must be different from every other unit; however, Boole brought the principles of numbers into the field of Logic and created a system that, while impressive in its outcomes, was not really a logical system at all.
Laws of the Disjunctive Relation.
In considering the combination or synthesis of terms (p. 30), we found that certain laws, those of Simplicity72 and Commutativeness, must be observed. In uniting terms by the disjunctive symbol we shall find that the same or closely similar laws hold true. The alternatives of either member of a disjunctive proposition are certainly commutative. Just as we cannot properly distinguish between rich and rare gems and rare and rich gems, so we must consider as identical the expression rich or rare gems, and rare or rich gems. In our symbolic language we may say
In looking at the combination or synthesis of terms (p. 30), we found that certain rules, specifically those of Simplicity72 and Commutativeness, need to be followed. When we combine terms using the disjunctive symbol, we’ll see that the same or very similar rules apply. The options on either side of a disjunctive statement are definitely commutative. Just as we can't really tell the difference between rich and rare gems and rare and rich gems, we must consider the phrases rich or rare gems and rare or rich gems as identical. In our symbolic language, we can say
The order of statement, in short, has no effect upon the meaning of an aggregate of alternatives, so that the Law of Commutativeness holds true of the disjunctive symbol.
The order of the statements doesn't affect the meaning of a set of options, so the Law of Commutativeness applies to the disjunctive symbol.
As we have admitted the possibility of joining as alternatives terms which are not really different, the question arises, How shall we treat two or more alternatives when they are clearly shown to be the same? If we have it asserted that P is Q or R, and it is afterwards proved that Q is but another name for R, the result is that P is either R or R. How shall we interpret such a statement? What would be the meaning, for instance, of “wreath or anadem” if, on referring to a dictionary, we found anadem described as a wreath? I take it to be self-evident that the meaning would then become simply “wreath.” Accordingly we may affirm the general law
As we have recognized the potential of using different terms that essentially mean the same thing, the question arises: How should we handle two or more options when it’s clear they are identical? If we say that P is Q or R, and later prove that Q is just another name for R, then it follows that P is either R or R. How should we interpret such a statement? What would “wreath or anadem” mean if we found in a dictionary that anadem is defined as a wreath? It seems obvious that the meaning would simplify to “wreath.” Therefore, we can assert the general principle.
Any number of identical alternatives may always be reduced to, and are logically equivalent to, any one of those alternatives. This is a law which distinguishes mathematical terms from logical terms, because it obviously does not apply to the former. I propose to call it the Law of Unity, because it must really be involved in any definition of a mathematical unit. This law is closely analogous to the Law of Simplicity, AA = A; and the nature of the connection is worthy of attention.
Any number of identical options can always be simplified to, and are logically equivalent to, any one of those options. This is a principle that sets mathematical terms apart from logical terms, as it clearly doesn’t apply to the former. I’d like to call it the Law of Unity, because it is essential in any definition of a mathematical unit. This law is quite similar to the Law of Simplicity, AA = A; and the relationship between them deserves attention.
Few or no logicians except De Morgan have adequately noticed the close relation between combined and disjunctive terms, namely, that every disjunctive term is the negative of a corresponding combined term, and vice versâ. Consider the term
Few or no logicians besides De Morgan have really recognized the close connection between combined and disjunctive terms, specifically that every disjunctive term is the opposite of a corresponding combined term, and vice versa. Consider the term
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How shall we describe the class of things which are not malleable-dense-metals? Whatever is included under that term must have all the qualities of malleability, denseness, and metallicity. Wherever any one or more of the qualities is wanting, the combined term will not apply. Hence the negative of the whole term is
How should we describe the category of things that aren't malleable, dense metals? Anything that falls under that term must have all the qualities of malleability, density, and metallic properties. If any of those qualities are missing, the combined term doesn’t apply. So, the negative of the whole term is
In the above the conjunction or must clearly be interpreted as unexclusive; for there may readily be objects which are both not-malleable, and not-dense, and perhaps not-metallic at the same time. If in fact we were required to use or in a strictly exclusive manner, it would be requisite to specify seven distinct alternatives in order to describe the negative of a combination of three terms. The negatives of four or five terms would consist of fifteen or thirty-one alternatives. This consideration alone is sufficient to prove that the meaning of or cannot be always exclusive in common language.
In the above, the word or must clearly be understood as non-exclusive; there can easily be things that are neither malleable nor dense, and perhaps not metallic at the same time. If we had to use or in a strictly exclusive way, we would need to specify seven different options to describe the negative of a combination of three terms. The negatives of four or five terms would require fifteen or thirty-one options. This point alone is enough to show that the meaning of or can't always be exclusive in everyday language.
Expressed symbolically, we may say that the negative of
Expressed symbolically, we could say that the opposite of
ABC |
|
is | not-A or not-B or not-C; |
that is, | a ꖌ b ꖌ c. |
Reciprocally the negative of
the opposite of
P ꖌ Q ꖌ R | |
is | pqr. |
Every disjunctive term, then, is the negative of a combined term, and vice versâ.
Every disjunctive term is the opposite of a combined term, and vice versa.
Apply this result to the combined term AAA, and its negative is
Apply this result to the combined term AAA, and its negative is
Since AAA is by the Law of Simplicity equivalent to A, so a ꖌ a ꖌ a must be equivalent to a, and the Law of Unity holds true. Each law thus necessarily presupposes the other.
Since AAA is equivalent to A according to the Law of Simplicity, a ꖌ a ꖌ a must be equivalent to a, which makes the Law of Unity valid. Each law therefore depends on the other.
Symbolic expression of the Law of Duality.
We may now employ our symbol of alternation to express in a clear and formal manner the third Fundamental Law of Thought, which I have called the Law of Duality (p. 6). Taking A to represent any class or74 object or quality, and B any other class, object or quality, we may always assert that A either agrees with B, or does not agree. Thus we may say
We can now use our symbol of alternation to clearly and formally express the third Fundamental Law of Thought, which I refer to as the Law of Duality (p. 6). Taking A to represent any class, object, or quality, and B as any other class, object, or quality, we can consistently state that A either aligns with B or does not align with B. So we can say
This is a formula which will henceforth be constantly employed, and it lies at the basis of reasoning.
This is a formula that will be used consistently from now on, and it forms the foundation of reasoning.
The reader may perhaps wish to know why A is inserted in both alternatives of the second member of the identity, and why the law is not stated in the form
The reader might be curious about why A appears in both options of the second part of the identity, and why the law isn't stated in the form.
But if he will consider the contents of the last section (p. 73), he will see that the latter expression cannot be correct, otherwise no term could have a corresponding negative term. For the negative of B ꖌ b is bB, or a self-contradictory term; thus if A were identical with B ꖌ b, its negative a would be non-existent. To say the least, this result would in most cases be an absurd one, and I see much reason to think that in a strictly logical point of view it would always be absurd. In all probability we ought to assume as a fundamental logical axiom that every term has its negative in thought. We cannot think at all without separating what we think about from other things, and these things necessarily form the negative notion.69 It follows that any proposition of the form A = B ꖌ b is just as self-contradictory as one of the form A = Bb.
But if he considers the contents of the last section (p. 73), he will see that the latter expression cannot be correct; otherwise, no term could have a corresponding negative term. The negative of B ꖌ b is bB, which is a self-contradictory term; so if A were identical to B ꖌ b, its negative a would not exist. At the very least, this result would usually be absurd, and I have strong reasons to believe that from a strictly logical standpoint, it would always be absurd. We should probably assume as a fundamental logical principle that every term has its negative in thought. We can't think without distinguishing what we're thinking about from other things, and these other things necessarily create the negative concept.69 This means that any proposition of the form A = B ꖌ b is just as self-contradictory as one of the form A = Bb.
It is convenient to recapitulate in this place the three Laws of Thought in their symbolic form, thus
It’s helpful to summarize the three Laws of Thought here in their symbolic form, as follows:
Law of Identity | A = A. |
Law of Contradiction | Aa = 0. |
Law of Duality | A = AB ꖌ Ab. |
Various Forms of the Disjunctive Proposition.
Disjunctive propositions may occur in a great variety of forms, of which the old logicians took insufficient notice. There may be any number of alternatives, each of which may be a combination of any number of simple terms. A proposition, again, may be disjunctive in one or both members. The proposition
Disjunctive propositions can come in many different forms, which the old logicians didn't pay enough attention to. There can be any number of alternatives, and each one can be a combination of any number of simple terms. A proposition can also be disjunctive in one or both parts. The proposition
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is an example of the doubly disjunctive form. The meaning of such a proposition is that whatever falls under any one or more alternatives on one side must fall under one or more alternatives on the other side. From what has been said before, it is apparent that the proposition
is an example of the doubly disjunctive form. The meaning of such a proposition is that whatever falls under any one or more alternatives on one side must fall under one or more alternatives on the other side. From what has been said before, it is apparent that the proposition
will correspond to
will relate to
each member of the latter being the negative of a member of the former proposition.
each member of the latter being the opposite of a member of the former proposition.
As an instance of a complex disjunctive proposition I may give Senior’s definition of wealth, which, briefly stated, amounts to the proposition “Wealth is what is transferable, limited in supply, and either productive of pleasure or preventive of pain.”70
As an example of a complex disjunctive proposition, I can provide Senior’s definition of wealth, which, in short, boils down to the idea that “Wealth is what can be transferred, has a limited supply, and is either capable of producing pleasure or preventing pain.”70
Let | A = wealth |
B = transferable | |
C = limited in supply | |
D = productive of pleasure | |
E = preventive of pain. |
The definition takes the form
The definition is shaped as
but if we develop the alternatives by a method to be afterwards more fully considered, it becomes
but if we develop the alternatives using a method that will be discussed in more detail later, it becomes
An example of a still more complex proposition is found in De Morgan’s writings,71 as follows:—“He must have been rich, and if not absolutely mad was weakness itself, subjected either to bad advice or to most unfavourable circumstances.”
An example of an even more complex idea is found in De Morgan’s writings,71 as follows:—“He must have been wealthy, and if he wasn't completely insane, he was incredibly weak, either influenced by bad advice or facing very unfavorable circumstances.”
If we assign the letters of the alphabet in succession, thus,
If we list the letters of the alphabet one after another, like this,
B = rich
C = absolutely mad
D = weakness itself
E = subjected to bad advice76
F = subjected to most unfavourable circumstances,
the proposition will take the form
the proposition will take the form
and if we develop the alternatives, expressing some of the different cases which may happen, we obtain
and if we create the alternatives, outlining some of the different scenarios that could occur, we get
The above gives the strict logical interpretation of the sentence, and the first alternative ABC is capable of development into eight cases, according as D, E and F are or are not present. Although from our knowledge of the matter, we may infer that weakness of character cannot be asserted of a person absolutely mad, there is no explicit statement to this effect.
The above presents a strict logical interpretation of the sentence, and the first alternative ABC can be developed into eight cases, depending on whether D, E, and F are present or not. While our understanding of the situation suggests that we can't claim someone who is completely insane has a weak character, there isn't an explicit statement to confirm this.
Inference by Disjunctive Propositions.
Before we can make a free use of disjunctive propositions in the processes of inference we must consider how disjunctive terms can be combined together or with simple terms. In the first place, to combine a simple term with a disjunctive one, we must combine it with every alternative of the disjunctive term. A vegetable, for instance, is either a herb, a shrub, or a tree. Hence an exogenous vegetable is either an exogenous herb, or an exogenous shrub, or an exogenous tree. Symbolically stated, this process of combination is as follows,
Before we can freely use disjunctive propositions in reasoning, we need to look at how disjunctive terms can be combined with each other or with simple terms. First, to combine a simple term with a disjunctive one, we have to combine it with each alternative of the disjunctive term. For example, a vegetable can be a herb, a shrub, or a tree. Therefore, an exogenous vegetable is either an exogenous herb, an exogenous shrub, or an exogenous tree. Symbolically, this combination process is as follows,
Secondly, to combine two disjunctive terms with each other, combine each alternative of one with each alternative of the other. Since flowering plants are either exogens or endogens, and are at the same time either herbs, shrubs or trees, it follows that there are altogether six alternatives—namely, exogenous herbs, exogenous shrubs, exogenous trees, endogenous herbs, endogenous shrubs, endogenous trees. This process of combination is shown in the general form
Secondly, to combine two different terms with each other, mix each option from one with each option from the other. Since flowering plants are either exogenous or endogenous, and at the same time can be either herbs, shrubs, or trees, there are a total of six options—specifically, exogenous herbs, exogenous shrubs, exogenous trees, endogenous herbs, endogenous shrubs, and endogenous trees. This combination process is illustrated in the general form.
It is hardly necessary to point out that, however numerous the terms combined, or the alternatives in those terms, we may effect the combination, provided each alternative is combined with each alternative of the other terms, as in the algebraic process of multiplication.
It’s not really necessary to say that, no matter how many terms are combined or how many alternatives those terms have, we can make the combination as long as each alternative is paired with each alternative of the other terms, just like in the multiplication process of algebra.
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Some processes of deduction may be at once exhibited. We may always, for instance, unite the same qualifying term to each side of an identity even though one or both members of the identity be disjunctive. Thus let
Some processes of deduction can be shown at the same time. For example, we can always add the same qualifying term to both sides of an identity, even if one or both sides of the identity are disjunctive. So let
Now it is self-evident that
Now it is clear that
and in one side of this identity we may for A substitute its equivalent B ꖌ C, obtaining
and on one side of this identity we can replace A with its equivalent B ꖌ C, obtaining
Since “a gaseous element is either hydrogen, or oxygen, or nitrogen, or chlorine, or fluorine,” it follows that “a free gaseous element is either free hydrogen, or free oxygen, or free nitrogen, or free chlorine, or free fluorine.”
Since “a gaseous element is either hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, chlorine, or fluorine,” it follows that “a free gaseous element is either free hydrogen, free oxygen, free nitrogen, free chlorine, or free fluorine.”
This process of combination will lead to most useful inferences when the qualifying adjective combined with both sides of the proposition is a negative of one or more alternatives. Since chlorine is a coloured gas, we may infer that “a colourless gaseous element is either (colourless) hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, or fluorine.” The alternative chlorine disappears because colourless chlorine does not exist. Again, since “a tooth is either an incisor, canine, bicuspid, or molar,” it follows that “a not-incisor tooth is either canine, bicuspid, or molar.” The general rule is that from the denial of any of the alternatives the affirmation of the remainder can be inferred. Now this result clearly follows from our process of substitution; for if we have the proposition
This process of combining will lead to the most useful conclusions when the qualifying adjective used with both sides of the statement is a negative of one or more options. Since chlorine is a colored gas, we can conclude that “a colorless gaseous element is either (colorless) hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, or fluorine.” The option of colorless chlorine is eliminated because colorless chlorine doesn't exist. Similarly, since “a tooth is either an incisor, canine, bicuspid, or molar,” it follows that “a non-incisor tooth is either canine, bicuspid, or molar.” The general rule is that from the denial of any of the alternatives, the affirmation of the remaining options can be inferred. Now this result clearly follows from our process of substitution; for if we have the proposition
and we insert this expression for A on one side of the self-evident identity
and we plug this expression for A into one side of the obvious identity
we obtain Ab = ABb ꖌ AbC ꖌ AbD;
we get Ab = ABb ꖌ AbC ꖌ AbD;
and, as the first of the three alternatives is self-contradictory, we strike it out according to the law of contradiction: there remains
and, since the first of the three options is self-contradictory, we eliminate it based on the law of contradiction: there remains
Thus our system fully includes and explains that mood of the Disjunctive Syllogism technically called the modus tollendo ponens.
Therefore, our system completely encompasses and clarifies that mood of the Disjunctive Syllogism, technically known as modus tollendo ponens.
But the reader must carefully observe that the Disjunctive Syllogism of the mood ponendo tollens, which affirms78 one alternative, and thence infers the denial of the rest, cannot be held true in this system. If I say, indeed, that
But the reader must carefully note that the Disjunctive Syllogism of the mood ponendo tollens, which affirms one option and then infers the rejection of the others, cannot be considered true in this system. If I say, indeed, that
it seems evident that “water which is salt is not fresh.” But this inference really proceeds from our knowledge that water cannot be at once salt and fresh. This inconsistency of the alternatives, as I have fully shown, will not always hold. Thus, if I say
it seems clear that “saltwater is not freshwater.” But this conclusion really comes from our understanding that water cannot be both salty and fresh at the same time. This inconsistency between the two options, as I have explained in detail, will not always apply. So, if I say
Gems are either rare stones or beautiful stones, | (1) |
it will obviously not follow that
it obviously won't follow that
A rare gem is not a beautiful stone, | (2) |
nor that
nor that
A beautiful gem is not a rare stone. | (3) |
Our symbolic method gives only true conclusions; for if we take
Our symbolic method yields only true conclusions; because if we take
B = rare stone
C = beautiful stone,
the proposition (1) is of the form
the proposition (1) is of the form
A |
= B ꖌ C | |
hence | AB |
= B ꖌ BC |
and | AC |
= BC ꖌ C; |
but these inferences are not equivalent to the false ones (2) and (3).
but these conclusions are not the same as the incorrect ones (2) and (3).
We can readily represent disjunctive reasoning by the modus ponendo tollens, when it is valid, by expressing the inconsistency of the alternatives explicitly. Thus if we resort to our instance of
We can easily show disjunctive reasoning using the modus ponendo tollens when it’s valid by clearly stating the inconsistency of the options. So if we refer to our example of
and take
and grab
then the premise is apparently of the form
then the premise is apparently of the form
but in reality there is an unexpressed condition that “what is salt is not fresh,” from which follows, by a process of inference to be afterwards described, that “what is fresh is not salt.” We have then, in letter-terms, the two propositions
but in reality, there’s an unspoken rule that “what is salt is not fresh,” which leads us, through a process of reasoning that will be explained later, to conclude that “what is fresh is not salt.” So, we have, in simple terms, the two statements
C = bC.
If we substitute these descriptions in the original proposition, we obtain
If we replace these descriptions in the original statement, we get
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uniting B to each side we infer
uniting B to each side we infer
AB |
= ABc ꖌ ABbC | |
or | AB |
= ABc; |
that is,
that is,
I should weary the reader if I attempted to illustrate the multitude of forms which disjunctive reasoning may take; and as in the next chapter we shall be constantly treating the subject, I must here restrict myself to a single instance. A very common process of reasoning consists in the determination of the name of a thing by the successive exclusion of alternatives, a process called by the old name abscissio infiniti. Take the case:
I would bore the reader if I tried to show all the different ways disjunctive reasoning can work; and since we’ll be discussing the topic frequently in the next chapter, I’ll limit myself to just one example. A very common way of reasoning involves figuring out the name of something by eliminating alternatives one by one, a method known by the old term abscissio infiniti. Consider this case:
Red-coloured metal is either copper or gold | (1) |
Copper is dissolved by nitric acid | (2) |
This specimen is red-coloured metal | (3) |
This specimen is not dissolved by nitric acid | (4) |
Therefore, this specimen consists of gold | (5) |
Let us assign the letter-symbols thus—
Let’s assign the letter symbols like this—
B = red-coloured metal
C = copper
D = gold
E = dissolved by nitric acid.
Assuming that the alternatives copper or gold are intended to be exclusive, as just explained in the case of fresh and salt water, the premises may be stated in the forms
Assuming that the choices of copper or gold are meant to be exclusive, as explained earlier with fresh and salt water, the premises can be stated in the following ways:
B = BCd ꖌ BcD | (1) |
C = CE | (2) |
A = AB | (3) |
A = Ae | (4) |
Substituting for C in (1) by means of (2) we get
Substituting C in (1) with (2), we get
From (3) and (4) we may infer likewise
From (3) and (4), we can also conclude
and if in this we substitute for B its equivalent just stated, it follows that
and if we replace B with its equivalent just mentioned, it follows that
The first of the alternatives being contradictory the result is
The first option is contradictory, so the result is
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which contains a full description of “this specimen,” as furnished in the premises, but by ellipsis asserts that it is gold. It will be observed that in the symbolic expression (1) I have explicitly stated what is certainly implied, that copper is not gold, and gold not copper, without which condition the inference would not hold good.
which contains a complete description of “this specimen,” as provided earlier, but briefly claims that it is gold. It should be noted that in the symbolic expression (1) I have clearly stated what is definitely implied, that copper is not gold, and gold is not copper; without this condition, the conclusion would not be valid.
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CHAPTER VI.
THE INDIRECT METHOD OF INFERENCE.
The forms of deductive reasoning as yet considered, are mostly cases of Direct Deduction as distinguished from those which we are now about to treat. The method of Indirect Deduction may be described as that which points out what a thing is, by showing that it cannot be anything else. We can define a certain space upon a map, either by colouring that space, or by colouring all except the space; the first mode is positive, the second negative. The difference, it will be readily seen, is exactly analogous to that between the direct and indirect modes of proof in geometry. Euclid often shows that two lines are equal, by showing that they cannot be unequal, and the proof rests upon the known number of alternatives, greater, equal or less, which are alone conceivable. In other cases, as for instance in the seventh proposition of the first book, he shows that two lines must meet in a particular point, by showing that they cannot meet elsewhere.
The types of deductive reasoning we've discussed so far are mostly examples of Direct Deduction, which is different from what we’re about to explore. Indirect Deduction can be described as a method that identifies something by demonstrating that it can’t be anything else. For instance, we can define a specific area on a map either by coloring that area or by coloring everything except for that area; the first method is positive, while the second is negative. The difference is similar to the distinction between direct and indirect proof in geometry. Euclid often proves that two lines are equal by showing that they can’t be unequal, and this proof relies on the three possible relationships: greater, equal, or less, which are the only ones that make sense. In other cases, such as in the seventh proposition of the first book, he proves that two lines must intersect at a specific point by showing that they can’t intersect anywhere else.
In logic we can always define with certainty the utmost number of alternatives which are conceivable. The Law of Duality (pp. 6, 74) enables us always to assert that any quality or circumstance whatsoever is either present or absent. Whatever may be the meaning of the terms A and B it is certainly true that
B = AB ꖌ aB.
These are universal tacit premises which may be employed in the solution of every problem, and which are such invariable and necessary conditions of all thought,82 that they need not be specially laid down. The Law of Contradiction is a further condition of all thought and of all logical symbols; it enables, and in fact obliges, us to reject from further consideration all terms which imply the presence and absence of the same quality. Now, whenever we bring both these Laws of Thought into explicit action by the method of substitution, we employ the Indirect Method of Inference. It will be found that we can treat not only those arguments already exhibited according to the direct method, but we can include an infinite multitude of other arguments which are incapable of solution by any other means.
These are universal basic assumptions that can be used to solve any problem and are such essential and necessary conditions for all thinking that they don't need to be explicitly stated. The Law of Contradiction is another fundamental principle of thought and all logical symbols; it allows and actually requires us to discard any terms that suggest the existence and non-existence of the same quality simultaneously. Whenever we apply both these Laws of Thought through substitution, we use the Indirect Method of Inference. It turns out that we can handle not only those arguments already presented through the direct method but also an infinite number of other arguments that cannot be solved by any other approach.82
Some philosophers, especially those of France, have held that the Indirect Method of Proof has a certain inferiority to the direct method, which should prevent our using it except when obliged. But there are many truths which we can prove only indirectly. We can prove that a number is a prime only by the purely indirect method of showing that it is not any of the numbers which have divisors, and the remarkable process known as Eratosthenes’ Sieve is the only mode by which we can select the prime numbers.72 It bears a strong analogy to the indirect method here to be described. We can prove that the side and diameter of a square are incommensurable, but only in the negative or indirect manner, by showing that the contrary supposition inevitably leads to contradiction.73 Many other demonstrations in various branches of the mathematical sciences proceed upon a like method. Now, if there is only one important truth which must be, and can only be, proved indirectly, we may say that the process is a necessary and sufficient one, and the question of its comparative excellence or usefulness is not worth discussion. As a matter of fact I believe that nearly half our logical conclusions rest upon its employment.
Some philosophers, especially those from France, believe that the Indirect Method of Proof is somewhat inferior to the direct method, which they think should limit its use to situations where it's absolutely necessary. However, there are many truths that we can only prove indirectly. For instance, we can determine that a number is prime only by indirectly showing that it isn't divisible by any other numbers, and the notable process known as Eratosthenes’ Sieve is the only way we can identify prime numbers.72 This shows a strong similarity to the indirect method being discussed here. We can also prove that the side and diameter of a square are incommensurable, but only in a negative or indirect way, by demonstrating that any contrary assumption leads to a contradiction.73 Many other proofs across different areas of mathematics use a similar approach. If there's at least one significant truth that must be, and can only be, proved indirectly, we can say that this process is both necessary and sufficient, making any debate about its relative worth irrelevant. In fact, I believe that nearly half of our logical conclusions rely on its application.
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Simple Illustrations.
In tracing out the powers and results of this method, we will begin with the simplest possible instance. Let us take a proposition of the common form, A = AB, say,
In exploring the powers and outcomes of this method, we will start with the most straightforward example. Let's take a statement in the common form, A = AB, for instance,
and let us investigate its full meaning. Any person who has had the least logical training, is aware that we can draw from the above proposition an apparently different one, namely,
and let's explore its full meaning. Anyone who has had even a little logical training knows that we can derive an apparently different proposition from the one above, namely,
While some logicians, as for instance De Morgan,74 have considered the relation of these two propositions to be purely self-evident, and neither needing nor allowing analysis, a great many more persons, as I have observed while teaching logic, are at first unable to perceive the close connection between them. I believe that a true and complete system of logic will furnish a clear analysis of this process, which has been called Contrapositive Conversion; the full process is as follows:—
While some logicians, like De Morgan, have viewed the relationship between these two propositions as completely self-evident and not requiring any analysis, I’ve noticed that many people, especially when I teach logic, struggle to see the close connection between them. I believe that an accurate and comprehensive system of logic will provide a clear breakdown of this process, which is known as Contrapositive Conversion; the complete process is as follows:—
Firstly, by the Law of Duality we know that
Firstly, according to the Law of Duality, we understand that
If it be metal, we know that it is by the premise an element; we should thus be supposing that the same thing is an element and a not-element, which is in opposition to the Law of Contradiction. According to the only other alternative, then, the not-element must be a not-metal.
If it’s metal, we know that it’s considered an element; therefore, we would be assuming that the same thing is both an element and a not-element, which goes against the Law of Contradiction. According to the only other option, then, the not-element must be a not-metal.
To represent this process of inference symbolically we take the premise in the form
To symbolically represent this process of inference, we take the premise in the form
A = AB. | (1) |
We observe that by the Law of Duality the term not-B is thus described
We see that according to the Law of Duality, the term not-B is described this way.
b = Ab ꖌ ab. | (2) |
For A in this proposition we substitute its description as given in (1), obtaining
For A in this statement, we replace it with its description as provided in (1), resulting in
But according to the Law of Contradiction the term ABb must be excluded from thought, or
But according to the Law of Contradiction, the term ABb must be excluded from thought, or
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Hence it results that b is either nothing at all, or it is ab; and the conclusion is
Hence, it follows that b is either nothing or it is ab; and the conclusion is
As it will often be necessary to refer to a conclusion of this kind I shall call it, as is usual, the Contrapositive Proposition of the original. The reader need hardly be cautioned to observe that from all A’s are B’s it does not follow that all not-A’s are not-B’s. For by the Law of Duality we have
As I will often need to reference a conclusion like this, I’ll call it, as is common, the Contrapositive Proposition of the original. The reader should be aware that just because all A's are B's, it doesn't mean that all not-A's are not-B's. This is explained by the Law of Duality, we have
and it will not be found possible to make any substitution in this by our original premise A = AB. It still remains doubtful, therefore, whether not-metal is element or not-element.
and it will not be possible to substitute anything in this by our original premise A = AB. It still remains unclear, therefore, whether not-metal is an element or not an element.
The proof of the Contrapositive Proposition given above is exactly the same as that which Euclid applies in the case of geometrical notions. De Morgan describes Euclid’s process as follows75:—“From every not-B is not-A he produces Every A is B, thus: If it be possible, let this A be not-B, but every not-B is not-A, therefore this A is not-A, which is absurd: whence every A is B.” Now De Morgan thinks that this proof is entirely needless, because common logic gives the inference without the use of any geometrical reasoning. I conceive however that logic gives the inference only by an indirect process. De Morgan claims “to see identity in Every A is B and every not-B is not-A, by a process of thought prior to syllogism.” Whether prior to syllogism or not, I claim that it is not prior to the laws of thought and the process of substitutive inference, by which it may be undoubtedly demonstrated.
The proof of the Contrapositive Proposition mentioned above is exactly the same as what Euclid applies in the context of geometric concepts. De Morgan describes Euclid's approach as follows75:—"From every not-B, not-A follows, leading to the conclusion that every A is B. He illustrates this: If we assume that this A is not-B, but since every not-B is not-A, it would follow that this A is not-A, which is a contradiction: therefore, every A must be B." However, De Morgan believes this proof is completely unnecessary because standard logic provides the conclusion without relying on any geometric reasoning. I believe that logic provides the conclusion only through an indirect method. De Morgan asserts that "to recognize the equivalence of every A is B and every not-B is not-A is a thought process that occurs before syllogism." Whether it comes before the syllogism or not, I argue that it is not before the principles of thought and the method of substitutive inference, through which it can undoubtedly be proven.
Employment of the Contrapositive Proposition.
We can frequently employ the contrapositive form of a proposition by the method of substitution; and certain moods of the ancient syllogism, which we have hitherto passed over, may thus be satisfactorily comprehended in our system. Take for instance the following syllogism in the mood Camestres:—
We can often use the contrapositive form of a statement through substitution; and some types of the ancient syllogism that we haven't discussed yet can be effectively understood in our system. For example, consider the following syllogism in the mood Camestres:—
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Let us take
Let's take
B = true fish
C = respiring water
The premises are of the forms
The premises are in the following forms
A = Ac | (1) |
B = BC | (2) |
Now, by the process of contraposition we obtain from the second premise
Now, using contraposition, we get from the second premise
and we can substitute this expression for c in (1), obtaining
and we can replace this expression for c in (1), getting
or “Whales are not true fish, not respiring water.”
or “Whales aren’t really fish; they don’t breathe water.”
The mood Cesare does not really differ from Camestres except in the order of the premises, and it could be exhibited in an exactly similar manner.
The mood of Cesare doesn't really differ from that of Camestres except in the order of the premises, and it could be shown in exactly the same way.
The mood Baroko gave much trouble to the old logicians, who could not reduce it to the first figure in the same manner as the other moods, and were obliged to invent, specially for it and for Bokardo, a method of Indirect Reduction closely analogous to the indirect proof of Euclid. Now these moods require no exceptional treatment in this system. Let us take as an instance of Baroko, the argument
The mood Baroko caused a lot of trouble for the old logicians, who couldn't reduce it to the first figure like the other moods and had to create a special method of Indirect Reduction for it and Bokardo, which was quite similar to the indirect proof of Euclid. Now, these moods don't need any special handling in this system. Let's use Baroko as an example of the argument.
All heated solids give continuous spectra | (1) |
Some nebulæ do not give continuous spectra | (2) |
Therefore, some nebulæ are not heated solids | (3) |
Treating the little word some as an indeterminate adjective of selection, to which we assign a symbol like any other adjective, let
Treating the word some as a vague adjective of choice, to which we assign a symbol like any other adjective, let
B = nebulæ
C = giving continuous spectra
D = heated solids
The premises then become
The premises then become
D |
= DC | (1) |
AB |
= ABc | (2) |
Now from (1) we obtain by the indirect method the contrapositive proposition
Now from (1) we get the contrapositive proposition using the indirect method.
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and if we substitute this expression for c in (2) we have
and if we replace this expression for c in (2), we have
the full meaning of which is that “some nebulæ do not give continuous spectra and are not heated solids.”
the full meaning of which is that “some nebulæ do not give continuous spectra and are not heated solids.”
We might similarly apply the contrapositive in many other instances. Take the argument, “All fixed stars are self-luminous; but some of the heavenly bodies are not self-luminous, and are therefore not fixed stars.” Taking our terms
We can also use the contrapositive in many other situations. For example, consider the argument, “All fixed stars are self-luminous; but some heavenly bodies are not self-luminous, so they aren’t fixed stars.” Taking our terms
B = self-luminous
C = some
D = heavenly bodies
we have the premises
we have the place
A |
= AB, | (1) |
CD |
= bCD | (2) |
Now from (1) we can draw the contrapositive
Now from (1) we can draw the contrapositive.
and substituting this expression for b in (2) we obtain
and replacing this expression for b in (2) we get
which expresses the conclusion of the argument that some heavenly bodies are not fixed stars.
which expresses the conclusion of the argument that some celestial bodies are not fixed stars.
Contrapositive of a Simple Identity.
The reader should carefully note that when we apply the process of Indirect Inference to a simple identity of the form
The reader should carefully note that when we apply the process of Indirect Inference to a simple identity of the form
we may obtain further results. If we wish to know what is the term not-B, we have as before, by the Law of Duality,
we may get more results. If we want to find out what the term not-B is, we can use the Law of Duality, just like before,
and substituting for A we obtain
and substituting A with this we get
But we may now also draw a second contrapositive; for we have
But we can also make a second contrapositive; because we have
and substituting for B its equivalent A we have
and replacing B with its equivalent A, we have
Hence from the single identity A = B we can draw the two propositions
Hence, from the single identity A = B, we can draw the two propositions.
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b = ab,
and observing that these propositions have a common term ab we can make a new substitution, getting
and noticing that these statements share a common term ab, we can make a new substitution, getting
This result is in strict accordance with the fundamental principles of inference, and it may be a question whether it is not a self-evident result, independent of the steps of deduction by which we have reached it. For where two classes are coincident like A and B, whatever is true of the one is true of the other; what is excluded from the one must be excluded from the other similarly. Now as a bears to A exactly the same relation that b bears to B, the identity of either pair follows from the identity of the other pair. In every identity, equality, or similarity, we may argue from the negative of the one side to the negative of the other. Thus at ordinary temperatures
This result aligns perfectly with the basic principles of reasoning, and it raises the question of whether it's a self-evident outcome, independent of the deductive steps we've taken to get there. When two classes overlap, like A and B, whatever is true for one is true for the other; anything excluded from one must be excluded from the other as well. Since a has the same relationship to A that b has to B, the identity of one pair follows from the identity of the other. In any situation of identity, equality, or similarity, we can infer the negative of one side from the negative of the other. Thus, at normal temperatures
hence obviously
so obviously
or since
or because
it follows that whatever star is not the brightest is not Sirius, and vice versâ. Every correct definition is of the form A = B, and may often require to be applied in the equivalent negative form.
It follows that any star that isn't the brightest isn't Sirius, and vice versa. Every accurate definition is in the form A = B, and it may often need to be stated in the equivalent negative form.
Let us take as an illustration of the mode of using this result the argument following:
Let's use the following argument as an example of how to apply this result:
Vowels are letters which can be sounded alone, | (1) |
The letter w cannot be sounded alone; | (2) |
Therefore the letter w is not a vowel. | (3) |
Here we have a definition (1), and a comparison of a thing with that definition (2), leading to exclusion of the thing from the class defined.
Here we have a definition (1), and a comparison of something with that definition (2), which results in the exclusion of that thing from the defined class.
Taking the terms
Accepting the terms
B = letter which can be sounded alone,
C = letter w,
the premises are plainly of the forms
the premises are clearly in the forms
A = B, | (1) |
C = bC. | (2) |
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Now by the Indirect method we obtain from (1) the Contrapositive
Now, using the indirect method, we get from (1) the contrapositive.
and inserting in (2) the equivalent for b we have
and inserting in (2) the equivalent for b we have
C = aC, | (3) |
or “the letter w is not a vowel.”
or “the letter w is not a vowel.”
Miscellaneous Examples of the Method.
We can apply the Indirect Method of Inference however many may be the terms involved or the premises containing those terms. As the working of the method is best learnt from examples, I will take a case of two premises forming the syllogism Barbara: thus
We can use the Indirect Method of Inference no matter how many terms or premises are involved. Since the best way to understand how the method works is through examples, I will take a case of two premises that create the syllogism Barbara: thus
Iron is metal | (1) |
Metal is element. | (2) |
If we want to ascertain what inference is possible concerning the term Iron, we develop the term by the Law of Duality. Iron must be either metal or not-metal; iron which is metal must be either element or not-element; and similarly iron which is not-metal must be either element or not-element. There are then altogether four alternatives among which the description of iron must be contained; thus
If we want to figure out what conclusions we can draw about the term Iron, we explore the term using the Law of Duality. Iron has to be either metal or non-metal; iron that is metal has to be either an element or not an element; and similarly, iron that is not metal must be either an element or not an element. This gives us a total of four options regarding how we can describe iron; therefore
Iron, metal, element, | (α) |
Iron, metal, not-element, | (β) |
Iron, not-metal, element, | (γ) |
Iron, not-metal, not-element. | (δ) |
Our first premise informs us that iron is a metal, and if we substitute this description in (γ) and (δ) we shall have self-contradictory combinations. Our second premise likewise informs us that metal is element, and applying this description to (β) we again have self-contradiction, so that there remains only (α) as a description of iron—our inference is
Our first premise tells us that iron is a metal, and if we replace this description in (γ) and (δ), we end up with self-contradictory combinations. Our second premise also tells us that metal is an element, and applying this description to (β) leads us to another self-contradiction, so only (α) remains as a description of iron—our conclusion is
To represent this process of reasoning in general symbols, let
To represent this reasoning process with general symbols, let
B = metal
C = element,
The premises of the problem take the forms
The premises of the problem take the forms
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A = AB | (1) |
B = BC. | (2) |
By the Law of Duality we have
By the Law of Duality, we have
A = AB ꖌ Ab | (3) |
A = AC ꖌ Ac. | (4) |
Now, if we insert for A in the second side of (3) its description in (4), we obtain what I shall call the development of A with respect to B and C, namely
Now, if we substitute A in the second part of (3) with its description in (4), we get what I’ll refer to as the development of A in relation to B and C, which is
A = ABC ꖌ ABc ꖌ AbC ꖌ Abc. | (5) |
Wherever the letters A or B appear in the second side of (5) substitute their equivalents given in (1) and (2), and the results stated at full length are
Wherever the letters A or B show up on the second side of (5), replace them with their equivalents from (1) and (2), and the results given in detail are
The last three alternatives break the Law of Contradiction, so that
The last three alternatives violate the Law of Contradiction, so that
This conclusion is, indeed, no more than we could obtain by the direct process of substitution, that is by substituting for B in (1), its description in (2) as in p. 55; it is the characteristic of the Indirect process that it gives all possible logical conclusions, both those which we have previously obtained, and an immense number of others or which the ancient logic took little or no account. From the same premises, for instance, we can obtain a description of the class not-element or c. By the Law of Duality we can develop c into four alternatives, thus
This conclusion is really just what we could get from directly substituting B in (1) with its description in (2) as shown in p. 55; the Indirect process is defined by its ability to provide all possible logical conclusions, including those we've already found and a huge number of others that traditional logic didn't consider. For example, from the same premises, we can derive a description of the class not-element or c. According to the Law of Duality, we can expand c into four alternatives, thus
If we substitute for A and B as before, we get
If we replace A and B like we did before, we get
and, striking out the terms which break the Law of Contradiction, there remains
and, removing the terms that contradict the Law of Contradiction, what’s left is
or what is not element is also not iron and not metal. This Indirect Method of Inference thus furnishes a complete solution of the following problem—Given any number of logical premises or conditions, required the description of any class of objects, or of any term, as governed by those conditions.
or what is not an element is also not iron and not metal. This Indirect Method of Inference provides a complete solution to the following problem—Given any number of logical premises or conditions, describe any class of objects, or any term, as determined by those conditions.
The steps of the process of inference may thus be concisely stated—
The steps of the inference process can be summed up as follows—
1. By the Law of Duality develop the utmost number of alternatives which may exist in the description of the90 required class or term as regards the terms involved in the premises.
1. According to the Law of Duality, create as many alternatives as possible that can be used to describe the90 required class or term concerning the terms included in the premises.
2. For each term in these alternatives substitute its description as given in the premises.
2. For each option in these alternatives, replace it with its description as stated in the premises.
3. Strike out every alternative which is then found to break the Law of Contradiction.
3. Eliminate any option that is found to violate the Law of Contradiction.
4. The remaining terms may be equated to the term in question as the desired description.
4. The other terms can be matched to the term in question as the description we want.
Mr. Venn’s Problem.
The need of some logical method more powerful and comprehensive than the old logic of Aristotle is strikingly illustrated by Mr. Venn in his most interesting and able article on Boole’s logic.76 An easy example, originally got, as he says, by the aid of my method as simply described in the Elementary Lessons in Logic, was proposed in examination and lecture-rooms to some hundred and fifty students as a problem in ordinary logic. It was answered by, at most, five or six of them. It was afterwards set, as an example on Boole’s method, to a small class who had attended a few lectures on the nature of these symbolic methods. It was readily answered by half or more of their number.
The need for a more effective and comprehensive logical method than Aristotle's old logic is clearly shown by Mr. Venn in his very interesting and well-written article on Boole’s logic.76 A simple example, as he mentions, originally derived from my method described in the Elementary Lessons in Logic, was presented in exams and lectures to about one hundred and fifty students as a problem in regular logic. At most, only five or six of them got it right. Later, it was given as an example using Boole’s method to a small group who had attended a few lectures on these symbolic techniques. More than half of them were able to answer it easily.
The problem was as follows:—“The members of a board were all of them either bondholders, or shareholders, but not both; and the bondholders as it happened, were all on the board. What conclusion can be drawn?” The conclusion wanted is, “No shareholders are bondholders.” Now, as Mr. Venn says, nothing can look simpler than the following reasoning, when stated:—“There can be no bondholders who are shareholders; for if there were they must be either on the board, or off it. But they are not on it, by the first of the given statements; nor off it, by the second.” Yet from the want of any systematic mode of treating such a question only five or six of some hundred and fifty students could succeed in so simple a problem.
The problem was as follows:—“The members of a board were either bondholders or shareholders, but not both; and, as it turned out, all the bondholders were on the board. What conclusion can be drawn?” The conclusion desired is, “No shareholders are bondholders.” Now, as Mr. Venn notes, the following reasoning seems straightforward when stated:—“There can’t be any bondholders who are shareholders; because if there were, they would have to be either on the board or not. But they’re not on it, according to the first statement; nor are they off it, according to the second.” Yet, due to the lack of a systematic way to approach such questions, only five or six out of about one hundred and fifty students managed to solve such a simple problem.
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By symbolic statement the problem is instantly solved. Taking
By making a symbolic statement, the problem is immediately resolved. Taking
B = bondholder
C = shareholder
the premises are evidently
the premises are clearly
The class C or shareholders may in respect of A and B be developed into four alternatives,
The class C or shareholders can be developed into four options concerning A and B.
But substituting for A in the first and for B in the third alternative we get
But replacing A in the first and B in the third alternative, we get
The first, second, and fourth alternatives in the above are self-contradictory combinations, and only these; striking them out there remain
The first, second, and fourth options mentioned above are self-contradictory combinations, and they are the only ones; removing them leaves us with
the required answer. This symbolic reasoning is, I believe, the exact equivalent of Mr. Venn’s reasoning, and I do not believe that the result can be attained in a simpler manner. Mr. Venn adds that he could adduce other similar instances, that is, instances showing the necessity of a better logical method.
the required answer. This symbolic reasoning is, I believe, the same as Mr. Venn’s reasoning, and I don’t think the result can be reached in a simpler way. Mr. Venn adds that he could provide other similar examples, that is, examples showing the need for a better logical method.
Abbreviation of the Process.
Before proceeding to further illustrations of the use of this method, I must point out how much its practical employment can be simplified, and how much more easy it is than would appear from the description. When we want to effect at all a thorough solution of a logical problem it is best to form, in the first place, a complete series of all the combinations of terms involved in it. If there be two terms A and B, the utmost variety of combinations in which they can appear are
Before moving on to more examples of this method, I need to highlight how much easier it can be in practice than it seems from the explanation. To really solve a logical problem, it's best to first create a complete list of all the possible combinations of the terms involved. If there are two terms, A and B, the total variety of combinations in which they can appear is
AB | aB |
Ab | ab. |
The term A appears in the first and second; B in the first and third; a in the third and fourth; and b in the second and fourth. Now if we have any premise, say
The term A shows up in the first and second; B in the first and third; a in the third and fourth; and b in the second and fourth. Now, if we have any premise, let's say
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we must ascertain which of these combinations will be rendered self-contradictory by substitution; the second and third will have to be struck out, and there will remain only
we need to figure out which of these combinations will become self-contradictory through substitution; the second and third will need to be removed, leaving us with only
ba.
Hence we draw the following inferences
Hence, we draw the following conclusions.
Exactly the same method must be followed when a question involves a greater number of terms. Thus by the Law of Duality the three terms A, B, C, give rise to eight conceivable combinations, namely
Exactly the same method must be followed when a question involves a greater number of terms. Thus by the Law of Duality, the three terms A, B, and C, give rise to eight possible combinations, namely
ABC | (α) | aBC | (ε) |
ABc | (β) | aBc | (ζ) |
AbC | (γ) | abC | (η) |
Abc | (δ) | abc. | (θ) |
The development of the term A is formed by the first four of these; for B we must select (α), (β), (ε), (ζ); C consists of (α), (γ), (ε), (η); b of (γ), (δ), (η), (θ), and so on.
The term A is created from the first four of these; for B we need to choose (α), (β), (ε), (ζ); C includes (α), (γ), (ε), (η); b consists of (γ), (δ), (η), (θ), and so on.
Now if we want to investigate completely the meaning of the premises
Now if we want to fully explore the meaning of the premises
A = AB | (1) |
B = BC | (2) |
we examine each of the eight combinations as regards each premise; (γ) and (δ) are contradicted by (1), and (β) and (ζ) by (2), so that there remain only
we look at each of the eight combinations concerning each premise; (γ) and (δ) are contradicted by (1), and (β) and (ζ) by (2), leaving only
ABC | (α) |
aBC | (ε) |
abC | (η) |
abc. | (θ) |
To describe any term under the conditions of the premises (1) and (2), we have simply to draw out the proper combinations from this list; thus, A is represented only by ABC, that is to say
To describe any term based on the premises (1) and (2), we just need to pull the right combinations from this list; so, A is represented only by ABC, that is to say
A |
= ABC, | |
similarly | c |
= abc. |
For B we have two alternatives thus stated,
For B, we have two options as stated,
and for b we have
and for b we got
When we have a problem involving four distinct terms we need to double the number of combinations, and as we add each new term the combinations become twice as numerous. Thus
When we have a problem with four different terms, we need to double the number of combinations, and as we add each new term, the combinations increase twofold. So
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A, B | produce |
four combinations | |
A, B, C, | " |
eight | " |
A, B, C, D | " |
sixteen | " |
A, B, C, D, E | " |
thirty-two | " |
A, B, C, D, E, F | " |
sixty-four | " |
and so on.
and so forth.
I propose to call any such series of combinations the Logical Alphabet. It holds in logical science a position the importance of which cannot be exaggerated, and as we proceed from logical to mathematical considerations, it will become apparent that there is a close connection between these combinations and the fundamental theorems of mathematical science. For the convenience of the reader who may wish to employ the Alphabet in logical questions, I have had printed on the next page a complete series of the combinations up to those of six terms. At the very commencement, in the first column, is placed a single letter X, which might seem to be superfluous. This letter serves to denote that it is always some higher class which is divided up. Thus the combination AB really means ABX, or that part of some larger class, say X, which has the qualities of A and B present. The letter X is omitted in the greater part of the table merely for the sake of brevity and clearness. In a later chapter on Combinations it will become apparent that the introduction of this unit class is requisite in order to complete the analogy with the Arithmetical Triangle there described.
I suggest calling any series of combinations the Logical Alphabet. It plays a crucial role in logical science, and as we shift from logical to mathematical ideas, it will become clear that there’s a strong link between these combinations and the core theorems of mathematics. For readers who want to use the Alphabet for logical issues, I’ve included a complete series of combinations up to six terms on the next page. At the very beginning, in the first column, there’s a single letter X, which might seem unnecessary. This letter indicates that it always represents some higher class that is being divided. So, the combination AB actually means ABX, or that part of a larger class, say X, where A and B are both present. The letter X is left out in most of the table just for the sake of brevity and clarity. In a later chapter on Combinations, it will become clear that including this unit class is necessary to complete the analogy with the Arithmetical Triangle mentioned earlier.
The reader ought to bear in mind that though the Logical Alphabet seems to give mere lists of combinations, these combinations are intended in every case to constitute the development of a term of a proposition. Thus the four combinations AB, Ab, aB, ab really mean that any class X is described by the following proposition,
The reader should keep in mind that although the Logical Alphabet appears to present just lists of combinations, these combinations are meant to represent the development of a term within a proposition in every instance. So, the four combinations AB, Ab, aB, ab actually indicate that any class X is defined by the following proposition,
If we select the A’s, we obtain the following proposition
If we choose the A’s, we get the following statement
Thus whatever group of combinations we treat must be conceived as part of a higher class, summum genus or universe symbolised in the term X; but, bearing this in mind, it is needless to complicate our formulæ by always introducing the letter. All inference consists in passing from propositions to propositions, and combinations per se94 have no meaning. They are consequently to be regarded in all cases as forming parts of propositions.
So, any group of combinations we discuss should be seen as part of a larger category, represented by the term X. However, keeping this in mind, there’s no need to complicate our formulas by constantly using the letter. All reasoning involves moving from one statement to another, and combinations on their own don’t carry any meaning. Therefore, they should always be considered as components of statements.
The Logical Alphabet.
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
X |
AX |
AB |
ABC |
ABCD |
ABCDE |
ABCDEF |
aX |
Ab |
ABc |
ABCd |
ABCDe |
ABCDEf |
|
aB |
AbC |
ABcD |
ABCdE |
ABCDeF |
||
ab |
Abc |
ABcd |
ABCde |
ABCDef |
||
aBC |
AbCD |
ABcDE |
ABCdEF |
|||
aBc |
AbCd |
ABcDe |
ABCdEf |
|||
abC |
AbcD |
ABcdE |
ABCdeF |
|||
abc |
Abcd |
ABcde |
ABCdef |
|||
aBCD |
AbCDE |
ABcDEF |
||||
aBCd |
AbCDe |
ABcDEf |
||||
aBcD |
AbCdE |
ABcDeF |
||||
aBcd |
AbCde |
ABcDef |
||||
abCD |
AbcDE |
ABcdEF |
||||
abCd |
AbcDe |
ABcdEf |
||||
abcD |
AbcdE |
ABcdeF |
||||
abcd |
Abcde |
ABcdef |
||||
aBCDE |
AbCDEF |
|||||
aBCDe |
AbCDEf |
|||||
aBCdE |
AbCDeF |
|||||
aBCde |
AbCDef |
|||||
aBcDE |
AbCdEF |
|||||
aBcDe |
AbCdEf |
|||||
aBcdE |
AbCdeF |
|||||
aBcde |
AbCdef |
|||||
abCDE |
AbcDEF |
|||||
abCDe |
AbcDEf |
|||||
abCdE |
AbcDeF |
|||||
abCde |
AbcDef |
|||||
abcDE |
AbcdEF |
|||||
abcDe |
AbcdEf |
|||||
abcdE |
AbcdeF |
|||||
abcde |
Abcdef |
|||||
aBCDEF |
||||||
aBCDEf |
||||||
aBCDeF |
||||||
aBCDef |
||||||
aBCdEF |
||||||
aBCdEf |
||||||
aBCdeF |
||||||
aBCdef |
||||||
aBcDEF |
||||||
aBcDEf |
||||||
aBcDeF |
||||||
aBcDef |
||||||
aBcdEF |
||||||
aBcdEf |
||||||
aBcdeF |
||||||
aBcdef |
||||||
abCDEF |
||||||
abCDEf |
||||||
abCDeF |
||||||
abCDef |
||||||
abCdEF |
||||||
abCdEf |
||||||
abCdeF |
||||||
abCdef |
||||||
abcDEF |
||||||
abcDEf |
||||||
abcDeF |
||||||
abcDef |
||||||
abcdEF |
||||||
abcdEf |
||||||
abcdeF |
||||||
abcdef |
95
95
In a theoretical point of view we may conceive that the Logical Alphabet is infinitely extended. Every new quality or circumstance which can belong to an object, subdivides each combination or class, so that the number of such combinations, when unrestricted by logical conditions, is represented by an infinitely high power of two. The extremely rapid increase in the number of subdivisions obliges us to confine our attention to a few qualities at a time.
From a theoretical standpoint, we can imagine that the Logical Alphabet goes on forever. Every new quality or circumstance that can apply to an object divides each combination or class, so the amount of these combinations, when not limited by logical conditions, can be represented by an infinite power of two. The incredibly fast growth in the number of subdivisions forces us to focus on just a few qualities at once.
When contemplating the properties of this Alphabet I am often inclined to think that Pythagoras perceived the deep logical importance of duality; for while unity was the symbol of identity and harmony, he described the number two as the origin of contrasts, or the symbol of diversity, division and separation. The number four, or the Tetractys, was also regarded by him as one of the chief elements of existence, for it represented the generating virtue whence come all combinations. In one of the golden verses ascribed to Pythagoras, he conjures his pupil to be virtuous:77
When thinking about the qualities of this Alphabet I often find myself believing that Pythagoras recognized the significant logical relevance of duality; because while unity represented identity and harmony, he saw the number two as the source of contrasts, or the symbol of diversity, division, and separation. The number four, or the Tetractys, was also considered by him to be one of the main components of existence, as it embodied the creative force from which all combinations arise. In one of the golden verses attributed to Pythagoras, he urges his student to be virtuous:77
The Four, the fount of Nature’s endless stream.”
Now four and the higher powers of duality do represent in this logical system the numbers of combinations which can be generated in the absence of logical restrictions. The followers of Pythagoras may have shrouded their master’s doctrines in mysterious and superstitious notions, but in many points these doctrines seem to have some basis in logical philosophy.
Now four and the higher powers of duality represent, in this logical system, the number of combinations that can be created without any logical restrictions. Pythagoras's followers might have wrapped their master’s teachings in mysterious and superstitious ideas, but in many respects, these teachings appear to have some foundation in logical philosophy.
The Logical Slate.
To a person who has once comprehended the extreme significance and utility of the Logical Alphabet the indirect process of inference becomes reduced to the repetition of a few uniform operations of classification, selection, and elimination of contradictories. Logical deduction, even in the most complicated questions, becomes a matter of mere routine, and the amount of96 labour required is the only impediment, when once the meaning of the premises is rendered clear. But the amount of labour is often found to be considerable. The mere writing down of sixty-four combinations of six letters each is no small task, and, if we had a problem of five premises, each of the sixty-four combinations would have to be examined in connection with each premise. The requisite comparison is often of a very tedious character, and considerable chance of error intervenes.
To someone who has fully grasped the importance and usefulness of the Logical Alphabet, the indirect process of inference boils down to repeating a few consistent steps of classifying, selecting, and eliminating contradictions. Logical deduction, even in the most complex questions, becomes just a routine task, and the only real challenge is the amount of labor involved, once the meaning of the premises is clear. However, this labor can often be quite significant. Simply writing down sixty-four combinations of six letters each is no easy feat, and if we had a problem with five premises, each of the sixty-four combinations would need to be checked against each premise. The necessary comparisons can often be very tedious, leading to a considerable chance of making errors.
I have given much attention, therefore, to lessening both the manual and mental labour of the process, and I shall describe several devices which may be adopted for saving trouble and risk of mistake.
I have focused a lot on reducing both the physical and mental effort involved in the process, and I will describe several methods that can be used to save time and minimize the chance of error.
In the first place, as the same sets of combinations occur over and over again in different problems, we may avoid the labour of writing them out by having the sets of letters ready printed upon small sheets of writing-paper. It has also been suggested by a correspondent that, if any one series of combinations were marked upon the margin of a sheet of paper, and a slit cut between each pair of combinations, it would be easy to fold down any particular combination, and thus strike it out of view. The combinations consistent with the premises would then remain in a broken series. This method answers sufficiently well for occasional use.
In the first place, since the same combinations keep coming up in different problems, we can save ourselves the effort of writing them out by having sets of letters pre-printed on small sheets of paper. A reader also suggested that if we marked a series of combinations along the margin of a piece of paper and cut slits between each pair of combinations, it would be easy to fold down any specific combination and hide it from view. The combinations that fit the premises would then stay visible in a broken series. This method works well enough for occasional use.
A more convenient mode, however, is to have the series of letters shown on p. 94, engraved upon a common school writing slate, of such a size, that the letters may occupy only about a third of the space on the left hand side of the slate. The conditions of the problem can then be written down on the unoccupied part of the slate, and the proper series of combinations being chosen, the contradictory combinations can be struck out with the pencil. I have used a slate of this kind, which I call a Logical Slate, for more than twelve years, and it has saved me much trouble. It is hardly possible to apply this process to problems of more than six terms, owing to the large number of combinations which would require examination.
A more convenient way, however, is to have the series of letters shown on p. 94, engraved on a regular school writing slate, sized so that the letters only take up about a third of the space on the left side of the slate. The conditions of the problem can then be written down in the empty space on the slate, and by choosing the right combinations, the contradictory ones can be crossed out with a pencil. I have used this type of slate, which I call a Logical Slate, for over twelve years, and it has saved me a lot of hassle. It's nearly impossible to use this method for problems with more than six terms, due to the huge number of combinations that would need to be checked.
97
97
Abstraction of Indifferent Circumstances.
There is a simple but highly important process of inference which enables us to abstract, eliminate or disregard all circumstances indifferently present and absent. Thus if I were to state that “a triangle is a three-sided rectilinear figure, either large or not large,” these two alternatives would be superfluous, because, by the Law of Duality, I know that everything must be either large or not large. To add the qualification gives no new knowledge, since the existence of the two alternatives will be understood in the absence of any information to the contrary. Accordingly, when two alternatives differ only as regards a single component term which is positive in one and negative in the other, we may reduce them to one term by striking out their indifferent part. It is really a process of substitution which enables us to do this; for having any proposition of the form
There is a straightforward yet crucial process of inference that allows us to abstract, eliminate, or ignore all circumstances, whether they are present or absent. So, if I say, “a triangle is a three-sided straight figure, either large or not large,” these two options are unnecessary because, according to the Law of Duality, everything must be either large or not large. Adding that qualification doesn’t provide any new information since the existence of the two options will be understood without any indication to the contrary. Therefore, when two options differ only in one specific term—positive in one and negative in the other—we can reduce them to one term by removing the indifferent part. This is essentially a process of substitution that allows us to do this; for having any proposition of the form
A = ABC ꖌ ABc, | (1) |
we know by the Law of Duality that
we know by the Law of Duality that
AB = ABC ꖌ ABc. | (2) |
As the second member of this is identical with the second member of (1) we may substitute, obtaining
As the second part of this is the same as the second part of (1), we can replace it, getting
This process of reducing useless alternatives may be applied again and again; for it is plain that
This process of eliminating unnecessary options can be repeated continuously; because it is clear that
communicates no more information than that A is B. Abstraction of indifferent terms is in fact the converse process to that of development described in p. 89; and it is one of the most important operations in the whole sphere of reasoning.
communicates no more information than that A is B. Abstracting neutral terms is actually the opposite of the development process described in p. 89; and it is one of the most crucial operations in the entire realm of reasoning.
The reader should observe that in the proposition
The reader should note that in the proposition
we cannot abstract C and infer
we can't separate C and assume
but from
but from
we may abstract all reference to the term C.
we can remove any reference to the term C.
It ought to be carefully remarked, however, that alternatives which seem to be without meaning often imply important knowledge. Thus if I say that “a triangle is a98 three-sided rectilinear figure, with or without three equal angles,” the last alternatives really express a property of triangles, namely, that some triangles have three equal angles, and some do not have them. If we put P = “Some,” meaning by the indefinite adjective “Some,” one or more of the undefined properties of triangles with three equal angles, and take
It should be noted, however, that options that seem meaningless often suggest significant insights. For instance, when I say that “a triangle is a98 three-sided figure, whether or not it has three equal angles,” the last options actually highlight a characteristic of triangles: some triangles have three equal angles, while others do not. If we define P = “Some,” understanding the indefinite adjective “Some” to mean one or more of the unspecified properties of triangles with three equal angles, and take
B = three-sided rectilinear figure
C = with three equal angles,
then the knowledge implied is expressed in the two propositions
then the knowledge implied is expressed in the two statements
pA = pBc.
These may also be thrown into the form of one proposition, namely,
These can also be summarized into a single statement, namely,
but these alternatives cannot be reduced, and the proposition is quite different from
but these alternatives can't be simplified, and the claim is quite different from
Illustrations of the Indirect Method.
A great variety of arguments and logical problems might be introduced here to show the comprehensive character and powers of the Indirect Method. We can treat either a single premise or a series of premises.
A wide range of arguments and logical issues could be presented here to demonstrate the broad nature and abilities of the Indirect Method. We can examine either a single premise or a series of premises.
Take in the first place a simple definition, such as “a triangle is a three-sided rectilinear figure.” Let
Take a simple definition, like “a triangle is a three-sided straight shape.” Let
B = three-sided
C = rectilinear figure,
then the definition is of the form
then the definition is of the form
If we take the series of eight combinations of three letters in the Logical Alphabet (p. 94) and strike out those which are inconsistent with the definition, we have the following result:—
If we look at the eight combinations of three letters in the Logical Alphabet (p. 94) and eliminate those that don't align with the definition, we get the following result:—
aBc
abC
abc.
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99
For the description of the class C we have
For the description of class C, we have
that is, “a rectilinear figure is either a triangle and three-sided, or not a triangle and not three-sided.”
that is, “a straight-line shape is either a triangle with three sides, or not a triangle and not three-sided.”
For the class b we have
For class b, we have
To the second side of this we may apply the process of simplification by abstraction described in the last section; for by the Law of Duality
To the second aspect of this, we can use the process of simplification through abstraction explained in the last section; because of the Law of Duality
and as we have two propositions identical in the second side of each we may substitute, getting
and since we have two identical propositions on the second side of each, we can substitute them, resulting in
or what is not three-sided is not a triangle (whether it be rectilinear or not).
or anything that isn’t three-sided isn’t a triangle (regardless of whether it’s straight-edged or not).
Second Example.
Let us treat by this method the following argument:—
Let’s approach the following argument using this method:—
Taking our letters thus—
Taking our letters this way—
B = elementary substance,
C = undecomposable,
the premises are of the forms
the premises are of the forms
A = Ab, | (1) |
B = C. | (2) |
No immediate substitution can be made; but if we take the contrapositive of (2) (see p. 86), namely
No immediate replacement can be made; but if we take the contrapositive of (2) (see p. 86), that is
b = c, | (3) |
we can substitute in (1) obtaining the conclusion
we can replace in (1) to reach the conclusion
But the same result may be obtained by taking the eight combinations of A, B, C, of the Logical Alphabet; it will be found that only three combinations, namely,
But the same result can be achieved by using the eight combinations of A, B, and C from the Logical Alphabet; you'll find that only three combinations, specifically,
aBC
abc,
are consistent with the premises, whence it results that
are consistent with the premises, which leads to the conclusion that
100
100
or by the process of Ellipsis before described (p. 57)
or by the process of Ellipsis mentioned earlier (p. 57)
Third Example.
As a somewhat more complex example I take the argument thus stated, one which could not be thrown into the syllogistic form:—
As a slightly more complex example, I present the argument as stated, one that can't be put into syllogistic form:—
There is more implied in this statement than is distinctly asserted, the full meaning being as follows:
There’s more suggested in this statement than is clearly stated, the complete meaning being:
All metals not gold or silver are opaque, | (1) |
Gold is not opaque but is a metal, | (2) |
Silver is not opaque but is a metal, | (3) |
Gold is not silver. | (4) |
Taking our letters thus—
Getting our letters like this—
A = metal | C = silver |
B = gold | D = opaque, |
we may state the premises in the forms
we can express the premises in the forms
Abc |
= AbcD | (1) |
B |
= ABd | (2) |
C |
= ACd | (3) |
B |
= Bc. | (4) |
To obtain a complete solution of the question we take the sixteen combinations of A, B, C, D, and striking out those which are inconsistent with the premises, there remain only
To get a full solution to the problem, we look at the sixteen combinations of A, B, C, and D, and by eliminating those that contradict the premises, we are left with only
AbCd
AbcD
abcD
abcd.
The expression for not-opaque things consists of the three combinations containing d, thus
The expression for transparent things includes the three combinations containing d, so
d |
= ABcd ꖌ AbCd ꖌ abcd, | |
or | d |
= Ad (Bc ꖌ bC) ꖌ abcd. |
In ordinary language, what is not-opaque is either metal which is gold, and then not-silver, or silver and then not-gold, or else it is not-metal and neither gold nor silver.
In simple terms, something that isn't opaque is either gold, and then not silver, or silver, and then not gold, or it's something that’s not metal and neither gold nor silver.
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101
Fourth Example.
A good example for the illustration of the Indirect Method is to be found in De Morgan’s Formal Logic (p. 123), the premises being substantially as follows:—
A good example for illustrating the Indirect Method can be found in De Morgan’s Formal Logic (p. 123), with the premises being essentially as follows:—
From A follows B, and from C follows D; but B and D are inconsistent with each other; therefore A and C are inconsistent.
From A comes B, and from C comes D; but B and D don't match up with each other; therefore A and C are inconsistent.
The meaning no doubt is that where A is, B will be found, or that every A is a B, and similarly every C is a D; but B and D cannot occur together. The premises therefore appear to be of the forms
The meaning is clearly that wherever A is, B will be found, or that every A is a B, and likewise every C is a D; but B and D cannot coexist. Therefore, the premises seem to take the forms
A = AB, | (1) |
C = CD, | (2) |
B = Bd. | (3) |
On examining the series of sixteen combinations, only five are found to be consistent with the above conditions, namely,
On looking at the sixteen combinations, only five are consistent with the conditions mentioned above, namely,
aBcd
abCD
abcD
abcd.
In these combinations the only A which appears is joined to c, and similarly C is joined to a, or A is inconsistent with C.
In these combinations, the only A that appears is connected to c, and similarly, C is connected to a, or A conflicts with C.
Fifth Example.
A more complex argument, also given by De Morgan,78 contains five terms, and is as stated below, except that the letters are altered.
A more complex argument, also provided by De Morgan,78 contains five terms and is stated below, except that the letters are changed.
The meaning of the above premises is difficult to interpret, but seems to be capable of expression in the following symbolic forms—
The meaning of the above premises is hard to interpret, but it seems possible to express it in the following symbolic forms—
102
102
A |
= ABc ꖌ AbC, | (1) |
De |
= DeBC, | (2) |
DE |
= DEbc. | (3) |
As five terms enter into these premises it is requisite to treat their thirty-two combinations, and it will be found that fourteen of them remain consistent with the premises, namely
As five terms come into these premises, it's necessary to look at their thirty-two combinations, and it will be found that fourteen of them align with the premises, namely
ABcdE | aBCDe | abCdE |
ABcde | aBCdE | abCde |
AbCdE | aBCde | abcDE |
AbCde | aBcdE | abcdE |
aBcde | abcde. |
If we examine the first four combinations, all of which contain A, we find that they none of them contain D; or again, if we select those which contain D, we have only two, thus—
If we look at the first four combinations, all of which include A, we see that none of them include D; or, if we pick the ones that include D, we only have two, like this—
Hence it is clear that no A is D, and vice versâ no D is A. We might draw many other conclusions from the same premises; for instance—
Hence it is clear that no A is D, and vice versa no D is A. We might draw many other conclusions from the same premises; for instance—
or D and E never meet but in the absence of A, B, and C.
or D and E only meet when A, B, and C are not around.
Fallacies analysed by the Indirect Method.
It has been sufficiently shown, perhaps, that we can by the Indirect Method of Inference extract the whole truth from a series of propositions, and exhibit it anew in any required form of conclusion. But it may also need to be shown by examples that so long as we follow correctly the almost mechanical rules of the method, we cannot fall into any of the fallacies or paralogisms which are often committed in ordinary discussion. Let us take the example of a fallacious argument, previously treated by the Method of Direct Inference (p. 62),
It has been clearly demonstrated that we can use the Indirect Method of Inference to derive the complete truth from a series of statements and present it again in any necessary format of conclusion. However, it may also be necessary to provide examples to show that as long as we accurately follow the almost mechanical rules of the method, we cannot fall into any of the misunderstandings or logical errors that often occur in regular discussions. Let’s consider the example of a flawed argument that was previously addressed using the Method of Direct Inference (p. 62),
Granite is not a sedimentary rock, | (1) |
Basalt is not a sedimentary rock, | (2) |
and let us ascertain whether any precise conclusion can be drawn concerning the relation of granite and basalt. Taking as before
and let’s determine if we can make any clear conclusions about the relationship between granite and basalt. Taking as before
B = sedimentary rock,
C = basalt,
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103
the premises become
the premises evolve
A = Ab, | (1) |
C = Cb. | (2) |
Of the eight conceivable combinations of A, B, C, five agree with these conditions, namely
Of the eight possible combinations of A, B, and C, five meet these conditions, specifically
AbC | aBc |
Abc | abC |
abc. |
Selecting the combinations which contain A, we find the description of granite to be
Selecting the combinations that include A, we find the description of granite to be
that is, granite is not a sedimentary rock, and is either basalt or not-basalt. If we want a description of basalt the answer is of like form
that is, granite is not a sedimentary rock, and is either basalt or not-basalt. If we want a description of basalt the answer is of like form
that is basalt is not a sedimentary rock, and is either granite or not-granite. As it is already perfectly evident that basalt must be either granite or not, and vice versâ, the premises fail to give us any information on the point, that is to say the Method of Indirect Inference saves us from falling into any fallacious conclusions. This example sufficiently illustrates both the fallacy of Negative premises and that of Undistributed Middle of the old logic.
that is basalt is not a sedimentary rock, and is either granite or not-granite. As it is already perfectly evident that basalt must be either granite or not, and vice versâ, the premises fail to give us any information on the point, that is to say the Method of Indirect Inference saves us from falling into any fallacious conclusions. This example sufficiently illustrates both the fallacy of Negative premises and that of Undistributed Middle of the old logic.
The fallacy called the Illicit Process of the Major Term is also incapable of commission in following the rules of the method. Our example was (p. 65)
The fallacy known as the Illicit Process of the Major Term cannot occur if the method's rules are followed. Our example was (p. 65)
All planets are subject to gravity, | (1) |
Fixed stars are not planets. | (2) |
The false conclusion is that “fixed stars are not subject to gravity.” The terms are
The incorrect conclusion is that “fixed stars aren’t affected by gravity.” The terms are
B = fixed star
C = subject to gravity.
And the premises are
And the premises are
A = AC, | (1) |
B = aB. | (2) |
The combinations which remain uncontradicted on comparison with these premises are
The combinations that hold up when compared to these premises are
AbC | aBc |
aBC | abC |
abc. |
For fixed star we have the description
For the fixed star, we have the description
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104
that is, “a fixed star is not a planet, but is either subject or not, as the case may be, to gravity.” Here we have no conclusion concerning the connection of fixed stars and gravity.
that is, “a fixed star is not a planet, but is either affected by gravity or not, depending on the situation.” Here we have no conclusion about the relationship between fixed stars and gravity.
The Logical Abacus.
The Indirect Method of Inference has now been sufficiently described, and a careful examination of its powers will show that it is capable of giving a full analysis and solution of every question involving only logical relations. The chief difficulty of the method consists in the great number of combinations which may have to be examined; not only may the requisite labour become formidable, but a considerable chance of mistake arises. I have therefore given much attention to modes of facilitating the work, and have succeeded in reducing the method to an almost mechanical form. It soon appeared obvious that if the conceivable combinations of the Logical Alphabet, for any number of letters, instead of being printed in fixed order on a piece of paper or slate, were marked upon light movable pieces of wood, mechanical arrangements could readily be devised for selecting any required class of the combinations. The labour of comparison and rejection might thus be immensely reduced. This idea was first carried out in the Logical Abacus, which I have found useful in the lecture-room for exhibiting the complete solution of logical problems. A minute description of the construction and use of the Abacus, together with figures of the parts, has already been given in my essay called The Substitution of Similars,79 and I will here give only a general description.
The Indirect Method of Inference has now been thoroughly explained, and a careful look at its capabilities will show that it can provide a complete analysis and solution to any question that involves only logical relationships. The main challenge of this method is the sheer number of combinations that may need to be examined; not only can the required effort become overwhelming, but there’s also a significant chance of making mistakes. I've therefore focused a lot on ways to make the work easier, and I’ve managed to streamline the method to nearly a mechanical form. It quickly became clear that if the possible combinations of the Logical Alphabet, for any number of letters, were marked on light movable pieces of wood instead of printed in a fixed order on paper or slate, we could easily come up with mechanical setups to select any needed group of combinations. This would drastically reduce the amount of work involved in comparison and elimination. This idea was first implemented in the Logical Abacus, which I've found useful in the classroom for demonstrating the complete solution of logical problems. A detailed description of how to construct and use the Abacus, along with diagrams of its parts, has already been provided in my essay called The Substitution of Similars,79 and I will only provide a general description here.
The Logical Abacus consists of a common school black-board placed in a sloping position and furnished with four horizontal and equi-distant ledges. The combinations of the letters shown in the first four columns of the Logical Alphabet are printed in somewhat large type, so that each letter is about an inch from the neighbouring one, but the letters are placed one above the other instead of being in horizontal lines as in p. 94. Each combination of letters is separately fixed to the surface of105 a thin slip of wood one inch broad and about one-eighth inch thick. Short steel pins are then driven in an inclined position into the wood. When a letter is a large capital representing a positive term, the pin is fixed in the upper part of its space; when the letter is a small italic representing a negative term, the pin is fixed in the lower part of the space. Now, if one of the series of combinations be ranged upon a ledge of the black-board, the sharp edge of a flat rule can be inserted beneath the pins belonging to any one letter—say A, so that all the combinations marked A can be lifted out and placed upon a separate ledge. Thus we have represented the act of thought which separates the class A from what is not-A. The operation can be repeated; out of the A’s we can in like manner select those which are B’s, obtaining the AB’s; and in like manner we may select any other classes such as the aB’s, the ab’s, or the abc’s.
The Logical Abacus consists of a standard school blackboard positioned at an angle and equipped with four horizontal, evenly spaced ledges. The combinations of letters shown in the first four columns of the Logical Alphabet are printed in a fairly large font, with each letter about an inch apart from the next one. The letters are arranged vertically rather than in horizontal lines like in p. 94. Each combination of letters is attached to a thin strip of wood that is one inch wide and about one-eighth inch thick. Short steel pins are then driven into the wood at an angle. When a letter is a large capital letter representing a positive term, the pin is inserted in the upper part of its space; when the letter is a small italic representing a negative term, the pin is placed in the lower part of the space. Now, if a series of combinations is aligned on a ledge of the blackboard, the sharp edge of a flat ruler can be slid under the pins belonging to any one letter—let's say A—so that all combinations marked A can be lifted out and transferred to a separate ledge. This represents the act of thought that distinguishes class A from what is not A. The process can be repeated; from the A's we can similarly select those that are B's, creating the AB's, and likewise we can choose any other classes such as the aB's, the ab’s, or the abc’s.
If now we take the series of eight combinations of the letters A, B, C, a, b, c, and wish to analyse the argument anciently called Barbara, having the premises
If we take the series of eight combinations of the letters A, B, C, a, b, c, and want to analyze the argument that was formerly called Barbara, having the premises
A = AB | (1) |
B = BC, | (2) |
we proceed as follows—We raise the combinations marked a, leaving the A’s behind; out of these A’s we move to a lower ledge such as are b’s, and to the remaining AB’s we join the a’s which have been raised. The result is that we have divided all the combinations into two classes, namely, the Ab’s which are incapable of existing consistently with premise (1), and the combinations which are consistent with the premise. Turning now to the second premise, we raise out of those which agree with (1) the b’s, then we lower the Bc’s; lastly we join the b’s to the BC’s. We now find our combinations arranged as below.
we proceed as follows—We lift the combinations marked a, leaving the A’s behind; from these A’s we move to a lower level like the b’s, and to the remaining AB’s we connect the raised a’s. As a result, we have split all the combinations into two groups: the Ab’s that cannot exist consistently with premise (1), and the combinations that are consistent with the premise. Now, turning to the second premise, we lift out of those that agree with (1) the b’s, then we lower the Bc’s; finally, we connect the b’s to the BC’s. We now see our combinations arranged as follows.
A | a |
a |
a | ||||
B |
B |
b |
b | ||||
C | C | C | c | ||||
A | A | A | a | ||||
B | b |
b | B | ||||
c | C | c | c |
The lower line contains all the combinations which are inconsistent with either premise; we have carried out in a106 mechanical manner that exclusion of self-contradictories which was formerly done upon the slate or upon paper. Accordingly, from the combinations remaining in the upper line we can draw any inference which the premises yield. If we raise the A’s we find only one, and that is C, so that A must be C. If we select the c’s we again find only one, which is a and also b; thus we prove that not-C is not-A and not-B.
The lower row lists all the combinations that don't work with either premise; we've systematically excluded self-contradictions, which used to be done on a slate or paper. Therefore, from the combinations left in the upper row, we can draw any conclusions based on the premises. If we look at the A's, we find just one, which is C, so A must be C. If we check the c's, we again find just one, which is a and also b; this proves that not-C is not-A and not-B.
When a disjunctive proposition occurs among the premises the requisite movements become rather more complicated. Take the disjunctive argument
When a disjunctive proposition appears in the premises, the necessary steps become a bit more complex. Consider the disjunctive argument
A is not C and not D,
Therefore A is B.
The premises are represented accurately as follows:—
The premises are accurately represented as follows:—
A = AB ꖌ AC ꖌ AD | (1) |
A = Ac | (2) |
A = Ad. | (3) |
As there are four terms, we choose the series of sixteen combinations and place them on the highest ledge of the board but one. We raise the a’s and out of the A’s, which remain, we lower the b’s. But we are not to reject all the Ab’s as contradictory, because by the first premise A’s may be either B’s or C’s or D’s. Accordingly out of the Ab’s we must select the c’s, and out of these again the d’s, so that only Abcd will remain to be rejected finally. Joining all the other fifteen combinations together again, and proceeding to premise (2), we raise the a’s and lower the AC’s, and thus reject the combinations inconsistent with (2); similarly we reject the AD’s which are inconsistent with (3). It will be found that there remain, in addition to all the eight combinations containing a, only one containing A, namely
Since there are four terms, we select the series of sixteen combinations and place them on the highest ledge of the board except for one. We elevate the a's and from the remaining A's, we lower the b's. However, we shouldn't dismiss all the Ab's as contradictory, because according to the first premise, A's can be either B's, C's, or D's. Therefore, from the Ab's, we must choose the c's, and from these, we again choose the d's, so that only Abcd will be left to reject in the end. By combining all the other fifteen combinations again and moving on to premise (2), we raise the a's and lower the AC's, thus eliminating the combinations that are inconsistent with (2); similarly, we reject the AD's that are inconsistent with (3). It will be noted that, in addition to all eight combinations containing a, only one containing A remains, namely
whence it is apparent that A must be B, the ordinary conclusion of the argument.
whence it is clear that A must be B, the usual conclusion of the argument.
In my “Substitution of Similars” (pp. 56–59) I have described the working upon the Abacus of two other logical problems, which it would be tedious to repeat in this place.
In my “Substitution of Similars” (pp. 56–59), I discussed the application of the Abacus to two other logical problems, which would be tedious to go over again here.
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The Logical Machine.
Although the Logical Abacus considerably reduced the labour of using the Indirect Method, it was not free from the possibility of error. I thought moreover that it would afford a conspicuous proof of the generality and power of the method if I could reduce it to a purely mechanical form. Logicians had long been accustomed to speak of Logic as an Organon or Instrument, and even Lord Bacon, while he rejected the old syllogistic logic, had insisted, in the second aphorism of his “New Instrument,” that the mind required some kind of systematic aid. In the kindred science of mathematics mechanical assistance of one kind or another had long been employed. Orreries, globes, mechanical clocks, and such like instruments, are really aids to calculation and are of considerable antiquity. The Arithmetical Abacus is still in common use in Russia and China. The calculating machine of Pascal is more than two centuries old, having been constructed in 1642–45. M. Thomas of Colmar manufactures an arithmetical machine on Pascal’s principles which is employed by engineers and others who need frequently to multiply or divide. To Babbage and Scheutz is due the merit of embodying the Calculus of Differences in a machine, which thus became capable of calculating the most complicated tables of figures. It seemed strange that in the more intricate science of quantity mechanism should be applicable, whereas in the simple science of qualitative reasoning, the syllogism was only called an instrument by a figure of speech. It is true that Swift satirically described the Professors of Laputa as in possession of a thinking machine, and in 1851 Mr. Alfred Smee actually proposed the construction of a Relational machine and a Differential machine, the first of which would be a mechanical dictionary and the second a mode of comparing ideas; but with these exceptions I have not yet met with so much as a suggestion of a reasoning machine. It may be added that Mr. Smee’s designs, though highly ingenious, appear to be impracticable, and in any case they do not attempt the performance of logical inference.80
Although the Logical Abacus greatly reduced the effort needed for using the Indirect Method, it was still prone to error. I believed that it would provide a clear demonstration of the method's broad applicability and strength if I could make it purely mechanical. Logicians have long referred to Logic as an Organon or Instrument, and even Lord Bacon, while dismissing traditional syllogistic logic, insisted in the second aphorism of his “New Instrument” that the mind needs some form of systematic support. In the related field of mathematics, mechanical aids have been used for a long time. Orreries, globes, mechanical clocks, and similar instruments are essentially aids to calculation and have been around for quite a while. The Arithmetical Abacus is still commonly used in Russia and China. Pascal’s calculating machine is over 200 years old, created between 1642 and 1645. M. Thomas of Colmar produces an arithmetical machine based on Pascal’s principles that is used by engineers and others who frequently need to multiply or divide. Babbage and Scheutz are credited with incorporating the Calculus of Differences into a machine, making it capable of calculating the most complex tables of figures. It seemed odd that in the more complicated science of quantity, mechanism was applicable, while in the simpler science of qualitative reasoning, the syllogism was only called an instrument as a figure of speech. Indeed, Swift humorously portrayed the Professors of Laputa as having a thinking machine, and in 1851, Mr. Alfred Smee actually proposed building a Relational machine and a Differential machine, the former being a mechanical dictionary and the latter a way to compare ideas; but apart from these exceptions, I have not encountered even a suggestion of a reasoning machine. It is worth noting that Mr. Smee’s designs, while highly clever, seem impractical, and in any case, they do not aim to perform logical inference.80
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The Logical Abacus soon suggested the notion of a Logical Machine, which, after two unsuccessful attempts, I succeeded in constructing in a comparatively simple and effective form. The details of the Logical Machine have been fully described by the aid of plates in the Philosophical Transactions,81 and it would be needless to repeat the account of the somewhat intricate movements of the machine in this place.
The Logical Abacus quickly led to the idea of a Logical Machine, which, after two failed tries, I managed to build in a fairly straightforward and effective way. The specifics of the Logical Machine have been thoroughly detailed with illustrations in the Philosophical Transactions,81 and it would be unnecessary to go over the somewhat complicated movements of the machine here.
The general appearance of the machine is shown in a plate facing the title-page of this volume. It somewhat resembles a very small upright piano or organ, and has a keyboard containing twenty-one keys. These keys are of two kinds, sixteen of them representing the terms or letters A, a, B, b, C, c, D, d, which have so often been employed in our logical notation. When letters occur on the left-hand side of a proposition, formerly called the subject, each is represented by a key on the left-hand half of the keyboard; but when they occur on the right-hand side, or as it used to be called the predicate of the proposition, the letter-keys on the right-hand side of the keyboard are the proper representatives. The five other keys may be called operation keys, to distinguish them from the letter or term keys. They stand for the stops, copula, and disjunctive conjunctions of a proposition. The middle key of all is the copula, to be pressed when the verb is or the sign = is met. The key to the extreme right-hand is called the Full Stop, because it should be pressed when a proposition is completed, in fact in the proper place of the full stop. The key to the extreme left-hand is used to terminate an argument or to restore the machine to its initial condition; it is called the Finis key. The last keys but one on the right and left complete the whole series, and represent the conjunction or in its unexclusive meaning, or the sign ꖌ which I have employed, according as it occurs in the right or left hand side of the proposition. The whole keyboard is arranged as shown on the next page—
The overall look of the machine can be seen in a plate facing the title page of this volume. It somewhat resembles a very small upright piano or organ and has a keyboard with twenty-one keys. These keys are of two types: sixteen of them represent the letters A, a, B, b, C, c, D, d, which are frequently used in our logical notation. When letters appear on the left side of a statement, previously referred to as the subject, each is represented by a key on the left half of the keyboard. Conversely, when they appear on the right side, or what was once called the predicate of the statement, the letter keys on the right side of the keyboard are the correct representatives. The five other keys can be referred to as operation keys to distinguish them from the letter or term keys. They represent the stops, copula, and disjunctive conjunctions of a statement. The central key is the copula, which should be pressed when the verb is or the sign = appears. The key furthest to the right is called the Full Stop because it should be pressed when a statement is finished, specifically where the full stop should occur. The key furthest to the left is used to end an argument or reset the machine to its initial state; it is called the Finis key. The last two keys on the right and left finish the entire series and represent the conjunction or in its non-exclusive meaning, or the sign ꖌ that I have used, depending on whether it appears on the right or left side of the statement. The entire keyboard is set up as shown on the next page—
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Finis. | Left-hand side of Proposition. | Cupola. | Right-hand side of Proposition. | Fullstop. | ||||||||||||||||
ꖌ Or |
d | D | c | C | b | B | a | A | A | a | B | b | C | c | D | d | ꖌ Or |
To work the machine it is only requisite to press the keys in succession as indicated by the letters and signs of a symbolical proposition. All the premises of an argument are supposed to be reduced to the simple notation which has been employed in the previous pages. Taking then such a simple proposition as
To operate the machine, you just need to press the keys one after the other as shown by the letters and symbols of a symbolic statement. All the premises of an argument are assumed to be simplified to the basic notation used in the earlier pages. So, taking a simple statement like
we press the keys A (left), copula, A (right), B (right), and full stop.
we press the keys A (left), copula, A (right), B (right), and period.
If there be a second premise, for instance
If there is a second premise, for example
we press in like manner the keys—
we press the keys in the same way—
The process is exactly the same however numerous the premises may be. When they are completed the operator will see indicated on the face of the machine the exact combinations of letters which are consistent with the premises according to the principles of thought.
The process is exactly the same, no matter how many premises there are. Once they are completed, the operator will see on the machine's display the exact combinations of letters that align with the premises based on the principles of thought.
As shown in the figure opposite the title-page, the machine exhibits in front a Logical Alphabet of sixteen combinations, exactly like that of the Abacus, except that the letters of each combination are separated by a certain interval. After the above problem has been worked upon the machine the Logical Alphabet will have been modified so as to present the following appearance—
As shown in the figure opposite the title page, the machine displays a Logical Alphabet of sixteen combinations at the front, similar to that of the Abacus, except that the letters in each combination are spaced apart. After working on the problem, the machine will have altered the Logical Alphabet to look like this—
A | A | a | a | a | a | a | a | ||||||||
B | B | B | B | b | b | b | b | ||||||||
C | C | C | C | C | C | c | c | ||||||||
D | d | D | d | D | d | D | d | ||||||||
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The operator will readily collect the various conclusions in the manner described in previous pages, as, for instance that A is always C, that not-C is not-B and not-A; and not-B is not-A but either C or not-C. The results are thus to be read off exactly as in the case of the Logical Slate, or the Logical Abacus.
The operator will easily gather the different conclusions as explained in previous pages, such as the idea that A is always C, that not-C is not-B and not-A; and that not-B is not-A but can be either C or not-C. The results should be interpreted exactly like they would be with the Logical Slate or the Logical Abacus.
Disjunctive propositions are to be treated in an exactly similar manner. Thus, to work the premises
Disjunctive propositions should be handled in the same way. So, to process the premises
A = |
AB ꖌ AC |
B ꖌ C = |
BD ꖌ CD, |
it is only necessary to press in succession the keys
it’s only necessary to press the keys one after the other
B (left), ꖌ, C, copula, B (right), D, ꖌ, C, D, full stop.
The combinations then remaining will be as follows
The remaining combinations will be as follows:
ABCD | aBCD | abcD |
ABcD | aBcD | abcd. |
AcCD | abCD |
On pressing the left-hand key A, all the possible combinations which do not contain A will disappear, and the description of A may be gathered from what remain, namely that it is always D. The full-stop key restores all combinations consistent with the premises and any other selection may be made, as say not-D, which will be found to be always not-A, not-B, and not-C.
On pressing the left-hand key A, all the possible combinations that don't include A will vanish, and you can gather the description of A from what’s left, which is that it’s always D. The period key brings back all combinations that fit the premises, and any other selection can be made, like not-D, which will always turn out to be not-A, not-B, and not-C.
At the end of every problem, when no further questions need be addressed to the machine, we press the Finis key, which has the effect of bringing into view the whole of the conceivable combinations of the alphabet. This key in fact obliterates the conditions impressed upon the machine by moving back into their ordinary places those combinations which had been rejected as inconsistent with the premises. Before beginning any new problem it is requisite to observe that the whole sixteen combinations are visible. After the Finis key has been used the machine represents a mind endowed with powers of thought, but wholly devoid of knowledge. It would not in that condition give any answer but such as would consist in the primary laws of thought themselves. But when any proposition is worked upon the keys, the machine analyses and digests the meaning of it and becomes charged with the knowledge embodied in that proposition. Accordingly it is able to return as an answer any description of a term111 or class so far as furnished by that proposition in accordance with the Laws of Thought. The machine is thus the embodiment of a true logical system. The combinations are classified, selected or rejected, just as they should be by a reasoning mind, so that at each step in a problem, the Logical Alphabet represents the proper condition of a mind exempt from mistake. It cannot be asserted indeed that the machine entirely supersedes the agency of conscious thought; mental labour is required in interpreting the meaning of grammatical expressions, and in correctly impressing that meaning on the machine; it is further required in gathering the conclusion from the remaining combinations. Nevertheless the true process of logical inference is really accomplished in a purely mechanical manner.
At the end of each problem, when there are no more questions to ask the machine, we press the Finis key, which brings into view all possible combinations of the alphabet. This key actually resets the machine by returning the combinations that were previously rejected as inconsistent with the premises to their usual positions. Before starting a new problem, it's essential to check that all sixteen combinations are visible. After using the Finis key, the machine acts as if it has the ability to think, but it lacks any real knowledge. In that state, it can only provide answers based on the basic rules of thought. However, when any statement is processed through the keys, the machine analyzes and understands its meaning, becoming filled with the knowledge contained in that statement. As a result, it can provide answers that describe a term or category as defined by that statement according to the Laws of Thought. Thus, the machine represents a true logical system. The combinations are organized, chosen, or discarded as they would be by a reasoning mind, ensuring that at each step of a problem, the Logical Alphabet reflects a state of mind free from error. It can't be said that the machine completely replaces conscious thought; mental effort is still necessary to interpret the meaning of grammatical expressions and to correctly input that meaning into the machine, as well as to derive conclusions from the remaining combinations. Still, the actual process of logical inference is truly carried out in a mechanical way.
It is worthy of remark that the machine can detect any self-contradiction existing between the premises presented to it; should the premises be self-contradictory it will be found that one or more of the letter-terms disappears entirely from the Logical Alphabet. Thus if we work the two propositions, A is B, and A is not-B, and then inquire for a description of A, the machine will refuse to give it by exhibiting no combination at all containing A. This result is in agreement with the law, which I have explained, that every term must have its negative (p. 74). Accordingly, whenever any one of the letters A, B, C, D, a, b, c, d, wholly disappears from the alphabet, it may be safely inferred that some act of self-contradiction has been committed.
It’s worth noting that the machine can identify any self-contradiction within the premises it receives. If the premises contradict each other, one or more of the letter-terms will completely vanish from the Logical Alphabet. For example, if we input the two statements, A is B, and A is not-B, and then request a description of A, the machine will decline to provide it by showing no combination at all that includes A. This outcome aligns with the law I've explained, which states that every term must have its negative (p. 74). Therefore, whenever any of the letters A, B, C, D, a, b, c, d completely disappear from the alphabet, we can safely conclude that some act of self-contradiction has taken place.
It ought to be carefully observed that the logical machine cannot receive a simple identity of the form A = B except in the double form of A = B and B = A. To work the proposition A = B, it is therefore necessary to press the keys—
It should be noted that the logical machine cannot accept a simple identity of the form A = B unless it is in the double form of A = B and B = A. To use the proposition A = B, you need to press the keys—
B (left), copula, A (right), full stop.
The same double operation will be necessary whenever the proposition is not of the kind called a partial identity (p. 40). Thus AB = CD, AB = AC, A = B ꖌ C, A ꖌ B = C ꖌ D, all require to be read from both ends separately.
The same double process will be needed whenever the proposition isn't classified as a partial identity (p. 40). Therefore, AB = CD, AB = AC, A = B ꖌ C, and A ꖌ B = C ꖌ D all need to be interpreted independently from both ends.
The proper rule for using the machine may in fact be given in the following way:—(1) Read each proposition as it stands, and play the corresponding keys: (2) Convert the112 proposition and read and play the keys again in the transposed order of the terms. So long as this rule is observed the true result must always be obtained. There can be no mistake. But it will be found that in the case of partial identities, and some other similar forms of propositions, the transposed reading has no effect upon the combinations of the Logical Alphabet. One reading is in such cases all that is practically needful. After some experience has been gained in the use of the machine, the worker naturally saves himself the trouble of the second reading when possible.
The correct way to use the machine can actually be summarized like this: (1) Read each statement as it is, and press the corresponding keys: (2) Transform the statement and read it again while pressing the keys in the new order of the terms. As long as you follow this rule, you will always get the right result. There’s no chance of making a mistake. However, you’ll notice that for certain types of partial identities and a few other similar statements, the reversed reading doesn’t affect the combinations in the Logical Alphabet. In those cases, one reading is usually sufficient. After gaining some experience with the machine, you’ll naturally skip the second reading when it’s not necessary.
It is no doubt a remarkable fact that a simple identity cannot be impressed upon the machine except in the form of two partial identities, and this may be thought by some logicians to militate against the equational mode of representing propositions.
It is undoubtedly a remarkable fact that a simple identity cannot be conveyed to the machine except as two partial identities, and some logicians might think this contradicts the equation-based way of representing propositions.
Before leaving the subject I may remark that these mechanical devices are not likely to possess much practical utility. We do not require in common life to be constantly solving complex logical questions. Even in mathematical calculation the ordinary rules of arithmetic are generally sufficient, and a calculating machine can only be used with advantage in peculiar cases. But the machine and abacus have nevertheless two important uses.
Before wrapping up this topic, I want to point out that these mechanical devices probably won't be very useful in real life. We don’t need to be constantly tackling complex logical problems in our everyday activities. Even in math, the usual arithmetic rules are usually enough, and a calculating machine is only beneficial in specific situations. However, the machine and abacus do have two important functions.
In the first place I hope that the time is not very far distant when the predominance of the ancient Aristotelian Logic will be a matter of history only, and when the teaching of logic will be placed on a footing more worthy of its supreme importance. It will then be found that the solution of logical questions is an exercise of mind at least as valuable and necessary as mathematical calculation. I believe that these mechanical devices, or something of the same kind, will then become useful for exhibiting to a class of students a clear and visible analysis of logical problems of any degree of complexity, the nature of each step being rendered plain to the eyes of the students. I often used the machine or abacus for this purpose in my class lectures while I was Professor of Logic at Owens College.
First of all, I hope that the time isn't too far off when the dominance of ancient Aristotelian Logic is just a part of history, and when teaching logic is recognized for its true importance. It will then be clear that solving logical problems is at least as valuable and necessary as doing math calculations. I think that these mechanical tools, or something similar, will then be useful for providing students with a clear, visual breakdown of logical problems, regardless of their complexity, with each step being obvious to the students. I often used the machine or abacus for this during my lectures when I was a Professor of Logic at Owens College.
Secondly, the more immediate importance of the machine seems to consist in the unquestionable proof which it affords that correct views of the fundamental principles of113 reasoning have now been attained, although they were unknown to Aristotle and his followers. The time must come when the inevitable results of the admirable investigations of the late Dr. Boole must be recognised at their true value, and the plain and palpable form in which the machine presents those results will, I hope, hasten the time. Undoubtedly Boole’s life marks an era in the science of human reason. It may seem strange that it had remained for him first to set forth in its full extent the problem of logic, but I am not aware that anyone before him had treated logic as a symbolic method for evolving from any premises the description of any class whatsoever as defined by those premises. In spite of several serious errors into which he fell, it will probably be allowed that Boole discovered the true and general form of logic, and put the science substantially into the form which it must hold for evermore. He thus effected a reform with which there is hardly anything comparable in the history of logic between his time and the remote age of Aristotle.
Secondly, the immediate significance of the machine seems to lie in the undeniable evidence it provides that accurate understandings of the basic principles of reasoning have now been achieved, even though they were unknown to Aristotle and his followers. The time will come when the inevitable outcomes of the remarkable research by the late Dr. Boole will be acknowledged for their true significance, and I hope the clear and straightforward way in which the machine presents those outcomes will speed up that recognition. Without a doubt, Boole’s life represents a turning point in the science of human reasoning. It may seem odd that he was the first to fully articulate the problem of logic, but I don't know of anyone before him who approached logic as a symbolic method for deriving from any premises the description of any class as defined by those premises. Despite several serious mistakes he made, it's likely that people will agree that Boole uncovered the true and general form of logic and established the science in a way that will endure forever. He thus initiated a reform that is almost unmatched in the history of logic from his time back to the distant age of Aristotle.
Nevertheless, Boole’s quasi-mathematical system could hardly be regarded as a final and unexceptionable solution of the problem. Not only did it require the manipulation of mathematical symbols in a very intricate and perplexing manner, but the results when obtained were devoid of demonstrative force, because they turned upon the employment of unintelligible symbols, acquiring meaning only by analogy. I have also pointed out that he imported into his system a condition concerning the exclusive nature of alternatives (p. 70), which is not necessarily true of logical terms. I shall have to show in the next chapter that logic is really the basis of the whole science of mathematical reasoning, so that Boole inverted the true order of proof when he proposed to infer logical truths by algebraic processes. It is wonderful evidence of his mental power that by methods fundamentally false he should have succeeded in reaching true conclusions and widening the sphere of reason.
However, Boole’s quasi-mathematical system could barely be considered a final and unquestionable solution to the problem. Not only did it involve manipulating mathematical symbols in a very complex and confusing way, but the results, when reached, lacked demonstrative power because they relied on the use of unclear symbols, gaining meaning only through analogy. I have also noted that he introduced a condition regarding the exclusive nature of alternatives (p. 70), which isn't necessarily true for logical terms. I will need to demonstrate in the next chapter that logic is truly the foundation of all mathematical reasoning, so Boole reversed the correct order of proof by suggesting that logical truths could be inferred through algebraic methods. It’s remarkable evidence of his intellectual capability that he was able to achieve true conclusions and expand the domain of reason using fundamentally flawed methods.
The mechanical performance of logical inference affords a demonstration both of the truth of Boole’s results and of the mistaken nature of his mode of deducing them. Conclusions which he could obtain only by pages of intricate calculation, are exhibited by the machine after one or114 two minutes of manipulation. And not only are those conclusions easily reached, but they are demonstratively true, because every step of the process involves nothing more obscure than the three fundamental Laws of Thought.
The way machines perform logical inference shows both that Boole’s results are correct and that his method of deriving them is flawed. Conclusions that he could only arrive at after pages of complex calculations can be produced by the machine in just one or114 two minutes. Not only are these conclusions easy to reach, but they are also undeniably true, because every step in the process is based on just the three fundamental Laws of Thought.
The Order of Premises.
Before quitting the subject of deductive reasoning, I may remark that the order in which the premises of an argument are placed is a matter of logical indifference. Much discussion has taken place at various times concerning the arrangement of the premises of a syllogism; and it has been generally held, in accordance with the opinion of Aristotle, that the so-called major premise, containing the major term, or the predicate of the conclusion, should stand first. This distinction however falls to the ground in our system, since the proposition is reduced to an identical form, in which there is no distinction of subject and predicate. In a strictly logical point of view the order of statement is wholly devoid of significance. The premises are simultaneously coexistent, and are not related to each other according to the properties of space and time. Just as the qualities of the same object are neither before nor after each other in nature (p. 33), and are only thought of in some one order owing to the limited capacity of mind, so the premises of an argument are neither before nor after each other, and are only thought of in succession because the mind cannot grasp many ideas at once. The combinations of the logical alphabet are exactly the same in whatever order the premises be treated on the logical slate or machine. Some difference may doubtless exist as regards convenience to human memory. The mind may take in the results of an argument more easily in one mode of statement than another, although there is no real difference in the logical results. But in this point of view I think that Aristotle and the old logicians were clearly wrong. It is more easy to gather the conclusion that “all A’s are C’s” from “all A’s are B’s and all B’s are C’s,” than from the same propositions in inverted order, “all B’s are C’s and all A’s are B’s.”
Before moving on from deductive reasoning, I want to point out that the order of the premises in an argument doesn't actually matter logically. There has been a lot of debate over the arrangement of the premises in a syllogism, and it’s generally accepted, based on Aristotle's view, that the so-called major premise, which includes the major term or the predicate of the conclusion, should come first. However, this distinction doesn't apply in our system because the proposition is simplified to an identical form where there’s no difference between subject and predicate. From a strictly logical standpoint, the order of presentation doesn’t carry any weight. The premises exist simultaneously and aren't related to one another in terms of space and time. Just as the qualities of the same object aren’t before or after one another in nature (p. 33), and are only considered in a certain order due to our limited capacity to think, the premises of an argument are also not before or after each other; we just consider them one after another because our minds can’t handle too many ideas at once. The combinations of the logical alphabet remain the same regardless of how the premises are arranged on a logical slate or machine. There may be some differences in terms of convenience for human memory. It might be easier for our minds to grasp the results of an argument in one way of stating it compared to another, but there’s no actual difference in the logical results. However, I think Aristotle and the older logicians were clearly mistaken in this regard. It’s easier to conclude that “all A’s are C’s” from “all A’s are B’s and all B’s are C’s” than from the same propositions in reverse order, “all B’s are C’s and all A’s are B’s.”
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The Equivalence of Propositions.
One great advantage which arises from the study of this Indirect Method of Inference consists in the clear notion which we gain of the Equivalence of Propositions. The older logicians showed how from certain simple premises we might draw an inference, but they failed to point out whether that inference contained the whole, or only a part, of the information embodied in the premises. Any one proposition or group of propositions may be classed with respect to another proposition or group of propositions, as
One major benefit of studying this Indirect Method of Inference is the clear understanding we gain about the Equivalence of Propositions. Earlier logicians demonstrated how we could draw an inference from certain simple premises, but they didn't clarify whether that inference contained all or just a portion of the information in the premises. Any single proposition or set of propositions can be categorized in relation to another proposition or set of propositions, as
2. Inferrible,
3. Consistent,
4. Contradictory.
Taking the proposition “All men are mortals” as the original, then “All immortals are not men” is its equivalent; “Some mortals are men” is inferrible, or capable of inference, but is not equivalent; “All not-men are not mortals” cannot be inferred, but is consistent, that is, may be true at the same time; “All men are immortals” is of course contradictory.
Taking the statement "All men are mortal" as the original, then "All immortals are not men" is its equivalent; "Some mortals are men" can be inferred but is not equivalent; "All not-men are not mortal" cannot be inferred, but is consistent, meaning it could be true at the same time; "All men are immortal" is, of course, contradictory.
One sufficient test of equivalence is capability of mutual inference. Thus from
One clear test of equivalence is the ability to make mutual inferences. So from
I can infer
I can figure out
and vice versâ from the latter I can pass back to the former. In short, A = B is equivalent to a = b. Again, from the union of the two propositions, A = AB and B = AB, I get A = B, and from this I might as easily deduce the two with which I started. In this case one proposition is equivalent to two other propositions. There are in fact no less than four modes in which we may express the identity of two classes A and B, namely,
and vice versa from the latter I can return to the former. In short, A = B is the same as a = b. Also, from the combination of the two statements, A = AB and B = AB, I derive A = B, and from this, I can easily get back to the two I started with. In this instance, one statement is equivalent to two other statements. In fact, there are four ways we can express the identity of two classes A and B, namely,
FIRST MODE. | SECOND MODE. | THIRD MODE. | FOURTH MODE. | ||
A = B | a = b | A = AB |
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a = ab |
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B = AB |
b = ab |
The Indirect Method of Inference furnishes a universal and clear criterion as to the relationship of propositions. The import of a statement is always to be measured by116 the combinations of terms which it destroys. Hence two propositions are equivalent when they remove the same combinations from the Logical Alphabet, and neither more nor less. A proposition is inferrible but not equivalent to another when it removes some but not all the combinations which the other removes, and none except what this other removes. Again, propositions are consistent provided that they jointly allow each term and the negative of each term to remain somewhere in the Logical Alphabet. If after all the combinations inconsistent with two propositions are struck out, there still appears each of the letters A, a, B, b, C, c, D, d, which were there before, then no inconsistency between the propositions exists, although they may not be equivalent or even inferrible. Finally, contradictory propositions are those which taken together remove any one or more letter-terms from the Logical Alphabet.
The Indirect Method of Inference provides a clear and universal standard for understanding the relationship between propositions. The meaning of a statement should always be assessed by the combinations of terms it eliminates. Therefore, two propositions are considered equivalent when they eliminate the same combinations from the Logical Alphabet, and nothing more or less. A proposition is inferrable but not equivalent to another if it eliminates some but not all the combinations that the other eliminates, and nothing beyond what the other removes. Additionally, propositions are consistent as long as they together allow each term and the negation of each term to remain somewhere in the Logical Alphabet. If, after removing all combinations that contradict the two propositions, the letters A, a, B, b, C, c, D, d still appear as they did before, then no inconsistency exists between the propositions, even though they may not be equivalent or even inferrable. Finally, contradictory propositions are those that, when combined, eliminate one or more letter-terms from the Logical Alphabet.
What is true of single propositions applies also to groups of propositions, however large or complicated; that is to say, one group may be equivalent, inferrible, consistent, or contradictory as regards another, and we may similarly compare one proposition with a group of propositions.
What is true for single statements also applies to groups of statements, no matter how big or complex; in other words, one group can be equivalent, inferrable, consistent, or contradictory in relation to another, and we can similarly compare a single statement with a group of statements.
To give in this place illustrations of all the four kinds of relation would require much space: as the examples given in previous sections or chapters may serve more or less to explain the relations of inference, consistency, and contradiction, I will only add a few instances of equivalent propositions or groups.
To provide examples of all four types of relationships here would take up too much space. The examples provided in earlier sections or chapters help to explain the relationships of inference, consistency, and contradiction, so I’ll just include a few instances of equivalent propositions or groups.
In the following list each proposition or group of propositions is exactly equivalent in meaning to the corresponding one in the other column, and the truth of this statement may be tested by working out the combinations of the alphabet, which ought to be found exactly the same in the case of each pair of equivalents.
In the following list, each statement or group of statements is exactly equivalent in meaning to the corresponding one in the other column. You can verify the truth of this by working out the combinations of the alphabet, which should be identical for each pair of equivalents.
A = |
Ab | B = |
aB | ||||
A = |
b | a = |
B | ||||
A = |
BC | a = |
b ꖌ c | ||||
A = |
AB ꖌ AC | b = |
ab ꖌ AbC | ||||
A ꖌ B = |
B ꖌ d | ab = |
cd | ||||
A ꖌ c = |
B ꖌ d | aC = |
bD | ||||
A = | ABc ꖌ AbC | ![]() |
A = |
AB ꖌ AC | |||
AB = |
ABc117 | ||||||
A = |
B | ![]() |
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A = |
B | ||
B = |
C | A = |
C | ||||
A = |
AB | ![]() |
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A = |
AC | ||
B = |
BC | B = |
A ꖌ aBC |
Although in these and many other cases the equivalents of certain propositions can readily be given, yet I believe that no uniform and infallible process can be pointed out by which the exact equivalents of premises can be ascertained. Ordinary deductive inference usually gives us only a portion of the contained information. It is true that the combinations consistent with a set of premises may always be thrown into the form of a proposition which must be logically equivalent to those premises; but the difficulty consists in detecting the other forms of propositions which will be equivalent to the premises. The task is here of a different character from any which we have yet attempted. It is in reality an inverse process, and is just as much more troublesome and uncertain than the direct process, as seeking is compared with hiding. Not only may several different answers equally apply, but there is no method of discovering any of those answers except by repeated trial. The problem which we have here met is really that of induction, the inverse of deduction; and, as I shall soon show, induction is always tentative, and, unless conducted with peculiar skill and insight, must be exceedingly laborious in cases of complexity.
Although in these and many other instances, we can easily provide equivalents for certain statements, I believe there's no consistent and foolproof way to identify the exact equivalents of premises. Typical deductive reasoning usually only gives us part of the available information. It's true that the combinations that are consistent with a set of premises can always be put into a statement that is logically equivalent to those premises; however, the challenge lies in finding the other forms of statements that will be equivalent to the premises. This task is quite different from anything we've tackled so far. It's essentially an inverse process and is just as much more difficult and uncertain than the direct process, as searching is compared to hiding. Not only can multiple different answers work equally well, but there's no way to find any of those answers except through repeated attempts. The issue we've encountered here is really that of induction, the opposite of deduction; and, as I will soon demonstrate, induction is always tentative, and unless done with special skill and insight, it can be extremely laborious in complex cases.
De Morgan was unfortunately led by this equivalence of propositions into the most serious error of his ingenious system of Logic. He held that because the proposition “All A’s are all B’s,” is but another expression for the two propositions “All A’s are B’s” and “All B’s are A’s,” it must be a composite and not really an elementary form of proposition.82 But on taking a general view of the equivalence of propositions such an objection seems to have no weight. Logicians have, with few exceptions, persistently upheld the original error of Aristotle in rejecting from their science the one simple relation of identity on which all more complex logical relations must really rest.
De Morgan was unfortunately misled by this equivalence of propositions into a major error in his clever system of Logic. He believed that since the statement “All A’s are all B’s” is just another way of expressing the two statements “All A’s are B’s” and “All B’s are A’s,” it must be a composite rather than a basic form of proposition.82 However, when looking at the equivalence of propositions in general, this objection seems less significant. Logicians, with few exceptions, have consistently supported Aristotle's original mistake of excluding the one simple relationship of identity from their field, which is necessary for all more complex logical relations to exist.
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The Nature of Inference.
The question, What is Inference? is involved, even to the present day, in as much uncertainty as that ancient question, What is Truth? I shall in more than one part of this work endeavour to show that inference never does more than explicate, unfold, or develop the information contained in certain premises or facts. Neither in deductive nor inductive reasoning can we add a tittle to our implicit knowledge, which is like that contained in an unread book or a sealed letter. Sir W. Hamilton has well said, “Reasoning is the showing out explicitly that a proposition not granted or supposed, is implicitly contained in something different, which is granted or supposed.”83
The question, What is Inference? is still as uncertain today as the ancient question, What is Truth? Throughout multiple parts of this work, I aim to demonstrate that inference only clarifies, reveals, or expands on the information found in specific premises or facts. In both deductive and inductive reasoning, we can’t add anything to our implicit knowledge, which is similar to what you find in an unread book or a sealed letter. Sir W. Hamilton wisely stated, “Reasoning is the explicit demonstration that a proposition not accepted or assumed is implicitly contained in something different that is accepted or assumed.”83
Professor Bowen has explained84 with much clearness that the conclusion of an argument states explicitly what is virtually or implicitly thought. “The process of reasoning is not so much a mode of evolving a new truth, as it is of establishing or proving an old one, by showing how much was admitted in the concession of the two premises taken together.” It is true that the whole meaning of these statements rests upon that of such words as “explicit,” “implicit,” “virtual.” That is implicit which is wrapped up, and we render it explicit when we unfold it. Just as the conception of a circle involves a hundred important geometrical properties, all following from what we know, if we have acuteness to unfold the results, so every fact and statement involves more meaning than seems at first sight. Reasoning explicates or brings to conscious possession what was before unconscious. It does not create, nor does it destroy, but it transmutes and throws the same matter into a new form.
Professor Bowen has clearly explained84 that the conclusion of an argument explicitly states what is often thought without being said. “The process of reasoning is not so much about discovering new truths, but about establishing or proving existing ones by showing how much was accepted in the combination of the two premises.” It's true that the whole meaning of these statements relies on the definitions of words like “explicit,” “implicit,” and “virtual.” What is implicit is wrapped up, and we make it explicit when we reveal it. Just as the idea of a circle includes many important geometric properties, all derived from what we know if we can skillfully unfold the implications, every fact and statement contains more meaning than it appears at first glance. Reasoning clarifies or brings to conscious awareness what was previously unconscious. It does not create or destroy but reshapes and presents the same material in a new form.
The difficult question still remains, Where does novelty of form begin? Is it a case of inference when we pass from “Sincerity is the parent of truth” to “The parent of truth is sincerity?” The old logicians would have called this change conversion, one case of immediate inference. But as all identity is necessarily reciprocal, and the very meaning of such a proposition is that the two terms are119 identical in their signification, I fail to see any difference between the statements whatever. As well might we say that x = y and y = x are different equations.
The tough question still stands: where does the novelty of form begin? Is it an inference when we move from “Sincerity is the parent of truth” to “The parent of truth is sincerity?” The old logicians would have called this change conversion, one example of immediate inference. However, since all identity is inherently reciprocal, and the very meaning of such a statement is that the two terms are119 identical in their meaning, I can't see any difference between the statements at all. It's just like saying that x = y and y = x are different equations.
Another point of difficulty is to decide when a change is merely grammatical and when it involves a real logical transformation. Between a table of wood and a wooden table there is no logical difference (p. 31), the adjective being merely a convenient substitute for the prepositional phrase. But it is uncertain to my mind whether the change from “All men are mortal” to “No men are not mortal” is purely grammatical. Logical change may perhaps be best described as consisting in the determination of a relation between certain classes of objects from a relation between certain other classes. Thus I consider it a truly logical inference when we pass from “All men are mortal” to “All immortals are not-men,” because the classes immortals and not-men are different from mortals and men, and yet the propositions contain at the bottom the very same truth, as shown in the combinations of the Logical Alphabet.
Another challenge is figuring out when a change is just grammatical and when it actually involves a significant logical shift. There’s no logical difference between a table of wood and a wooden table (p. 31), since the adjective is just a handy replacement for the prepositional phrase. However, I’m not sure if the shift from “All men are mortal” to “No men are not mortal” is purely grammatical. A logical change might be best described as establishing a relationship between certain groups of objects based on a relationship between other groups. So, I see it as a genuine logical inference when we move from “All men are mortal” to “All immortals are not-men,” because the groups immortals and not-men are different from mortals and men, yet both propositions ultimately express the same underlying truth, as illustrated in the combinations of the Logical Alphabet.
The passage from the qualitative to the quantitative mode of expressing a proposition is another kind of change which we must discriminate from true logical inference. We state the same truth when we say that “mortality belongs to all men,” as when we assert that “all men are mortals.” Here we do not pass from class to class, but from one kind of term, the abstract, to another kind, the concrete. But inference probably enters when we pass from either of the above propositions to the assertion that the class of immortal men is zero, or contains no objects.
The shift from expressing a concept qualitatively to quantitatively is another type of change that we need to distinguish from actual logical inference. We convey the same idea when we say that “mortality applies to all humans” as when we claim that “all humans are mortal.” In this case, we're not transitioning from one category to another, but from one type of term, the abstract, to another type, the concrete. However, inference likely comes into play when we move from either of the above statements to the assertion that the group of immortal humans is nonexistent or has no members.
It is of course a question of words to what processes we shall or shall not apply the name “inference,” and I have no wish to continue the trifling discussions which have already taken place upon the subject. What we need to do is to define accurately the sense in which we use the word “inference,” and to distinguish the relation of inferrible propositions from other possible relations. It seems to be sufficient to recognise four modes in which two apparently different propositions may be related. Thus two propositions may be—
It’s really a matter of terminology whether we choose to call certain processes “inference,” and I’m not interested in continuing the trivial debates that have already happened about this. What we need to do is clearly define how we use the term “inference” and differentiate the relationship of inferrible propositions from other possible relationships. It appears adequate to identify four ways in which two seemingly different propositions can be related. So, two propositions may be—
1. Tautologous or identical, involving the same relation between the same terms and classes, and only differing in120 the order of statement; thus “Victoria is the Queen of England” is tautologous with “The Queen of England is Victoria.”
1. Tautologous or identical, involving the same relation between the same terms and classes, and only differing in120 the order of the statement; so “Victoria is the Queen of England” is the same as “The Queen of England is Victoria.”
2. Grammatically related, when the classes or objects are the same and similarly related, and the only difference is in the words; thus “Victoria is the Queen of England” is grammatically equivalent to “Victoria is England’s Queen.”
2. Grammatically related, when the classes or objects are the same and similarly related, and the only difference is in the words; thus “Victoria is the Queen of England” is grammatically equivalent to “Victoria is England’s Queen.”
3. Equivalents in qualitative and quantitative form, the classes being the same, but viewed in a different manner.
3. Equivalents in both qualitative and quantitative terms, with the classes being the same but perceived differently.
4. Logically inferrible, one from the other, or it may be equivalent, when the classes and relations are different, but involve the same knowledge of the possible combinations.
4. Logically inferrable from one another, or it may be equivalent, when the categories and relationships differ, but involve the same understanding of the possible combinations.
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CHAPTER VII.
Orientation.
We enter in this chapter upon the second great department of logical method, that of Induction or the Inference of general from particular truths. It cannot be said that the Inductive process is of greater importance than the Deductive process already considered, because the latter process is absolutely essential to the existence of the former. Each is the complement and counterpart of the other. The principles of thought and existence which underlie them are at the bottom the same, just as subtraction of numbers necessarily rests upon the same principles as addition. Induction is, in fact, the inverse operation of deduction, and cannot be conceived to exist without the corresponding operation, so that the question of relative importance cannot arise. Who thinks of asking whether addition or subtraction is the more important process in arithmetic? But at the same time much difference in difficulty may exist between a direct and inverse operation; the integral calculus, for instance, is infinitely more difficult than the differential calculus of which it is the inverse. Similarly, it must be allowed that inductive investigations are of a far higher degree of difficulty and complexity than any questions of deduction; and it is this fact no doubt which led some logicians, such as Francis Bacon, Locke, and J. S. Mill, to erroneous opinions concerning the exclusive importance of induction.
In this chapter, we dive into the second major area of logical method: Induction, or inferring general truths from specific ones. It's not accurate to say that the Inductive process is more important than the Deductive process we've already discussed, because the latter is absolutely necessary for the former to exist. Each serves as a complement and counterpart to the other. The fundamental principles of thought and existence behind both are essentially the same, just as subtracting numbers relies on the same principles as adding them. Induction is essentially the reverse operation of deduction, and it can't be imagined without the corresponding operation, so we shouldn't consider their relative importance. Who asks whether addition or subtraction is the more important process in arithmetic? However, there can be significant differences in difficulty between a direct operation and its inverse; for example, integral calculus is vastly more challenging than differential calculus, which it reverses. Similarly, it's clear that inductive investigations are considerably more difficult and complex than deductive questions, and this fact likely contributed to the misconceptions held by some logicians, like Francis Bacon, Locke, and J. S. Mill, regarding the exclusive significance of induction.
Hitherto we have been engaged in considering how from certain conditions, laws, or identities governing the combinations of qualities, we may deduce the nature of the122 combinations agreeing with those conditions. Our work has been to unfold the results of what is contained in any statements, and the process has been one of Synthesis. The terms or combinations of which the character has been determined have usually, though by no means always, involved more qualities, and therefore, by the relation of extension and intension, fewer objects than the terms in which they were described. The truths inferred were thus usually less general than the truths from which they were inferred.
Up to now, we have been focused on figuring out how certain conditions, laws, or identities that govern the combinations of qualities can help us understand the nature of the combinations that fit those conditions. Our task has been to reveal the results of what is contained in any statements, and this process has been one of Synthesis. The terms or combinations that we have characterized have often, though not always, included more qualities, and consequently, based on the relationship between extension and intension, fewer objects than the terms used to describe them. As a result, the truths we inferred were generally less broad than the truths from which they were derived.
In induction all is inverted. The truths to be ascertained are more general than the data from which they are drawn. The process by which they are reached is analytical, and consists in separating the complex combinations in which natural phenomena are presented to us, and determining the relations of separate qualities. Given events obeying certain unknown laws, we have to discover the laws obeyed. Instead of the comparatively easy task of finding what effects will follow from a given law, the effects are now given and the law is required. We have to interpret the will by which the conditions of creation were laid down.
In induction, everything is turned upside down. The truths we need to find are broader than the information we start with. The way we arrive at these truths is analytical, involving breaking down the complex combinations we observe in natural phenomena and figuring out the relationships between different qualities. When we have events that follow certain unknown laws, our goal is to uncover those laws. Instead of the relatively easy job of predicting what results come from a known law, we are now given the results and need to identify the law. We must understand the intent behind the conditions of creation.
Induction an Inverse Operation
I have already asserted that induction is the inverse operation of deduction, but the difference is one of such great importance that I must dwell upon it. There are many cases in which we can easily and infallibly do a certain thing but may have much trouble in undoing it. A person may walk into the most complicated labyrinth or the most extensive catacombs, and turn hither and thither at his will; it is when he wishes to return that doubt and difficulty commence. In entering, any path served him; in leaving, he must select certain definite paths, and in this selection he must either trust to memory of the way he entered or else make an exhaustive trial of all possible ways. The explorer entering a new country makes sure his line of return by barking the trees.
I’ve already stated that induction is the opposite of deduction, but the distinction is so significant that I need to elaborate on it. There are many situations where we can easily and reliably do something, but we may struggle to undo it. A person can walk into the most complex labyrinth or the largest catacombs and move around freely; it’s when they want to leave that uncertainty and challenges begin. When entering, any path will do; however, when trying to exit, they have to choose specific paths, and in doing so, they either have to rely on their memory of the way they came in or try every possible route. An explorer entering a new area marks the trees to ensure he knows how to get back.
The same difficulty arises in many scientific processes. Given any two numbers, we may by a simple and infallible process obtain their product; but when a large number123 is given it is quite another matter to determine its factors. Can the reader say what two numbers multiplied together will produce the number 8,616,460,799? I think it unlikely that anyone but myself will ever know; for they are two large prime numbers, and can only be rediscovered by trying in succession a long series of prime divisors until the right one be fallen upon. The work would probably occupy a good computer for many weeks, but it did not occupy me many minutes to multiply the two factors together. Similarly there is no direct process for discovering whether any number is a prime or not; it is only by exhaustively trying all inferior numbers which could be divisors, that we can show there is none, and the labour of the process would be intolerable were it not performed systematically once for all in the process known as the Sieve of Eratosthenes, the results being registered in tables of prime numbers.
The same challenge appears in many scientific processes. Given any two numbers, we can easily and reliably find their product; however, when dealing with a large number123, it's a different story to figure out its factors. Can you tell what two numbers multiplied together will give the number 8,616,460,799? I doubt anyone besides me will ever know because they are two large prime numbers, and the only way to find them again is by testing a long list of prime divisors one after the other until hitting the right one. This task would likely take a powerful computer several weeks, but it took me only a few minutes to multiply the two factors. Likewise, there isn't a straightforward method for determining if a number is prime; we can only show that a number is not prime by exhaustively testing all smaller numbers that could be divisors. This process would be nearly impossible without a systematic approach known as the Sieve of Eratosthenes, which organizes the results into tables of prime numbers.
The immense difficulties which are encountered in the solution of algebraic equations afford another illustration. Given any algebraic factors, we can easily and infallibly arrive at the product; but given a product it is a matter of infinite difficulty to resolve it into factors. Given any series of quantities however numerous, there is very little trouble in making an equation which shall have those quantities as roots. Let a, b, c, d, &c., be the quantities; then (x - a)(x - b)(x - c)(x - d) . . . = 0 is the equation required, and we only need to multiply out the expression on the left hand by ordinary rules. But having given a complex algebraic expression equated to zero, it is a matter of exceeding difficulty to discover all the roots. Mathematicians have exhausted their highest powers in carrying the complete solution up to the fourth degree. In every other mathematical operation the inverse process is far more difficult than the direct process, subtraction than addition, division than multiplication, evolution than involution; but the difficulty increases vastly as the process becomes more complex. Differentiation, the direct process, is always capable of performance by fixed rules, but as these rules produce considerable variety of results, the inverse process of integration presents immense difficulties, and in an infinite majority of cases surpasses the present resources of mathematicians. There124 are no infallible and general rules for its accomplishment; it must be done by trial, by guesswork, or by remembering the results of differentiation, and using them as a guide.
The huge challenges faced in solving algebraic equations provide another example. When we have algebraic factors, we can easily and reliably find the product; however, given a product, breaking it down into factors is extremely difficult. No matter how many quantities we have, it's not hard to create an equation that has those quantities as roots. Let a, b, c, d, etc., be the quantities; then (x - a)(x - b)(x - c)(x - d) ... = 0 is the required equation, and we just need to multiply out the expression on the left side using basic rules. But when given a complex algebraic expression set to zero, finding all the roots is extremely challenging. Mathematicians have used their best efforts to find a complete solution up to the fourth degree. In all other mathematical processes, the reverse operation is far more challenging than the direct one—subtraction is harder than addition, division harder than multiplication, and finding roots harder than raising to a power; however, the difficulty increases significantly as the process becomes more complicated. Differentiation, the direct process, can always be done using established rules, but because these rules lead to a wide variety of results, the inverse process of integration is full of challenges and, in most cases, goes beyond the current capabilities of mathematicians. There are no foolproof and general rules for its completion; it must be done through trial and error, guesswork, or by recalling the results of differentiation and using them as guidance.
Coming more nearly to our own immediate subject, exactly the same difficulty exists in determining the law which certain things obey. Given a general mathematical expression, we can infallibly ascertain its value for any required value of the variable. But I am not aware that mathematicians have ever attempted to lay down the rules of a process by which, having given certain numbers, one might discover a rational or precise formula from which they proceed. The reader may test his power of detecting a law, by contemplation of its results, if he, not being a mathematician, will attempt to point out the law obeyed by the following numbers:
Coming closer to our current topic, we face the same challenge in figuring out the rules that certain things follow. With a general mathematical expression, we can definitely determine its value for any specified value of the variable. However, I'm not aware of any mathematicians who have tried to establish the rules for a process that would allow us to discover a rational or exact formula based on given numbers. The reader can test their ability to identify a rule by contemplating the results, even if they're not a mathematician, by trying to point out the rule followed by the following numbers:
These numbers are sometimes in low terms, but unexpectedly spring up to high terms; in absolute magnitude they are very variable. They seem to set all regularity and method at defiance, and it is hardly to be supposed that anyone could, from contemplation of the numbers, have detected the relations between them. Yet they are derived from the most regular and symmetrical laws of relation, and are of the highest importance in mathematical analysis, being known as the numbers of Bernoulli.
These numbers can sometimes be low, but can surprisingly jump to high values; they vary greatly in size. They appear to ignore any regularity and method, and it’s hard to believe that anyone could figure out the relationships among them just by looking at the numbers. However, they actually come from very regular and symmetrical laws of relation, and they are extremely important in mathematical analysis, known as Bernoulli numbers.
Compare again the difficulty of decyphering with that of cyphering. Anyone can invent a secret language, and with a little steady labour can translate the longest letter into the character. But to decypher the letter, having no key to the signs adopted, is a wholly different matter. As the possible modes of secret writing are infinite in number and exceedingly various in kind, there is no direct mode of discovery whatever. Repeated trial, guided more or less by knowledge of the customary form of cypher, and resting entirely on the principles of probability and logical induction, is the only resource. A peculiar tact or skill is requisite for the process, and a few men, such as Wallis or Wheatstone, have attained great success.
Compare again the difficulty of deciphering with that of ciphering. Anyone can create a secret language, and with some steady effort, they can translate the longest letter into that code. But deciphering the letter without any key to the symbols used is a completely different challenge. Since the possible ways of secret writing are countless and very diverse, there’s really no straightforward way to figure it out. The only option is to try repeatedly, guided more or less by an understanding of the usual cipher forms, relying entirely on the principles of probability and logical reasoning. A certain knack or skill is needed for this process, and only a few people, like Wallis or Wheatstone, have achieved notable success.
Induction is the decyphering of the hidden meaning of natural phenomena. Given events which happen in certain125 definite combinations, we are required to point out the laws which govern those combinations. Any laws being supposed, we can, with ease and certainty, decide whether the phenomena obey those laws. But the laws which may exist are infinite in variety, so that the chances are immensely against mere random guessing. The difficulty is much increased by the fact that several laws will usually be in operation at the same time, the effects of which are complicated together. The only modes of discovery consist either in exhaustively trying a great number of supposed laws, a process which is exhaustive in more senses than one, or else in carefully contemplating the effects, endeavouring to remember cases in which like effects followed from known laws. In whatever manner we accomplish the discovery, it must be done by the more or less conscious application of the direct process of deduction.
Induction is figuring out the hidden meaning behind natural phenomena. When events occur in specific combinations, we need to identify the laws that govern those combinations. Once we assume certain laws, we can easily and reliably determine if the phenomena follow those laws. However, the potential laws are countless, making random guessing extremely unlikely to succeed. The challenge increases because multiple laws usually operate simultaneously, intertwining their effects. The only ways to discover these laws involve either thoroughly testing a large number of assumed laws, a process that can be quite draining, or carefully examining the effects and trying to recall instances where similar effects resulted from known laws. Regardless of how we make the discovery, it must be achieved through a more or less conscious application of the direct process of deduction.
The Logical Alphabet illustrates induction as well as deduction. In considering the Indirect Process of Inference we found that from certain propositions we could infallibly determine the combinations of terms agreeing with those premises. The inductive problem is just the inverse. Having given certain combinations of terms, we need to ascertain the propositions with which the combinations are consistent, and from which they may have proceeded. Now, if the reader contemplates the following combinations,
The Logical Alphabet shows both induction and deduction. When looking at the Indirect Process of Inference, we discovered that from specific propositions, we could reliably figure out the combinations of terms that match those premises. The inductive issue is the opposite. Given certain combinations of terms, we must identify the propositions that are consistent with those combinations and from which they might have come. Now, if the reader thinks about the following combinations,
ABC | abC |
aBC | abc, |
he will probably remember at once that they belong to the premises A = AB, B = BC (p. 92). If not, he will require a few trials before he meets with the right answer, and every trial will consist in assuming certain laws and observing whether the deduced results agree with the data. To test the facility with which he can solve this inductive problem, let him casually strike out any of the combinations of the fourth column of the Logical Alphabet, (p. 94), and say what laws the remaining combinations obey, observing that every one of the letter-terms and their negatives ought to appear in order to avoid self-contradiction in the premises (pp. 74, 111). Let him say, for instance, what laws are embodied in the combinations
he will probably remember right away that they belong to the premises A = AB, B = BC (p. 92). If not, he will need a few attempts before he finds the correct answer, and each attempt will involve making certain assumptions and checking whether the results match the data. To test how easily he can solve this inductive problem, let him casually eliminate any of the combinations from the fourth column of the Logical Alphabet (p. 94) and describe what laws the remaining combinations follow, noting that each of the letter-terms and their opposites should appear to avoid contradictions in the premises (pp. 74, 111). Let him explain, for example, what laws are present in the combinations
126
126
ABC | aBC |
Abc | abC. |
The difficulty becomes much greater when more terms enter into the combinations. It would require some little examination to ascertain the complete conditions fulfilled in the combinations
The difficulty gets much higher when more terms are included in the combinations. It would take some careful examination to figure out all the conditions met in the combinations.
ACe | abCe |
aBCe | abcE. |
aBcdE |
The reader may discover easily enough that the principal laws are C = e, and A = Ae; but he would hardly discover without some trouble the remaining law, namely, that BD = BDe.
The reader may easily find that the main laws are C = e, and A = Ae; but he would likely struggle to uncover the other law, which is BD = BDe.
The difficulties encountered in the inductive investigations of nature, are of an exactly similar kind. We seldom observe any law in uninterrupted and undisguised operation. The acuteness of Aristotle and the ancient Greeks did not enable them to detect that all terrestrial bodies tend to fall towards the centre of the earth. A few nights of observation might have convinced an astronomer viewing the solar system from its centre, that the planets travelled round the sun; but the fact that our place of observation is one of the travelling planets, so complicates the apparent motions of the other bodies, that it required all the sagacity of Copernicus to prove the real simplicity of the planetary system. It is the same throughout nature; the laws may be simple, but their combined effects are not simple, and we have no clue to guide us through their intricacies. “It is the glory of God,” said Solomon, “to conceal a thing, but the glory of a king to search it out.” The laws of nature are the invaluable secrets which God has hidden, and it is the kingly prerogative of the philosopher to search them out by industry and sagacity.
The challenges faced in studying nature inductively are of a similar nature. We rarely see any law in clear and straightforward operation. The sharpness of Aristotle and the ancient Greeks didn’t allow them to realize that all earthly objects fall toward the center of the earth. A few nights of observation might have convinced an astronomer looking at the solar system from its center that the planets orbit the sun; however, the fact that our observation point is one of the moving planets complicates the apparent movements of other bodies, making it necessary for Copernicus's insight to reveal the true simplicity of the planetary system. This is consistent across nature; the laws may be simple, but their combined effects are anything but, and we lack a clear path to navigate through their complexities. “It is the glory of God,” said Solomon, “to conceal a thing, but the glory of a king to search it out.” The laws of nature are the precious secrets that God has hidden, and it is the philosopher's royal duty to uncover them through hard work and insight.
Inductive Problems for Solution by the Reader.
In the first edition (vol. ii. p. 370) I gave a logical problem involving six terms, and requested readers to discover the laws governing the combinations given. I received satisfactory replies from readers both in the United States and in England. I formed the combinations127 deductively from four laws of correction, but my correspondents found that three simpler laws, equivalent to the four more complex ones, were the best answer; these laws are as follows: a = ac, b = cd, d = Ef.
In the first edition (vol. ii. p. 370), I presented a logical problem with six terms and asked readers to figure out the rules governing the given combinations. I received favorable responses from readers in both the United States and England. I developed the combinations deductively based on four correction laws, but my correspondents discovered that three simpler laws, equivalent to the four more complex ones, were the best solution; these laws are as follows: a = ac, b = cd, d = Ef.
In case other readers should like to test their skill in the inductive or inverse problem, I give below several series of combinations forming problems of graduated difficulty.
In case other readers want to test their skills in the inductive or inverse problem, I’m providing several series of combinations below that create problems of increasing difficulty.
- A B c
- A b C
- a B C
- A B C
- A b C
- a B C
- a B c
- A B C
- A b C
- a B C
- a B c
- a b c
- A B C D
- A b c D
- a B c f
- a b C f
- A B C D
- A B C f
- A B c f
- A b C D
- A b c D
- a B C D
- a B c D
- a B c f
- a b C f
- A B C D E
- A B C f e
- A B c D E
- A B c f e
- A b C D E
- a B C D E
- a B C f e
- a b C D E
- a b c f e
- A b c D e
- a B C f E
- a b C f E
- A B C D E
- A B C D e
- A B C f e
- A B c f e
- A b C D E
- A b c f E
- A b c f e
- a B C D e
- a B C f e
- a B c D e
- a b C D e
- a b C f E
- a b c D e
- a b c f E
- A B c D E F
- A B c D e F
- A b C D e f
- A b c D E f
- A b c D e f
- A b c f E F
- A b c f e F
- a B c D E F
- a B c D e F
- a B c f E F
- a b C D E F
- a b C D e F
- a b C D e f
- a b c D e f
- a b c D E f
- a b c f e F
- A B C D e F
- A B c D E f
- A b C D E F
- A b C D e F
- A b c D e F
- a B C D E f
- a B c D E f
- a b C D e F
- a b C f e F
- a b c D e f
- a b c d e f
Induction of Simple Identities.
Many important laws of nature are expressible in the form of simple identities, and I can at once adduce them as examples to illustrate what I have said of the difficulty of the inverse process of induction. Two phenomena are conjoined. Thus all gravitating matter is exactly coincident with all matter possessing inertia; where one128 property appears, the other likewise appears. All crystals of the cubical system, are all the crystals which do not doubly refract light. All exogenous plants are, with some exceptions, those which have two cotyledons or seed-leaves.
Many key laws of nature can be stated as simple identities, and I can immediately provide examples to demonstrate the challenges of the reverse process of induction. Two phenomena are linked. For instance, all gravitating matter perfectly corresponds with all matter that has inertia; wherever one property is present, the other is also present. All crystals in the cubic system are crystals that do not double-refract light. Most exogenous plants, with a few exceptions, have two cotyledons or seed leaves.
A little reflection will show that there is no direct and infallible process by which such complete coincidences may be discovered. Natural objects are aggregates of many qualities, and any one of those qualities may prove to be in close connection with some others. If each of a numerous group of objects is endowed with a hundred distinct physical or chemical qualities, there will be no less than 12(100 × 99) or 4950 pairs of qualities, which may be connected, and it will evidently be a matter of great intricacy and labour to ascertain exactly which qualities are connected by any simple law.
A bit of thought will reveal that there's no straightforward and guaranteed method to uncover such complete coincidences. Natural objects consist of many qualities, and any one of those qualities might be closely linked to some others. If each object in a large group has a hundred distinct physical or chemical qualities, there will be no less than 12(100 × 99) or 4950 pairs of qualities that could be connected, and it will clearly be quite complex and labor-intensive to determine exactly which qualities are connected by some simple rule.
One principal source of difficulty is that the finite powers of the human mind are not sufficient to compare by a single act any large group of objects with another large group. We cannot hold in the conscious possession of the mind at any one moment more than five or six different ideas. Hence we must treat any more complex group by successive acts of attention. The reader will perceive by an almost individual act of comparison that the words Roma and Mora contain the same letters. He may perhaps see at a glance whether the same is true of Causal and Casual, and of Logica and Caligo. To assure himself that the letters in Astronomers make No more stars, that Serpens in akuleo is an anagram of Joannes Keplerus, or Great gun do us a sum an anagram of Augustus de Morgan, it will certainly be necessary to break up the act of comparison into several successive acts. The process will acquire a double character, and will consist in ascertaining that each letter of the first group is among the letters of the second group, and vice versâ, that each letter of the second is among those of the first group. In the same way we can only prove that two long lists of names are identical, by showing that each name in one list occurs in the other, and vice versâ.
One main source of difficulty is that the limited abilities of the human mind aren’t enough to compare a large group of objects with another large group all at once. We can’t hold more than five or six different ideas in our conscious mind at any moment. Therefore, we have to approach any more complex group through successive acts of attention. The reader will notice in a somewhat individual comparison that the words Roma and Mora have the same letters. They might also quickly tell if the same is true for Causal and Casual, as well as Logica and Caligo. To confirm that the letters in Astronomers form No more stars, that Serpens in akuleo is an anagram of Joannes Keplerus, or that Great gun do us a sum is an anagram of Augustus de Morgan, it will definitely be necessary to break the act of comparison into several steps. The process will have a two-part nature, consisting of checking that each letter of the first group is in the second group and vice versa, that each letter of the second group is in the first. Similarly, we can only prove that two long lists of names are identical by showing that each name in one list appears in the other and vice versa.
This process of comparison really consists in establishing two partial identities, which are, as already shown (p. 58), equivalent in conjunction to one simple identity. We first ascertain the truth of the two propositions A = AB,129 B = AB, and we then rise by substitution to the single law A = B.
This process of comparison basically involves creating two partial identities, which, as previously demonstrated (p. 58), are equivalent to one simple identity when combined. We first confirm the truth of the two statements A = AB,129 B = AB, and then we use substitution to arrive at the single law A = B.
There is another process, it is true, by which we may get to exactly the same result; for the two propositions A = AB, a = ab are also equivalent to the simple identity A = B. If then we can show that all objects included under A are included under B, and also that all objects not included under A are not included under B, our purpose is effected. By this process we should usually compare two lists if we are allowed to mark them. For each name in the first list we should strike off one in the second, and if, when the first list is exhausted, the second list is also exhausted, it follows that all names absent from the first must be absent from the second, and the coincidence must be complete.
There is another way to reach the same conclusion; the two statements A = AB and a = ab are also equivalent to the simple identity A = B. If we can demonstrate that all items under A are also under B, and that all items not under A are also not under B, we have achieved our goal. In this method, we would typically compare two lists, assuming we can mark them. For each name in the first list, we would cross off one in the second, and if, when the first list is finished, the second list is also finished, it means that all names missing from the first must also be missing from the second, confirming a complete match.
These two modes of proving an identity are so closely allied that it is doubtful how far we can detect any difference in their powers and instances of application. The first method is perhaps more convenient when the phenomena to be compared are rare. Thus we prove that all the musical concords coincide with all the more simple numerical ratios, by showing that each concord arises from a simple ratio of undulations, and then showing that each simple ratio gives rise to one of the concords. To examine all the possible cases of discord or complex ratio of undulation would be impossible. By a happy stroke of induction Sir John Herschel discovered that all crystals of quartz which cause the plane of polarization of light to rotate are precisely those crystals which have plagihedral faces, that is, oblique faces on the corners of the prism unsymmetrical with the ordinary faces. This singular relation would be proved by observing that all plagihedral crystals possessed the power of rotation, and vice versâ all crystals possessing this power were plagihedral. But it might at the same time be noticed that all ordinary crystals were devoid of the power. There is no reason why we should not detect any of the four propositions A = AB, B = AB, a = ab, b = ab, all of which follow from A = B (p. 115).
These two ways of proving an identity are so closely related that it's hard to tell if there's any real difference in their strengths and how they're used. The first method is likely more convenient when the phenomena we're comparing are rare. For example, we prove that all musical harmonies match up with simpler numerical ratios by showing that each harmony arises from a simple ratio of vibrations, and then demonstrating that each simple ratio leads to one of the harmonies. Looking at all the possible cases of discord or complex ratios of vibration would be impossible. By a fortunate stroke of insight, Sir John Herschel found that all quartz crystals that cause the plane of polarization of light to rotate are exactly those crystals that have plagihedral faces, meaning they have oblique faces on the corners of the prism that are asymmetrical with the regular faces. This unique relationship would be confirmed by observing that all plagihedral crystals have the ability to rotate, and conversely, all crystals that have this ability are plagihedral. However, it might also be noted that all regular crystals lack this ability. There’s no reason we shouldn’t be able to identify any of the four propositions A = AB, B = AB, a = ab, b = ab, all of which follow from A = B (p. 115).
Sometimes the terms of the identity may be singular objects; thus we observe that diamond is a combustible gem, and being unable to discover any other that is, we affirm—
Sometimes the identity can refer to unique objects; for example, we see that diamond is a flammable gem, and since we can't find any others like it, we assert—
130
130
In a similar manner we ascertain that
In a similar way, we find that
Mercury = metal liquid at ordinary temperatures, |
Substance of least density = substance of least atomic weight. |
Two or three objects may occasionally enter into the induction, as when we learn that
Two or three objects might sometimes be included in the induction, like when we find out that
Sodium ꖌ potassium = metal of less density than water, |
Venus ꖌ Mercury ꖌ Mars = major planet devoid of satellites. |
Induction of Partial Identities.
We found in the last section that the complete identity of two classes is almost always discovered not by direct observation of the fact, but by first establishing two partial identities. There are also a multitude of cases in which the partial identity of one class with another is the only relation to be discovered. Thus the most common of all inductive inferences consists in establishing the fact that all objects having the properties of A have also those of B, or that A = AB. To ascertain the truth of a proposition of this kind it is merely necessary to assemble together, mentally or physically, all the objects included under A, and then observe whether B is present in each of them, or, which is the same, whether it would be impossible to select from among them any not-B. Thus, if we mentally assemble together all the heavenly bodies which move with apparent rapidity, that is to say, the planets, we find that they all possess the property of not scintillating. We cannot analyse any vegetable substance without discovering that it contains carbon and hydrogen, but it is not true that all substances containing carbon and hydrogen are vegetable substances.
We found in the last section that the complete identity of two classes is almost always revealed not through direct observation, but by first establishing two partial identities. There are also many cases in which the partial identity of one class with another is the only relationship we can find. Thus, the most common type of inductive inference involves establishing that all objects with the properties of A also have those of B, or that A = AB. To verify a statement like this, you just need to gather together, either mentally or physically, all the objects classified under A, and then check if B is present in each of them, or, in other words, whether it would be impossible to pick any that are not-B. For example, if we mentally bring together all the heavenly bodies that move quickly, meaning the planets, we find that they all share the property of not scintillating. We cannot analyze any plant substance without finding that it contains carbon and hydrogen, but it’s not true that all substances containing carbon and hydrogen are plant substances.
The great mass of scientific truths consists of propositions of this form A = AB. Thus in astronomy we learn that all the planets are spheroidal bodies; that they all revolve in one direction round the sun; that they all shine by reflected light; that they all obey the law of gravitation. But of course it is not to be asserted that all bodies obeying the law of gravitation, or shining by131 reflected light, or revolving in a particular direction, or being spheroidal in form, are planets. In other sciences we have immense numbers of propositions of the same form, as, for instance, all substances in becoming gaseous absorb heat; all metals are elements; they are all good conductors of heat and electricity; all the alkaline metals are monad elements; all foraminifera are marine organisms; all parasitic animals are non-mammalian; lightning never issues from stratous clouds; pumice never occurs where only Labrador felspar is present; milkmaids do not suffer from small-pox; and, in the works of Darwin, scientific importance may attach even to such an apparently trifling observation as that “white tom-cats having blue eyes are deaf.”
The vast majority of scientific truths are statements like A = AB. In astronomy, for example, we learn that all the planets are spherical objects; they all rotate in the same direction around the sun; they all shine by reflecting light; and they all follow the law of gravitation. However, it's important to note that not all objects that follow the law of gravitation, reflect light, rotate in a specific direction, or are spherical are considered planets. In other fields, we have countless statements of a similar nature, such as: all substances absorb heat when they turn into gas; all metals are elements; they are all good conductors of heat and electricity; all alkali metals are monad elements; all foraminifera are marine life; all parasitic animals are not mammals; lightning never comes from stratous clouds; pumice never appears where only Labrador felspar is found; milkmaids don’t get smallpox; and in Darwin’s works, even seemingly trivial observations like “white tom-cats with blue eyes are deaf” can be scientifically significant.
The process of inference by which all such truths are obtained may readily be exhibited in a precise symbolic form. We must have one premise specifying in a disjunctive form all the possible individuals which belong to a class; we resolve the class, in short, into its constituents. We then need a number of propositions, each of which affirms that one of the individuals possesses a certain property. Thus the premises must be of the forms
The process of inference by which we arrive at these truths can be clearly shown in a precise symbolic way. We need one premise that presents all the possible individuals in a class in a disjunctive format; essentially, we break the class down into its parts. Then, we require several propositions, each stating that one of the individuals has a specific property. So, the premises must take the following forms:
A = B ꖌ C ꖌ D ꖌ ...... ꖌ P ꖌ Q |
B = BX |
C = CX |
... ... |
... ... |
Q = QX. |
Now, if we substitute for each alternative of the first premise its description as found among the succeeding premises, we obtain
Now, if we replace each option in the first premise with its description from the following premises, we get
or
or
But for the aggregate of alternatives we may now substitute their equivalent as given in the first premise, namely A, so that we get the required result:
But for the total number of options, we can now replace them with their equivalent from the first premise, which is A, allowing us to achieve the desired outcome:
We should have reached the same result if the first premise had been of the form
We should have come to the same conclusion if the first premise had been phrased as
132
132
We can always prove a proposition, if we find it more convenient, by proving its equivalent. To assert that all not-B’s are not-A’s, is exactly the same as to assert that all A’s are B’s. Accordingly we may ascertain that A = AB by first ascertaining that b = ab. If we observe, for instance, that all substances which are not solids are also not capable of double refraction, it follows necessarily that all double refracting substances are solids. We may convince ourselves that all electric substances are nonconductors of electricity, by reflecting that all good conductors do not, and in fact cannot, retain electric excitation. When we come to questions of probability it will be found desirable to prove, as far as possible, both the original proposition and its equivalent, as there is then an increased area of observation.
We can always prove a statement by showing its equivalent if that’s more convenient. Saying that all non-B's are not-A's is the same as saying that all A's are B's. So, we can figure out that A = AB by first figuring out that b = ab. For example, if we notice that all substances that aren't solids also can't undergo double refraction, it necessarily means that all double-refracting substances are solids. We can convince ourselves that all electric substances are nonconductors of electricity by realizing that all good conductors do not, and actually cannot, hold electric charge. When it comes to probability questions, it’s often helpful to prove both the original statement and its equivalent, as this provides a broader perspective.
The number of alternatives which may arise in the division of a class varies greatly, and may be any number from two upwards. Thus it is probable that every substance is either magnetic or diamagnetic, and no substance can be both at the same time. The division then must be made in the form
The number of options that can come up when dividing a class varies widely and can be any number from two and up. Therefore, it's likely that every substance is either magnetic or diamagnetic, and no substance can be both at the same time. The division must then be made in the form
If now we can prove that all magnetic substances are capable of polarity, say B = BD, and also that all diamagnetic substances are capable of polarity, C = CD, it follows by substitution that all substances are capable of polarity, or A = AD. We commonly divide the class substance into the three subclasses, solid, liquid, and gas; and if we can show that in each of these forms it obeys Carnot’s thermodynamic law, it follows that all substances obey that law. Similarly we may show that all vertebrate animals possess red blood, if we can show separately that fish, reptiles, birds, marsupials, and mammals possess red blood, there being, as far as is known, only five principal subclasses of vertebrata.
If we can prove that all magnetic materials can have polarity, let's say B = BD, and that all diamagnetic materials can also have polarity, C = CD, then by substituting, it follows that all materials can have polarity, or A = AD. We usually categorize materials into three main types: solid, liquid, and gas; and if we can demonstrate that each of these forms follows Carnot’s thermodynamic law, it means all materials follow that law. Likewise, we can show that all vertebrate animals have red blood if we can separately demonstrate that fish, reptiles, birds, marsupials, and mammals have red blood, given that there are only five main subclasses of vertebrates that we know of.
Our inductions will often be embarrassed by exceptions, real or apparent. We might affirm that all gems are incombustible were not diamonds undoubtedly combustible. Nothing seems more evident than that all the metals are opaque until we examine them in fine films, when gold and silver are found to be transparent. All plants absorb carbonic acid except certain fungi; all the bodies of the133 planetary system have a progressive motion from west to east, except the satellites of Uranus and Neptune. Even some of the profoundest laws of matter are not quite universal; all solids expand by heat except india-rubber, and possibly a few other substances; all liquids which have been tested expand by heat except water below 4° C. and fused bismuth; all gases have a coefficient of expansion increasing with the temperature, except hydrogen. In a later chapter I shall consider how such anomalous cases may be regarded and classified; here we have only to express them in a consistent manner by our notation.
Our conclusions are often challenged by exceptions, whether they're real or just seem that way. We might say that all gems are fireproof if it weren't for the fact that diamonds are definitely flammable. It seems obvious that all metals are opaque until we look at them in thin layers, where we discover that gold and silver can actually be transparent. All plants take in carbon dioxide, except for some fungi; all the bodies in the planetary system move from west to east, except for the moons of Uranus and Neptune. Even some of the most fundamental laws of matter aren’t completely universal; all solids expand when heated, except for rubber and possibly a few other materials; all liquids that have been tested expand when heated, except for water below 4°C and melted bismuth; all gases expand with rising temperature, except hydrogen. In a later chapter, I will discuss how to address and categorize these unusual cases; for now, we just need to express them clearly with our notation.
Let us take the case of the transparency of metals, and assign the terms thus:—
Let’s consider how metals are transparent and define the terms like this:—
A = metal | D = iron |
B = gold | E, F, &c. = copper, lead, &c. |
C = silver | X = opaque. |
Our premises will be
Our location will be
B = Bx
C = Cx
D = DX
E = EX,
and so on for the rest of the metals. Now evidently
and so on for the rest of the metals. Now clearly
and by substitution as before we shall obtain
and by substitution as before we will obtain
or in words, “All metals not gold nor silver are opaque;” at the same time we have
or in words, “All metals that aren’t gold or silver are opaque;” at the same time we have
or “Metals which are either gold or silver are not opaque.”
or “Metals that are either gold or silver are not opaque.”
In some cases the problem of induction assumes a much higher degree of complexity. If we examine the properties of crystallized substances we may find some properties which are common to all, as cleavage or fracture in definite planes; but it would soon become requisite to break up the class into several minor ones. We should divide crystals according to the seven accepted systems—and we should then find that crystals of each system possess many common properties. Thus crystals of the Regular or Cubical system expand equally by heat, conduct heat and electricity with uniform rapidity, and are of like elasticity in all directions; they have but one index of134 refraction for light; and every facet is repeated in like relation to each of the three axes. Crystals of the system having one principal axis will be found to possess the various physical powers of conduction, refraction, elasticity, &c., uniformly in directions perpendicular to the principal axis; in other directions their properties vary according to complicated laws. The remaining systems in which the crystals possess three unequal axes, or have inclined axes, exhibit still more complicated results, the effects of the crystal upon light, heat, electricity, &c., varying in all directions. But when we pursue induction into the intricacies of its application to nature we really enter upon the subject of classification, which we must take up again in a later part of this work.
In some cases, the problem of induction becomes much more complex. If we look at the properties of crystallized substances, we might identify some traits that all of them share, like cleavage or fracture along specific planes. However, we would soon need to break this group down into smaller categories. We should classify crystals according to the seven accepted systems, and then find that crystals in each system have many shared properties. For instance, crystals from the Regular or Cubical system expand uniformly when heated, conduct heat and electricity at a consistent rate, and have similar elasticity in all directions; they have only one index of refraction for light, and each facet is consistently related to the three axes. Crystals with one principal axis tend to show various physical properties—like conduction, refraction, and elasticity—uniformly in directions perpendicular to that axis, while in other directions, their properties fluctuate according to complex laws. The other systems, where crystals have three unequal axes or have inclined axes, show even more complex results, with the effects on light, heat, electricity, etc., varying in all directions. However, when we dig into how induction applies to nature's complexities, we really begin to discuss classification, which we will revisit later in this work.
Solution of the Inverse or Inductive Problem, involving Two Classes.
It is now plain that Induction consists in passing back from a series of combinations to the laws by which such combinations are governed. The natural law that all metals are conductors of electricity really means that in nature we find three classes of objects, namely—
It is now clear that induction involves moving from a set of combinations back to the rules that govern those combinations. The natural law stating that all metals are conductors of electricity actually means that in nature we encounter three categories of objects, namely—
2. Not-metals, conductors;
3. Not-metals, not-conductors.
It comes to the same thing if we say that it excludes the existence of the class, “metals not-conductors.” In the same way every other law or group of laws will really mean the exclusion from existence of certain combinations of the things, circumstances or phenomena governed by those laws. Now in logic, strictly speaking, we treat not the phenomena, nor the laws, but the general forms of the laws; and a little consideration will show that for a finite number of things the possible number of forms or kinds of law governing them must also be finite. Using general terms, we know that A and B can be present or absent in four ways and no more—thus:
It amounts to the same thing if we say that it eliminates the existence of the category “non-conductive metals.” Similarly, every other law or set of laws really signifies the exclusion of certain combinations of the things, circumstances, or phenomena that those laws govern. In logic, to be precise, we don't deal with the phenomena or the laws themselves but rather with the general structures of the laws. A bit of thought will reveal that for a limited number of things, the possible number of structures or types of laws that can govern them must also be limited. Using general terms, we know that A and B can be present or absent in four ways and no more—thus:
therefore every possible law which can exist concerning the relation of A and B must be marked by the exclusion of one or more of the above combinations. The number135 of possible laws then cannot exceed the number of selections which we can make from these four combinations. Since each combination may be present or absent, the number of cases to be considered is 2 × 2 × 2 × 2, or sixteen; and these cases are all shown in the following table, in which the sign 0 indicates absence or non-existence of the combination shown at the left-hand column in the same line, and the mark 1 its presence:—
Therefore, every possible law regarding the relationship between A and B must exclude one or more of the combinations mentioned above. The number135 of possible laws cannot be greater than the number of selections we can make from these four combinations. Since each combination can either be present or absent, the number of scenarios to consider is 2 × 2 × 2 × 2, which equals sixteen; and all these scenarios are shown in the table below, where the symbol 0 indicates the absence or non-existence of the combination listed in the left-hand column of the same row, and the symbol 1 indicates its presence:—
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 * |
8 * |
9 | 10 * |
11 | 12 * |
13 | 14 * |
15 * |
16 * |
|
---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
AB | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 |
Ab | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 1 | 1 | 1 | 1 |
aB | 0 | 0 | 1 | 1 | 0 | 0 | 1 | 1 | 0 | 0 | 1 | 1 | 0 | 0 | 1 | 1 |
ab | 0 | 1 | 0 | 1 | 0 | 1 | 0 | 1 | 0 | 1 | 0 | 1 | 0 | 1 | 0 | 1 |
Thus in column sixteen we find that all the conceivable combinations are present, which means that there are no special laws in existence in such a case, and that the combinations are governed only by the universal Laws of Identity and Difference. The example of metals and conductors of electricity would be represented by the twelfth column; and every other mode in which two things or qualities might present themselves is shown in one or other of the columns. More than half the cases may indeed be at once rejected, because they involve the entire absence of a term or its negative. It has been shown to be a logical principle that every term must have its negative (p. 111), and when this is not the case, inconsistency between the conditions of combination must exist. Thus if we laid down the two following propositions, “Graphite conducts electricity,” and “Graphite does not conduct electricity,” it would amount to asserting the impossibility of graphite existing at all; or in general terms, A is B and A is not B result in destroying altogether the combinations containing A, a case shown in the fourth column of the above table. We therefore restrict our attention to those cases which may be represented in natural phenomena when at least two combinations are present, and which correspond to those columns of the136 table in which each of A, a, B, b appears. These cases are shown in the columns marked with an asterisk.
Thus in column sixteen, we see that all possible combinations are present, indicating that there are no special laws in such cases, and that the combinations are only subject to the universal Laws of Identity and Difference. The example of metals and electrical conductors would be represented by the twelfth column, and every other way in which two things or qualities might appear is shown in one or more of the columns. More than half of the cases can actually be dismissed right away because they involve the complete absence of a term or its negative. It has been established as a logical principle that every term must have its negative (p. 111), and when this isn’t the case, inconsistencies between the conditions of combination must arise. Therefore, if we set down the two following statements, “Graphite conducts electricity,” and “Graphite does not conduct electricity,” it would mean asserting that graphite cannot exist at all; or in general terms, A is B and A is not B leads to completely negating the combinations containing A, a situation shown in the fourth column of the table above. Thus, we focus on those cases that can be represented in natural phenomena when at least two combinations are present, corresponding to those columns of the 136 table where each of A, a, B, b appears. These cases are shown in the columns marked with an asterisk.
We find that seven cases remain for examination, thus characterised—
We find that there are seven cases left to examine, characterized as follows—
Two cases exhibiting two combinations,
One case exhibiting four combinations.
It has already been pointed out that a proposition of the form A = AB destroys one combination, Ab, so that this is the form of law applying to the twelfth column. But by changing one or more of the terms in A = AB into its negative, or by interchanging A and B, a and b, we obtain no less than eight different varieties of the one form; thus—
It has already been noted that a proposition of the form A = AB eliminates one combination, Ab, which makes this the applicable form of law for the twelfth column. However, by switching one or more of the terms in A = AB to their negative, or by swapping A and B, a and b, we generate eight different variations of the same form; thus—
12th case. | 8th case. | 15th case. | 14th case. | ||||
A = |
AB | A = |
Ab | a = |
aB | a = |
ab |
b = |
ab | B = |
aB | b = |
Ab | B = |
AB |
The reader of the preceding sections will see that each proposition in the lower line is logically equivalent to, and is in fact the contrapositive of, that above it (p. 83). Thus the propositions A = Ab and B = aB both give the same combinations, shown in the eighth column of the table, and trial shows that the twelfth, eighth, fifteenth and fourteenth columns are thus accounted for. We come to this conclusion then—The general form of proposition A = AB admits of four logically distinct varieties, each capable of expression in two modes.
The reader of the previous sections will notice that each proposition in the lower row is logically equivalent to, and is essentially the contrapositive of, the one above it (p. 83). Therefore, the propositions A = Ab and B = aB both produce the same combinations, which are displayed in the eighth column of the table. Testing shows that the twelfth, eighth, fifteenth, and fourteenth columns are accounted for in this way. We reach the conclusion that—The general form of the proposition A = AB has four logically distinct variations, each able to be expressed in two ways.
In two columns of the table, namely the seventh and tenth, we observe that two combinations are missing. Now a simple identity A = B renders impossible both Ab and aB, accounting for the tenth case; and if we change B into b the identity A = b accounts for the seventh case. There may indeed be two other varieties of the simple identity, namely a = b and a = B; but it has already been shown repeatedly that these are equivalent respectively to A = B and A = b (p. 115). As the sixteenth column has already been accounted for as governed by no special conditions, we come to the following general conclusion:—The laws governing the combinations of two terms must be capable of expression either in a partial identity or a simple identity; the partial identity is capable of only four logically distinct varieties, and the simple identity of two. Every logical relation between two terms137 must be expressed in one of these six forms of law, or must be logically equivalent to one of them.
In two columns of the table, specifically the seventh and tenth, we see that two combinations are missing. A simple identity A = B rules out both Ab and aB, which explains the tenth case; and if we replace B with b, the identity A = b explains the seventh case. There may also be two other types of the simple identity, specifically a = b and a = B; however, it has already been shown many times that these correspond respectively to A = B and A = b (p. 115). Since the sixteenth column has already been identified as not governed by any special conditions, we reach the following general conclusion:—The laws governing the combinations of two terms must be expressible either as a partial identity or a simple identity; the partial identity has only four logically distinct varieties, while the simple identity has two. Every logical relationship between two terms137 must be expressed in one of these six forms of law, or must logically equate to one of them.
In short, we may conclude that in treating of partial and complete identity, we have exhaustively treated the modes in which two terms or classes of objects can be related. Of any two classes it can be said that one must either be included in the other, or must be identical with it, or a like relation must exist between one class and the negative of the other. We have thus completely solved the inverse logical problem concerning two terms.85
In summary, we can conclude that in discussing partial and complete identity, we have thoroughly covered the ways two terms or classes of objects can be related. For any two classes, it can be stated that one must either be included in the other, or be identical to it, or there must be a similar relationship between one class and the negative of the other. We have thus fully resolved the reverse logical problem involving two terms.85
The Inverse Logical Problem involving Three Classes.
No sooner do we introduce into the problem a third term C, than the investigation assumes a far more complex character, so that some readers may prefer to pass over this section. Three terms and their negatives may be combined, as we have frequently seen, in eight different combinations, and the effect of laws or logical conditions is to destroy any one or more of these combinations. Now we may make selections from eight things in 28 or 256 ways; so that we have no less than 256 different cases to treat, and the complete solution is at least fifty times as troublesome as with two terms. Many series of combinations, indeed, are contradictory, as in the simpler problem, and may be passed over, the test of consistency being that each of the letters A, B, C, a, b, c, shall appear somewhere in the series of combinations.
No sooner do we introduce a third term C into the problem than the investigation becomes much more complex, so some readers might prefer to skip this section. Three terms and their negatives can be combined, as we have often seen, in eight different combinations, and the effect of laws or logical conditions is to eliminate one or more of these combinations. Now we can select from eight items in 28 or 256 ways, which means we have 256 different cases to consider, and the complete solution is at least fifty times more complicated than with two terms. Many series of combinations are indeed contradictory, as in the simpler problem, and can be ignored, with the consistency test being that each of the letters A, B, C, a, b, c must appear somewhere in the series of combinations.
My mode of solving the problem was as follows:—Having written out the whole of the 256 series of combinations, I examined them separately and struck out such as did not fulfil the test of consistency. I then chose some form of proposition involving two or three terms, and varied it in every possible manner, both by the circular interchange of letters (A, B, C into B, C, A and then into C, A, B), and by the substitution for any one or more of the terms of the corresponding negative terms.138 For instance, the proposition AB = ABC can be first varied by circular interchange so as to give BC = BCA and then CA = CAB. Each of these three can then be thrown into eight varieties by negative change. Thus AB = ABC gives aB = aBC, Ab = AbC, AB = ABc, ab = abC, and so on. Thus there may possibly exist no less than twenty-four varieties of the law having the general form AB = ABC, meaning that whatever has the properties of A and B has those also of C. It by no means follows that some of the varieties may not be equivalent to others; and trial shows, in fact, that AB = ABC is exactly the same in meaning as Ac = Abc or Bc = Bca. Thus the law in question has but eight varieties of distinct logical meaning. I now ascertain by actual deductive reasoning which of the 256 series of combinations result from each of these distinct laws, and mark them off as soon as found. I then proceed to some other form of law, for instance A = ABC, meaning that whatever has the qualities of A has those also of B and C. I find that it admits of twenty-four variations, all of which are found to be logically distinct; the combinations being worked out, I am able to mark off twenty-four more of the list of 256 series. I proceed in this way to work out the results of every form of law which I can find or invent. If in the course of this work I obtain any series of combinations which had been previously marked off, I learn at once that the law giving these combinations is logically equivalent to some law previously treated. It may be safely inferred that every variety of the apparently new law will coincide in meaning with some variety of the former expression of the same law. I have sufficiently verified this assumption in some cases, and have never found it lead to error. Thus as AB = ABC is equivalent to Ac = Abc, so we find that ab = abC is equivalent to ac = acB.
My way of solving the problem was as follows:—After writing out all 256 combinations, I looked at each one individually and eliminated those that didn't meet the consistency test. I then selected a proposition involving two or three terms and varied it in every possible way, both by rotating the letters (like changing A, B, C to B, C, A and then to C, A, B) and by substituting any of the terms with the corresponding negative terms.138 For example, the proposition AB = ABC can first be varied by rotation to give BC = BCA and then CA = CAB. Each of these three can then create eight variations through negative changes. Thus, AB = ABC results in aB = aBC, Ab = AbC, AB = ABc, ab = abC, and so on. Therefore, there could be as many as twenty-four variations of the law with the general form AB = ABC, implying that anything with the properties of A and B also has those of C. However, it doesn't necessarily mean that some variations aren't equivalent to others; and experimentation shows that, in fact, AB = ABC is exactly the same in meaning as Ac = Abc or Bc = Bca. Thus, the law in question only has eight distinct logical variations. I now determine through actual deductive reasoning which of the 256 combinations stem from each of these distinct laws and mark them off once identified. Then, I move on to another law form, like A = ABC, meaning that anything with the qualities of A also has those of B and C. I find that it allows for twenty-four variations, all of which are logically distinct; after working through the combinations, I can mark off another twenty-four from the list of 256 combinations. I continue to analyze every form of law that I can discover or create. If, during this process, I find combinations I’ve already marked off, I immediately know that the law generating these combinations is logically equivalent to a previously examined law. It can be confidently concluded that every type of the seemingly new law will align in meaning with some type of the earlier expression of that same law. I have verified this assumption in several cases and have never found it to lead to error. So just as AB = ABC is equivalent to Ac = Abc, we find that ab = abC is equivalent to ac = acB.
Among the laws treated were the two A = AB and A = B which involve only two terms, because it may of course happen that among three things two only are in special logical relation, and the third independent; and the series of combinations representing such cases of relation are sure to occur in the complete enumeration. All single propositions which I could invent having been treated, pairs of propositions were next investigated. Thus139 we have the relations, “All A’s are B’s, and all B’s are C’s,” of which the old logical syllogism is the development. We may also have “all A’s are all B’s, and all B’s are C’s,” or even “all A’s are all B’s, and all B’s are all C’s.” All such premises admit of variations, greater or less in number, the logical distinctness of which can only be determined by trial in detail. Disjunctive propositions either singly or in pairs were also treated, but were often found to be equivalent to other propositions of a simpler form; thus A = ABC ꖌ Abc is exactly the same in meaning as AB = AC.
Among the laws discussed were the two A = AB and A = B, which involve only two terms. This is because it can happen that out of three things, only two are in a specific logical relationship, while the third is independent. The various combinations representing such relationships are bound to appear in the complete enumeration. After exploring all the single propositions I could come up with, I then moved on to pairs of propositions. For example, we have the relationships, “All A’s are B’s, and all B’s are C’s,” which is the basis of the traditional logical syllogism. We might also have “all A’s are all B’s, and all B’s are C’s,” or even “all A’s are all B’s, and all B’s are all C’s.” All these premises can vary, in different ways, and the logical distinctness of these variations can only be confirmed through detailed testing. We also examined disjunctive propositions, either alone or in pairs, but often found they were equivalent to simpler propositions; for instance, A = ABC ꖌ Abc is exactly the same in meaning as AB = AC.
This mode of exhaustive trial bears some analogy to that ancient mathematical process called the Sieve of Eratosthenes. Having taken a long series of the natural numbers, Eratosthenes is said to have calculated out in succession all the multiples of every number, and to have marked them off, so that at last the prime numbers alone remained, and the factors of every number were exhaustively discovered. My problem of 256 series of combinations is the logical analogue, the chief points of difference being that there is a limit to the number of cases, and that prime numbers have no analogue in logic, since every series of combinations corresponds to a law or group of conditions. But the analogy is perfect in the point that they are both inverse processes. There is no mode of ascertaining that a number is prime but by showing that it is not the product of any assignable factors. So there is no mode of ascertaining what laws are embodied in any series of combinations but trying exhaustively the laws which would give them. Just as the results of Eratosthenes’ method have been worked out to a great extent and registered in tables for the convenience of other mathematicians, I have endeavoured to work out the inverse logical problem to the utmost extent which is at present practicable or useful.
This method of thorough trial is somewhat similar to an ancient mathematical process called the Sieve of Eratosthenes. Eratosthenes took a long list of natural numbers and systematically found and marked all the multiples of each number, leaving only the prime numbers behind, thereby identifying the factors of every number. My problem of 256 series of combinations is a logical parallel, with the main differences being that there is a limit to the number of cases and that prime numbers have no equivalent in logic, as each series of combinations corresponds to a specific law or set of conditions. However, the analogy is strong in that both are inverse processes. There’s no way to determine that a number is prime without showing that it isn’t the product of any specific factors. Similarly, you can’t figure out what laws are represented in any series of combinations without exhaustively testing the laws that would produce them. Just as the results of Eratosthenes’ method have been extensively worked out and documented for the convenience of other mathematicians, I have tried to explore the inverse logical problem as thoroughly as currently feasible or useful.
I have thus found that there are altogether fifteen conditions or series of conditions which may govern the combinations of three terms, forming the premises of fifteen essentially different kinds of arguments. The following table contains a statement of these conditions, together with the numbers of combinations which are contradicted or destroyed by each, and the numbers of logically distinct140 variations of which the law is capable. There might be also added, as a sixteenth case, that case where no special logical condition exists, so that all the eight combinations remain.
I have found that there are fifteen conditions or sets of conditions that can determine how three terms combine, forming the premises for fifteen fundamentally different types of arguments. The table below outlines these conditions, along with the number of combinations that are contradicted or invalidated by each one, and the number of logically distinct variations allowed by the law. Additionally, we could consider a sixteenth case, where no specific logical condition applies, so all eight combinations are available.
Reference Number. | Propositions expressing the general type of the logical conditions. | Number of distinct logical variations. | Number of combinations contradicted by each. |
---|---|---|---|
I. | A = B | 6 | 4 |
II. | A = AB | 12 |
2 |
III. | A = B, B = C | 4 |
6 |
IV. | A = B, B = BC | 24 |
5 |
V. | A = AB, B = BC | 24 |
4 |
VI. | A = BC | 24 |
4 |
VII. | A = ABC | 24 |
3 |
VIII. | AB = ABC | 8 |
1 |
IX. | A = AB, aB = aBc | 24 |
3 |
X. | A = ABC, ab = abC | 8 |
4 |
XI. | AB = ABC, ab = abc | 4 |
2 |
XII. | AB = AC | 12 |
2 |
XIII. | A = BC ꖌ Abc | 8 |
3 |
XIV. | A = BC ꖌ bc | 2 |
4 |
XV. | A = ABC, a = Bc ꖌ bC | 8 | 5 |
There are sixty-three series of combinations derived from self-contradictory premises, which with 192, the sum of the numbers of distinct logical variations stated in the third column of the table, and with the one case where there are no conditions or laws at all, make up the whole conceivable number of 256 series.
There are sixty-three sets of combinations based on contradictory premises, which, along with 192—the total of the distinct logical variations listed in the third column of the table—plus the one case where there are no conditions or rules at all, account for the total conceivable number of 256 sets.
We learn from this table, for instance, that two propositions of the form A = AB, B = BC, which are such as constitute the premises of the old syllogism Barbara, exclude as impossible four of the eight combinations in which three terms may be united, and that these propositions are capable of taking twenty-four variations by transpositions of the terms or the introduction of negatives. This table then presents the results of a complete analysis of all the possible logical relations arising in the case of three terms, and the old syllogism forms but one out of fifteen typical forms. Generally speaking, every form can be converted into apparently different propositions; thus the fourth type A = B, B = BC may appear in the form A = ABC, a = ab, or again in the form of three propositions A = AB, B = BC, aB = aBc; but all these sets of premises yield identically the same series of combinations,141 and are therefore of equivalent logical meaning. The fifth type, or Barbara, can also be thrown into the equivalent forms A = ABC, aB = aBC and A = AC, B = A ꖌ aBC. In other cases I have obtained the very same logical conditions in four modes of statements. As regards mere appearance and form of statement, the number of possible premises would be very great, and difficult to exhibit exhaustively.
We learn from this table, for example, that two statements like A = AB and B = BC, which form the basis of the classic syllogism Barbara, rule out four of the eight possible combinations of three terms as impossible. These statements can also take on twenty-four variations through rearranging the terms or adding negatives. This table presents the complete analysis of all possible logical relationships that can arise with three terms, and the classic syllogism is just one of fifteen typical forms. Generally speaking, every form can be turned into seemingly different statements; for instance, the fourth type A = B, B = BC can also show up as A = ABC, a = ab, or in the form of three statements A = AB, B = BC, aB = aBc; but all these sets of premises produce the same series of combinations,141 and thus have equivalent logical meaning. The fifth type, or Barbara, can also be expressed in equivalent forms like A = ABC, aB = aBC, and A = AC, B = A ꖌ aBC. In other situations, I've found the exact same logical conditions in four different types of statements. Regarding just the appearance and phrasing of the statements, the number of possible premises would be quite large and hard to fully list.
The most remarkable of all the types of logical condition is the fourteenth, namely, A = BC ꖌ bc. It is that which expresses the division of a genus into two doubly marked species, and might be illustrated by the example—“Component of the physical universe = matter, gravitating, or not-matter (ether), not-gravitating.” It is capable of only two distinct logical variations, namely, A = BC ꖌ bc and A = Bc ꖌ bC. By transposition or negative change of the letters we can indeed obtain six different expressions of each of these propositions; but when their meanings are analysed, by working out the combinations, they are found to be logically equivalent to one or other of the above two. Thus the proposition A = BC ꖌ bc can be written in any of the following five other modes,
The most notable type of logical condition is the fourteenth, which is A = BC ꖌ bc. This represents the division of a category into two subcategories that are marked in two ways, and it can be illustrated with the example: “Component of the physical universe = matter, gravitating, or non-matter (ether), non-gravitating.” It can have only two distinct logical variations, which are A = BC ꖌ bc and A = Bc ꖌ bC. By rearranging or changing the letters negatively, we can indeed create six different expressions for each of these propositions; however, when we analyze their meanings by exploring the combinations, they turn out to be logically equivalent to one of the two mentioned above. Therefore, the proposition A = BC ꖌ bc can be written in any of the following five other forms,
C = AB ꖌ ab, c = aB ꖌ Ab.
I do not think it needful to publish at present the complete table of 193 series of combinations and the premises corresponding to each. Such a table enables us by mere inspection to learn the laws obeyed by any set of combinations of three things, and is to logic what a table of factors and prime numbers is to the theory of numbers, or a table of integrals to the higher mathematics. The table already given (p. 140) would enable a person with but little labour to discover the law of any combinations. If there be seven combinations (one contradicted) the law must be of the eighth type, and the proper variety will be apparent. If there be six combinations (two contradicted), either the second, eleventh, or twelfth type applies, and a certain number of trials will disclose the proper type and variety. If there be but two combinations the law must be of the third type, and so on.
I don't think it's necessary to publish the complete table of 193 series of combinations and their corresponding premises right now. This table lets us quickly see the laws followed by any set of combinations of three things and serves logic the way a table of factors and prime numbers serves number theory, or a table of integrals serves higher mathematics. The table already provided (p. 140) would allow someone with minimal effort to figure out the law of any combinations. If there are seven combinations (one contradicted), the law must be of the eighth type, and the right variety will be clear. If there are six combinations (two contradicted), either the second, eleventh, or twelfth type applies, and a certain number of trials will reveal the correct type and variety. If there are only two combinations, the law must be of the third type, and so on.
The above investigations are complete as regards the possible logical relations of two or three terms. But142 when we attempt to apply the same kind of method to the relations of four or more terms, the labour becomes impracticably great. Four terms give sixteen combinations compatible with the laws of thought, and the number of possible selections of combinations is no less than 216 or 65,536. The following table shows the extraordinary manner in which the number of possible logical relations increases with the number of terms involved.
The above investigations are complete in terms of the possible logical relationships between two or three terms. But 142 when we try to apply the same method to the relationships of four or more terms, the effort becomes unmanageable. Four terms produce sixteen combinations that follow the laws of thought, and the total number of possible combinations is at least 216 or 65,536. The following table illustrates the remarkable way the number of possible logical relationships grows with the number of terms involved.
Number of terms. | Number of possible combinations. | Number of possible selections of combinations corresponding to consistent or inconsistent logical relations. |
---|---|---|
2 |
4 |
16 |
3 |
8 |
256 |
4 |
16 |
65,536 |
5 |
32 |
4,294,967,296 |
6 |
64 |
18,446,744,073,709,551,616 |
Some years of continuous labour would be required to ascertain the types of laws which may govern the combinations of only four things, and but a small part of such laws would be exemplified or capable of practical application in science. The purely logical inverse problem, whereby we pass from combinations to their laws, is solved in the preceding pages, as far as it is likely to be for a long time to come; and it is almost impossible that it should ever be carried more than a single step further.
Some years of continuous work would be needed to figure out the types of laws that could govern the combinations of just four things, and only a small part of those laws would be demonstrated or usable in science. The purely logical inverse problem, where we move from combinations to their laws, has been addressed in the previous pages, as far as it’s likely to be for a long time. It’s almost impossible that it could be advanced more than a single step further.
In the first edition, vol i. p. 158, I stated that I had not been able to discover any mode of calculating the number of cases in which inconsistency would be implied in the selection of combinations from the Logical Alphabet. The logical complexity of the problem appeared to be so great that the ordinary modes of calculating numbers of combinations failed, in my opinion, to give any aid, and exhaustive examination of the combinations in detail seemed to be the only method applicable. This opinion, however, was mistaken, for both Mr. R. B. Hayward, of Harrow, and Mr. W. H. Brewer have calculated the numbers of inconsistent cases both for three and for four terms, without much difficulty. In the case of four terms they find that there are 1761 inconsistent selections and 63,774 consistent, which with one case where no143 condition exists, make up the total of 65,536 possible selections.
In the first edition, vol i. p. 158, I mentioned that I hadn’t been able to find a way to calculate the number of cases where inconsistency would arise in the selection of combinations from the Logical Alphabet. The logical complexity of the problem seemed so high that I believed the usual methods for calculating combinations couldn’t help, and that a detailed examination of the combinations was the only useful approach. However, this view was incorrect, as both Mr. R. B. Hayward from Harrow and Mr. W. H. Brewer managed to calculate the number of inconsistent cases for both three and four terms without much trouble. For four terms, they found that there are 1,761 inconsistent selections and 63,774 consistent ones, which, along with one case where no condition exists, totals 65,536 possible selections.
The inconsistent cases are distributed in the manner shown in the following table:—
The inconsistent cases are distributed in the way shown in the following table:—
Number of Combinations remaining. |
0 |
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10, &c. |
Number of Inconsistent Cases. |
1 |
16 |
112 |
352 |
536 |
448 |
224 |
64 |
8 |
0 |
0, &c. |
When more than eight combinations of the Logical Alphabet (p. 94, column V.) remain unexcluded, there cannot be inconsistency. The whole numbers of ways of selecting 0, 1, 2, &c., combinations out of 16 are given in the 17th line of the Arithmetical Triangle given further on in the Chapter on Combinations and Permutations, the sum of the numbers in that line being 65,536.
When more than eight combinations of the Logical Alphabet (p. 94, column V.) are still included, there can't be any inconsistency. The total number of ways to choose 0, 1, 2, etc., combinations from 16 is shown in the 17th line of the Arithmetical Triangle in the Chapter on Combinations and Permutations, with the sum of those numbers being 65,536.
Professor Clifford on the Types of Compound Statement involving Four Classes.
In the first edition (vol. i. p. 163), I asserted that some years of labour would be required to ascertain even the precise number of types of law governing the combinations of four classes of things. Though I still believe that some years’ labour would be required to work out the types themselves, it is clearly a mistake to suppose that the numbers of such types cannot be calculated with a reasonable amount of labour, Professor W. K. Clifford having actually accomplished the task. His solution of the numerical problem involves the use of a complete new system of nomenclature and is far too intricate to be fully described here. I can only give a brief abstract of the results, and refer readers, who wish to follow out the reasoning, to the Proceedings of the Literary and Philosophical Society of Manchester, for the 9th January, 1877, vol. xvi., p. 88, where Professor Clifford’s paper is printed in full.
In the first edition (vol. i. p. 163), I stated that it would take several years of work to determine even the exact number of types of law governing the combinations of four classes of things. While I still think that it would take several years to figure out the types themselves, it's clearly a mistake to think that the numbers of such types can't be calculated with a reasonable amount of effort, as Professor W. K. Clifford has actually achieved this. His solution to the numerical problem uses an entirely new system of naming and is too complicated to explain fully here. I can only provide a brief summary of the results and direct readers who wish to explore the reasoning to the Proceedings of the Literary and Philosophical Society of Manchester, from January 9, 1877, vol. xvi., p. 88, where Professor Clifford’s paper is published in full.
By a simple statement Professor Clifford means the denial of the existence of any single combination or cross-division144, of the classes, as in ABCD = 0, or AbCd = 0. The denial of two or more such combinations is called a compound statement, and is further said to be twofold, threefold, &c., according to the number denied. Thus ABC = 0 is a twofold compound statement in regard to four classes, because it involves both ABCD = 0 and ABCd = 0. When two compound statements can be converted into one another by interchange of the classes, A, B, C, D, with each other or with their complementary classes, a, b, c, d, they are called similar, and all similar statements are said to belong to the same type.
By a simple statement, Professor Clifford refers to the denial of the existence of any single combination or cross-division144 of the classes, like ABCD = 0, or AbCd = 0. The denial of two or more such combinations is called a compound statement, and it's further categorized as twofold, threefold, etc., depending on how many are denied. For instance, ABC = 0 is a twofold compound statement concerning four classes because it includes both ABCD = 0 and ABCd = 0. When two compound statements can be exchanged for one another by swapping the classes A, B, C, D, with each other or with their complementary classes a, b, c, d, they are considered similar, and all similar statements are said to belong to the same type.
Two statements are called complementary when they deny between them all the sixteen combinations without both denying any one; or, which is the same thing, when each denies just those combinations which the other permits to exist. It is obvious that when two statements are similar, the complementary statements will also be similar, and consequently for every type of n-fold statement, there is a complementary type of (16—n)-fold statement. It follows that we need only enumerate the types as far as the eighth order; for the types of more-than-eight-fold statement will already have been given as complementary to types of lower orders.
Two statements are called complementary when they completely cover all the sixteen combinations without denying any one of them at the same time; or, in other words, when each one denies exactly those combinations that the other allows. It's clear that when two statements are alike, their complementary statements will also be alike, and therefore for every type of n-fold statement, there is a complementary type of (16—n)-fold statement. This means we only need to list the types up to the eighth order; since the types of statements with more than eight folds will already have been identified as complementary to those of lower orders.
One combination, ABCD, may be converted into another AbCd by interchanging one or more of the classes with the complementary classes. The number of such changes is called the distance, which in the above case is 2. In two similar compound statements the distances of the combinations denied must be the same; but it does not follow that when all the distances are the same, the statements are similar. There is, however, only one example of two dissimilar statements having the same distances. When the distance is 4, the two combinations are said to be obverse to one another, and the statements denying them are called obverse statements, as in ABCD = 0 and abcd = 0 or again AbCd = 0 and aBcD = 0. When any one combination is given, called the origin, all the others may be grouped in respect of their relations to it as follows:—Four are at distance one from it, and may be called proximates; six are at distance two, and may be called mediates; four are at distance three, and may be called ultimates; finally the obverse is at distance four.
One combination, ABCD, can be changed into another AbCd by swapping one or more of the classes with their complementary classes. The number of these changes is referred to as the distance, which in this case is 2. In two similar compound statements, the distances of the combinations denied must be identical; however, just because all the distances are the same, it doesn’t mean the statements are similar. There's only one instance of two dissimilar statements having the same distances. When the distance is 4, the two combinations are said to be obverse to each other, and the statements denying them are called obverse statements, as in ABCD = 0 and abcd = 0, or AbCd = 0 and aBcD = 0. When any one combination is given, referred to as the origin, all the others can be grouped based on their relations to it as follows:—Four are at distance one from it and can be called proximates; six are at distance two and can be called mediates; four are at distance three and can be called ultimates; finally, the obverse is at distance four.
145
145
Origin and four proximates. | Six mediates. | Obverse and four ultimates. | ||||||||||||
abCD | ||||||||||||||
| | ||||||||||||||
aBCD | AbcD | | | AbCd | Abcd | ||||||||||
| | ╲ | | | ╱ | | | ||||||||||
ABCd | — | ABCD | — | AbCD | ╳ | abcD | — | abcd | — | aBcd | ||||
| | ╱ | | | ╲ | | | ||||||||||
ABcD | aBcD | | | aBCd | abCd. | ||||||||||
| | ||||||||||||||
ABcd |
It will be seen that the four proximates are respectively obverse to the four ultimates, and that the mediates form three pairs of obverses. Every proximate or ultimate is distant 1 and 3 respectively from such a pair of mediates.
It will be noted that the four proximates are directly opposite the four ultimates, and that the mediates create three pairs of opposites. Each proximate or ultimate is separated by 1 and 3, respectively, from such a pair of mediates.
Aided by this system of nomenclature Professor Clifford proceeds to an exhaustive enumeration of types, in which it is impossible to follow him. The results are as follows:—
Aided by this naming system, Professor Clifford moves on to a comprehensive list of types, which is difficult to keep up with. The results are as follows:—
1-fold | statements |
1 |
type | ![]() |
159 | |
2 | " | " | 4 |
types | ||
3 | " | " | 6 |
" |
||
4 | " | " | 19 |
" |
||
5 | " | " | 27 |
" |
||
6 | " | " | 47 |
" |
||
7 | " | " | 55 |
" |
||
8-fold | statements | 78 |
" |
Now as each seven-fold or less-than-seven-fold statement is complementary to a nine-fold or more-than-nine-fold statement, it follows that the complete number of types will be 159 × 2 + 78 = 396.
Now, since every seven-fold or fewer statement complements a nine-fold or more statement, it follows that the total number of types will be 159 × 2 + 78 = 396.
It appears then that the types of statement concerning four classes are only about 26 times as numerous as those concerning three classes, fifteen in number, although the number of possible combinations is 256 times as great.
It seems that the statements about four classes are only about 26 times more common than those about three classes, which number fifteen, even though the number of possible combinations is 256 times larger.
Professor Clifford informs me that the knowledge of the possible groupings of subdivisions of classes which he obtained by this inquiry has been of service to him in some applications of hyper-elliptic functions to which he has subsequently been led. Professor Cayley has since expressed his opinion that this line of investigation should be followed out, owing to the bearing of the theory of compound combinations upon the higher geometry.86 It seems likely that many unexpected points of connection146 will in time be disclosed between the sciences of logic and mathematics.
Professor Clifford tells me that the knowledge he gained about the possible groupings of subdivisions of classes through this research has been useful to him in some applications of hyper-elliptic functions he has pursued since then. Professor Cayley has also shared his belief that this research should continue, due to its relevance to the theory of compound combinations in higher geometry.86 It seems likely that many surprising connections will eventually be revealed between the fields of logic and mathematics.
Distinction between Perfect and Imperfect Induction.
We cannot proceed with advantage before noticing the extreme difference which exists between cases of perfect and those of imperfect induction. We call an induction perfect when all the objects or events which can possibly come under the class treated have been examined. But in the majority of cases it is impossible to collect together, or in any way to investigate, the properties of all portions of a substance or of all the individuals of a race. The number of objects would often be practically infinite, and the greater part of them might be beyond our reach, in the interior of the earth, or in the most distant parts of the Universe. In all such cases induction is imperfect, and is affected by more or less uncertainty. As some writers have fallen into much error concerning the functions and relative importance of these two branches of reasoning, I shall have to point out that—
We can't move forward effectively without acknowledging the significant difference between perfect and imperfect induction. We refer to an induction as perfect when we've examined all the objects or events that could possibly fit into the class under discussion. However, in most cases, it's impossible to gather or investigate the properties of every part of a substance or every individual of a species. The number of objects could often be nearly infinite, and many might be out of our reach, either deep within the Earth or in the farthest parts of the Universe. In these situations, induction is imperfect and comes with varying degrees of uncertainty. Since some writers have made significant mistakes regarding the functions and relative importance of these two types of reasoning, I need to clarify that—
1. Perfect Induction is a process absolutely requisite, both in the performance of imperfect induction and in the treatment of large bodies of facts of which our knowledge is complete.
1. Perfect Induction is a process that is absolutely necessary, both for carrying out imperfect induction and for dealing with large sets of facts where our knowledge is complete.
2. Imperfect Induction is founded on Perfect Induction, but involves another process of inference of a widely different character.
2. Imperfect Induction is based on Perfect Induction, but it involves a completely different kind of reasoning.
It is certain that if I can draw any inference at all concerning objects not examined, it must be done on the data afforded by the objects which have been examined. If I judge that a distant star obeys the law of gravity, it must be because all other material objects sufficiently known to me obey that law. If I venture to assert that all ruminant animals have cloven hoofs, it is because all ruminant animals which have come under my notice have cloven hoofs. On the other hand, I cannot safely say that all cryptogamous plants possess a purely cellular structure, because some cryptogamous plants, which have been examined by botanists, have a partially vascular structure. The probability that a new cryptogam will be cellular only can be estimated, if at all, on the ground of147 the comparative numbers of known cryptogams which are and are not cellular. Thus the first step in every induction will consist in accurately summing up the number of instances of a particular phenomenon which have fallen under our observation. Adams and Leverrier, for instance, must have inferred that the undiscovered planet Neptune would obey Bode’s law, because all the planets known at that time obeyed it. On what principles the passage from the known to the apparently unknown is warranted, must be carefully discussed in the next section, and in various parts of this work.
It’s clear that if I can draw any conclusions about objects I haven’t examined, it has to be based on the information from the objects I have looked at. If I think a distant star follows the law of gravity, it’s because all the other physical objects I know of do. If I say that all ruminant animals have split hoofs, it’s because every ruminant animal I’ve seen has split hoofs. However, I can’t confidently say that all cryptogamous plants have a completely cellular structure, since some cryptogamous plants examined by botanists have a partially vascular structure. The likelihood that a new cryptogam will be purely cellular can only be estimated based on the number of known cryptogams that are or aren’t cellular. Therefore, the first step in any induction process will be to accurately count the instances of a particular phenomenon that we have observed. For example, Adams and Leverrier must have inferred that the undiscovered planet Neptune would follow Bode’s law because all the planets known at that time followed it. The principles that justify the leap from the known to the seemingly unknown will be discussed in detail in the next section and throughout this work.
It would be a great mistake, however, to suppose that Perfect Induction is in itself useless. Even when the enumeration of objects belonging to any class is complete, and admits of no inference to unexamined objects, the statement of our knowledge in a general proposition is a process of so much importance that we may consider it necessary. In many cases we may render our investigations exhaustive; all the teeth or bones of an animal; all the cells in a minute vegetable organ; all the caves in a mountain side; all the strata in a geological section; all the coins in a newly found hoard, may be so completely scrutinized that we may make some general assertion concerning them without fear of mistake. Every bone might be proved to contain phosphate of lime; every cell to enclose a nucleus; every cave to hide remains of extinct animals; every stratum to exhibit signs of marine origin; every coin to be of Roman manufacture. These are cases where our investigation is limited to a definite portion of matter, or a definite area on the earth’s surface.
It would be a big mistake, however, to think that Perfect Induction is useless on its own. Even when we’ve completely counted all the objects in a category and can’t draw conclusions about unexamined objects, putting our knowledge into a general statement is so important that we should consider it essential. In many cases, we can make our investigations thorough; all the teeth or bones of an animal, all the cells in a tiny plant organ, all the caves on a mountainside, all the layers in a geological section, or all the coins in a newly discovered hoard can be examined so closely that we can make some general claim about them without worrying about being wrong. Every bone might be shown to contain phosphate of lime, every cell to have a nucleus, every cave to hold remains of extinct animals, every layer to show signs of marine origin, and every coin to be Roman. These are instances where our investigation is focused on a specific part of matter or a specific area on the earth’s surface.
There is another class of cases where induction is naturally and necessarily limited to a definite number of alternatives. Of the regular solids we can say without the least doubt that no one has more than twenty faces, thirty edges, and twenty corners; for by the principles of geometry we learn that there cannot exist more than five regular solids, of each of which we easily observe that the above statements are true. In the theory of numbers, an endless variety of perfect inductions might be made; we can show that no number less than sixty possesses so many divisors, and the like is true of 360; for it does not require a great amount of labour to ascertain and count all the divisors148 of numbers up to sixty or 360. I can assert that between 60,041 and 60,077 no prime number occurs, because the exhaustive examination of those who have constructed tables of prime numbers proves it to be so.
There’s another group of cases where induction is naturally and necessarily limited to a specific number of options. For regular solids, we can confidently say that none has more than twenty faces, thirty edges, and twenty vertices; according to geometry principles, we know that there can’t be more than five regular solids, and we can easily verify that the statements mentioned above are true for each of them. In number theory, there are countless perfect inductions to be made; we can demonstrate that no number less than sixty has so many divisors, and the same is true for 360; it doesn't take much effort to find and count all the divisors of numbers up to sixty or 360. I can claim that between 60,041 and 60,077, there are no prime numbers, because thorough examination by those who have created prime number tables confirms this.
In matters of human appointment or history, we can frequently have a complete limitation of the number of instances to be included in an induction. We might show that the propositions of the third book of Euclid treat only of circles; that no part of the works of Galen mentions the fourth figure of the syllogism; that none of the other kings of England reigned so long as George III.; that Magna Charta has not been repealed by any subsequent statute; that the price of corn in England has never been so high since 1847 as it was in that year; that the price of the English funds has never been lower than it was on the 23rd of January, 1798, when it fell to 47 14.
In issues of human appointments or history, we often find a clear limit on the number of examples to be included in an induction. We could demonstrate that the propositions in the third book of Euclid focus only on circles; that Galen's works don’t mention the fourth figure of the syllogism; that none of the other kings of England ruled as long as George III; that Magna Carta hasn’t been overturned by any later law; that the price of grain in England hasn’t been as high since 1847 as it was that year; and that the price of English funds has never been lower than on January 23, 1798, when it dropped to 47 1/4.
It has been urged against this process of Perfect Induction that it gives no new information, and is merely a summing up in a brief form of a multitude of particulars. But mere abbreviation of mental labour is one of the most important aids we can enjoy in the acquisition of knowledge. The powers of the human mind are so limited that multiplicity of detail is alone sufficient to prevent its progress in many directions. Thought would be practically impossible if every separate fact had to be separately thought and treated. Economy of mental power may be considered one of the main conditions on which our elevated intellectual position depends. Mathematical processes are for the most part but abbreviations of the simpler acts of addition and subtraction. The invention of logarithms was one of the most striking additions ever made to human power: yet it was a mere abbreviation of operations which could have been done before had a sufficient amount of labour been available. Similar additions to our power will, it is hoped, be made from time to time; for the number of mathematical problems hitherto solved is but an indefinitely small fraction of those which await solution, because the labour they have hitherto demanded renders them impracticable. So it is throughout all regions of thought. The amount of our knowledge depends upon our power of bringing it within practicable compass. Unless we arrange and classify facts and condense them into general truths, they149 soon surpass our powers of memory, and serve but to confuse. Hence Perfect Induction, even as a process of abbreviation, is absolutely essential to any high degree of mental achievement.
People argue against the process of Perfect Induction by saying it doesn’t provide new information and is just a summary of many details. However, simplifying our mental effort is one of the most important aids to gaining knowledge. The capabilities of the human mind are so limited that an overload of details can hinder progress in various areas. It would be nearly impossible to think if we had to process each fact individually. Saving mental energy is a key factor in our advanced intellectual status. Most mathematical processes are simply shortcuts for basic addition and subtraction. The creation of logarithms was one of the most significant boosts to human capability, yet it was just a shortcut for calculations that could have previously been done if enough effort had been available. We hope similar improvements will be made over time, as the number of mathematical problems already solved is just a tiny fraction of those still needing solutions due to the labor they require making them impractical. This is true across all areas of thought. The extent of our knowledge relies on our ability to keep it manageable. If we don’t organize and categorize facts and distill them into general truths, they quickly exceed our memory capacity and just create confusion. Therefore, Perfect Induction, even as a method of simplification, is absolutely vital for achieving any significant level of mental accomplishment.
Transition from Perfect to Imperfect Induction.
It is a question of profound difficulty on what grounds we are warranted in inferring the future from the present, or the nature of undiscovered objects from those which we have examined with our senses. We pass from Perfect to Imperfect Induction when once we allow our conclusion to apply, at all events apparently, beyond the data on which it was founded. In making such a step we seem to gain a net addition to our knowledge; for we learn the nature of what was unknown. We reap where we have never sown. We appear to possess the divine power of creating knowledge, and reaching with our mental arms far beyond the sphere of our own observation. I shall have, indeed, to point out certain methods of reasoning in which we do pass altogether beyond the sphere of the senses, and acquire accurate knowledge which observation could never have given; but it is not imperfect induction that accomplishes such a task. Of imperfect induction itself, I venture to assert that it never makes any real addition to our knowledge, in the meaning of the expression sometimes accepted. As in other cases of inference, it merely unfolds the information contained in past observations; it merely renders explicit what was implicit in previous experience. It transmutes, but certainly does not create knowledge.
It's a really tough question about how we can justify making predictions about the future based on the present, or learning about undiscovered things from what we’ve already examined with our senses. We move from Perfect to Imperfect Induction as soon as we let our conclusions apply, at least seemingly, beyond the data that supports them. By making this leap, it seems like we’re adding to our knowledge, because we’re learning about things that were previously unknown. We’re reaping where we’ve never planted. We seem to have the extraordinary ability to generate knowledge and extend our mental reach beyond what we can directly observe. I will need to highlight some reasoning methods where we go completely beyond sensory experience and gain accurate knowledge that observation alone could never provide; however, it’s not imperfect induction that achieves this. Regarding imperfect induction, I dare to say that it never truly adds to our knowledge in the way that term is sometimes understood. Like other forms of inference, it simply reveals the information contained in previous observations; it makes explicit what was previously implicit in our experience. It transforms knowledge, but it certainly doesn’t create it.
There is no fact which I shall more constantly keep before the reader’s mind in the following pages than that the results of imperfect induction, however well authenticated and verified, are never more than probable. We never can be sure that the future will be as the present. We hang ever upon the will of the Creator: and it is only so far as He has created two things alike, or maintains the framework of the world unchanged from moment to moment, that our most careful inferences can be fulfilled. All predictions, all inferences which reach beyond their data, are purely hypothetical, and proceed on the assumption150 that new events will conform to the conditions detected in our observation of past events. No experience of finite duration can give an exhaustive knowledge of the forces which are in operation. There is thus a double uncertainty; even supposing the Universe as a whole to proceed unchanged, we do not really know the Universe as a whole. We know only a point in its infinite extent, and a moment in its infinite duration. We cannot be sure, then, that our observations have not escaped some fact, which will cause the future to be apparently different from the past; nor can we be sure that the future really will be the outcome of the past. We proceed then in all our inferences to unexamined objects and times on the assumptions—
There is no fact that I will keep more consistently in front of the reader's mind in the following pages than that the results of imperfect induction, no matter how well supported and verified, are always just probable. We can never be certain that the future will mirror the present. We are always dependent on the will of the Creator; and it is only to the extent that He has created two things similarly, or keeps the world's framework unchanged from moment to moment, that our most careful inferences can hold true. All predictions and inferences that go beyond their data are purely hypothetical and rely on the assumption that new events will align with the patterns we observed in past events. No experience of limited duration can provide complete knowledge of the forces at work. Therefore, there is a double uncertainty; even assuming the Universe as a whole remains unchanged, we still do not truly know the Universe in its entirety. We only know a point in its infinite expanse and a moment in its infinite duration. We cannot be sure that our observations haven't overlooked some fact that would make the future seem different from the past; nor can we be certain that the future will actually result from the past. Thus, in all our inferences about unexamined objects and times, we proceed on the assumptions—
1. That our past observation gives us a complete knowledge of what exists.
1. Our past observations give us a full understanding of what exists.
2. That the conditions of things which did exist will continue to be the conditions which will exist.
2. That the circumstances that were present will keep being the circumstances that will exist.
We shall often need to illustrate the character of our knowledge of nature by the simile of a ballot-box, so often employed by mathematical writers in the theory of probability. Nature is to us like an infinite ballot-box, the contents of which are being continually drawn, ball after ball, and exhibited to us. Science is but the careful observation of the succession in which balls of various character present themselves; we register the combinations, notice those which seem to be excluded from occurrence, and from the proportional frequency of those which appear we infer the probable character of future drawings. But under such circumstances certainty of prediction depends on two conditions:—
We often need to illustrate our understanding of nature using the analogy of a ballot box, a common concept among mathematical writers in probability theory. Nature is like an endless ballot box, where we are constantly drawing balls, one after another, and seeing what comes out. Science involves carefully observing the order in which different balls appear; we track the combinations, note the ones that seem to never show up, and from the frequency of those that do, we infer what future draws might look like. However, the accuracy of our predictions relies on two conditions:—
1. That we acquire a perfect knowledge of the comparative numbers of balls of each kind within the box.
1. That we gain a complete understanding of the different amounts of each type of ball inside the box.
2. That the contents of the ballot-box remain unchanged.
2. That the contents of the ballot box stay the same.
Of the latter assumption, or rather that concerning the constitution of the world which it illustrates, the logician or physicist can have nothing to say. As the Creation of the Universe is necessarily an act passing all experience and all conception, so any change in that Universe, or, it may be, a termination of it, must likewise be infinitely beyond the bounds of our mental faculties. No science no151 reasoning upon the subject, can have any validity; for without experience we are without the basis and materials of knowledge. It is the fundamental postulate accordingly of all inference concerning the future, that there shall be no arbitrary change in the subject of inference; of the probability or improbability of such a change I conceive that our faculties can give no estimate.
The logician or physicist has nothing to contribute regarding this last assumption, or more specifically, the idea about the structure of the world that it represents. Just as the Creation of the Universe is an act that is beyond all experience and understanding, any changes in that Universe, or possibly its end, must also be far beyond our mental capabilities. No science or reasoning on the matter can hold any validity; without experience, we lack the foundation and material for knowledge. Therefore, it is a fundamental principle of all reasoning about the future that there should be no arbitrary change in the subject of inference; regarding the likelihood of such a change, I believe our faculties cannot provide any assessment.
The other condition of inductive inference—that we acquire an approximately complete knowledge of the combinations in which events do occur, is in some degree within our power. There are branches of science in which phenomena seem to be governed by conditions of a most fixed and general character. We have ground in such cases for believing that the future occurrence of such phenomena can be calculated and predicted. But the whole question now becomes one of probability and improbability. We seem to leave the region of logic to enter one in which the number of events is the ground of inference. We do not really leave the region of logic; we only leave that where certainty, affirmative or negative, is the result, and the agreement or disagreement of qualities the means of inference. For the future, number and quantity will commonly enter into our processes of reasoning; but then I hold that number and quantity are but portions of the great logical domain. I venture to assert that number is wholly logical, both in its fundamental nature and in its developments. Quantity in all its forms is but a development of number. That which is mathematical is not the less logical; if anything it is more logical, in the sense that it presents logical results in a higher degree of complexity and variety.
The other aspect of inductive reasoning—that we gain a nearly complete understanding of the combinations in which events happen—is somewhat within our control. There are fields of science where phenomena appear to be influenced by consistently fixed and general conditions. In such cases, we have reason to believe that we can calculate and predict the future occurrence of these phenomena. However, the entire issue now shifts to one of probability and improbability. It seems we are moving away from logic and entering a space where the quantity of events informs our inferences. We don't actually leave the realm of logic; we simply move away from the area where certainty, either positive or negative, is the outcome, and the alignment or misalignment of qualities provides the basis for reasoning. Looking to the future, quantity and number will typically play a role in our reasoning processes; however, I assert that number and quantity are merely aspects of the larger logical domain. I would argue that number is entirely logical, both in its essential nature and in its developments. Quantity in all its forms is simply an extension of number. What is mathematical is no less logical; if anything, it is more logical in the sense that it yields logical results with greater complexity and variety.
Before proceeding then from Perfect to Imperfect Induction I must devote a portion of this work to treating the logical conditions of number. I shall then employ number to estimate the variety of combinations in which natural phenomena may present themselves, and the probability or improbability of their occurrence under definite circumstances. It is in later parts of the work that I must endeavour to establish the notions which I have set forth upon the subject of Imperfect Induction, as applied in the investigation of Nature, which notions maybe thus briefly stated:—
Before moving on from Perfect to Imperfect Induction, I need to dedicate some of this work to discussing the logical conditions of numbers. I will then use numbers to evaluate the different combinations in which natural phenomena can appear, along with the likelihood or unlikelihood of their occurrence in specific situations. In the later sections of the work, I will try to clarify the ideas I’ve presented about Imperfect Induction as it relates to the study of Nature, which can be summarized as follows:—
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1. Imperfect Induction entirely rests upon Perfect Induction for its materials.
1. Imperfect Induction completely relies on Perfect Induction for its sources.
2. The logical process by which we seem to pass directly from examined to unexamined cases consists in an inverse application of deductive inference, so that all reasoning may be said to be either directly or inversely deductive.
2. The reasoning process that takes us from cases we've looked at to those we haven't is essentially an inverse application of deductive reasoning, meaning that all reasoning can be considered either directly or inversely deductive.
3. The result is always of a hypothetical character, and is never more than probable.
3. The outcome is always hypothetical and is never more than likely.
4. No net addition is ever made to our knowledge by reasoning; what we know of future events or unexamined objects is only the unfolded contents of our previous knowledge, and it becomes less probable as it is more boldly extended to remote cases.
4. No new addition is ever made to our knowledge through reasoning; what we know about future events or unexamined objects is just the expanded contents of our previous knowledge, and it becomes less likely as it is more boldly applied to distant cases.
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BOOK II.
NUMBER, VARIETY, AND PROBABILITY.
BOOK II.
NUMBER, VARIETY, AND PROBABILITY.
CHAPTER VIII.
NUMERICAL PRINCIPLES.
Not without reason did Pythagoras represent the world as ruled by number. Into almost all our acts of thought number enters, and in proportion as we can define numerically we enjoy exact and useful knowledge of the Universe. The science of numbers, too, has hitherto presented the widest and most practicable training in logic. So free and energetic has been the study of mathematical forms, compared with the forms of logic, that mathematicians have passed far in advance of pure logicians. Occasionally, in recent times, they have condescended to apply their algebraic instrument to a reflex treatment of the primary logical science. It is thus that we owe to profound mathematicians, such as John Herschel, Whewell, De Morgan, or Boole, the regeneration of logic in the present century. I entertain no doubt that it is in maintaining a close alliance with quantitative reasoning that we must look for further progress in our comprehension of qualitative inference.
Not without reason did Pythagoras see the world as governed by numbers. Numbers play a role in nearly all our thoughts, and the more we can express ideas numerically, the clearer and more useful our understanding of the Universe becomes. The study of numbers has also provided the broadest and most applicable training in logic. The exploration of mathematical forms has been so vibrant and dynamic compared to traditional logic that mathematicians have moved ahead of pure logicians. Recently, they have taken the time to apply their algebraic tools to a reflective examination of basic logical principles. It's thanks to brilliant mathematicians like John Herschel, Whewell, De Morgan, and Boole that logic has been revitalized in the present century. I firmly believe that maintaining a close connection with quantitative reasoning is essential for furthering our understanding of qualitative inference.
I cannot assent, indeed, to the common notion that certainty begins and ends with numerical determination. Nothing is more certain than logical truth. The laws of identity and difference are the tests of all that is certain154 throughout the range of thought, and mathematical reasoning is cogent only when it conforms to these conditions, of which logic is the first development. And if it be erroneous to suppose that all certainty is mathematical, it is equally an error to imagine that all which is mathematical is certain. Many processes of mathematical reasoning are of most doubtful validity. There are points of mathematical doctrine which must long remain matter of opinion; for instance, the best form of the definition and axiom concerning parallel lines, or the true nature of a limit. In the use of symbolic reasoning questions occur on which the best mathematicians may differ, as Bernoulli and Leibnitz differed irreconcileably concerning the existence of the logarithms of negative quantities.87 In fact we no sooner leave the simple logical conditions of number, than we find ourselves involved in a mazy and mysterious science of symbols.
I can't agree with the common belief that certainty only comes from numbers. Nothing is more certain than logical truth. The laws of identity and difference are the benchmarks for everything that is certain within the realm of thought, and mathematical reasoning is only convincing when it aligns with these principles, of which logic is the initial step. It's incorrect to think that all certainty is mathematical, just as it's wrong to assume that everything mathematical is certain. Many mathematical reasoning processes are quite questionable. There are aspects of mathematical theory that will likely remain matters of debate, such as the best way to define parallel lines or the true nature of a limit. When using symbolic reasoning, questions arise on which even the best mathematicians can disagree, as shown by the irreconcilable differences between Bernoulli and Leibnitz regarding the existence of logarithms for negative numbers. In fact, as soon as we move beyond the simple logical rules of numbers, we get caught up in a complex and mysterious world of symbols.
Mathematical science enjoys no monopoly, and not even a supremacy, in certainty of results. It is the boundless extent and variety of quantitative questions that delights the mathematical student. When simple logic can give but a bare answer Yes or No, the algebraist raises a score of subtle questions, and brings out a crowd of curious results. The flower and the fruit, all that is attractive and delightful, fall to the share of the mathematician, who too often despises the plain but necessary stem from which all has arisen. In no region of thought can a reasoner cast himself free from the prior conditions of logical correctness. The mathematician is only strong and true as long as he is logical, and if number rules the world, it is logic which rules number.
Mathematics doesn't have a monopoly or even a dominant position when it comes to certainty of results. It's the vast scope and diversity of quantitative problems that fascinates the math student. While simple logic can only provide a straightforward Yes or No, a mathematician can explore numerous intricate questions and uncover a variety of interesting results. The beauty and enjoyment all belong to the mathematician, who often undervalues the fundamental but essential groundwork from which everything has emerged. In no area of reasoning can someone escape the basic requirements of logical correctness. A mathematician's strength and validity come from being logical, and while numbers may govern the world, it is logic that governs numbers.
Nearly all writers have hitherto been strangely content to look upon numerical reasoning as something apart from logical inference. A long divorce has existed between quality and quantity, and it has not been uncommon to treat them as contrasted in nature and restricted to independent branches of thought. For my own part, I believe that all the sciences meet somewhere. No part of knowledge can stand wholly disconnected from other parts of the universe of thought; it is incredible, above all, that155 the two great branches of abstract science, interlacing and co-operating in every discourse, should rest upon totally distinct foundations. I assume that a connection exists, and care only to inquire, What is its nature? Does the science of quantity rest upon that of quality; or, vice versâ, does the science of quality rest upon that of quantity? There might conceivably be a third view, that they both rest upon some still deeper set of principles.
Almost all writers have been oddly satisfied to see numerical reasoning as separate from logical inference. There has been a long-standing divide between quality and quantity, and it has not been unusual to treat them as fundamentally different and limited to separate branches of thought. Personally, I believe that all sciences intersect at some point. No area of knowledge can exist completely detached from other parts of the realm of thought; it is particularly hard to believe that the two main branches of abstract science, which intertwine and collaborate in every discussion, should be based on entirely different foundations. I assume that a connection exists and am only interested in exploring, What is its nature? Does the science of quantity depend on that of quality; or, vice versa, does the science of quality depend on that of quantity? There might also be a third perspective, that both rely on an even deeper set of principles.
It is generally supposed that Boole adopted the second view, and treated logic as an application of algebra, a special case of analytical reasoning which admits only two quantities, unity and zero. It is not easy to ascertain clearly which of these views really was accepted by Boole. In his interesting biographical sketch of Boole,88 the Rev. R. Harley protests against the statement that Boole’s logical calculus imported the conditions of number and quantity into logic. He says: “Logic is never identified or confounded with mathematics; the two systems of thought are kept perfectly distinct, each being subject to its own laws and conditions. The symbols are the same for both systems, but they have not the same interpretation.” The Rev. J. Venn, again, in his review of Boole’s logical system,89 holds that Boole’s processes are at bottom logical, not mathematical, though stated in a highly generalized form and with a mathematical dress. But it is quite likely that readers of Boole should be misled. Not only have his logical works an entirely mathematical appearance, but I find on p. 12 of his Laws of Thought the following unequivocal statement: “That logic, as a science, is susceptible of very wide applications is admitted; but it is equally certain that its ultimate forms and processes are mathematical.” A few lines below he adds, “It is not of the essence of mathematics to be conversant with the ideas of number and quantity.”
It is generally believed that Boole took the second view and saw logic as an application of algebra, a specific case of analytical reasoning that only allows for two values: one and zero. It’s not easy to determine which view Boole actually accepted. In his intriguing biographical sketch of Boole,88 the Rev. R. Harley argues against the claim that Boole’s logical calculus brought the concepts of number and quantity into logic. He states: “Logic is never confused with mathematics; the two systems of thought are kept completely separate, each following its own rules and conditions. The symbols may be the same for both systems, but their meanings are different.” The Rev. J. Venn, in his review of Boole’s logical system,89 contends that Boole’s methods are fundamentally logical, not mathematical, even though they are expressed in a highly generalized form and with a mathematical appearance. However, it's likely that Boole's readers could be confused. Not only do his logical works look entirely mathematical, but on page 12 of his Laws of Thought, I find the following clear statement: “That logic, as a science, can be applied very widely is accepted; but it’s equally true that its ultimate forms and processes are mathematical.” A few lines later, he adds, “It’s not essential for mathematics to deal with the concepts of number and quantity.”
The solution of the difficulty is that Boole used the term mathematics in a wider sense than that usually attributed to it. He probably adopted the third view, so that his mathematical Laws of Thought are the common156 basis both of logic and of quantitative mathematics. But I do not care to pursue the subject because I think that, in either case Boole was wrong. In my opinion logic is the superior science, the general basis of mathematics as well as of all other sciences. Number is but logical discrimination, and algebra a highly developed logic. Thus it is easy to understand the deep analogy which Boole pointed out between the forms of algebraic and logical deduction. Logic resembles algebra as the mould resembles that which is cast in it. Boole mistook the cast for the mould. Considering that logic imposes its own laws upon every branch of mathematical science, it is no wonder that we constantly meet with the traces of logical laws in mathematical processes.
The solution to the problem is that Boole used the term mathematics in a broader way than it’s typically understood. He likely embraced the third perspective, so his mathematical Laws of Thought serve as a shared foundation for both logic and quantitative mathematics. However, I'm not interested in delving deeper into this topic because I believe Boole was mistaken in either case. I think logic is the fundamental science, the general foundation for mathematics and all other fields of study. Numbers are simply logical distinctions, and algebra is an advanced form of logic. This makes it easy to see the strong connection that Boole highlighted between algebraic and logical deduction. Logic is similar to algebra in the way that a mold is related to what is cast in it. Boole confused the cast with the mold. Since logic sets its own rules for every area of mathematical science, it’s no surprise that we frequently see logical principles reflected in mathematical practices.
The Nature of Number.
Number is but another name for diversity. Exact identity is unity, and with difference arises plurality. An abstract notion, as was pointed out (p. 28), possesses a certain oneness. The quality of justice, for instance, is one and the same in whatever just acts it is manifested. In justice itself there are no marks of difference by which to discriminate justice from justice. But one just act can be discriminated from another just act by circumstances of time and place, and we can count many acts thus discriminated each from each. In like manner pure gold is simply pure gold, and is so far one and the same throughout. But besides its intrinsic qualities, gold occupies space and must have shape and size. Portions of gold are always mutually exclusive and capable of discrimination, in respect that they must be each without the other. Hence they may be numbered.
Number is just another term for variety. True identity is oneness, and with difference comes plurality. An abstract idea, as mentioned (p. 28), has a certain unity. The quality of justice, for example, is the same regardless of where it appears in just actions. There are no differences within justice itself that can separate one instance of justice from another. However, one just action can be distinguished from another just action based on the circumstances of time and place, allowing us to count many actions that are each distinct. Similarly, pure gold is simply pure gold and is the same throughout. But beyond its inherent qualities, gold occupies space and must have shape and size. Portions of gold are always mutually exclusive and can be distinguished because each one must be separate from the others. Therefore, they can be numbered.
Plurality arises when and only when we detect difference. For instance, in counting a number of gold coins I must count each coin once, and not more than once. Let C denote a coin, and the mark above it the order of counting. Then I must count the coins
Plurality only occurs when we notice differences. For example, when counting a number of gold coins, I have to count each coin once, and not more. Let C represent a coin, and the mark above it indicate the order of counting. Then I need to count the coins.
If I were to count them as follows
If I were to list them like this
I should make the third coin into two, and should imply157 the existence of difference where there is no difference.90 C‴ and C‴ are but the names of one coin named twice over. But according to one of the conditions of logical symbols, which I have called the Law of Unity (p. 72), the same name repeated has no effect, and
I should turn the third coin into two, and suggest157 that there’s a difference when there isn’t one.90 C‴ and C‴ are just two names for one coin mentioned twice. However, based on one of the rules of logical symbols, which I refer to as the Law of Unity (p. 72), repeating the same name doesn’t change anything, and
We must apply the Law of Unity, and must reduce all identical alternatives before we can count with certainty and use the processes of numerical calculation. Identical alternatives are harmless in logic, but are wholly inadmissible in number. Thus logical science ascertains the nature of the mathematical unit, and the definition may be given in these terms—A unit is any object of thought which can be discriminated from every other object treated as a unit in the same problem.
We need to apply the Law of Unity and eliminate all identical alternatives before we can count reliably and use numerical calculations. Identical alternatives are acceptable in logic, but completely unacceptable in numbers. So, logical science determines the nature of the mathematical unit, which can be defined as: A unit is any object of thought that can be distinguished from every other object treated as a unit in the same problem.
It has often been said that units are units in respect of being perfectly similar to each other; but though they may be perfectly similar in some respects, they must be different in at least one point, otherwise they would be incapable of plurality. If three coins were so similar that they occupied the same space at the same time, they would not be three coins, but one coin. It is a property of space that every point is discriminable from every other point, and in time every moment is necessarily distinct from any other moment before or after. Hence we frequently count in space or time, and Locke, with some other philosophers, has held that number arises from repetition in time. Beats of a pendulum may be so perfectly similar that we can discover no difference except that one beat is before and another after. Time alone is here the ground of difference and is a sufficient foundation for the discrimination of plurality; but it is by no means the only foundation. Three coins are three coins, whether we count them successively or regard them all simultaneously. In many cases neither time nor space is the ground of difference, but pure quality alone enters. We can discriminate the weight, inertia, and hardness of gold as three qualities, though none of these is before nor after the other, neither in space nor time. Every means of discrimination may be a source of plurality.
It’s often said that units are just units because they’re perfectly similar to each other. But while they might be identical in some ways, they have to differ in at least one aspect; otherwise, they wouldn’t be able to exist as multiple entities. If three coins were so alike that they occupied the same space at the same time, they wouldn’t be considered three coins but just one. In space, each point can be differentiated from every other point, and in time, every moment is necessarily distinct from the moments before or after. That’s why we often count in terms of space or time. Locke and some other philosophers argue that numbers come from repeating events over time. The beats of a pendulum may be so similar that the only difference we notice is that one beat comes before the other. Here, time is the reason for the distinction and provides a solid basis for recognizing plurality, but it’s not the only reason. Three coins remain three coins, whether we count them one after the other or look at them all at once. In many cases, neither time nor space determines the difference; sometimes, it’s purely about quality. We can tell the weight, inertia, and hardness of gold are three distinct qualities, even though none comes before or after the others in space or time. Any way we find to distinguish can lead to recognizing plurality.
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Our logical notation may be used to express the rise of number. The symbol A stands for one thing or one class, and in itself must be regarded as a unit, because no difference is specified. But the combinations AB and Ab are necessarily two, because they cannot logically coalesce, and there is a mark B which distinguishes one from the other. A logical definition of the number four is given in the combinations ABC, ABc, AbC, Abc, where there is a double difference. As Puck says—
Our logical notation can be used to show the concept of numbers. The symbol A represents one thing or one group, and it must be seen as a single unit since no distinction is made. However, the combinations AB and Ab clearly represent two because they cannot logically merge, and there is a distinct mark B that separates one from the other. A logical definition of the number four is found in the combinations ABC, ABc, AbC, Abc, where there is a clear double distinction. As Puck says—
Two of both kinds makes up four.”
I conceive that all numbers might be represented as arising out of the combinations of the Logical Alphabet, more or less of each series being struck out by various logical conditions. The number three, for instance, arises from the condition that A must be either B or C, so that the combinations are ABC, ABc, AbC.
I think all numbers can be seen as combinations of the Logical Alphabet, with different logical conditions creating various series. For example, the number three comes from the condition that A has to be either B or C, resulting in the combinations ABC, ABc, AbC.
Of Numerical Abstraction.
There will now be little difficulty in forming a clear notion of the nature of numerical abstraction. It consists in abstracting the character of the difference from which plurality arises, retaining merely the fact. When I speak of three men I need not at once specify the marks by which each may be known from each. Those marks must exist if they are really three men and not one and the same, and in speaking of them as many I imply the existence of the requisite differences. Abstract number, then, is the empty form of difference; the abstract number three asserts the existence of marks without specifying their kind.
There’s now little difficulty in understanding what numerical abstraction means. It involves taking away the specific characteristics that create differences, while keeping just the fact of quantity. When I mention three men, I don’t need to immediately point out the features that distinguish each one. Those features must exist if they genuinely are three different people and not just one person. By referring to them as many, I imply that the necessary differences are there. So, abstract number is the basic form of difference; the abstract number three indicates that there are distinguishing features without specifying what they are.
Numerical abstraction is thus seen to be a different process from logical abstraction (p. 27), for in the latter process we drop out of notice the very existence of difference and plurality. In forming the abstract notion hardness, we ignore entirely the diverse circumstances in which the quality may appear. It is the concrete notion three hard objects, which asserts the existence of hardness along with sufficient other undefined qualities, to mark out three such objects. Numerical thought is indeed closely interwoven with logical thought. We cannot use a concrete159 term in the plural, as men, without implying that there are marks of difference. But when we use an abstract term, we deal with unity.
Numerical abstraction is recognized as a different process from logical abstraction (p. 27), because in the latter process, we completely disregard the existence of difference and plurality. When we create the abstract concept of hardness, we entirely overlook the various contexts in which this quality might be found. The concrete notion of three hard objects acknowledges the presence of hardness along with several other unspecified qualities that distinguish three such objects. Numerical thought is indeed closely tied to logical thought. We cannot use a concrete159 term in the plural, such as men, without implying that there are differences. However, when we use an abstract term, we are focused on unity.
The origin of the great generality of number is now apparent. Three sounds differ from three colours, or three riders from three horses; but they agree in respect of the variety of marks by which they can be discriminated. The symbols 1 + 1 + 1 are thus the empty marks asserting the existence of discrimination. But in dropping out of sight the character of the differences we give rise to new agreements on which mathematical reasoning is founded. Numerical abstraction is so far from being incompatible with logical abstraction that it is the origin of our widest acts of generalization.
The source of the general idea of numbers is now clear. Three sounds are different from three colors, or three riders are distinct from three horses; however, they can be identified by the various marks that differentiate them. The symbols 1 + 1 + 1 are essentially placeholders confirming the idea of distinction. By overlooking the nature of the differences, we create new agreements that underlie mathematical reasoning. Numerical abstraction is not only compatible with logical abstraction, but it also forms the basis of our broadest generalizations.
Concrete and Abstract Number.
The common distinction between concrete and abstract number can now be easily stated. In proportion as we specify the logical characters of the things numbered, we render them concrete. In the abstract number three there is no statement of the points in which the three objects agree; but in three coins, three men, or three horses, not only are the objects numbered but their nature is restricted. Concrete number thus implies the same consciousness of difference as abstract number, but it is mingled with a groundwork of similarity expressed in the logical terms. There is identity so far as logical terms enter; difference so far as the terms are merely numerical.
The usual difference between concrete and abstract numbers can now be explained easily. As we define the logical characteristics of the items being counted, we make them concrete. In the abstract number three, there’s no indication of what the three objects have in common; however, in three coins, three men, or three horses, not only are we counting the objects, but their nature is also specified. Concrete numbers involve the same awareness of difference as abstract numbers, but they are mixed with a foundation of similarity expressed in logical terms. There is identity as far as logical terms are concerned; there is difference when the terms are simply numerical.
The reason of the important Law of Homogeneity will now be apparent. This law asserts that in every arithmetical calculation the logical nature of the things numbered must remain unaltered. The specified logical agreement of the things must not be affected by the unspecified numerical differences. A calculation would be palpably absurd which, after commencing with length, gave a result in hours. It is equally absurd, in a purely arithmetical point of view, to deduce areas from the calculation of lengths, masses from the combination of volume and density, or momenta from mass and velocity. It must remain for subsequent consideration to decide in what sense we may truly say that two linear feet multiplied160 by two linear feet give four superficial feet; arithmetically it is absurd, because there is a change of unit.
The reason for the important Law of Homogeneity is now clear. This law states that in every arithmetic calculation, the logical nature of the items being counted must stay the same. The specific logical relationship between the items must not be influenced by the unspecified numerical differences. It would obviously be ridiculous to start with length and end up with a result in hours. It's equally nonsensical, from a purely arithmetic perspective, to derive areas from length calculations, masses from volume and density combinations, or momenta from mass and velocity. It will be left for later discussion to determine how we can genuinely claim that two linear feet multiplied by two linear feet equals four square feet; arithmetically, it's absurd because there’s a change of unit.
As a general rule we treat in each calculation only objects of one nature. We do not, and cannot properly add, in the same sum yards of cloth and pounds of sugar. We cannot even conceive the result of adding area to velocity, or length to density, or weight to value. The units added must have a basis of homogeneity, or must be reducible to some common denominator. Nevertheless it is possible, and in fact common, to treat in one complex calculation the most heterogeneous quantities, on the condition that each kind of object is kept distinct, and treated numerically only in conjunction with its own kind. Different units, so far as their logical differences are specified, must never be substituted one for the other. Chemists continually use equations which assert the equivalence of groups of atoms. Ordinary fermentation is represented by the formula
As a general rule, we only consider objects of the same type in each calculation. We can't properly add yards of cloth and pounds of sugar together. It’s also impossible to even begin to understand what it would mean to add area to velocity, length to density, or weight to value. The units we add together need to be homogeneous, or reducible to a common denominator. However, it is possible—and quite common—to include very different quantities in one complex calculation, as long as each type of object is kept separate and is only treated numerically with its own kind. Different units, in terms of their logical differences, cannot be substituted for one another. Chemists regularly use equations that show the equivalence of groups of atoms. Ordinary fermentation is represented by the formula
Three kinds of units, the atoms respectively of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen, are here intermingled, but there is really a separate equation in regard to each kind. Mathematicians also employ compound equations of the same kind; for in, a + b √ - 1 = c + d √ - 1, it is impossible by ordinary addition to add a to b √ -1. Hence we really have the separate equations a = b, and c √ - 1 = d √ - 1. Similarly an equation between two quaternions is equivalent to four equations between ordinary quantities, whence indeed the name quaternion.
Three types of units, the basic elements of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen, are mixed together here, but there is actually a separate equation for each type. Mathematicians also use compound equations like this; for in, a + b √1 = c + d √- 1, it’s not possible to add a to b √-1 using standard addition. Therefore, we actually have the separate equations a = b, and c √1 = d √1. Similarly, an equation involving two quaternions corresponds to four equations between regular quantities, which is where the term quaternion comes from.
Analogy of Logical and Numerical Terms.
If my assertion is correct that number arises out of logical conditions, we ought to find number obeying all the laws of logic. It is almost superfluous to point out that this is the case with the fundamental laws of identity and difference, and it only remains to show that mathematical symbols do really obey the special conditions of logical symbols which were formerly pointed out (p. 32). Thus the Law of Commutativeness, is equally true of quality and quantity. As in logic we have
If I'm right that numbers come from logical conditions, we should see numbers following all the laws of logic. It's almost unnecessary to mention that this holds true for the basic laws of identity and difference, and now we just need to demonstrate that mathematical symbols actually follow the specific conditions of logical symbols that were mentioned earlier (p. 32). Therefore, the Law of Commutativeness applies equally to both quality and quantity. Just like in logic, we have
so in mathematics it is familiarly known that
so in math it’s commonly known that
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The properties of space are as indifferent in multiplication as we found them in pure logical thought.
The properties of space are just as indifferent in multiplication as we discovered in pure logical thinking.
Similarly, as in logic
Similarly, like in logic
triangle or square = |
square or triangle, | |
or generally | A ꖌ B = |
B ꖌ A, |
so in quantity | 2 + 3 = |
3 + 2, |
or generally | x + y = |
y + x. |
The symbol ꖌ is not identical with +, but it is thus far analogous.
The symbol ꖌ is not the same as +, but it is similar so far.
How far, now, is it true that mathematical symbols obey the Law of Simplicity expressed in the form
How true is it now that mathematical symbols follow the Law of Simplicity expressed like this:
or the example
or the example
Apparently there are but two numbers which obey this law; for it is certain that
Apparently there are only two numbers that follow this rule; because it's clear that
is true only in the two cases when x = 1, or x = 0.
is true only in the two cases when x = 1, or x = 0.
In reality all numbers obey the law, for 2 × 2 = 2 is not really analogous to AA = A. According to the definition of a unit already given, each unit is discriminated from each other in the same problem, so that in 2′ × 2″, the first two involves a different discrimination from the second two. I get four kinds of things, for instance, if I first discriminate “heavy and light” and then “cubical and spherical,” for we now have the following classes—
In reality, all numbers follow the rules because 2 × 2 = 2 is not really like AA = A. Based on the definition of a unit given earlier, each unit is distinguished from the others in the same problem, so in 2′ × 2″, the first two is treated differently from the second two. For example, if I first classify things as “heavy and light” and then as “cubical and spherical,” I end up with four types of things, leading to the following classes—
heavy, cubical. | light, cubical. |
heavy, spherical. | light, spherical. |
But suppose that my two classes are in both cases discriminated by the same difference of light and heavy, then we have
But let's say that my two groups are differentiated in both cases by the same distinction of light and heavy; then we have
heavy | heavy = |
heavy, |
heavy | light = |
0, |
light | heavy = |
0, |
light | light = |
light. |
Thus, (heavy or light) × (heavy or light) = (heavy or light).
Thus, (heavy or light) × (heavy or light) = (heavy or light).
In short, twice two is two unless we take care that the second two has a different meaning from the first. But under similar circumstances logical terms give the like result, and it is not true that A′A″ = A′, when A″ is different in meaning from A′.
In short, twice two is two unless we ensure that the second two means something different from the first. But in similar situations, logical terms yield the same result, and it isn't true that A′A″ = A′ when A″ has a different meaning from A′.
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In a similar manner it may be shown that the Law of Unity
In a similar way, it can be shown that the Law of Unity
holds true alike of logical and mathematical terms. It is absurd indeed to say that
holds true alike of logical and mathematical terms. It is absurd indeed to say that
except in the one case when x = absolute zero. But this contradiction x + x = x arises from the fact that we have already defined the units in one x as differing from those in the other. Under such circumstances the Law of Unity does not apply. For if in
except in the one case when x = absolute zero. But this contradiction x + x = x arises from the fact that we have already defined the units in one x as differing from those in the other. Under such circumstances the Law of Unity does not apply. For if in
we mean that A″ is in any way different from A′ the assertion of identity is evidently false.
we mean that A″ is in any way different from A′ the assertion of identity is obviously false.
The contrast then which seems to exist between logical and mathematical symbols is only apparent. It is because the Laws of Simplicity and Unity must always be observed in the operation of counting that those laws seem no further to apply. This is the understood condition under which we use all numerical symbols. Whenever I write the symbol 5 I really mean
The difference that seems to exist between logical and mathematical symbols is just an illusion. The Laws of Simplicity and Unity have to be followed when counting, which makes it seem like those laws don’t apply anymore. This is the basic principle we follow whenever we use any numerical symbols. When I write the symbol 5, I really mean
and it is perfectly understood that each of these units is distinct from each other. If requisite I might mark them thus
and it's completely clear that each of these units is separate from one another. If needed, I could indicate them like this
Were this not the case and were the units really
Were this not the case and were the units really
the Law of Unity would, as before remarked, apply, and
the Law of Unity would, as mentioned before, apply, and
Mathematical symbols then obey all the laws of logical symbols, but two of these laws seem to be inapplicable simply because they are presupposed in the definition of the mathematical unit. Logic thus lays down the conditions of number, and the science of arithmetic developed as it is into all the wondrous branches of mathematical calculus is but an outgrowth of logical discrimination.
Mathematical symbols follow all the rules of logical symbols, but two of these rules seem not to apply simply because they are assumed in the definition of the mathematical unit. Logic therefore establishes the conditions for numbers, and the field of arithmetic, which has grown into the amazing areas of mathematical calculus, is just a result of logical differentiation.
Principle of Mathematical Inference.
The universal principle of all reasoning, as I have asserted, is that which allows us to substitute like for like. I have now to point out how in the mathematical sciences163 this principle is involved in each step of reasoning. It is in these sciences indeed that we meet with the clearest cases of substitution, and it is the simplicity with which the principle can be applied which probably led to the comparatively early perfection of the sciences of geometry and arithmetic. Euclid, and the Greek mathematicians from the first, recognised equality as the fundamental relation of quantitative thought, but Aristotle rejected the exactly analogous, but far more general relation of identity, and thus crippled the formal science of logic as it has descended to the present day.
The universal principle of all reasoning, as I've said, is the one that lets us replace similar things with each other. I now need to highlight how this principle is at work in each step of reasoning in the mathematical sciences163. It's in these sciences that we encounter the clearest examples of substitution, and it's probably the ease with which this principle can be applied that led to the relatively early development of geometry and arithmetic. Euclid and the early Greek mathematicians recognized equality as the basic relationship in quantitative thinking, but Aristotle dismissed the similarly important, yet much broader, concept of identity, which has hindered the formal science of logic as it has come down to us today.
Geometrical reasoning starts from the axiom that “things equal to the same thing are equal to each other.” Two equalities enable us to infer a third equality; and this is true not only of lines and angles, but of areas, volumes, numbers, intervals of time, forces, velocities, degrees of intensity, or, in short, anything which is capable of being equal or unequal. Two stars equally bright with the same star must be equally bright with each other, and two forces equally intense with a third force are equally intense with each other. It is remarkable that Euclid has not explicitly stated two other axioms, the truth of which is necessarily implied. The second axiom should be that “Two things of which one is equal and the other unequal to a third common thing, are unequal to each other.” An equality and inequality, in short, give an inequality, and this is equally true with the first axiom of all kinds of quantity. If Venus, for instance, agrees with Mars in density, but Mars differs from Jupiter, then Venus differs from Jupiter. A third axiom must exist to the effect that “Things unequal to the same thing may or may not be equal to each other.” Two inequalities give no ground of inference whatever. If we only know, for instance, that Mercury and Jupiter differ in density from Mars, we cannot say whether or not they agree between themselves. As a fact they do not agree; but Venus and Mars on the other hand both differ from Jupiter and yet closely agree with each other. The force of the axioms can be most clearly illustrated by drawing equal and unequal lines.91
Geometric reasoning starts with the idea that “things equal to the same thing are equal to each other.” From two equalities, we can derive a third equality; this applies not just to lines and angles, but to areas, volumes, numbers, time intervals, forces, speeds, levels of intensity, or anything that can be equal or unequal. If two stars are equally bright as the same star, then they must also be equally bright with each other. Similarly, if two forces are equally intense compared to a third force, they are equally intense with one another. It’s interesting that Euclid didn’t explicitly state two other axioms that are logically implied. The second axiom should state that “two things where one is equal and the other is unequal to a third shared thing are unequal to each other.” In short, an equality and an inequality give an inequality, and this holds true for all types of quantities. For example, if Venus and Mars have the same density but Mars is different from Jupiter, then Venus must also be different from Jupiter. A third axiom should say that “things unequal to the same thing may or may not be equal to each other.” Two inequalities provide no basis for inference. For instance, if we know that Mercury and Jupiter have different densities from Mars, we cannot conclude whether they are similar to each other. In reality, they are not similar; however, Venus and Mars both differ from Jupiter and yet closely align with one another. The power of the axioms can be best shown by drawing equal and unequal lines.91
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The general conclusion then must be that where there is equality there may be inference, but where there is not equality there cannot be inference. A plain induction will lead us to believe that equality is the condition of inference concerning quantity. All the three axioms may in fact be summed up in one, to the effect, that “in whatever relation one quantity stands to another, it stands in the same relation to the equal of that other.”
The general conclusion must be that where there is equality, inference can be made, but where there is no equality, inference cannot be made. A straightforward induction leads us to believe that equality is the condition for inference regarding quantity. All three axioms can actually be summed up in one: “in whatever relationship one quantity has to another, it has the same relationship to the equal of that other.”
The active power is always the substitution of equals, and it is an accident that in a pair of equalities we can make the substitution in two ways. From a = b = c we can infer a = c, either by substituting in a = b the value of b as given in b = c, or else by substituting in b = c the value of b as given in a = b. In a = b ~ d we can make but the one substitution of a for b. In e ~ f ~ g we can make no substitution and get no inference.
Active power always involves substituting equal values, and it's coincidental that we can make this substitution in two ways in a pair of equalities. From a = b = c, we can deduce a = c either by replacing b with its value from b = c, or by replacing b in a = b with its value from b = c. In a = b ~ d, we can only substitute a for b. In e ~ f ~ g, we cannot make any substitutions or draw any conclusions.
In mathematics the relations in which terms may stand to each other are far more varied than in pure logic, yet our principle of substitution always holds true. We may say in the most general manner that In whatever relation one quantity stands to another, it stands in the same relation to the equal of that other. In this axiom we sum up a number of axioms which have been stated in more or less detail by algebraists. Thus, “If equal quantities be added to equal quantities, the sums will be equal.” To explain this, let
In mathematics, the relationships between terms are much more diverse than in pure logic, yet our principle of substitution always applies. We can say in the broadest sense that no matter what relationship one quantity has to another, it maintains the same relationship to the equal of that other. This axiom summarizes several axioms that have been expressed in varying detail by algebraists. For example, “If equal quantities are added to equal quantities, the sums will be equal.” To explain this, let
Now a + c, whatever it means, must be identical with itself, so that
Now a + c, whatever that means, must be the same as itself, so that
In one side of this equation substitute for the quantities their equivalents, and we have the axiom proved
On one side of this equation, replace the quantities with their equivalents, and we have the axiom proven.
The similar axiom concerning subtraction is equally evident, for whatever a - c may mean it is equal to a - c, and therefore by substitution to b - d. Again, “if equal quantities be multiplied by the same or equal quantities, the products will be equal,” For evidently
The similar rule about subtraction is just as clear, because whatever a - c means, it equals a - c, and therefore by substitution, it equals b - d. Again, "if equal amounts are multiplied by the same or equal amounts, the results will be equal." Because clearly
and if for c in one side we substitute its equal d, we have
and if for c on one side we replace it with its equal d, we have
and a second similar substitution gives us
and a second similar substitution gives us
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We might prove a like axiom concerning division in an exactly similar manner. I might even extend the list of axioms and say that “Equal powers of equal numbers are equal.” For certainly, whatever a × a × a may mean, it is equal to a × a × a; hence by our usual substitution it is equal to b × b × b. The same will be true of roots of numbers and c√a = d√b provided that the roots are so taken that the root of a shall really be related to a as the root of b is to b. The ambiguity of meaning of an operation thus fails in any way to shake the universality of the principle. We may go further and assert that, not only the above common relations, but all other known or conceivable mathematical relations obey the same principle. Let Qa denote in the most general manner that we do something with the quantity a; then if a = b it follows that
We could explain a similar principle about division in the same way. I could even add to the list of principles and say that “Equal powers of equal numbers are equal.” Because whatever a × a × a means, it is equal to a × a × a; thus, through our usual substitution, it is equal to b × b × b. The same applies to the square roots of numbers, so c√a = d√b, as long as the roots are defined such that the root of a is genuinely related to a in the same way that the root of b is related to b. The ambiguity in the meaning of an operation does not undermine the universality of this principle. We can also say that not only the common relationships mentioned above but all other known or imaginable mathematical relationships follow the same principle. Let Qa represent in the broadest sense that we do something with the quantity a; then if a = b, it follows that
The reader will also remember that one of the most frequent operations in mathematical reasoning is to substitute for a quantity its equal, as known either by assumed, natural, or self-evident conditions. Whenever a quantity appears twice over in a problem, we may apply what we learn of its relations in one place to its relations in the other. All reasoning in mathematics, as in other branches of science, thus involves the principle of treating equals equally, or similars similarly. In whatever way we employ quantitative reasoning in the remaining parts of this work, we never can desert the simple principle on which we first set out.
The reader will also remember that one of the most common operations in mathematical reasoning is to replace a quantity with its equal, which is known either through assumed, natural, or obvious conditions. Whenever a quantity appears twice in a problem, we can apply what we learn about its relationships in one context to its relationships in the other. All reasoning in mathematics, just like in other fields of science, involves the principle of treating equals equally or similars similarly. No matter how we use quantitative reasoning in the rest of this work, we can never abandon the simple principle on which we first started.
Reasoning by Inequalities.
I have stated that all the processes of mathematical reasoning may be deduced from the principle of substitution. Exceptions to this assertion may seem to exist in the use of inequalities. The greater of a greater is undoubtedly a greater, and what is less than a less is certainly less. Snowdon is higher than the Wrekin, and Ben Nevis than Snowdon; therefore Ben Nevis is higher than the Wrekin. But a little consideration discloses sufficient reason for believing that even in such cases,166 where equality does not apparently enter, the force of the reasoning entirely depends upon underlying and implied equalities.
I have stated that all processes of mathematical reasoning can be derived from the principle of substitution. It may seem like there are exceptions to this when it comes to inequalities. The greater of two greater values is definitely greater, and something that is less than a lesser value is certainly less. Snowdon is taller than the Wrekin, and Ben Nevis is taller than Snowdon; therefore, Ben Nevis is taller than the Wrekin. However, with a little thought, it becomes clear that even in these cases, where equality doesn’t seem to play a role, the strength of the reasoning relies entirely on underlying and implied equalities.
In the first place, two statements of mere difference do not give any ground of inference. We learn nothing concerning the comparative heights of St. Paul’s and Westminster Abbey from the assertions that they both differ in height from St. Peter’s at Rome. We need something more than inequality; we require one identity in addition, namely the identity in direction of the two differences. Thus we cannot employ inequalities in the simple way in which we do equalities, and, when we try to express what other conditions are requisite, we find ourselves lapsing into the use of equalities or identities.
First of all, two statements that only highlight differences don’t provide a solid basis for conclusions. We learn nothing about the relative heights of St. Paul’s and Westminster Abbey just by saying that they both differ in height from St. Peter’s in Rome. We need more than just differences; we need one similarity as well, specifically the similarity in the direction of those differences. As a result, we can't use differences in the simple way we use similarities, and when we attempt to clarify what other conditions are needed, we end up using similarities or identities again.
In the second place, every argument by inequalities may be represented in the form of equalities. We express that a is greater than b by the equation
In the second place, every argument involving inequalities can be expressed as equalities. We convey that a is greater than b using the equation
where p is an intrinsically positive quantity, denoting the difference of a and b. Similarly we express that b is greater than c by the equation
where p is a naturally positive value, representing the difference between a and b. In a similar way, we indicate that b is greater than c with the equation
and substituting for b in (1) its value in (2) we have
and replacing b in (1) with its value from (2), we get
Now as p and q are both positive, it follows that a is greater than c, and we have the exact amount of excess specified. It will be easily seen that the reasoning concerning that which is less than a less will result in an equation of the form
Now that p and q are both positive, it follows that a is greater than c, and we have the exact amount of excess specified. It's clear that the reasoning about what is less than a lesser will lead to an equation of the form
Every argument by inequalities may then be thrown into the form of an equality; but the converse is not true. We cannot possibly prove that two quantities are equal by merely asserting that they are both greater or both less than another quantity. From e > f and g > f, or e < f and g < f, we can infer no relation between e and g. And if the reader take the equations x = y = 3 and attempt to prove that therefore x = 3, by throwing them into inequalities, he will find it impossible to do so.
Every argument involving inequalities can be converted into an equal form, but the opposite isn’t true. We can't prove that two quantities are equal just by stating that they are both greater than or both less than another quantity. From e > f and g > f, or e < f and g < f, there’s no way to determine a relationship between e and g. And if the reader takes the equations x = y = 3 and tries to prove that x = 3 by converting them into inequalities, they will find it impossible to do so.
From these considerations I gather that reasoning in arithmetic or algebra by so-called inequalities, is only an imperfectly expressed reasoning by equalities, and when167 we want to exhibit exactly and clearly the conditions of reasoning, we are obliged to use equalities explicitly. Just as in pure logic a negative proposition, as expressing mere difference, cannot be the means of inference, so inequality can never really be the true ground of inference. I do not deny that affirmation and negation, agreement and difference, equality and inequality, are pairs of equally fundamental relations, but I assert that inference is possible only where affirmation, agreement, or equality, some species of identity in fact, is present, explicitly or implicitly.
From these thoughts, I conclude that reasoning in arithmetic or algebra using so-called inequalities is just a poorly expressed form of reasoning using equalities. When we want to clearly and accurately outline the conditions of reasoning, we must rely on equalities explicitly. Just as in pure logic, a negative statement, which only indicates a difference, cannot serve as a basis for inference, inequality cannot truly serve as the foundation for inference either. I acknowledge that affirmation and negation, agreement and difference, equality and inequality, are pairs of equally fundamental relationships, but I argue that inference is only possible when affirmation, agreement, or equality—some form of identity—is present, whether explicitly or implicitly.
Arithmetical Reasoning.
It may seem somewhat inconsistent that I assert number to arise out of difference or discrimination, and yet hold that no reasoning can be grounded on difference. Number, of course, opens a most wide sphere for inference, and a little consideration shows that this is due to the unlimited series of identities which spring up out of numerical abstraction. If six people are sitting on six chairs, there is no resemblance between the chairs and the people in logical character. But if we overlook all the qualities both of a chair and a person and merely remember that there are marks by which each of six chairs may be discriminated from the others, and similarly with the people, then there arises a resemblance between the chairs and the people, and this resemblance in number may be the ground of inference. If on another occasion the chairs are filled by people again, we may infer that these people resemble the others in number though they need not resemble them in any other points.
It might seem a bit contradictory that I claim numbers come from differences or distinctions, yet argue that reasoning can’t be based on those differences. Numbers certainly create a broad space for drawing conclusions, and a little thought shows that this is because of the endless series of similarities that arise from numerical abstraction. If six people are sitting in six chairs, there’s no logical similarity between the chairs and the people. But if we ignore all the traits of both the chairs and the people and simply note that there are ways to identify each of the six chairs from the others, and the same for the people, a similarity develops between the chairs and the people, and this numerical similarity can serve as a basis for inference. If later on, the chairs are occupied by different people, we might conclude that these new people are similar to the previous ones in number, even if they don’t share any other characteristics.
Groups of units are what we really treat in arithmetic. The number five is really 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1, but for the sake of conciseness we substitute the more compact sign 5, or the name five. These names being arbitrarily imposed in any one manner, an infinite variety of relations spring up between them which are not in the least arbitrary. If we define four as 1 + 1 + 1 + 1, and five as 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1, then of course it follows that five = four + 1; but it would be equally possible to take this latter equality as a definition, in which case one of the former equalities would become an inference. It is168 hardly requisite to decide how we define the names of numbers, provided we remember that out of the infinitely numerous relations of one number to others, some one relation expressed in an equality must be a definition of the number in question and the other relations immediately become necessary inferences.
Groups of units are what we actually deal with in arithmetic. The number five is basically 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1, but for the sake of being concise, we use the shorter symbol 5, or the name five. These names are assigned arbitrarily, but they give rise to an endless variety of relationships that are not arbitrary at all. If we define four as 1 + 1 + 1 + 1, and five as 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1, then it naturally follows that five = four + 1; however, it would also be possible to use this latter equality as a definition, which would make one of the earlier equalities an inference. It’s 168 not necessary to determine how we define number names, as long as we remember that among the countless relations one number has with others, at least one relation expressed in an equality must define the number in question, and the other relationships naturally follow as inferences.
In the science of number the variety of classes which can be formed is altogether infinite, and statements of perfect generality may be made subject only to difficulty or exception at the lower end of the scale. Every existing number for instance belongs to the class m + 7; that is, every number must be the sum of another number and seven, except of course the first six or seven numbers, negative quantities not being here taken into account. Every number is the half of some other, and so on. The subject of generalization, as exhibited in mathematical truths, is an infinitely wide one. In number we are only at the first step of an extensive series of generalizations. As number is general compared with the particular things numbered, so we have general symbols for numbers, and general symbols for relations between undetermined numbers. There is an unlimited hierarchy of successive generalizations.
In the study of numbers, the range of categories that can be created is completely limitless, and we can make broad statements that are mostly true, except for some challenges or exceptions at the lower end. For example, every existing number belongs to the category m + 7; this means every number is the sum of another number and seven, except, of course, the first six or seven numbers, while ignoring negative numbers. Every number is also half of some other number, and so on. The idea of generalization, as shown in mathematical truths, is incredibly expansive. When it comes to numbers, we are only at the beginning of a vast series of generalizations. Just as numbers are general compared to the specific items being counted, we have general symbols to represent numbers and to express relationships between undetermined numbers. There is an endless hierarchy of successive generalizations.
Numerically Definite Reasoning.
It was first discovered by De Morgan that many arguments are valid which combine logical and numerical reasoning, although they cannot be included in the ancient logical formulas. He developed the doctrine of the “Numerically Definite Syllogism,” fully explained in his Formal Logic (pp. 141–170). Boole also devoted considerable attention to the determination of what he called “Statistical Conditions,” meaning the numerical conditions of logical classes. In a paper published among the Memoirs of the Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society, Third Series, vol. IV. p. 330 (Session 1869–70), I have pointed out that we can apply arithmetical calculation to the Logical Alphabet. Having given certain logical conditions and the numbers of objects in certain classes, we can either determine the numbers of objects in other classes governed by those conditions, or can show what169 further data are required to determine them. As an example of the kind of questions treated in numerical logic, and the mode of treatment, I give the following problem suggested by De Morgan, with my mode of representing its solution.
It was first discovered by De Morgan that many arguments are valid when they mix logical and numerical reasoning, even though they don't fit into the ancient logical formulas. He developed the idea of the “Numerically Definite Syllogism,” which is explained in his Formal Logic (pp. 141–170). Boole also focused heavily on what he called “Statistical Conditions,” referring to the numerical aspects of logical classes. In a paper published in the Memoirs of the Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society, Third Series, vol. IV. p. 330 (Session 1869–70), I noted that we can use arithmetic to work with the Logical Alphabet. Given certain logical conditions and the counts of objects in specific classes, we can either find the counts of objects in other classes that follow those conditions or identify what additional data is needed to determine them. As an example of the types of questions discussed in numerical logic and how to approach them, I present the following problem suggested by De Morgan, along with my way of representing its solution.
“For every man in the house there is a person who is aged; some of the men are not aged. It follows that some persons in the house are not men.”92
“For every man in the house, there is an elderly person; some of the men are not elderly. Therefore, some people in the house aren’t men.”92
Now let | A = person in house, |
B = male, | |
C = aged. |
By enclosing a logical symbol in brackets, let us denote the number of objects belonging to the class indicated by the symbol. Thus let
By putting a logical symbol in brackets, we can represent the number of objects that belong to the class indicated by that symbol. So let
(A) = |
number of persons in house, |
(AB) = |
number of male persons in house, |
(ABC) = |
number of aged male persons in house, |
and so on. Now if we use w and w′ to denote unknown numbers, the conditions of the problem may be thus stated according to my interpretation of the words—
and so on. Now if we use w and w′ to represent unknown numbers, the conditions of the problem can be stated according to my understanding of the words—
that is to say, the number of persons in the house who are aged is at least equal to, and may exceed, the number of male persons in the house;
that is to say, the number of people in the house who are elderly is at least equal to, and may be more than, the number of males in the house;
that is to say, the number of male persons in the house who are not aged is some unknown positive quantity.
that is to say, the number of men in the house who are not elderly is some unknown positive quantity.
Subtracting the common term (ABC) from each side and substituting for (ABc) its value as given in (2), we get at once
Subtracting the common term (ABC) from both sides and replacing (ABc) with its value from (2), we immediately get
and adding (Abc) to each side, we have
and adding (Abc) to each side, we have
The meaning of this result is that the number of persons in the house who are not men is at least equal to w + w′, and exceeds it by the number of persons in the house who are neither men nor aged (Abc).
The meaning of this result is that the number of people in the house who are not men is at least equal to w + w′, and is greater by the number of people in the house who are neither men nor elderly (Abc).
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170
It should be understood that this solution applies only to the terms of the example quoted above, and not to the general problem for which De Morgan intended it to serve as an illustration.
It should be noted that this solution applies only to the terms of the example given above, and not to the broader problem that De Morgan meant it to illustrate.
As a second instance, let us take the following question:—The whole number of voters in a borough is a; the number against whom objections have been lodged by liberals is b; and the number against whom objections have been lodged by conservatives is c; required the number, if any, who have been objected to on both sides. Taking
As a second example, let’s consider this question:—The total number of voters in a borough is a; the number who have had objections raised against them by liberals is b; and the number who have had objections raised against them by conservatives is c; we need to find the number, if any, who have been objected to by both sides. Taking
B = objected to by liberals,
C = objected to by conservatives,
then we require the value of (ABC). Now the following equation is identically true—
then we need the value of (ABC). Now the following equation is always true—
For if we develop all the terms on the second side we obtain
For if we work through all the terms on the second side, we get
(ABC) = (ABC) + (ABc) + (ABC) + (AbC) + (Abc)
- (ABC) - (ABc) - (AbC) - (Abc);
(ABC) = (ABC) + (ABc) + (ABC) + (AbC) + (Abc)
- (ABC) - (ABc) - (AbC) - (Abc);
and striking out the corresponding positive and negative terms, we have left only (ABC) = (ABC). Since then (1) is necessarily true, we have only to insert the known values, and we have
and removing the matching positive and negative terms, we’re left with only (ABC) = (ABC). Since then (1) is necessarily true, we just need to insert the known values, and we have
Hence the number who have received objections from both sides is equal to the excess, if any, of the whole number of objections over the number of voters together with the number of voters who have received no objection (Abc).
Hence the number of people who have received objections from both sides equals the excess, if there is any, of the total number of objections over the number of voters plus the number of voters who have received no objections (Abc).
The following problem illustrates the expression for the common part of any three classes:—The number of paupers who are blind males, is equal to the excess, if any, of the sum of the whole number of blind persons, added to the whole number of male persons, added to the number of those who being paupers are neither blind nor males, above the sum of the whole number of paupers added to the number of those who, not being paupers, are blind, and to the number of those who, not being paupers, are male.
The following problem demonstrates the formula for the shared aspect of any three categories:—The number of paupers who are blind males is equal to any excess of the total number of blind individuals, plus the total number of males, plus the number of paupers who are neither blind nor male, over the total number of paupers, plus the number of non-paupers who are blind, plus the number of non-paupers who are male.
The reader is requested to prove the truth of the above statement, (1) by his own unaided common sense; (2) by171 the Aristotelian Logic; (3) by the method of numerical logic just expounded; and then to decide which method is most satisfactory.
The reader is asked to verify the truth of the above statement, (1) using their own common sense; (2) by applying Aristotelian logic; (3) by the method of numerical logic just explained; and then to determine which method is most satisfactory.
Numerical meaning of Logical Conditions.
In many cases classes of objects may exist under special logical conditions, and we must consider how these conditions can be interpreted numerically. Every logical proposition gives rise to a corresponding numerical equation. Sameness of qualities occasions sameness of numbers. Hence if
In many cases, groups of objects can exist under specific logical conditions, and we need to consider how these conditions can be interpreted in numerical terms. Every logical proposition leads to a corresponding numerical equation. Similar qualities result in similar numbers. Therefore, if
denotes the identity of the qualities of A and B, we may conclude that
denotes the identity of the qualities of A and B, we may conclude that
It is evident that exactly those objects, and those objects only, which are comprehended under A must be comprehended under B. It follows that wherever we can draw an equation of qualities, we can draw a similar equation of numbers. Thus, from
It is clear that only those objects that fall under A must also fall under B. This means that wherever we can establish an equation of qualities, we can also create a similar equation of numbers. Thus, from
we infer
we gather
and similarly from
and similarly from
meaning that the numbers of A’s and C’s are equal to the number of B’s, we can infer
meaning that the number of A’s and C’s is equal to the number of B’s, we can deduce
But, curiously enough, this does not apply to negative propositions and inequalities. For if
But, interestingly enough, this doesn't apply to negative statements and inequalities. Because if
means that A is identical with B, which differs from D, it does not follow that
means that A is the same as B, which is different from D. It does not mean that
Two classes of objects may differ in qualities, and yet they may agree in number. This point strongly confirms me in the opinion which I have already expressed, that all inference really depends upon equations, not differences.
Two types of things might differ in qualities, but they can still be the same in number. This strongly reinforces my belief that all reasoning truly relies on equations, not on differences.
The Logical Alphabet thus enables us to make a complete analysis of any numerical problem, and though the symbolical statement may sometimes seem prolix, I conceive172 that it really represents the course which the mind must follow in solving the question. Although thought may outstrip the rapidity with which the symbols can be written down, yet the mind does not really follow a different course from that indicated by the symbols. For a fuller explanation of this natural system of Numerically Definite Reasoning, with more abundant illustrations and an analysis of De Morgan’s Numerically Definite Syllogism, I must refer the reader to the paper93 in the Memoirs of the Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society, already mentioned, portions of which, however, have been embodied in the present section.
The Logical Alphabet allows us to thoroughly analyze any numerical problem, and while the symbolic representation might sometimes seem lengthy, I believe172 that it truly reflects the path the mind needs to take to solve the issue. Even though thoughts can move faster than the symbols can be written, the mind still follows the same process indicated by those symbols. For a deeper explanation of this natural system of Numerically Definite Reasoning, along with more examples and an analysis of De Morgan’s Numerically Definite Syllogism, I direct the reader to the paper93 in the Memoirs of the Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society, which has already been mentioned; however, some parts of it have been included in this section.
The reader may be referred, also, to Boole’s writings upon the subject in the Laws of Thought, chap. xix. p. 295, and in a paper on “Propositions Numerically Definite,” communicated by De Morgan, in 1868, to the Cambridge Philosophical Society, and printed in their Transactions, vol. xi. part ii.
The reader can also check out Boole’s writings on the topic in the Laws of Thought, chapter 19, page 295, and in a paper titled “Propositions Numerically Definite,” presented by De Morgan in 1868 to the Cambridge Philosophical Society, which was published in their Transactions, volume xi, part ii.
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CHAPTER IX. THE DIVERSITY OF NATURE, OR THE PRINCIPLE OF COMBINATIONS AND PERMUTATIONS.
Nature may be said to be evolved from the monotony of non-existence by the creation of diversity. It is plausibly asserted that we are conscious only so far as we experience difference. Life is change, and perfectly uniform existence would be no better than non-existence. Certain it is that life demands incessant novelty, and that nature, though it probably never fails to obey the same fixed laws, yet presents to us an apparently unlimited series of varied combinations of events. It is the work of science to observe and record the kinds and comparative numbers of such combinations of phenomena, occurring spontaneously or produced by our interference. Patient and skilful examination of the records may then disclose the laws imposed on matter at its creation, and enable us more or less successfully to predict, or even to regulate, the future occurrence of any particular combination.
Nature can be seen as emerging from the dullness of nothingness through the creation of variety. It's reasonable to say that we are only aware of things to the extent that we experience differences. Life is all about change, and a completely uniform existence would be no better than non-existence. It's clear that life requires constant novelty, and while nature probably always follows the same fixed laws, it presents us with an apparently endless array of varied combinations of events. Science's job is to observe and document the types and relative frequencies of these combinations of phenomena, whether they happen spontaneously or as a result of our intervention. Careful and skilled analysis of the records can then reveal the laws that govern matter from its creation, allowing us to predict, or even manage, the future occurrence of any specific combination.
The Laws of Thought are the first and most important of all the laws which govern the combinations of phenomena, and, though they be binding on the mind, they may also be regarded as verified in the external world. The Logical Alphabet develops the utmost variety of things and events which may occur, and it is evident that as each new quality is introduced, the number of combinations is doubled. Thus four qualities may occur in 16 combinations; five qualities in 32; six qualities in 64; and so on. In general language, if n be the number of 174qualities, 2n is the number of varieties of things which may be formed from them, if there be no conditions but those of logic. This number, it need hardly be said, increases after the first few terms, in an extraordinary manner, so that it would require 302 figures to express the number of combinations in which 1,000 qualities might conceivably present themselves.
The Laws of Thought are the first and most important of all the rules that govern how phenomena combine. Although they apply to the mind, they can also be seen as validated in the real world. The Logical Alphabet brings together the widest range of things and events that can happen, and it’s clear that with each new quality introduced, the number of combinations doubles. So, four qualities can create 16 combinations; five qualities can make 32; six qualities can yield 64; and so on. In simple terms, if n is the number of qualities, then 2n is the total number of different things that can be formed from them, assuming there are only logical conditions. This number quickly escalates after just a few terms, to the point where it would take 302 digits to represent the number of combinations that could arise from 1,000 qualities.
If all the combinations allowed by the Laws of Thought occurred indifferently in nature, then science would begin and end with those laws. To observe nature would give us no additional knowledge, because no two qualities would in the long run be oftener associated than any other two. We could never predict events with more certainty than we now predict the throws of dice, and experience would be without use. But the universe, as actually created, presents a far different and much more interesting problem. The most superficial observation shows that some things are constantly associated with other things. The more mature our examination, the more we become convinced that each event depends upon the prior occurrence of some other series of events. Action and reaction are gradually discovered to underlie the whole scene, and an independent or casual occurrence does not exist except in appearance. Even dice as they fall are surely determined in their course by prior conditions and fixed laws. Thus the combinations of events which can really occur are found to be comparatively restricted, and it is the work of science to detect these restricting conditions.
If all the combinations allowed by the Laws of Thought happened randomly in nature, then science would start and finish with those laws. Observing nature wouldn't give us any extra knowledge because no two qualities would, in the long run, be associated more often than any other two. We could never predict events more reliably than we currently predict dice rolls, and experience would be pointless. However, the universe as it actually exists presents a completely different and much more fascinating challenge. A quick look shows that some things are consistently linked to other things. As we examine more closely, we become more convinced that each event hinges on the previous occurrence of some other chain of events. Action and reaction gradually reveal themselves as fundamental to the whole process, and an independent or random event only seems to exist on the surface. Even the way dice land is definitely influenced by previous conditions and established laws. Therefore, the real combinations of events that can happen are actually quite limited, and it is the job of science to uncover these limiting conditions.
In the English alphabet, for instance, we have twenty-six letters. Were the combinations of such letters perfectly free, so that any letter could be indifferently sounded with any other, the number of words which could be formed without any repetition would be 226 - 1, or 67,108,863, equal in number to the combinations of the twenty-seventh column of the Logical Alphabet, excluding one for the case in which all the letters would be absent. But the formation of our vocal organs prevents us from using the far greater part of these conjunctions of letters. At least one vowel must be present in each word; more than two consonants cannot usually be brought together; and to produce words capable of smooth utterance a number of other rules must be175 observed. To determine exactly how many words might exist in the English language under these circumstances, would be an exceedingly complex problem, the solution of which has never been attempted. The number of existing English words may perhaps be said not to exceed one hundred thousand, and it is only by investigating the combinations presented in the dictionary, that we can learn the Laws of Euphony or calculate the possible number of words. In this example we have an epitome of the work and method of science. The combinations of natural phenomena are limited by a great number of conditions which are in no way brought to our knowledge except so far as they are disclosed in the examination of nature.
In the English alphabet, for example, we have twenty-six letters. If we could freely combine these letters, so that any letter could be used with any other, the total number of unique words we could form would be 226 - 1, or 67,108,863, which matches the combinations from the twenty-seventh column of the Logical Alphabet, minus one for the scenario where all letters are absent. However, the way our vocal organs are structured limits us from using most of these letter combinations. Each word must contain at least one vowel; typically, no more than two consonants can be grouped together, and several other rules must also be followed to create words that can be spoken smoothly. Figuring out exactly how many words could exist in the English language under these conditions would be an extremely complicated task, and no one has ever attempted to solve it. The current number of English words likely doesn't exceed one hundred thousand, and we can only understand the Rules of Euphony or estimate the potential number of words by looking at the combinations listed in the dictionary. This example encapsulates the work and methodology of science. The combinations of natural phenomena are constrained by numerous conditions, which we only discover through the study of nature.
It is often a very difficult matter to determine the numbers of permutations or combinations which may exist under various restrictions. Many learned men puzzled themselves in former centuries over what were called Protean verses, or verses admitting many variations in accordance with the Laws of Metre. The most celebrated of these verses was that invented by Bernard Bauhusius, as follows:94—
It is often really challenging to figure out how many permutations or combinations can exist under different restrictions. Many scholars spent time in previous centuries trying to understand what were called Protean verses, or verses that allow for many variations based on the Laws of Meter. The most famous of these verses was created by Bernard Bauhusius, as follows:94—
One author, Ericius Puteanus, filled forty-eight pages of a work in reckoning up its possible transpositions, making them only 1022. Other calculators gave 2196, 3276, 2580 as their results. Wallis assigned 3096, but without much confidence in the accuracy of his result.95 It required the skill of James Bernoulli to decide that the number of transpositions was 3312, under the condition that the sense and metre of the verse shall be perfectly preserved.
One author, Ericius Puteanus, spent forty-eight pages of a work calculating its possible rearrangements, coming up with only 1022. Other calculators produced results of 2196, 3276, and 2580. Wallis calculated 3096, but he wasn't very confident in the accuracy of his result.95 It took the expertise of James Bernoulli to conclude that the number of rearrangements was 3312, as long as the meaning and meter of the verse were perfectly maintained.
In approaching the consideration of the great Inductive problem, it is very necessary that we should acquire correct notions as to the comparative numbers of combinations which may exist under different circumstances. The doctrine of combinations is that part of mathematical science which applies numerical calculation to determine the numbers of combinations under various conditions. It is a part of the science which really lies at the base not only of other sciences, but of other branches of mathematics.176 The forms of algebraical expressions are determined by the principles of combination, and Hindenburg recognised this fact in his Combinatorial Analysis. The greatest mathematicians have, during the last three centuries, given their best powers to the treatment of this subject; it was the favourite study of Pascal; it early attracted the attention of Leibnitz, who wrote his curious essay, De Arte Combinatoria, at twenty years of age; James Bernoulli, one of the very profoundest mathematicians, devoted no small part of his life to the investigation of the subject, as connected with that of Probability; and in his celebrated work, De Arte Conjectandi, he has so finely described the importance of the doctrine of combinations, that I need offer no excuse for quoting his remarks at full length.
When tackling the significant Inductive problem, it’s crucial for us to have clear ideas about the relative numbers of combinations that can occur under different conditions. The theory of combinations is the part of mathematics that uses numerical calculations to figure out the number of combinations under various situations. This area of study is essential not only for other sciences but also for different branches of mathematics.176 The forms of algebraic expressions are influenced by the principles of combination, and Hindenburg acknowledged this in his Combinatorial Analysis. Over the last three centuries, the greatest mathematicians have devoted their efforts to this field; it was a favorite topic of Pascal, and it caught the interest of Leibnitz early on, who wrote his intriguing essay, De Arte Combinatoria, at just twenty years old. James Bernoulli, one of the most insightful mathematicians, dedicated a significant portion of his life to exploring this subject, especially its connection to Probability. In his famous work, De Arte Conjectandi, he beautifully articulated the significance of the theory of combinations, so I feel no need to apologize for quoting his remarks in full.
“It is easy to perceive that the prodigious variety which appears both in the works of nature and in the actions of men, and which constitutes the greatest part of the beauty of the universe, is owing to the multitude of different ways in which its several parts are mixed with, or placed near, each other. But, because the number of causes that concur in producing a given event, or effect, is oftentimes so immensely great, and the causes themselves are so different one from another, that it is extremely difficult to reckon up all the different ways in which they may be arranged or combined together, it often happens that men, even of the best understandings and greatest circumspection, are guilty of that fault in reasoning which the writers on logic call the insufficient or imperfect enumeration of parts or cases: insomuch that I will venture to assert, that this is the chief, and almost the only, source of the vast number of erroneous opinions, and those too very often in matters of great importance, which we are apt to form on all the subjects we reflect upon, whether they relate to the knowledge of nature, or the merits and motives of human actions.
“It’s easy to see that the incredible variety found in nature's creations and in human actions, which makes up most of the beauty of the universe, comes from the many different ways its parts are mixed or placed close to each other. However, because the number of causes that contribute to a specific event or effect is often so massive, and the causes themselves are so diverse, it’s really hard to count all the different ways they can be arranged or combined. As a result, even the most thoughtful and perceptive people can fall into the logical error known as the insufficient or imperfect enumeration of parts or cases. I would even argue that this is the main—and often the only—source of the many incorrect opinions we form about various topics, whether they concern understanding nature or evaluating the merits and motivations of human actions.”
“It must therefore be acknowledged, that that art which affords a cure to this weakness, or defect, of our understandings, and teaches us so to enumerate all the possible ways in which a given number of things may be mixed and combined together, that we may be certain that we have not omitted any one arrangement of them that can177 lead to the object of our inquiry, deserves to be considered as most eminently useful and worthy of our highest esteem and attention. And this is the business of the art or doctrine of combinations. Nor is this art or doctrine to be considered merely as a branch of the mathematical sciences. For it has a relation to almost every species of useful knowledge that the mind of man can be employed upon. It proceeds indeed upon mathematical principles, in calculating the number of the combinations of the things proposed: but by the conclusions that are obtained by it, the sagacity of the natural philosopher, the exactness of the historian, the skill and judgment of the physician, and the prudence and foresight of the politician may be assisted; because the business of all these important professions is but to form reasonable conjectures concerning the several objects which engage their attention, and all wise conjectures are the results of a just and careful examination of the several different effects that may possibly arise from the causes that are capable of producing them.”96
"It should be recognized that the art which provides a solution to this limitation or flaw in our understanding, and teaches us how to list all the possible ways in which a certain number of things can be mixed and combined, ensures that we do not overlook any arrangement that can lead to our goal, deserves to be seen as incredibly useful and worthy of our greatest respect and focus. This is the purpose of the art or doctrine of combinations. Furthermore, this art or doctrine should not be viewed solely as a branch of the mathematical sciences. It relates to nearly every type of useful knowledge that the human mind can engage with. It is indeed based on mathematical principles when calculating the number of combinations of the given items: but the conclusions that emerge from it can aid the insight of the natural philosopher, the accuracy of the historian, the expertise and judgment of the physician, and the wisdom and foresight of the politician; because the work of all these important professions is simply to form reasonable conjectures about the various subjects that capture their interest, and all wise conjectures result from a thoughtful and careful analysis of the different effects that may arise from the causes that can produce them."96
Distinction of Combinations and Permutations.
We must first consider the deep difference which exists between Combinations and Permutations, a difference involving important logical principles, and influencing the form of mathematical expressions. In permutation we recognise varieties of order, treating AB as a different group from BA. In combination we take notice only of the presence or absence of a certain thing, and pay no regard to its place in order of time or space. Thus the four letters a, e, m, n can form but one combination, but they occur in language in several permutations, as name, amen, mean, mane.
We first need to understand the significant difference between combinations and permutations, a difference that involves key logical principles and affects how mathematical expressions are formed. In a permutation, we recognize different orders, treating AB as a separate arrangement from BA. In a combination, we only consider whether something is present or absent, without regard to its position in time or space. Therefore, the four letters a, e, m, n can create just one combination, but they appear in different permutations in language, such as name, amen, mean, mane.
We have hitherto been dealing with purely logical questions, involving only combination of qualities. I have fully pointed out in more than one place that, though our symbols could not but be written in order of place and read in order of time, the relations expressed had no regard to place or time (pp. 33, 114). The Law of Commutativeness, in fact, expresses the condition that in logic we deal with178 combinations, and the same law is true of all the processes of algebra. In some cases, order may be a matter of indifference; it makes no difference, for instance, whether gunpowder is a mixture of sulphur, carbon, and nitre, or carbon, nitre, and sulphur, or nitre, sulphur, and carbon, provided that the substances are present in proper proportions and well mixed. But this indifference of order does not usually extend to the events of physical science or the operations of art. The change of mechanical energy into heat is not exactly the same as the change from heat into mechanical energy; thunder does not indifferently precede and follow lightning; it is a matter of some importance that we load, cap, present, and fire a rifle in this precise order. Time is the condition of all our thoughts, space of all our actions, and therefore both in art and science we are to a great extent concerned with permutations. Language, for instance, treats different permutations of letters as having different meanings.
We have been focusing on purely logical questions that only involve the combination of qualities. I've noted in several places that, although our symbols have to be arranged in a specific order and read in a specific sequence, the relationships they express don't depend on either order (pp. 33, 114). The Law of Commutativeness basically states that in logic we are dealing with combinations, and this law also applies to all algebraic processes. In some situations, order doesn't matter; for example, it makes no difference whether gunpowder is a mix of sulfur, carbon, and saltpeter, or carbon, saltpeter, and sulfur, as long as the ingredients are in the right proportions and mixed well. However, this indifference to order typically doesn't apply to events in physical science or the processes of art. The conversion of mechanical energy to heat isn’t the same as changing heat back to mechanical energy; thunder doesn't just randomly come before or after lightning; it's important that we load, cap, aim, and fire a rifle in that exact order. Time is essential for all our thoughts, space is essential for all our actions, and therefore, in both art and science, we are significantly interested in permutations. Language, for example, treats different arrangements of letters as having different meanings.
Permutations of things are far more numerous than combinations of those things, for the obvious reason that each distinct thing is regarded differently according to its place. Thus the letters A, B, C, will make different permutations according as A stands first, second, or third; having decided the place of A, there are two places between which we may choose for B; and then there remains but one place for C. Accordingly the permutations of these letters will be altogether 3 × 2 × 1 or 6 in number. With four things or letters, A, B, C, D, we shall have four choices of place for the first letter, three for the second, two for the third, and one for the fourth, so that there will be altogether, 4 × 3 × 2 × 1, or 24 permutations. The same simple rule applies in all cases; beginning with the whole number of things we multiply at each step by a number decreased by a unit. In general language, if n be the number of things in a combination, the number of permutations is
Permutations of items are way more numerous than combinations of those items, for the simple reason that each distinct item is viewed differently based on its position. So, the letters A, B, and C will create different permutations depending on whether A is first, second, or third; once we fix A’s position, there are two spots left for B, and then just one left for C. Therefore, the total permutations of these letters will be 3 × 2 × 1, which equals 6. With four items or letters, A, B, C, and D, we have four choices for the first letter, three for the second, two for the third, and one for the fourth, resulting in a total of 4 × 3 × 2 × 1, which is 24 permutations. This same straightforward rule applies in all cases; starting with the total number of items, we multiply at each step by a number that’s reduced by one. In simpler terms, if n represents the number of items in a combination, the number of permutations is
If we were to re-arrange the names of the days of the week, the possible arrangements out of which we should have to choose the new order, would be no less than 7 . 6 . 5 . 4 . 3 . 2 . 1, or 5040, or, excluding the existing order, 5039.
If we were to rearrange the names of the days of the week, the possible arrangements we could choose for the new order would be 7 × 6 × 5 × 4 × 3 × 2 × 1, which equals 5040, or, not counting the current order, 5039.
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The reader will see that the numbers which we reach in questions of permutation, increase in a more extraordinary manner even than in combination. Each new object or term doubles the number of combinations, but increases the permutations by a factor continually growing. Instead of 2 × 2 × 2 × 2 × .... we have 2 × 3 × 4 × 5 × .... and the products of the latter expression immensely exceed those of the former. These products of increasing factors are frequently employed, as we shall see, in questions both of permutation and combination. They are technically called factorials, that is to say, the product of all integer numbers, from unity up to any number n is the factorial of n, and is often indicated symbolically by n!. I give below the factorials up to that of twelve:—
The reader will notice that the numbers we encounter in permutation questions grow even more dramatically than in combination. Each new object or term doubles the number of combinations, but the permutations increase by a constantly growing factor. Instead of 2 × 2 × 2 × 2 × ..., we have 2 × 3 × 4 × 5 × ..., and the results from the latter expression far exceed those from the former. These products of increasing factors are often used, as we will see, in both permutation and combination questions. They are technically called factorials, meaning that the product of all whole numbers from one up to any number n is the factorial of n, often represented symbolically as n!. Below, I provide the factorials up to that of twelve:—
24 = |
1 . 2 . 3 . 4 |
120 = |
1 . 2 . . . 5 |
720 = |
1 . 2 . . . 6 |
5,040 = |
7! |
40,320 = |
8! |
362,880 = |
9! |
3,628,800 = |
10! |
39,916,800 = |
11! |
479,001,600 = |
12! |
The factorials up to 36! are given in Rees’s ‘Cyclopædia,’ art. Cipher, and the logarithms of factorials up to 265! are to be found at the end of the table of logarithms published under the superintendence of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge (p. 215). To express the factorial 265! would require 529 places of figures.
The factorials up to 36! are listed in Rees's 'Cyclopædia,' art. Cipher, and the logarithms of factorials up to 265! can be found at the end of the logarithm table published under the supervision of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge (p. 215). To write out the factorial 265! would take 529 digits.
Many writers have from time to time remarked upon the extraordinary magnitude of the numbers with which we deal in this subject. Tacquet calculated97 that the twenty-four [sic] letters of the alphabet may be arranged in more than 620 thousand trillions of orders; and Schott estimated98 that if a thousand millions of men were employed for the same number of years in writing out these arrangements, and each man filled each day forty pages with forty arrangements in each, they would not have accomplished the task, as they would have written only 584 thousand trillions instead of 620 thousand trillions.
Many writers have occasionally pointed out the incredible scale of the numbers we encounter in this topic. Tacquet calculated97 that the twenty-four letters of the alphabet can be arranged in over 620 thousand trillions of ways; and Schott estimated98 that if a billion men worked for the same number of years to write out these arrangements, and each man wrote forty pages a day with forty arrangements on each page, they still wouldn't finish, as they would only have written 584 thousand trillions instead of 620 thousand trillions.
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In some questions the number of permutations may be restricted and reduced by various conditions. Some things in a group may be undistinguishable from others, so that change of order will produce no difference. Thus if we were to permutate the letters of the name Ann, according to our previous rule, we should obtain 3 × 2 × 1, or 6 orders; but half of these arrangements would be identical with the other half, because the interchange of the two n’s has no effect. The really different orders will therefore be 3 . 2 . 11 . 2 or 3, namely Ann, Nan, Nna. In the word utility there are two i’s and two t’s, in respect of both of which pairs the numbers of permutations must be halved. Thus we obtain 7 . 6 . 5 . 4 . 3 . 2 . 11 . 2 . 1 . 2 or 1260, as the number of permutations. The simple rule evidently is—when some things or letters are undistinguished, proceed in the first place to calculate all the possible permutations as if all were different, and then divide by the numbers of possible permutations of those series of things which are not distinguished, and of which the permutations have therefore been counted in excess. Thus since the word Utilitarianism contains fourteen letters, of which four are i’s, two a’s, and two t’s, the number of distinct arrangements will be found by dividing the factorial of 14, by the factorials of 4, 2, and 2, the result being 908,107,200. From the letters of the word Mississippi we can get in like manner 11!4! × 4! × 2! or 34,650 permutations, which is not the one-thousandth part of what we should obtain were all the letters different.
In some cases, the number of different arrangements can be limited by different conditions. Some items in a group may be indistinguishable from others, meaning that changing their order won't create any difference. For example, if we rearrange the letters in the name Ann, according to our earlier rule, we would get 3 × 2 × 1, or 6 arrangements; however, half of these would be the same as the other half since switching the two n’s doesn’t change anything. The actually different arrangements will therefore be 3 . 2 . 11 . 2 or 3: Ann, Nan, Nna. In the word utility, there are two i’s and two t’s, meaning the number of arrangements must be halved for both pairs. So, we get 7 . 6 . 5 . 4 . 3 . 2 . 11 . 2 . 1 . 2 or 1260 arrangements total. The basic rule is—when some items or letters are indistinguishable, first calculate all possible arrangements as if they were all different, and then divide by the number of arrangements of the indistinguishable items to avoid overcounting. Therefore, since the word Utilitarianism has fourteen letters, with four i’s, two a’s, and two t’s, the number of unique arrangements will be found by dividing the factorial of 14 by the factorials of 4, 2, and 2, resulting in 908,107,200. From the letters of the word Mississippi, we can similarly obtain 11!4! × 4! × 2! or 34,650 arrangements, which is not even one-thousandth of what we would have if all the letters were different.
Calculation of Number of Combinations.
Although in many questions both of art and science we need to calculate the number of permutations on account of their own interest, it far more frequently happens in scientific subjects that they possess but an indirect interest. As I have already pointed out, we almost always deal in the logical and mathematical sciences with combinations, and variety of order enters181 only through the inherent imperfections of our symbols and modes of calculation. Signs must be used in some order, and we must withdraw our attention from this order before the signs correctly represent the relations of things which exist neither before nor after each other. Now, it often happens that we cannot choose all the combinations of things, without first choosing them subject to the accidental variety of order, and we must then divide by the number of possible variations of order, that we may get to the true number of pure combinations.
Although in many questions related to both art and science we need to calculate the number of permutations due to their own significance, it more often occurs in scientific subjects that they have only an indirect relevance. As I've already noted, we almost always deal in the logical and mathematical sciences with combinations, and the variety of order comes into play only because of the inherent limitations of our symbols and methods of calculation. Signs must be arranged in a particular order, and we need to shift our focus away from this order before the signs can accurately reflect the relationships of things that do not exist before or after one another. It often turns out that we can't select all the combinations of things without first considering them based on the random variety of order, and then we must divide by the number of possible variations of order in order to arrive at the true number of pure combinations.
Suppose that we wish to determine the number of ways in which we can select a group of three letters out of the alphabet, without allowing the same letter to be repeated. At the first choice we can take any one of 26 letters; at the next step there remain 25 letters, any one of which may be joined with that already taken; at the third step there will be 24 choices, so that apparently the whole number of ways of choosing is 26 × 25 × 24. But the fact that one choice succeeded another has caused us to obtain the same combinations of letters in different orders; we should get, for instance, a, p, r at one time, and p, r, a at another, and every three distinct letters will appear six times over, because three things can be arranged in six permutations. To get the number of combinations, then, we must divide the whole number of ways of choosing, by six, the number of permutations of three things, obtaining 26 × 25 × 241 × 2 × 3 or 2,600.
Suppose we want to find out how many ways we can pick a group of three letters from the alphabet, without repeating any letters. For the first choice, we can choose any one of the 26 letters; for the next choice, there are 25 letters left, any of which can be combined with the one we just picked; for the third choice, there will be 24 options left. So, it seems like the total number of ways to choose is 26 × 25 × 24. However, since the order of choice matters, we end up with the same combinations of letters in different sequences; for example, a, p, r once, and p, r, a another time. Each set of three distinct letters will appear six times because three items can be arranged in six different ways. Therefore, to find the number of combinations, we need to divide the total number of ways of choosing by six, the number of permutations of three items, giving us 26 × 25 × 241 × 2 × 3 or 2,600.
It is apparent that we need the doctrine of combinations in order that we may in many questions counteract the exaggerating effect of successive selection. If out of a senate of 30 persons we have to choose a committee of 5, we may choose any of 30 first, any of 29 next, and so on, in fact there will be 30 × 29 × 28 × 27 × 26 selections; but as the actual character of the members of the committee will not be affected by the accidental order of their selection, we divide by 1 × 2 × 3 × 4 × 5, and the possible number of different committees will be 142,506. Similarly if we want to calculate the number of ways in which the eight major planets may come into conjunction, it is evident that they may meet either two at a time or three at a time, or four or more at a time, and as nothing is said as to182 the relative order or place in the conjunction, we require the number of combinations. Now a selection of 2 out of 8 is possible in 8 . 71 . 2 or 28 ways; of 3 out of 8 in 8 . 7 . 61 . 2 . 3 or 56 ways; of 4 out of 8 in 8 . 7 . 6 . 51 . 2 . 3 . 4 or 70 ways; and it may be similarly shown that for 5, 6, 7, and 8 planets, meeting at one time, the numbers of ways are 56, 28, 8, and 1. Thus we have solved the whole question of the variety of conjunctions of eight planets; and adding all the numbers together, we find that 247 is the utmost possible number of modes of meeting.
It's clear that we need the concept of combinations to address many issues and counteract the amplifying effects of successive selection. If we have a senate with 30 members and need to pick a committee of 5, we can choose any of the 30 first, any of the 29 next, and so on. In total, there will be 30 × 29 × 28 × 27 × 26 selections. However, since the actual identity of the committee members isn’t influenced by the random order in which they’re selected, we divide by 1 × 2 × 3 × 4 × 5, which gives us a possible total of 142,506 different committees. Similarly, if we want to determine the number of ways the eight major planets can align, they can come together either two at a time, three at a time, or even four or more at a time, and since there’s no specific mention of the order or position in which they align, we need the number of combinations. A selection of 2 out of 8 can occur in 8.71.2 or 28 ways; for 3 out of 8, it’s 8 . 7 . 61 . 2 . 3 or 56 ways; for 4 out of 8, it’s 8 . 7 . 6 . 51 . 2 . 3 . 4 or 70 ways; similarly, for 5, 6, 7, and 8 planets coming together at once, the number of combinations is 56, 28, 8, and 1, respectively. Therefore, we’ve addressed the entire question of how the eight planets can align, and when we add all the totals together, we find that the maximum possible number of ways they can meet is 247.
In general algebraic language, we may say that a group of m things may be chosen out of a total number of n things, in a number of combinations denoted by the formula
In general algebraic terms, we can say that a group of m items can be selected from a total of n items in a number of combinations represented by the formula
The extreme importance and significance of this formula seems to have been first adequately recognised by Pascal, although its discovery is attributed by him to a friend, M. de Ganières.99 We shall find it perpetually recurring in questions both of combinations and probability, and throughout the formulæ of mathematical analysis traces of its influence may be noticed.
The immense importance and meaning of this formula seems to have first been properly acknowledged by Pascal, even though he credited its discovery to a friend, M. de Ganières.99 You'll find it constantly appearing in questions of combinations and probability, and throughout the formulas of mathematical analysis, you can see signs of its influence.
The Arithmetical Triangle.
The Arithmetical Triangle is a name long since given to a series of remarkable numbers connected with the subject we are treating. According to Montucla100 “this triangle is in the theory of combinations and changes of order, almost what the table of Pythagoras is in ordinary arithmetic, that is to say, it places at once under the eyes the numbers required in a multitude of cases of this theory.” As early as 1544 Stifels had noticed the remarkable properties of these numbers and the mode of their evolution. Briggs, the inventor of the common system of logarithms, was so struck with their importance that he called them the183 Abacus Panchrestus. Pascal, however, was the first who wrote a distinct treatise on these numbers, and gave them the name by which they are still known. But Pascal did not by any means exhaust the subject, and it remained for James Bernoulli to demonstrate fully the importance of the figurate numbers, as they are also called. In his treatise De Arte Conjectandi, he points out their application in the theory of combinations and probabilities, and remarks of the Arithmetical Triangle, “It not only contains the clue to the mysterious doctrine of combinations, but it is also the ground or foundation of most of the important and abstruse discoveries that have been made in the other branches of the mathematics.”101
The Arithmetical Triangle is a name that's been around for a long time, referring to a series of remarkable numbers related to the topic we’re discussing. According to Montucla100 “this triangle is to the theory of combinations and order changes what the Pythagorean table is to basic arithmetic; it immediately presents the numbers needed in many cases of this theory.” As early as 1544, Stifel recognized the remarkable properties of these numbers and how they evolve. Briggs, who invented the common system of logarithms, was so impressed by their significance that he called them the183 Abacus Panchrestus. However, Pascal was the first to write a distinct treatise on these numbers and gave them the name by which they are still known today. Yet, Pascal didn't cover the entire subject, and it was James Bernoulli who fully demonstrated the importance of the figurate numbers, as they are also called. In his treatise De Arte Conjectandi, he highlights their application in the theory of combinations and probabilities, stating about the Arithmetical Triangle, “It not only contains the key to the mysterious doctrine of combinations, but it is also the basis of most important and complex discoveries made in other areas of mathematics.”101
The numbers of the triangle can be calculated in a very easy manner by successive additions. We commence with unity at the apex; in the next line we place a second unit to the right of this; to obtain the third line of figures we move the previous line one place to the right, and add them to the same figures as they were before removal; we can then repeat the same process ad infinitum. The fourth line of figures, for instance, contains 1, 3, 3, 1; moving them one place and adding as directed we obtain:—
The numbers in the triangle can be calculated easily through successive additions. We start with 1 at the top; in the next row, we place another 1 to the right of that. To get the third row of numbers, we shift the previous row one space to the right and add them to the same numbers as they were before moving. We can repeat this process indefinitely. The fourth row of numbers, for example, contains 1, 3, 3, 1; by shifting them one space and adding as instructed, we get:—
Fourth line . . . | 1 |
3 |
3 |
1 |
|||
1 |
3 |
3 |
1 |
||||
Fifth line . . . . . | 1 |
4 |
6 |
4 |
1 |
||
1 |
4 |
6 |
4 |
1 |
|||
Sixth line . . . . . | 1 |
5 |
10 |
10 |
5 |
1 |
Carrying out this simple process through ten more steps we obtain the first seventeen lines of the Arithmetical Triangle as printed on the next page. Theoretically speaking the Triangle must be regarded as infinite in extent, but the numbers increase so rapidly that it soon becomes impracticable to continue the table. The longest table of the numbers which I have found is in Fortia’s “Traité des Progressions” (p. 80), where they are given up to the fortieth line and the ninth column.
Carrying out this simple process through ten more steps, we get the first seventeen lines of the Arithmetical Triangle as shown on the next page. Theoretically, the Triangle is considered infinite, but the numbers grow so quickly that it quickly becomes impractical to keep extending the table. The longest table of numbers I’ve found is in Fortia’s “Traité des Progressions” (p. 80), where they are listed up to the fortieth line and the ninth column.
184
184
THE ARITHMETICAL TRIANGLE.
THE NUMERICAL TRIANGLE.
Line. |
First Column. | ||||||||||||||||
1 |
1 |
Second Column. | |||||||||||||||
2 |
1 |
1 |
Third Column. | ||||||||||||||
3 |
1 |
2 |
1 |
Fourth Column. | |||||||||||||
4 |
1 |
3 |
3 |
1 |
Fifth Column. | ||||||||||||
5 |
1 |
4 |
6 |
4 |
1 |
Sixth Column. | |||||||||||
6 |
1 |
5 |
10 |
10 |
5 |
1 |
Seventh Column. | ||||||||||
7 |
1 |
6 |
15 |
20 |
15 |
6 |
1 |
Eighth Column. | |||||||||
8 |
1 |
7 |
21 |
35 |
35 |
21 |
7 |
1 |
Ninth Column. | ||||||||
9 |
1 |
8 |
28 |
56 |
70 |
56 |
28 |
8 |
1 |
Tenth Column. | |||||||
10 |
1 |
9 |
36 |
84 |
126 |
126 |
84 |
36 |
9 |
1 |
Eleventh Column. | ||||||
11 |
1 |
10 |
45 |
120 |
210 |
252 |
210 |
120 |
45 |
10 |
1 |
Twelfth Column. | |||||
12 |
1 |
11 |
55 |
165 |
330 |
462 |
462 |
330 |
165 |
55 |
11 |
1 |
Thirteenth Column. | ||||
13 |
1 |
12 |
66 |
220 |
495 |
792 |
924 |
792 |
495 |
220 |
66 |
12 |
1 |
Fourteenth Column. | |||
14 |
1 |
13 |
78 |
286 |
715 |
1287 |
1716 |
1716 |
1287 |
715 |
286 |
78 |
13 |
1 |
Fifteenth Column. | ||
15 |
1 |
14 |
91 |
364 |
1001 |
2002 |
3003 |
3432 |
3003 |
2002 |
1001 |
364 |
91 |
14 |
1 |
Sixteenth Column. | |
16 |
1 |
15 |
105 |
455 |
1365 |
3003 |
5005 |
6435 |
6435 |
5005 |
3003 |
1365 |
455 |
105 |
15 |
1 |
Seventeenth Col. |
17 |
1 |
16 |
120 |
560 |
1820 |
4368 |
8008 |
11440 |
12870 |
11440 |
8008 |
4368 |
1820 |
560 |
120 |
16 |
1 |
185
185
Examining these numbers, we find that they are connected by an unlimited series of relations, a few of the more simple of which may be noticed. Each vertical column of numbers exactly corresponds with an oblique series descending from left to right, so that the triangle is perfectly symmetrical in its contents. The first column contains only units; the second column contains the natural numbers, 1, 2, 3, &c.; the third column contains a remarkable series of numbers, 1, 3, 6, 10, 15, &c., which have long been called the triangular numbers, because they correspond with the numbers of balls which may be arranged in a triangular form, thus—
Looking at these numbers, we see they're linked by an endless series of relationships, some of which are simpler to identify. Each vertical column of numbers matches perfectly with a slanted series descending from left to right, making the triangle completely symmetrical in its structure. The first column has only units; the second column contains the natural numbers, 1, 2, 3, etc.; the third column has an interesting series of numbers, 1, 3, 6, 10, 15, etc., which have traditionally been called the triangular numbers, because they represent the number of balls that can be arranged in a triangular shape, like this—

The fourth column contains the pyramidal numbers, so called because they correspond to the numbers of equal balls which can be piled in regular triangular pyramids. Their differences are the triangular numbers. The numbers of the fifth column have the pyramidal numbers for their differences, but as there is no regular figure of which they express the contents, they have been arbitrarily called the trianguli-triangular numbers. The succeeding columns have, in a similar manner, been said to contain the trianguli-pyramidal, the pyramidi-pyramidal numbers, and so on.102
The fourth column has pyramidal numbers, named because they represent the number of equal balls that can be arranged in regular triangular pyramids. Their differences are the triangular numbers. The numbers in the fifth column have pyramidal numbers as their differences, but since there's no specific figure they represent, they've been arbitrarily termed trianguli-triangular numbers. The following columns have similarly been described as containing trianguli-pyramidal, pyramidi-pyramidal numbers, and so on.102
From the mode of formation of the table, it follows that the differences of the numbers in each column will be found in the preceding column to the left. Hence the second differences, or the differences of differences, will be in the second column to the left of any given column, the third differences in the third column, and so on. Thus we may say that unity which appears in the first column is the first difference of the numbers in the second column; the second difference of those in the third column; the third difference of those in the fourth, and so on. The triangle is seen to be a complete classification of all numbers according as they have unity for any of their differences.
From how the table is set up, we can see that the differences in the numbers of each column will be found in the column directly to the left. Therefore, the second differences, or the differences of differences, will be in the second column to the left of any given column, the third differences in the third column, and so on. We can say that the unity in the first column represents the first difference of the numbers in the second column; the second difference of the numbers in the third column; the third difference of the numbers in the fourth column, and so on. The triangle serves as a complete classification of all numbers based on having unity for any of their differences.
Since each line is formed by adding the previous line186 to itself, it is evident that the sum of the numbers in each horizontal line must be double the sum of the numbers in the line next above. Hence we know, without making the additions, that the successive sums must be 1, 2, 4, 8, 16, 32, 64, &c., the same as the numbers of combinations in the Logical Alphabet. Speaking generally, the sum of the numbers in the nth line will be 2n–1.
Since each line is created by adding the previous line to itself, it's clear that the total of the numbers in each horizontal line must be double the total of the numbers in the line above it. Therefore, we know, without needing to do the math, that the consecutive totals must be 1, 2, 4, 8, 16, 32, 64, etc., which is the same as the number of combinations in the Logical Alphabet. In general, the total of the numbers in the nth line will be 2n–1.
Again, if the whole of the numbers down to any line be added together, we shall obtain a number less by unity than some power of 2; thus, the first line gives 1 or 21–1; the first two lines give 3 or 22–1; the first three lines 7 or 23–1; the first six lines give 63 or 26–1; or, speaking in general language, the sum of the first n lines is 2n–1. It follows that the sum of the numbers in any one line is equal to the sum of those in all the preceding lines increased by a unit. For the sum of the nth line is, as already shown, 2n–1, and the sum of the first n - 1 lines is 2n–1–1, or less by a unit.
Again, if you add all the numbers down to any line, you’ll get a number that is one less than some power of 2; for example, the first line gives 1, or 21–1; the first two lines give 3, or 22–1; the first three lines give 7, or 23–1; the first six lines give 63, or 26–1; or, to put it simply, the sum of the first n lines is 2n–1. This means that the sum of the numbers in any one line is equal to the sum of all the previous lines plus one. Since the sum of the nth line is, as shown, 2n–1, and the sum of the first n - 1 lines is 2n–1–1, or one less.
This account of the properties of the figurate numbers does not approach completeness; a considerable, probably an unlimited, number of less simple and obvious relations might be traced out. Pascal, after giving many of the properties, exclaims103: “Mais j’en laisse bien plus que je n’en donne; c’est une chose étrange combien il est fertile en propriétés! Chacun peut s’y exercer.” The arithmetical triangle may be considered a natural classification of numbers, exhibiting, in the most complete manner, their evolution and relations in a certain point of view. It is obvious that in an unlimited extension of the triangle, each number, with the single exception of the number two, has at least two places.
This overview of the properties of figurate numbers isn't exhaustive; there are likely countless additional, less straightforward relationships that could be explored. Pascal, after discussing many of the properties, exclaims: “But I leave behind many more than I present; it’s strange how rich it is in properties! Anyone can practice with it.” The arithmetic triangle can be seen as a natural way to categorize numbers, showcasing their development and relationships from a particular perspective. It’s clear that in an infinite extension of the triangle, every number, except for the number two, has at least two positions.
Though the properties above explained are highly curious, the greatest value of the triangle arises from the fact that it contains a complete statement of the values of the formula (p. 182), for the numbers of combinations of m things out of n, for all possible values of m and n. Out of seven things one may be chosen in seven ways, and seven occurs in the eighth line of the second column. The combinations of two things chosen out of seven are 7 × 61 × 2 or 21, which is the third number in the eighth187 line. The combinations of three things out of seven are 7 × 6 × 51 × 2 × 3 or 35, which appears fourth in the eighth line. In a similar manner, in the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth columns of the eighth line I find it stated in how many ways I can select combinations of 4, 5, 6, and 7 things out of 7. Proceeding to the ninth line, I find in succession the number of ways in which I can select 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8 things, out of 8 things. In general language, if I wish to know in how many ways m things can be selected in combinations out of n things, I must look in the n + 1th line, and take the m + 1th number, as the answer. In how many ways, for instance, can a subcommittee of five be chosen out of a committee of nine. The answer is 126, and is the sixth number in the tenth line; it will be found equal to 9 . 8 . 7 . 6 . 51 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5, which our formula (p. 182) gives.
Though the properties described above are quite interesting, the real value of the triangle comes from the fact that it provides a complete explanation of the values of the formula (p. 182), which represents the number of combinations of m items chosen from n, for all possible values of m and n. For example, from seven items, one can be chosen in seven different ways, and seven is found in the eighth line of the second column. The number of ways to choose two items from seven is 7 × 61 × 2 or 21, which is the third number in the eighth187 line. The combinations of three items from seven are 7 × 6 × 51 × 2 × 3 or 35, which is the fourth number in the eighth line. In a similar way, in the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth columns of the eighth line, I can find the number of ways to select combinations of 4, 5, 6, and 7 items from 7. When I look at the ninth line, I see the number of ways to select 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8 items from 8 items. To put it simply, if I want to know how many ways m items can be chosen as combinations from n items, I should check the n + 1th line and take the m + 1th number for the answer. For example, if I want to know how many ways a subcommittee of five can be selected from a committee of nine, the answer is 126, which is the sixth number in the tenth line; this is also equal to 9 . 8 . 7 . 6 . 51 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5, as our formula (p. 182) indicates.
The full utility of the figurate numbers will be more apparent when we reach the subject of probabilities, but I may give an illustration or two in this place. In how many ways can we arrange four pennies as regards head and tail? The question amounts to asking in how many ways we can select 0, 1, 2, 3, or 4 heads, out of 4 heads, and the fifth line of the triangle gives us the complete answer, thus—
The full utility of the figurate numbers will be clearer when we get to probabilities, but I can provide an example or two here. How many ways can we arrange four pennies with heads and tails? The question comes down to how many ways we can choose 0, 1, 2, 3, or 4 heads out of 4, and the fifth line of the triangle gives us the complete answer, so—
We can select | No |
head and 4 tails in 1 way. |
" |
1 |
head and 3 tails in 4 ways. |
" |
2 |
heads and 2 tails in 6 ways. |
" |
3 |
heads and 1 tail in 4 ways. |
" |
4 |
heads and 0 tail in 1 way. |
The total number of different cases is 16, or 24, and when we come to the next chapter, it will be found that these numbers give us the respective probabilities of all throws with four pennies.
The total number of different cases is 16, or 24, and when we get to the next chapter, you'll find that these numbers represent the probabilities of all outcomes with four pennies.
I gave in p. 181 a calculation of the number of ways in which eight planets can meet in conjunction; the reader will find all the numbers detailed in the ninth line of the arithmetical triangle. The sum of the whole line is 28 or 256; but we must subtract a unit for the case where no planet appears, and 8 for the 8 cases in which only one planet appears; so that the total number of conjunctions188 is 28 – 1 – 8 or 247. If an organ has eleven stops we find in the twelfth line the numbers of ways in which we can draw them, 1, 2, 3, or more at a time. Thus there are 462 ways of drawing five stops at once, and as many of drawing six stops. The total number of ways of varying the sound is 2048, including the single case in which no stop at all is drawn.
I provided a calculation of the number of ways that eight planets can come together in conjunction; the reader can find all the numbers detailed in the ninth line of the arithmetic triangle. The total for that line is 28 or 256, but we need to subtract one for the scenario where no planet is present, and eight for the eight cases where only one planet is there; so the total number of conjunctions188 is 28 – 1 – 8 or 247. If an organ has eleven stops, we find in the twelfth line the different ways we can pull them, either one, two, three, or more at a time. So there are 462 ways to pull five stops at once, and the same number for pulling six stops. The overall number of ways to change the sound is 2048, including the single case where no stop is pulled at all.
One of the most important scientific uses of the arithmetical triangle consists in the information which it gives concerning the comparative frequency of divergencies from an average. Suppose, for the sake of argument, that all persons were naturally of the equal stature of five feet, but enjoyed during youth seven independent chances of growing one inch in addition. Of these seven chances, one, two, three, or more, may happen favourably to any individual; but, as it does not matter what the chances are, so that the inch is gained, the question really turns upon the number of combinations of 0, 1, 2, 3, &c., things out of seven. Hence the eighth line of the triangle gives us a complete answer to the question, as follows:—
One of the key scientific uses of the arithmetic triangle is the information it provides about how often variations from an average occur. Imagine, for the sake of discussion, that everyone is naturally the same height of five feet but has seven independent opportunities to grow an additional inch during their youth. Out of these seven opportunities, one, two, three, or more may work out for any individual. However, since it doesn't matter what the specific chances are as long as the inch is gained, the core question is really about the number of combinations of 0, 1, 2, 3, etc., out of seven. Therefore, the eighth line of the triangle gives us a complete answer to the question, as follows:—
Out of every 128 people—
Out of every 128 people—
Feet |
Inches. |
||||
One |
person | would have |
the stature of |
5 |
0 |
7 |
persons | " |
" |
5 |
1 |
21 |
persons | " |
" |
5 |
2 |
35 |
persons | " |
" |
5 |
3 |
35 |
persons | " |
" |
5 |
4 |
21 |
persons | " |
" |
5 |
5 |
7 |
persons | " |
" |
5 |
6 |
1 |
person | " |
" |
5 |
7 |
By taking a proper line of the triangle, an answer may be had under any more natural supposition. This theory of comparative frequency of divergence from an average, was first adequately noticed by Quetelet, and has lately been employed in a very interesting and bold manner by Mr. Francis Galton,104 in his remarkable work on “Hereditary Genius.” We shall afterwards find that the theory of error, to which is made the ultimate appeal in cases of quantitative investigation, is founded upon the189 comparative numbers of combinations as displayed in the triangle.
By taking a proper line of the triangle, you can find an answer under any more natural assumption. This theory of the varying frequency of deviation from an average was first thoroughly noted by Quetelet and has recently been used in a very interesting and daring way by Mr. Francis Galton,104 in his remarkable work on “Hereditary Genius.” Later, we will see that the theory of error, which is ultimately referenced in cases of quantitative analysis, is based on the189 comparative numbers of combinations shown in the triangle.
Connection between the Arithmetical Triangle and the Logical Alphabet.
There exists a close connection between the arithmetical triangle described in the last section, and the series of combinations of letters called the Logical Alphabet. The one is to mathematical science what the other is to logical science. In fact the figurate numbers, or those exhibited in the triangle, are obtained by summing up the logical combinations. Accordingly, just as the total of the numbers in each line of the triangle is twice as great as that for the preceding line (p. 186), so each column of the Alphabet (p. 94) contains twice as many combinations as the preceding one. The like correspondence also exists between the sums of all the lines of figures down to any particular line, and of the combinations down to any particular column.
There’s a close relationship between the arithmetic triangle discussed in the last section and the series of letter combinations known as the Logical Alphabet. One relates to mathematical science and the other to logical science. In fact, the figurate numbers shown in the triangle are created by adding up the logical combinations. Just as the total of the numbers in each row of the triangle is twice as much as that of the previous row (p. 186), each column of the Alphabet (p. 94) has twice as many combinations as the column before it. This same connection also applies to the sums of all the figures in any particular row and to the combinations in any particular column.
By examining any column of the Logical Alphabet we find that the combinations naturally group themselves according to the figurate numbers. Take the combinations of the letters A, B, C, D; they consist of all the ways in which I can choose four, three, two, one, or none of the four letters, filling up the vacant spaces with negative terms.
By looking at any column of the Logical Alphabet, we see that the combinations tend to organize themselves based on figurate numbers. For example, the combinations of the letters A, B, C, D include all the possible ways I can select four, three, two, one, or none of the four letters, filling in the empty spaces with negative terms.
There is one combination, ABCD, in which all the positive letters are present; there are four combinations in each of which three positive letters are present; six in which two are present; four in which only one is present; and, finally, there is the single case, abcd, in which all positive letters are absent. These numbers, 1, 4, 6, 4, 1, are those of the fifth line of the arithmetical triangle, and a like correspondence will be found to exist in each column of the Logical Alphabet.
There is one combination, ABCD, where all the positive letters are included; there are four combinations with three positive letters; six combinations with two positive letters; four combinations with just one positive letter; and finally, there’s the one case, abcd, where all positive letters are missing. These numbers, 1, 4, 6, 4, 1, represent the fifth line of the numerical triangle, and a similar pattern can be found in each column of the Logical Alphabet.
Numerical abstraction, it has been asserted, consists in overlooking the kind of difference, and retaining only a consciousness of its existence (p. 158). While in logic, then, we have to deal with each combination as a separate kind of thing, in arithmetic we distinguish only the classes which depend upon more or less positive terms being190 present, and the numbers of these classes immediately produce the numbers of the arithmetical triangle.
Numerical abstraction, it has been said, involves ignoring the specific differences and only being aware of their existence (p. 158). While in logic, we have to treat each combination as a unique type of thing, in arithmetic we only distinguish the groups based on the presence of more or fewer positive terms being190 present, and the counts of these groups directly generate the numbers of the arithmetic triangle.
It may here be pointed out that there are two modes in which we can calculate the whole number of combinations of certain things. Either we may take the whole number at once as shown in the Logical Alphabet, in which case the number will be some power of two, or else we may calculate successively, by aid of permutations, the number of combinations of none, one, two, three things, and so on. Hence we arrive at a necessary identity between two series of numbers. In the case of four things we shall have
It’s important to note that there are two ways we can calculate the total number of combinations of certain items. We can either consider the entire number at once, as demonstrated in the Logical Alphabet, where the total will be a power of two, or we can calculate progressively, using permutations, the number of combinations of none, one, two, three items, and so on. This leads us to an essential connection between two series of numbers. In the case of four items, we will have
In a general form of expression we shall have
In general terms, we will have
the terms being continued until they cease to have any value. Thus we arrive at a proof of simple cases of the Binomial Theorem, of which each column of the Logical Alphabet is an exemplification. It may be shown that all other mathematical expansions likewise arise out of simple processes of combination, but the more complete consideration of this subject must be deferred to another work.
the terms will continue until they lose all value. This leads us to a proof of basic examples of the Binomial Theorem, each column of the Logical Alphabet demonstrating this. It's possible to show that all other mathematical expansions also come from straightforward combination processes, but a more thorough exploration of this topic will have to wait for another work.
Possible Variety of Nature and Art.
We cannot adequately understand the difficulties which beset us in certain branches of science, unless we have some clear idea of the vast numbers of combinations or permutations which may be possible under certain conditions. Thus only can we learn how hopeless it would be to attempt to treat nature in detail, and exhaust the whole number of events which might arise. It is instructive to consider, in the first place, how immensely great are the numbers of combinations with which we deal in many arts and amusements.
We can't fully grasp the challenges we face in certain areas of science unless we have a clear understanding of the countless combinations or permutations that could occur under specific conditions. Only then can we realize how futile it would be to try to analyze nature in detail and cover every possible event that might happen. It's enlightening to first consider just how incredibly large the numbers of combinations we encounter in many arts and entertainment are.
In dealing a pack of cards, the number of hands, of thirteen cards each, which can be produced is evidently 52 × 51 × 50 × ... × 40 divided by 1 × 2 × 3 ... × 13. or 635,013,559,600. But in whist four hands are simultaneously191 held, and the number of distinct deals becomes so vast that it would require twenty-eight figures to express it. If the whole population of the world, say one thousand millions of persons, were to deal cards day and night, for a hundred million of years, they would not in that time have exhausted one hundred-thousandth part of the possible deals. Even with the same hands of cards the play may be almost infinitely varied, so that the complete variety of games at whist which may exist is almost incalculably great. It is in the highest degree improbable that any one game of whist was ever exactly like another, except it were intentionally so.
When dealing a pack of cards, the number of hands, each containing thirteen cards, that can be made is clearly 52 × 51 × 50 × ... × 40 divided by 1 × 2 × 3 ... × 13, which equals 635,013,559,600. However, in whist, four hands are held simultaneously, and the number of distinct deals becomes so enormous that it would take twenty-eight digits to express it. If the entire population of the world, let’s say one billion people, dealt cards day and night for a hundred million years, they wouldn't even have gone through one hundred-thousandth of the possible deals. Even with the same hands of cards, the gameplay can vary almost infinitely, making the complete range of whist games that could exist almost impossible to calculate. It is highly unlikely that any single game of whist has ever been exactly like another, unless it was done on purpose.
The end of novelty in art might well be dreaded, did we not find that nature at least has placed no attainable limit, and that the deficiency will lie in our inventive faculties. It would be a cheerless time indeed when all possible varieties of melody were exhausted, but it is readily shown that if a peal of twenty-four bells had been rung continuously from the so-called beginning of the world to the present day, no approach could have been made to the completion of the possible changes. Nay, had every single minute been prolonged to 10,000 years, still the task would have been unaccomplished.105 As regards ordinary melodies, the eight notes of a single octave give more than 40,000 permutations, and two octaves more than a million millions. If we were to take into account the semitones, it would become apparent that it is impossible to exhaust the variety of music. When the late Mr. J. S. Mill, in a depressed state of mind, feared the approaching exhaustion of musical melodies, he had certainly not bestowed sufficient study on the subject of permutations.
The end of new ideas in art might be troubling, if not for the fact that nature has no reachable limit, and the shortcoming would only be in our ability to create. It would be a gloomy time indeed if all possible types of melody were used up, but it’s easy to show that if a set of twenty-four bells had been rung nonstop from the beginning of time to now, we still wouldn't have come close to exploring all the possible variations. In fact, even if every single minute lasted 10,000 years, the task would remain unfinished.105 When it comes to regular melodies, the eight notes in a single octave provide over 40,000 combinations, and two octaves yield more than a trillion. If we also consider the semitones, it becomes clear that it’s impossible to run out of musical variety. When the late Mr. J. S. Mill, feeling down, worried about the impending depletion of musical melodies, he surely hadn't looked deeply enough into the topic of permutations.
Similar considerations apply to the possible number of natural substances, though we cannot always give precise numerical results. It was recommended by Hatchett106 that a systematic examination of all alloys of metals should be carried out, proceeding from the binary ones to more complicated ternary or quaternary ones. He can hardly have been aware of the extent of his proposed192 inquiry. If we operate only upon thirty of the known metals, the number of binary alloys would be 435, of ternary alloys 4060, of quaternary 27,405, without paying regard to the varying proportions of the metals, and only regarding the kind of metal. If we varied all the ternary alloys by quantities not less than one per cent., the number of these alloys would be 11,445,060. An exhaustive investigation of the subject is therefore out of the question, and unless some laws connecting the properties of the alloy and its components can be discovered, it is not apparent how our knowledge of them can ever be more than fragmentary.
Similar considerations apply to the potential number of natural substances, although we can't always provide exact numerical results. Hatchett suggested that a systematic examination of all metal alloys should be conducted, starting with binary alloys and moving on to more complicated ternary or quaternary ones. He likely didn't realize the magnitude of his proposed inquiry. If we only consider thirty of the known metals, the number of binary alloys would be 435, ternary alloys 4,060, and quaternary alloys 27,405, without accounting for the varying proportions of the metals and only considering the type of metal. If we changed all the ternary alloys by amounts of at least one percent, the number of these alloys would be 11,445,060. Therefore, a comprehensive investigation of the subject is impractical, and unless some laws linking the properties of the alloy and its components can be discovered, it’s unclear how our knowledge of them can ever be more than incomplete.
The possible variety of definite chemical compounds, again, is enormously great. Chemists have already examined many thousands of inorganic substances, and a still greater number of organic compounds;107 they have nevertheless made no appreciable impression on the number which may exist. Taking the number of elements at sixty-one, the number of compounds containing different selections of four elements each would be more than half a million (521,855). As the same elements often combine in many different proportions, and some of them, especially carbon, have the power of forming an almost endless number of compounds, it would hardly be possible to assign any limit to the number of chemical compounds which may be formed. There are branches of physical science, therefore, of which it is unlikely that scientific men, with all their industry, can ever obtain a knowledge in any appreciable degree approaching to completeness.
The potential variety of specific chemical compounds is incredibly vast. Chemists have already studied thousands of inorganic substances and an even larger number of organic compounds;107 however, they have still barely scratched the surface of the number that could exist. With sixty-one elements, the number of compounds made from different combinations of four elements each would exceed half a million (521,855). Since the same elements can combine in many different proportions, and some, particularly carbon, can form an almost limitless number of compounds, it’s nearly impossible to set a cap on the number of chemical compounds that can be created. Therefore, there are areas of physical science that it’s unlikely scientists, no matter how diligent, can ever fully understand.
Higher Orders of Variety.
The consideration of the facts already given in this chapter will not produce an adequate notion of the possible variety of existence, unless we consider the comparative numbers of combinations of different orders. By a combination of a higher order, I mean a combination of groups, which are themselves groups. The immense numbers of compounds of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen,193 described in organic chemistry, are combinations of a second order, for the atoms are groups of groups. The wave of sound produced by a musical instrument may be regarded as a combination of motions; the body of sound proceeding from a large orchestra is therefore a complex aggregate of sounds, each in itself a complex combination of movements. All literature may be said to be developed out of the difference of white paper and black ink. From the unlimited number of marks which might be chosen we select twenty-six conventional letters. The pronounceable combinations of letters are probably some trillions in number. Now, as a sentence is a selection of words, the possible sentences must be inconceivably more numerous than the words of which it may be composed. A book is a combination of sentences, and a library is a combination of books. A library, therefore, may be regarded as a combination of the fifth order, and the powers of numerical expression would be severely tasked in attempting to express the number of distinct libraries which might be constructed. The calculation, of course, would not be possible, because the union of letters in words, of words in sentences, and of sentences in books, is governed by conditions so complex as to defy analysis. I wish only to point out that the infinite variety of literature, existing or possible, is all developed out of one fundamental difference. Galileo remarked that all truth is contained in the compass of the alphabet. He ought to have said that it is all contained in the difference of ink and paper.
The facts discussed in this chapter won’t give a complete understanding of the possible variety of existence unless we look at the different ways these combinations can be organized. By a combination of a higher order, I mean groups that are themselves made up of other groups. The huge number of compounds made of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen described in organic chemistry are combinations of a second order, since the atoms are groups of groups. The sound produced by a musical instrument can be seen as a combination of motions; the sound from a large orchestra is therefore a complex mix of sounds, each itself a complicated combination of movements. All literature can be seen as created from the contrast between white paper and black ink. From the countless marks that could be used, we choose twenty-six standard letters. The pronounceable combinations of these letters are probably in the trillions. Now, since a sentence is made up of words, the number of possible sentences must be unimaginably greater than the number of words that form them. A book is made up of sentences, and a library is made up of books. So, a library can be seen as a combination of the fifth order, and trying to calculate the number of different libraries that could be created would be nearly impossible. The calculation would be unfeasible, since the way letters combine into words, words into sentences, and sentences into books is influenced by rules that are too complex to break down. I just want to highlight that the endless variety of literature, whether existing or possible, comes from one fundamental difference. Galileo said that all truth can be found within the alphabet, but he should have pointed out that it lies in the difference between ink and paper.
One consequence of successive combination is that the simplest marks will suffice to express any information. Francis Bacon proposed for secret writing a biliteral cipher, which resolves all letters of the alphabet into permutations of the two letters a and b. Thus A was aaaaa, B aaaab, X babab, and so on.108 In a similar way, as Bacon clearly saw, any one difference can be made the ground of a code of signals; we can express, as he says, omnia per omnia. The Morse alphabet uses only a succession of long and short marks, and other systems of telegraphic language employ right and left strokes. A single lamp obscured at various intervals, long or194 short, may be made to spell out any words, and with two lamps, distinguished by colour, position, or any other circumstance, we could at once represent Bacon’s biliteral alphabet. Babbage ingeniously suggested that every lighthouse in the world should be made to spell out its own name or number perpetually, by flashes or obscurations of various duration and succession. A system like that of Babbage is now being applied to lighthouses in the United Kingdom by Sir W. Thomson and Dr. John Hopkinson.
One result of combining things repeatedly is that simple symbols can convey any information. Francis Bacon proposed a two-letter cipher for secret writing, which breaks down all letters of the alphabet into combinations of the two letters a and b. So, A was aaaaa, B aaaab, X babab, and so forth.108 Similarly, as Bacon clearly understood, any single difference can serve as the basis for a code of signals; we can express, as he puts it, omnia per omnia. The Morse code relies solely on sequences of long and short signals, and other telegraphic systems use right and left strokes. A single lamp turned off and on at different intervals, long or short, can be used to spell out any words, and with two lamps that vary in color, position, or any other feature, we could immediately represent Bacon’s two-letter alphabet. Babbage cleverly suggested that every lighthouse worldwide should continuously flash or dim in a way that spells out its name or number. This type of system is currently being implemented in lighthouses in the United Kingdom by Sir W. Thomson and Dr. John Hopkinson.
Let us calculate the numbers of combinations of different orders which may arise out of the presence or absence of a single mark, say A. In these figures
Let’s figure out the different combinations that can come from either the presence or absence of a single mark, let’s say A. In these figures
A |
A |
A |
A |
A |
A |
A |
A |
we have four distinct varieties. Form them into a group of a higher order, and consider in how many ways we may vary that group by omitting one or more of the component parts. Now, as there are four parts, and any one may be present or absent, the possible varieties will be 2 × 2 × 2 × 2, or 16 in number. Form these into a new whole, and proceed again to create variety by omitting any one or more of the sixteen. The number of possible changes will now be 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2, or 216, and we can repeat the process again and again. We are imagining the creation of objects, whose numbers are represented by the successive orders of the powers of two.
We have four distinct varieties. Group them into a higher order and think about how many ways we can change that group by leaving out one or more of the components. Since there are four parts, and each one can be either included or excluded, the possible combinations will be 2 × 2 × 2 × 2, or 16 in total. Combine these into a new whole, and then create variations again by omitting any one or more of the sixteen. The number of possible changes will now be 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2 . 2, or 216, and we can keep repeating this process indefinitely. We're envisioning the creation of objects, with their quantities represented by the successive orders of the powers of two.
At the first step we have 2; at the next 22, or 4; at the third (22)2, or 16, numbers of very moderate amount. Let the reader calculate the next term, ((22)2)2, and he will be surprised to find it leap up to 65,536. But at the next step he has to calculate the value of 65,536 two’s multiplied together, and it is so great that we could not possibly compute it, the mere expression of the result requiring 19,729 places of figures. But go one step more and we pass the bounds of all reason. The sixth order of the powers of two becomes so great, that we could not even express the number of figures required in writing it down, without using about 19,729 figures for the purpose. The successive orders of the powers of two have then the195 following values so far as we can succeed in describing them:—
At the first step, we have 2; at the next, 22, or 4; at the third, (22)2, or 16, which are fairly small numbers. Let the reader calculate the next term, ((22)2)2, and they will be surprised to see it jump up to 65,536. But at the next step, they have to figure out the value of 65,536 twos multiplied together, which is so immense that it's impossible to compute; even writing down the result would take 19,729 digits. If we go one step further, we exceed all reason. The sixth power of two becomes so large that we couldn't even express the number of digits needed to write it down without using about 19,729 digits for that purpose. The successive orders of the powers of two have then the195 following values as far as we can describe them:—
First order | 2 |
|
Second order | 4 |
|
Third order | 16 |
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Fourth order | 65,536 |
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Fifth order, number expressed by | 19,729 |
figures. |
Sixth order, number expressed by figures, to express the number of which figures would require about |
19,729 |
figures. |
It may give us some notion of infinity to remember that at this sixth step, having long surpassed all bounds of intuitive conception, we make no approach to a limit. Nay, were we to make a hundred such steps, we should be as far away as ever from actual infinity.
It might give us an idea of infinity to keep in mind that at this sixth step, after going far beyond all the limits of our intuitive understanding, we don’t get any closer to a limit. In fact, even if we took a hundred more steps like this, we would still be just as far from actual infinity.
It is well worth observing that our powers of expression rapidly overcome the possible multitude of finite objects which may exist in any assignable space. Archimedes showed long ago, in one of the most remarkable writings of antiquity, the Liber de Arcnæ Numero, that the grains of sand in the world could be numbered, or rather, that if numbered, the result could readily be expressed in arithmetical notation. Let us extend his problem, and ascertain whether we could express the number of atoms which could exist in the visible universe. The most distant stars which can now be seen by telescopes—those of the sixteenth magnitude—are supposed to have a distance of about 33,900,000,000,000,000 miles. Sir W. Thomson has shown reasons for supposing that there do not exist more than from 3 × 1024 to 1026 molecules in a cubic centimetre of a solid or liquid substance.109 Assuming these data to be true, for the sake of argument, a simple calculation enables us to show that the almost inconceivably vast sphere of our stellar system if entirely filled with solid matter, would not contain more than about 68 × 1090 atoms, that is to say, a number requiring for its expression 92 places of figures. Now, this number would be immensely less than the fifth order of the powers of two.
It’s important to note that our ability to express ideas quickly surpasses the possible number of finite objects that could exist in any given space. Archimedes demonstrated long ago, in one of the most extraordinary writings from ancient times, the Liber de Arcnæ Numero, that the grains of sand in the world could be counted, or rather, that if they were counted, the result could easily be represented in mathematical notation. Let’s expand on his problem and find out whether we could express the number of atoms that could exist in the visible universe. The farthest stars we can currently see through telescopes—those of the sixteenth magnitude—are believed to be about 33,900,000,000,000,000 miles away. Sir W. Thomson has provided reasons to believe that there are no more than 3 × 1024 to 1026 molecules in a cubic centimeter of a solid or liquid substance.109 Assuming these figures are accurate for the sake of the argument, a simple calculation shows that the incredibly vast volume of our stellar system, if completely filled with solid matter, would contain no more than about 68 × 1090 atoms, which means it would require 92 digits to express that number. Now, this figure would be immensely smaller than the fifth order of the powers of two.
In the variety of logical relations, which may exist196 between a certain number of logical terms, we also meet a case of higher combinations. We have seen (p. 142) that with only six terms the number of possible selections of combinations is 18,446,744,073,709,551,616. Considering that it is the most common thing in the world to use an argument involving six objects or terms, it may excite some surprise that the complete investigation of the relations in which six such terms may stand to each other, should involve an almost inconceivable number of cases. Yet these numbers of possible logical relations belong only to the second order of combinations.
In the various logical relationships that can exist between a certain number of logical terms, we also find a case of more complex combinations. We have seen (p. 142) that with just six terms, the number of potential combinations is 18,446,744,073,709,551,616. Since it’s quite common to use arguments involving six objects or terms, it may be surprising that fully exploring the relationships among these six terms can lead to an almost unimaginable number of cases. However, these figures for possible logical relationships only pertain to the second order of combinations.
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CHAPTER X.
Probability Theory.
The subject upon which we now enter must not be regarded as an isolated and curious branch of speculation. It is the necessary basis of the judgments we make in the prosecution of science, or the decisions we come to in the conduct of ordinary affairs. As Butler truly said, “Probability is the very guide of life.” Had the science of numbers been studied for no other purpose, it must have been developed for the calculation of probabilities. All our inferences concerning the future are merely probable, and a due appreciation of the degree of probability depends upon a comprehension of the principles of the subject. I am convinced that it is impossible to expound the methods of induction in a sound manner, without resting them upon the theory of probability. Perfect knowledge alone can give certainty, and in nature perfect knowledge would be infinite knowledge, which is clearly beyond our capacities. We have, therefore, to content ourselves with partial knowledge—knowledge mingled with ignorance, producing doubt.
The topic we're about to discuss shouldn't be seen as just a separate and strange area of thought. It's the essential foundation for the judgments we make in scientific pursuits and the decisions we reach in everyday life. As Butler accurately stated, “Probability is the very guide of life.” The study of numbers exists largely for the calculation of probabilities. All our predictions about the future are inherently uncertain, and understanding the level of that uncertainty relies on grasping the principles of this subject. I believe that explaining the methods of induction effectively is impossible without grounding them in the theory of probability. Only complete knowledge can provide certainty, and in nature, complete knowledge would mean infinite knowledge, which is clearly beyond what we can achieve. Therefore, we must settle for partial knowledge—knowledge mixed with ignorance, leading to doubt.
A great difficulty in this subject consists in acquiring a precise notion of the matter treated. What is it that we number, and measure, and calculate in the theory of probabilities? Is it belief, or opinion, or doubt, or knowledge, or chance, or necessity, or want of art? Does probability exist in the things which are probable, or in the mind which regards them as such? The etymology of the name lends us no assistance: for, curiously enough, probable is ultimately the same word as provable, a good instance of one word becoming differentiated to two opposite meanings.
A major challenge in this topic is getting a clear understanding of what we're discussing. What are we actually counting, measuring, and calculating in probability theory? Is it belief, opinion, doubt, knowledge, chance, necessity, or a lack of skill? Does probability exist in the things that are considered probable, or in the mind that views them that way? The origin of the term doesn’t help us much either: interestingly, probable comes from the same root as provable, which shows how one word can split into two completely opposite meanings.
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Chance cannot be the subject of the theory, because there is really no such thing as chance, regarded as producing and governing events. The word chance signifies falling, and the notion of falling is continually used as a simile to express uncertainty, because we can seldom predict how a die, a coin, or a leaf will fall, or when a bullet will hit the mark. But everyone sees, after a little reflection, that it is in our knowledge the deficiency lies, not in the certainty of nature’s laws. There is no doubt in lightning as to the point it shall strike; in the greatest storm there is nothing capricious; not a grain of sand lies upon the beach, but infinite knowledge would account for its lying there; and the course of every falling leaf is guided by the principles of mechanics which rule the motions of the heavenly bodies.
Chance cannot be the subject of the theory, because there really is no such thing as chance when it comes to producing and governing events. The word chance means falling, and the idea of falling is often used as a metaphor to express uncertainty, since we can rarely predict how a die, a coin, or a leaf will land, or when a bullet will hit its target. But anyone can see, after a bit of thought, that the issue lies in our knowledge, not in the certainty of nature's laws. There is no uncertainty about where lightning will strike; in the fiercest storm, nothing is random; not a grain of sand sits on the beach without infinite knowledge explaining why it’s there; and the path of every falling leaf is determined by the same principles of mechanics that guide the movements of celestial bodies.
Chance then exists not in nature, and cannot coexist with knowledge; it is merely an expression, as Laplace remarked, for our ignorance of the causes in action, and our consequent inability to predict the result, or to bring it about infallibly. In nature the happening of an event has been pre-determined from the first fashioning of the universe. Probability belongs wholly to the mind. This is proved by the fact that different minds may regard the very same event at the same time with widely different degrees of probability. A steam-vessel, for instance, is missing and some persons believe that she has sunk in mid-ocean; others think differently. In the event itself there can be no such uncertainty; the steam-vessel either has sunk or has not sunk, and no subsequent discussion of the probable nature of the event can alter the fact. Yet the probability of the event will really vary from day to day, and from mind to mind, according as the slightest information is gained regarding the vessels met at sea, the weather prevailing there, the signs of wreck picked up, or the previous condition of the vessel. Probability thus belongs to our mental condition, to the light in which we regard events, the occurrence or non-occurrence of which is certain in themselves. Many writers accordingly have asserted that probability is concerned with degree or quantity of belief. De Morgan says,110 “By degree of probability199 we really mean or ought to mean degree of belief.” The late Professor Donkin expressed the meaning of probability as “quantity of belief;” but I have never felt satisfied with such definitions of probability. The nature of belief is not more clear to my mind than the notion which it is used to define. But an all-sufficient objection is, that the theory does not measure what the belief is, but what it ought to be. Few minds think in close accordance with the theory, and there are many cases of evidence in which the belief existing is habitually different from what it ought to be. Even if the state of belief in any mind could be measured and expressed in figures, the results would be worthless. The value of the theory consists in correcting and guiding our belief, and rendering our states of mind and consequent actions harmonious with our knowledge of exterior conditions.
Chance doesn't exist in nature and can't coexist with knowledge; it's just a way of expressing our ignorance about the causes at play, as Laplace noted, and our inability to predict outcomes or to ensure them with certainty. Events in nature have been predetermined since the universe was created. Probability is entirely a mental construct. This is demonstrated by the fact that different people may view the same event simultaneously with varying degrees of probability. For example, if a steamship goes missing, some people believe it has sunk in the ocean, while others think otherwise. In reality, there’s no uncertainty about the event itself; the steamship has either sunk or it hasn’t, and no later discussion about the probable nature of the event can change that fact. However, the perceived probability of the event will fluctuate daily and from person to person, depending on new information regarding other vessels at sea, the weather there, evidence of a wreck, or the prior condition of the ship. Thus, probability relates to our mental state and the perspective from which we view events that are objectively certain to occur or not. Many writers have argued that probability deals with the degree or quantity of belief. De Morgan states, “By degree of probability199 we really mean or ought to mean degree of belief.” The late Professor Donkin described probability as “quantity of belief,” but I have never been satisfied with these definitions. The nature of belief is no clearer to me than the concept it tries to explain. A major flaw is that the theory does not measure what the belief is, but what it should be. Few people think in strict alignment with the theory, and there are many instances where actual beliefs differ consistently from what they should be. Even if we could quantify and express someone's belief in numbers, the results would be meaningless. The real value of the theory lies in its ability to correct and guide our beliefs, making our thoughts and subsequent actions align with our understanding of external conditions.
This objection has been clearly perceived by some of those who still used quantity of belief as a definition of probability. Thus De Morgan adds—“Belief is but another name for imperfect knowledge.” Donkin has well said that the quantity of belief is “always relative to a particular state of knowledge or ignorance; but it must be observed that it is absolute in the sense of not being relative to any individual mind; since, the same information being presupposed, all minds ought to distribute their belief in the same way.”111 Boole seemed to entertain a like view, when he described the theory as engaged with “the equal distribution of ignorance;”112 but we may just as well say that it is engaged with the equal distribution of knowledge.
This objection has been clearly recognized by some people who still define probability in terms of the quantity of belief. De Morgan adds, “Belief is just another term for imperfect knowledge.” Donkin has rightly pointed out that the quantity of belief is “always relative to a specific state of knowledge or ignorance; but it’s important to note that it is absolute in the sense of not being relative to any individual mind; since, given the same information, all minds ought to allocate their belief in the same way.”111 Boole seemed to have a similar view when he described the theory as dealing with “the equal distribution of ignorance;”112 but we could just as well say that it deals with the equal distribution of knowledge.
I prefer to dispense altogether with this obscure word belief, and to say that the theory of probability deals with quantity of knowledge, an expression of which a precise explanation and measure can presently be given. An event is only probable when our knowledge of it is diluted with ignorance, and exact calculation is needed to discriminate how much we do and do not know. The theory has been described by some writers as professing to evolve knowledge out of ignorance; but as Donkin admirably remarked, it is really “a method of avoiding the erection200 of belief upon ignorance.” It defines rational expectation by measuring the comparative amounts of knowledge and ignorance, and teaches us to regulate our actions with regard to future events in a way which will, in the long run, lead to the least disappointment. It is, as Laplace happily said, good sense reduced to calculation. This theory appears to me the noblest creation of intellect, and it passes my conception how two such men as Auguste Comte and J. S. Mill could be found depreciating it and vainly questioning its validity. To eulogise the theory ought to be as needless as to eulogise reason itself.
I prefer to completely avoid this unclear word belief, and to say that the theory of probability is about the quantity of knowledge, which can be precisely explained and measured. An event is only considered probable when our understanding of it is mixed with ignorance, and exact calculation is necessary to determine what we know and what we don’t. Some writers have described the theory as claiming to evolve knowledge out of ignorance; but as Donkin wisely pointed out, it is actually “a method of avoiding the building of belief on ignorance.” It defines rational expectation by measuring the relative amounts of knowledge and ignorance, and teaches us to adjust our actions concerning future events in a way that will ultimately lead to the least disappointment. As Laplace aptly put it, good sense reduced to calculation. This theory seems to me the highest achievement of intellect, and I can’t understand how two such figures as Auguste Comte and J. S. Mill could dismiss it and question its validity. Praising the theory should be as unnecessary as praising reason itself.
Fundamental Principles of the Theory.
The calculation of probabilities is really founded, as I conceive, upon the principle of reasoning set forth in preceding chapters. We must treat equals equally, and what we know of one case may be affirmed of every case resembling it in the necessary circumstances. The theory consists in putting similar cases on a par, and distributing equally among them whatever knowledge we possess. Throw a penny into the air, and consider what we know with regard to its way of falling. We know that it will certainly fall upon a side, so that either head or tail will be uppermost; but as to whether it will be head or tail, our knowledge is equally divided. Whatever we know concerning head, we know also concerning tail, so that we have no reason for expecting one more than the other. The least predominance of belief to either side would be irrational; it would consist in treating unequally things of which our knowledge is equal.
The calculation of probabilities is really based, as I see it, on the reasoning laid out in earlier chapters. We need to treat equals equally, and what we know about one case can be applied to every case that is similar in the essential circumstances. The theory is about comparing similar cases and sharing our knowledge equally among them. Toss a penny into the air, and think about what we know about how it falls. We know it will definitely land on one side, so either heads or tails will be facing up; however, as for whether it will be heads or tails, our knowledge is evenly split. Everything we know about heads applies just as much to tails, so we have no reason to expect one over the other. Any slight preference for one side would be irrational, as it would be treating unequally things we know are equal.
The theory does not require, as some writers have erroneously supposed, that we should first ascertain by experiment the equal facility of the events we are considering. So far as we can examine and measure the causes in operation, events are removed out of the sphere of probability. The theory comes into play where ignorance begins, and the knowledge we possess requires to be distributed over many cases. Nor does the theory show that the coin will fall as often on the one side as the other. It is almost impossible that this should happen, because some inequality in the form of the coin, or some uniform201 manner in throwing it up, is almost sure to occasion a slight preponderance in one direction. But as we do not previously know in which way a preponderance will exist, we have no reason for expecting head more than tail. Our state of knowledge will be changed should we throw up the coin many times and register the results. Every throw gives us some slight information as to the probable tendency of the coin, and in subsequent calculations we must take this into account. In other cases experience might show that we had been entirely mistaken; we might expect that a die would fall as often on each of the six sides as on each other side in the long run; trial might show that the die was a loaded one, and falls most often on a particular face. The theory would not have misled us: it treated correctly the information we had, which is all that any theory can do.
The theory doesn’t require, as some writers have mistakenly assumed, that we first determine through experimentation that the events we’re looking at are equally likely. As far as we can analyze and measure the causes at work, events are taken out of the likelihood realm. The theory comes into play when we face uncertainty, and the knowledge we have needs to be spread across many cases. It also doesn’t guarantee that the coin will land on one side as often as the other. It's nearly impossible for this to occur because some flaw in the shape of the coin, or a consistent way of tossing it, is likely to create a slight bias in one direction. But since we don’t know in advance which way this bias will be, we have no reason to expect heads more than tails. Our understanding will change if we toss the coin several times and keep track of the outcomes. Each toss provides us with some slight insight into the coin’s probable behavior, and we need to factor this into later calculations. In other scenarios, experience could reveal that we were completely wrong; we might think a die would have an equal chance of landing on each of its six sides in the long run, but testing could show that the die is loaded and lands more often on a specific side. The theory wouldn’t have misled us: it accurately interpreted the information we had, which is all that any theory can do.
It may be asked, as Mill asks, Why spend so much trouble in calculating from imperfect data, when a little trouble would enable us to render a conclusion certain by actual trial? Why calculate the probability of a measurement being correct, when we can try whether it is correct? But I shall fully point out in later parts of this work that in measurement we never can attain perfect coincidence. Two measurements of the same base line in a survey may show a difference of some inches, and there may be no means of knowing which is the better result. A third measurement would probably agree with neither. To select any one of the measurements, would imply that we knew it to be the most nearly correct one, which we do not. In this state of ignorance, the only guide is the theory of probability, which proves that in the long run the mean of divergent results will come most nearly to the truth. In all other scientific operations whatsoever, perfect knowledge is impossible, and when we have exhausted all our instrumental means in the attainment of truth, there is a margin of error which can only be safely treated by the principles of probability.
It might be asked, as Mill does, why go through so much effort to calculate from imperfect data when a little effort could give us a definite answer through actual testing? Why calculate the likelihood of a measurement being accurate when we can just check if it is accurate? However, I will clearly explain in later sections of this work that in measurement, we can never achieve perfect accuracy. Two measurements of the same baseline in a survey might show a difference of several inches, and there might be no way to determine which result is better. A third measurement is likely to not match either. Choosing one of the measurements would suggest that we know it’s the most accurate one, which we don’t. In this state of uncertainty, the only guide is the theory of probability, which shows that over time, the average of different results will come closest to the truth. In all other scientific endeavors, complete knowledge is unattainable, and once we have used all our tools to seek truth, there remains a margin of error that can only be appropriately addressed through the principles of probability.
The method which we employ in the theory consists in calculating the number of all the cases or events concerning which our knowledge is equal. If we have the slightest reason for suspecting that one event is more likely to occur than another, we should take this knowledge into202 account. This being done, we must determine the whole number of events which are, so far as we know, equally likely. Thus, if we have no reason for supposing that a penny will fall more often one way than another, there are two cases, head and tail, equally likely. But if from trial or otherwise we know, or think we know, that of 100 throws 55 will give tail, then the probability is measured by the ratio of 55 to 100.
The method we use in this theory involves calculating the total number of cases or events for which our knowledge is the same. If we have any reason to believe that one event is more likely to happen than another, we should factor that knowledge in. Once we've done that, we need to identify the total number of events that, as far as we know, are equally likely. For example, if we have no reason to think a penny will land one way more frequently than the other, there are two equally likely outcomes: heads and tails. However, if based on testing or other evidence we know, or believe, that in 100 flips we expect 55 to land as tails, then the probability is determined by the ratio of 55 to 100.
The mathematical formulæ of the theory are exactly the same as those of the theory of combinations. In this latter theory we determine in how many ways events may be joined together, and we now proceed to use this knowledge in calculating the number of ways in which a certain event may come about. It is the comparative numbers of ways in which events can happen which measure their comparative probabilities. If we throw three pennies into the air, what is the probability that two of them will fall tail uppermost? This amounts to asking in how many possible ways can we select two tails out of three, compared with the whole number of ways in which the coins can be placed. Now, the fourth line of the Arithmetical Triangle (p. 184) gives us the answer. The whole number of ways in which we can select or leave three things is eight, and the possible combinations of two things at a time is three; hence the probability of two tails is the ratio of three to eight. From the numbers in the triangle we may similarly draw all the following probabilities:—
The mathematical formulas of the theory are exactly the same as those of the theory of combinations. In this latter theory, we figure out how many ways events can be combined, and we will now use this knowledge to calculate how many ways a certain event can occur. The different ways in which events can happen determine their relative probabilities. If we toss three coins in the air, what is the probability that two of them will land tails up? This is essentially asking how many ways we can choose two tails out of three, compared to the total number of ways the coins can land. Now, the fourth line of the Arithmetical Triangle (p. 184) gives us the answer. The total number of ways to choose or leave three items is eight, and the possible combinations of two items at a time is three; therefore, the probability of getting two tails is three out of eight. From the numbers in the triangle, we can similarly determine all the following probabilities:—
Three combinations gives 1 tail. Probability 38.
Three combinations give 2 tails. Probability 38.
One combination gives 3 tails. Probability 18.
We can apply the same considerations to the imaginary causes of the difference of stature, the combinations of which were shown in p. 188. There are altogether 128 ways in which seven causes can be present or absent. Now, twenty-one of these combinations give an addition of two inches, so that the probability of a person under the circumstances being five feet two inches is 21128. The probability of five feet three inches is 35128; of five feet one inch 7128; of five feet 1128, and so on. Thus the eighth line of the Arithmetical Triangle gives all the probabilities arising out of the combinations of seven causes.
We can look at the same ideas when it comes to the imaginary causes of height differences, which were demonstrated on p. 188. There are a total of 128 ways in which seven causes can exist or not. Out of these combinations, twenty-one result in an increase of two inches, making the likelihood of someone being five feet two inches 21128. The chances of being five feet three inches are 35128; for five feet one inch, it's 7128; for five feet 1128, and so on. Therefore, the eighth row of the Arithmetical Triangle provides all the probabilities that come from the combinations of seven causes.
203
203
Rules for the Calculation of Probabilities.
I will now explain as simply as possible the rules for calculating probabilities. The principal rule is as follows:—
I will now explain the rules for calculating probabilities in the simplest way possible. The main rule is as follows:—
Calculate the number of events which may happen independently of each other, and which, as far as is known, are equally probable. Make this number the denominator of a fraction, and take for the numerator the number of such events as imply or constitute the happening of the event, whose probability is required.
Calculate how many events can occur independently of one another, and which, as far as we know, are equally likely. Use this number as the denominator of a fraction, and for the numerator, use the number of events that imply or make happen the event for which we need to determine the probability.
Thus, if the letters of the word Roma be thrown down casually in a row, what is the probability that they will form a significant Latin word? The possible arrangements of four letters are 4 × 3 × 2 × 1, or 24 in number (p. 178), and if all the arrangements be examined, seven of these will be found to have meaning, namely Roma, ramo, oram, mora, maro, armo, and amor. Hence the probability of a significant result is 724.
So, if you randomly arrange the letters of the word Roma, what are the chances that they will create a meaningful Latin word? The total possible arrangements of four letters are calculated as 4 × 3 × 2 × 1, which gives us 24 (p. 178). When you examine all the arrangements, you'll find that seven of them actually have meaning: Roma, ramo, oram, mora, maro, armo, and amor. Therefore, the probability of getting a meaningful result is 724.
We must distinguish comparative from absolute probabilities. In drawing a card casually from a pack, there is no reason to expect any one card more than any other. Now, there are four kings and four queens in a pack, so that there are just as many ways of drawing one as the other, and the probabilities are equal. But there are thirteen diamonds, so that the probability of a king is to that of a diamond as four to thirteen. Thus the probabilities of each are proportional to their respective numbers of ways of happening. Again, I can draw a king in four ways, and not draw one in forty-eight, so that the probabilities are in this proportion, or, as is commonly said, the odds against drawing a king are forty-eight to four. The odds are seven to seventeen in favour, or seventeen to seven against the letters R,o,m,a, accidentally forming a significant word. The odds are five to three against two tails appearing in three throws of a penny. Conversely, when the odds of an event are given, and the probability is required, take the odds in favour of the event for numerator, and the sum of the odds for denominator.
We need to differentiate between comparative and absolute probabilities. When you casually draw a card from a deck, there's no reason to expect one card more than another. There are four kings and four queens in a deck, so the chances of drawing one versus the other are equal. However, there are thirteen diamonds, so the probability of drawing a king is four to thirteen compared to a diamond. This means the probabilities are proportional to the number of ways each can occur. I can draw a king in four ways, but I cannot draw one in forty-eight ways, which gives us the ratio, or as people often say, the odds against drawing a king are forty-eight to four. The odds are seven to seventeen in favor of, or seventeen to seven against the letters R, o, m, a, randomly forming a meaningful word. The odds are five to three against getting two tails in three flips of a penny. Conversely, when the odds of an event are known and the probability is needed, use the odds in favor of the event as the numerator, and the total odds as the denominator.
It is obvious that an event is certain when all the combinations of causes which can take place produce that event. If we represent the probability of such event204 according to our rule, it gives the ratio of some number to itself, or unity. An event is certain not to happen when no possible combination of causes gives the event, and the ratio by the same rule becomes that of 0 to some number. Hence it follows that in the theory of probability certainty is expressed by 1, and impossibility by 0; but no mystical meaning should be attached to these symbols, as they merely express the fact that all or no possible combinations give the event.
It's clear that an event is certain when every possible combination of causes leads to that event. If we express the probability of such an event204 according to our rule, it results in a ratio of some number to itself, or one. An event is certain not to happen when no combination of causes can produce the event, making the ratio by the same rule 0 to some number. Thus, in probability theory, certainty is represented by 1, and impossibility by 0; however, there's no mystical significance to these symbols, as they simply indicate that all or none of the possible combinations result in the event.
By a compound event, we mean an event which may be decomposed into two or more simpler events. Thus the firing of a gun may be decomposed into pulling the trigger, the fall of the hammer, the explosion of the cap, &c. In this example the simple events are not independent, because if the trigger is pulled, the other events will under proper conditions necessarily follow, and their probabilities are therefore the same as that of the first event. Events are independent when the happening of one does not render the other either more or less probable than before. Thus the death of a person is neither more nor less probable because the planet Mars happens to be visible. When the component events are independent, a simple rule can be given for calculating the probability of the compound event, thus—Multiply together the fractions expressing the probabilities of the independent component events.
By a compound event, we mean an event that can be broken down into two or more simpler events. For example, the firing of a gun can be divided into pulling the trigger, the hammer falling, the explosion of the cap, etc. In this case, the simple events are not independent, because if the trigger is pulled, the other events will necessarily happen under the right conditions, so their probabilities are the same as that of the first event. Events are independent when the occurrence of one does not affect the probability of the other happening. For instance, the death of a person is neither more nor less likely just because the planet Mars is visible. When the component events are independent, there’s a straightforward way to calculate the probability of the compound event—Multiply the fractions that represent the probabilities of the independent component events.
The probability of throwing tail twice with a penny is 12 × 12, or 14; the probability of throwing it three times running is 12 × 12 × 12, or 18; a result agreeing with that obtained in an apparently different manner (p. 202). In fact, when we multiply together the denominators, we get the whole number of ways of happening of the compound event, and when we multiply the numerators, we get the number of ways favourable to the required event.
The chance of flipping tails twice with a penny is 12 × 12, or 14; the chance of flipping it three times in a row is 12 × 12 × 12, or 18; this result matches what we found in a seemingly different way (p. 202). In fact, when we multiply the denominators, we get the total number of ways the combined event can occur, and when we multiply the numerators, we find the number of ways favorable to the desired event.
Probabilities may be added to or subtracted from each other under the important condition that the events in question are exclusive of each other, so that not more than one of them can happen. It might be argued that, since the probability of throwing head at the first trial is 12, and at the second trial also 12, the probability of throwing it in the first two throws is 12 + 12, or certainty. Not only is this result evidently absurd, but a repetition of the process205 would lead us to a probability of 1 12 or of any greater number, results which could have no meaning whatever. The probability we wish to calculate is that of one head in two throws, but in our addition we have included the case in which two heads appear. The true result is 12 + 12 × 12 or 34, or the probability of head at the first throw, added to the exclusive probability that if it does not come at the first, it will come at the second. The greatest difficulties of the theory arise from the confusion of exclusive and unexclusive alternatives. I may remind the reader that the possibility of unexclusive alternatives was a point previously discussed (p. 68), and to the reasons then given for considering alternation as logically unexclusive, may be added the existence of these difficulties in the theory of probability. The erroneous result explained above really arose from overlooking the fact that the expression “head first throw or head second throw” might include the case of head at both throws.
Probabilities can be added or subtracted from each other only if the events in question are mutually exclusive, meaning that only one can occur at a time. One might argue that since the probability of getting heads on the first toss is 12, and the probability on the second toss is also 12, the total probability of getting heads in the first two tosses is 12 + 12, which suggests certainty. Not only is this conclusion clearly absurd, but repeating the calculation would suggest a probability of 1/2 or any number greater than that, results that would have no meaning. The probability we want to calculate is for getting one head in two tosses, but by adding probabilities, we mistakenly included the scenario where two heads appear. The correct result is 12 + 12 × 12, which equals 34, or the probability of getting heads on the first toss, combined with the exclusive probability that if it doesn’t happen on the first toss, it will happen on the second. The main challenges in the theory arise from mixing up exclusive and non-exclusive alternatives. I want to remind the reader that the possibility of non-exclusive alternatives was discussed earlier (p. 68), and we can add to the reasons given for treating alternation as logically non-exclusive the existence of these challenges in probability theory. The incorrect conclusion explained earlier stemmed from the oversight that the phrase “head on the first toss or head on the second toss” might also include the case where heads occur on both tosses.
The Logical Alphabet in questions of Probability.
When the probabilities of certain simple events are given, and it is required to deduce the probabilities of compound events, the Logical Alphabet may give assistance, provided that there are no special logical conditions so that all the combinations are possible. Thus, if there be three events, A, B, C, of which the probabilities are, α, β, γ, then the negatives of those events, expressing the absence of the events, will have the probabilities 1 - α, 1 - β, 1 - γ. We have only to insert these values for the letters of the combinations and multiply, and we obtain the probability of each combination. Thus the probability of ABC is αβγ; of Abc, α(1 - β)(1 - γ).
When the probabilities of certain simple events are known and we need to figure out the probabilities of compound events, the Logical Alphabet can help, as long as there are no specific logical conditions that would prevent all combinations from being possible. So, if we have three events, A, B, and C, with probabilities α, β, and γ, then the probabilities for the absence of those events will be 1 - α, 1 - β, and 1 - γ. We just need to plug in these values for the letters in the combinations and multiply them to get the probability of each combination. For example, the probability of ABC is αβγ; for Abc, it is α(1 - β)(1 - γ).
We can now clearly distinguish between the probabilities of exclusive and unexclusive events. Thus, if A and B are events which may happen together like rain and high tide, or an earthquake and a storm, the probability of A or B happening is not the sum of their separate probabilities. For by the Laws of Thought we develop A ꖌ B into AB ꖌ Ab ꖌ aB, and substituting α and β, the probabilities of A and B respectively, we obtain α . β + α . (1 - β) + (1 - α) . β or α + β - α . β. But if events are incompossible206 or incapable of happening together, like a clear sky and rain, or a new moon and a full moon, then the events are not really A or B, but A not-B, or B not-A, or in symbols Ab ꖌ aB. Now if we take μ = probability of Ab and ν = probability of aB, then we may add simply, and the probability of Ab ꖌ aB is μ + ν.
We can now clearly tell the difference between the probabilities of exclusive and non-exclusive events. So, if A and B are events that can occur together, like rain and high tide, or an earthquake and a storm, the probability of A or B happening isn’t just the sum of their individual probabilities. According to the Laws of Thought, we express A ꖌ B as AB ꖌ Ab ꖌ aB, and by substituting α and β, the probabilities of A and B respectively, we get α . β + α . (1 - β) + (1 - α) . β or α + β - α . β. However, if events are incompossible206 or cannot happen at the same time, like a clear sky and rain, or a new moon and a full moon, then the events are not really A or B, but A not-B, or B not-A, or in symbols Ab ꖌ aB. Now, if we set μ = probability of Ab and ν = probability of aB, then we can simply add them, and the probability of Ab ꖌ aB is μ + ν.
Let the reader carefully observe that if the combination AB cannot exist, the probability of Ab is not the product of the probabilities of A and b. When certain combinations are logically impossible, it is no longer allowable to substitute the probability of each term for the term, because the multiplication of probabilities presupposes the independence of the events. A large part of Boole’s Laws of Thought is devoted to an attempt to overcome this difficulty and to produce a General Method in Probabilities by which from certain logical conditions and certain given probabilities it would be possible to deduce the probability of any other combinations of events under those conditions. Boole pursued his task with wonderful ingenuity and power, but after spending much study on his work, I am compelled to adopt the conclusion that his method is fundamentally erroneous. As pointed out by Mr. Wilbraham,113 Boole obtained his results by an arbitrary assumption, which is only the most probable, and not the only possible assumption. The answer obtained is therefore not the real probability, which is usually indeterminate, but only, as it were, the most probable probability. Certain problems solved by Boole are free from logical conditions and therefore may admit of valid answers. These, as I have shown,114 may be solved by the combinations of the Logical Alphabet, but the rest of the problems do not admit of a determinate answer, at least by Boole’s method.
Let the reader carefully note that if the combination AB cannot exist, the probability of A is not the product of the probabilities of A and . When certain combinations are logically impossible, it's no longer acceptable to substitute the probability of each term for the term, because multiplying probabilities assumes the events are independent. A significant portion of Boole’s Laws of Thought is dedicated to trying to overcome this issue and create a General Method in Probabilities, which would allow us to deduce the probability of any other combinations of events under specific logical conditions and given probabilities. Boole approached his work with remarkable creativity and skill, but after studying it closely, I must conclude that his method is fundamentally flawed. As noted by Mr. Wilbraham,113 Boole reached his conclusions through an arbitrary assumption, which is merely the most probable, not the only possible assumption. Consequently, the answer he obtained is not the actual probability, which is often indeterminate, but rather, in a sense, the most probable probability. Certain problems Boole addressed are free from logical constraints and can therefore yield valid answers. These, as I have demonstrated,114 can be solved using the combinations of the Logical Alphabet, but the remaining problems do not provide a definitive answer, at least not through Boole’s method.
Comparison of the Theory with Experience.
The Laws of Probability rest upon the fundamental principles of reasoning, and cannot be really negatived by any207 possible experience. It might happen that a person should always throw a coin head uppermost, and appear incapable of getting tail by chance. The theory would not be falsified, because it contemplates the possibility of the most extreme runs of luck. Our actual experience might be counter to all that is probable; the whole course of events might seem to be in complete contradiction to what we should expect, and yet a casual conjunction of events might be the real explanation. It is just possible that some regular coincidences, which we attribute to fixed laws of nature, are due to the accidental conjunction of phenomena in the cases to which our attention is directed. All that we can learn from finite experience is capable, according to the theory of probabilities, of misleading us, and it is only infinite experience that could assure us of any inductive truths.
The Laws of Probability are based on fundamental reasoning principles and can’t truly be disproved by any possible experience. It could happen that someone always flips a coin and gets heads, appearing unable to get tails by chance. The theory wouldn’t be invalidated because it considers even the most extreme streaks of luck. Our actual experiences might contradict everything that seems probable; the entire course of events might look completely contrary to our expectations, yet a random set of events could be the true explanation. It’s just possible that some regular coincidences we link to fixed laws of nature are simply due to random alignments of occurrences in the situations we focus on. According to the theory of probabilities, everything we learn from limited experience can be misleading, and only infinite experience could confirm any inductive truths.
At the same time, the probability that any extreme runs of luck will occur is so excessively slight, that it would be absurd seriously to expect their occurrence. It is almost impossible, for instance, that any whist player should have played in any two games where the distribution of the cards was exactly the same, by pure accident (p. 191). Such a thing as a person always losing at a game of pure chance, is wholly unknown. Coincidences of this kind are not impossible, as I have said, but they are so unlikely that the lifetime of any person, or indeed the whole duration of history, does not give any appreciable probability of their being encountered. Whenever we make any extensive series of trials of chance results, as in throwing a die or coin, the probability is great that the results will agree nearly with the predictions yielded by theory. Precise agreement must not be expected, for that, as the theory shows, is highly improbable. Several attempts have been made to test, in this way, the accordance of theory and experience. Buffon caused the first trial to be made by a young child who threw a coin many times in succession, and he obtained 1992 tails to 2048 heads. A pupil of De Morgan repeated the trial for his own satisfaction, and obtained 2044 tails to 2048 heads. In both cases the coincidence with theory is as close as could be expected, and the details may be found in De Morgan’s “Formal Logic,” p. 185.
At the same time, the chance of experiencing extreme luck is so incredibly low that it would be ridiculous to actually expect it to happen. For example, it’s almost impossible for any whist player to have played in two games where the distribution of the cards was exactly the same purely by chance (p. 191). It’s unheard of for someone to always lose at a game of pure chance. Such coincidences aren't impossible, as I've mentioned, but they are so unlikely that a person's entire lifetime, or even all of history, doesn't provide any significant probability of encountering them. Whenever we conduct a large number of trials with random outcomes, like rolling a die or tossing a coin, there's a good chance that the results will closely align with the predictions from theory. We shouldn't expect perfect agreement, as the theory shows that’s highly improbable. There have been several attempts to test the alignment of theory and experience in this way. Buffon had a young child carry out the first trial, who tossed a coin many times in a row, resulting in 1992 tails and 2048 heads. A student of De Morgan repeated the trial for his own interest and got 2044 tails and 2048 heads. In both cases, the alignment with theory is as close as could be expected, and more details can be found in De Morgan’s “Formal Logic,” p. 185.
208
208
Quetelet also tested the theory in a rather more complete manner, by placing 20 black and 20 white balls in an urn and drawing a ball out time after time in an indifferent manner, each ball being replaced before a new drawing was made. He found, as might be expected, that the greater the number of drawings made, the more nearly were the white and black balls equal in number. At the termination of the experiment he had registered 2066 white and 2030 black balls, the ratio being 1·02.115
Quetelet also examined the theory in a more thorough way by putting 20 black and 20 white balls into a container and randomly drawing a ball repeatedly, replacing each ball before making the next draw. He found, as expected, that the more times he drew, the closer the numbers of white and black balls became to equal. At the end of the experiment, he recorded 2066 white balls and 2030 black balls, resulting in a ratio of 1.02.115
I have made a series of experiments in a third manner, which seemed to me even more interesting, and capable of more extensive trial. Taking a handful of ten coins, usually shillings, I threw them up time after time, and registered the numbers of heads which appeared each time. Now the probability of obtaining 10, 9, 8, 7, &c., heads is proportional to the number of combinations of 10, 9, 8, 7, &c., things out of 10 things. Consequently the results ought to approximate to the numbers in the eleventh line of the Arithmetical Triangle. I made altogether 2048 throws, in two sets of 1024 throws each, and the numbers obtained are given in the following table:—
I conducted a series of experiments in a different way, which I found even more interesting and suitable for more extensive testing. I took a handful of ten coins, usually shillings, and tossed them repeatedly, recording the number of heads that appeared each time. The probability of getting 10, 9, 8, 7, etc., heads is based on the number of combinations of 10, 9, 8, 7, etc., out of 10 coins. Therefore, the results should align with the numbers in the eleventh row of the Arithmetical Triangle. I completed a total of 2048 tosses, divided into two sets of 1024 tosses each, and the results are shown in the following table:—
Character of Throw. |
Theoretical Numbers. |
First Series. |
Second Series. |
Average. |
Divergence. |
|||
10 |
Heads |
0 |
Tail |
1 |
3 |
1 |
2 | + 1 |
9 |
" |
1 |
" |
10 |
12 |
23 |
17 1/2 |
+7 1/2 |
8 |
" |
2 |
" |
45 |
57 |
73 |
65 |
+ 20 |
7 |
" |
3 |
" |
120 |
129 |
123 |
126 |
+ 6 |
6 |
" |
4 |
" |
210 |
181 |
190 |
185 1/2 |
– 25 |
5 |
" |
5 |
" |
252 |
257 |
232 |
244 1/2 |
–7 1/2 |
4 |
" |
6 |
" |
210 |
201 |
197 |
199 |
– 11 |
3 |
" |
7 |
" |
120 |
111 |
119 |
115 |
– 5 |
2 |
" |
8 |
" |
45 |
52 |
50 |
51 |
+ 6 |
1 |
" |
9 |
" |
10 |
21 |
15 |
18 |
+ 8 |
0 |
" |
10 |
" |
1 |
0 |
1 |
12 | – 12 |
Totals ... ... |
1024 |
1024 |
1024 |
1024 |
– 1 |
The whole number of single throws of coins amounted to 10 × 2048, or 20,480 in all, one half of which or 10,240 should theoretically give head. The total number209 of heads obtained was actually 10,353, or 5222 in the first series, and 5131 in the second. The coincidence with theory is pretty close, but considering the large number of throws there is some reason to suspect a tendency in favour of heads.
The total number of single coin tosses was 10 × 2048, which equals 20,480 in total, with half of that, or 10,240, expected to come up heads. The actual number of heads recorded was 10,353—5,222 in the first series and 5,131 in the second. The results are pretty close to what theory predicted, but given the large number of tosses, there’s some reason to believe there might be a slight bias towards heads.
The special interest of this trial consists in the exhibition, in a practical form, of the results of Bernoulli’s theorem, and the law of error or divergence from the mean to be afterwards more fully considered. It illustrates the connection between combinations and permutations, which is exhibited in the Arithmetical Triangle, and which underlies many important theorems of science.
The unique focus of this trial lies in demonstrating, in a practical way, the outcomes of Bernoulli’s theorem and the concept of error or deviation from the average, which will be discussed in more detail later. It shows the relationship between combinations and permutations, which is represented in the Arithmetical Triangle and forms the basis of many significant scientific theorems.
Probable Deductive Arguments.
With the aid of the theory of probabilities, we may extend the sphere of deductive argument. Hitherto we have treated propositions as certain, and on the hypothesis of certainty have deduced conclusions equally certain. But the information on which we reason in ordinary life is seldom or never certain, and almost all reasoning is really a question of probability. We ought therefore to be fully aware of the mode and degree in which deductive reasoning is affected by the theory of probability, and many persons may be surprised at the results which must be admitted. Some controversial writers appear to consider, as De Morgan remarked,116 that an inference from several equally probable premises is itself as probable as any of them, but the true result is very different. If an argument involves many propositions, and each of them is uncertain, the conclusion will be of very little force.
With the help of probability theory, we can expand the scope of deductive reasoning. Until now, we've treated propositions as if they were certain, and based on that certainty, we've drawn equally certain conclusions. However, the information we rely on in everyday life is rarely certain, and most reasoning is really about probabilities. Therefore, we need to be fully aware of how deductive reasoning is influenced by probability theory, and many people might be surprised by the conclusions that must be accepted. Some writers in debates seem to think, as De Morgan pointed out, that an inference based on several equally probable premises is just as probable as any of them, but the reality is quite different. If an argument contains many propositions, and each one is uncertain, the conclusion will hold very little weight.
The validity of a conclusion may be regarded as a compound event, depending upon the premises happening to be true; thus, to obtain the probability of the conclusion, we must multiply together the fractions expressing the probabilities of the premises. If the probability is 12 that A is B, and also 12 that B is C, the conclusion that A is C, on the ground of these premises, is 12 × 12 or 14. Similarly if there be any number of premises requisite to the establishment210 of a conclusion and their probabilities be p, q, r, &c., the probability of the conclusion on the ground of these premises is p × q × r × ... This product has but a small value, unless each of the quantities p, q, &c., be nearly unity.
The validity of a conclusion can be seen as a compound event, depending on whether the premises are true. To find the probability of the conclusion, we need to multiply the fractions that represent the probabilities of the premises. If the probability that A is B is 12 and the probability that B is C is also 12, then the conclusion that A is C, based on these premises, is 12 × 12, which equals 14. Similarly, if there are several premises needed to establish a conclusion and their probabilities are p, q, r, etc., the probability of the conclusion based on these premises is p × q × r × ... This product will have a low value unless each of the probabilities p, q, etc., is close to one.
But it is particularly to be noticed that the probability thus calculated is not the whole probability of the conclusion, but that only which it derives from the premises in question. Whately’s117 remarks on this subject might mislead the reader into supposing that the calculation is completed by multiplying together the probabilities of the premises. But it has been fully explained by De Morgan118 that we must take into account the antecedent probability of the conclusion; A may be C for other reasons besides its being B, and as he remarks, “It is difficult, if not impossible, to produce a chain of argument of which the reasoner can rest the result on those arguments only.” The failure of one argument does not, except under special circumstances, disprove the truth of the conclusion it is intended to uphold, otherwise there are few truths which could survive the ill-considered arguments adduced in their favour. As a rope does not necessarily break because one or two strands in it fail, so a conclusion may depend upon an endless number of considerations besides those immediately in view. Even when we have no other information we must not consider a statement as devoid of all probability. The true expression of complete doubt is a ratio of equality between the chances in favour of and against it, and this ratio is expressed in the probability 12.
But it's important to note that the probability calculated here is not the total probability of the conclusion; it only represents the portion derived from the premises in question. Whately’s117 comments on this issue might mislead readers into thinking that the calculation is finished by simply multiplying the probabilities of the premises. However, De Morgan118 has thoroughly explained that we need to consider the prior probability of the conclusion; A might be C for reasons other than just being B, and as he notes, “It is difficult, if not impossible, to create a chain of reasoning where the result relies on those arguments alone.” The failure of one argument does not, except in special cases, disprove the truth of the conclusion it aims to support; otherwise, few truths could withstand the poorly thought-out arguments made in their favor. Just as a rope doesn't necessarily break if one or two strands fail, a conclusion may depend on countless considerations beyond those immediately visible. Even when we have no other information, we shouldn't view a statement as completely lacking probability. The true representation of complete doubt is an equal ratio between the chances for and against it, which is expressed as a probability of 12.
Now if A and C are wholly unknown things, we have no reason to believe that A is C rather than A is not C. The antecedent probability is then 12. If we also have the probabilities that A is B, 12 and that B is C, 12 we have no right to suppose that the probability of A being C is reduced by the argument in its favour. If the conclusion is true on its own grounds, the failure of the argument does not affect it; thus its total probability is its antecedent probability, added to the probability that this failing, the new argument in question establishes it. There is a probability211 12 that we shall not require the special argument; a probability 12 that we shall, and a probability 14 that the argument does in that case establish it. Thus the complete result is 12 + 12 × 14, or 58. In general language, if a be the probability founded on a particular argument, and c the antecedent probability of the event, the general result is 1 - (1 - a)(1 - c), or a + c - ac.
Now, if A and C are completely unknown, we have no reason to believe that A is C rather than A is not C. The initial probability is then 12. If we also recognize the probabilities that A is B, 12 and that B is C, 12 we have no reason to assume that the probability of A being C is lowered by the argument supporting it. If the conclusion stands true on its own, the failure of the argument doesn't impact it; therefore, its total probability is its initial probability added to the likelihood that this failing new argument actually supports it. There is a probability 211 12 that we won't need the specific argument; a probability 12 that we will, and a probability 14 that the argument does, in that case, provide support. Hence, the overall result is 12 + 12 × 14, which equals 58. In general terms, if a represents the probability based on a specific argument, and c is the initial probability of the event, the general result is 1 - (1 - a)(1 - c), or a + c - ac.
We may put it still more generally in this way:—Let a, b, c, &c. be the probabilities of a conclusion grounded on various arguments. It is only when all the arguments fail that our conclusion proves finally untrue; the probabilities of each failing are respectively, 1 - a, 1 - b, 1 - c, &c.; the probability that they will all fail is (1 - a)(1 - b)(1 - c) ...; therefore the probability that the conclusion will not fail is 1 - (1 - a)(1 - b)(1 - c) ... &c. It follows that every argument in favour of a conclusion, however flimsy and slight, adds probability to it. When it is unknown whether an overdue vessel has foundered or not, every slight indication of a lost vessel will add some probability to the belief of its loss, and the disproof of any particular evidence will not disprove the event.
We can express it even more generally like this: Let a, b, c, etc. be the probabilities of a conclusion based on different arguments. It's only when all the arguments fail that our conclusion turns out to be completely false; the probabilities of each failing are 1 - a, 1 - b, 1 - c, etc.; the probability that they will all fail is (1 - a)(1 - b)(1 - c) ...; therefore, the probability that the conclusion will not fail is 1 - (1 - a)(1 - b)(1 - c) ... etc. This means that every argument in favor of a conclusion, no matter how weak or minor, increases its probability. When it’s uncertain whether a missing ship has sunk or not, every little hint of its loss will increase the likelihood of believing it's lost, and disproving any specific piece of evidence won’t negate the possibility of the event.
We must apply these principles of evidence with great care, and observe that in a great proportion of cases the adducing of a weak argument does tend to the disproof of its conclusion. The assertion may have in itself great inherent improbability as being opposed to other evidence or to the supposed law of nature, and every reasoner may be assumed to be dealing plainly, and putting forward the whole force of evidence which he possesses in its favour. If he brings but one argument, and its probability a is small, then in the formula 1 - (1 - a)(1 - c) both a and c are small, and the whole expression has but little value. The whole effect of an argument thus turns upon the question whether other arguments remain, so that we can introduce other factors (1 - b), (1 - d), &c., into the above expression. In a court of justice, in a publication having an express purpose, and in many other cases, it is doubtless right to assume that the whole evidence considered to have any value as regards the conclusion asserted, is put forward.
We need to apply these principles of evidence very carefully and recognize that in many cases, presenting a weak argument can actually undermine its conclusion. The claim might be highly improbable, as it goes against other evidence or the established laws of nature. We can assume that every reasoner is being straightforward and presenting the full weight of the evidence they have in its favor. If they only provide one argument and its probability a is low, then in the formula 1 - (1 - a)(1 - c), both a and c are low, which makes the entire expression of little value. The overall impact of an argument depends on whether there are other arguments available, allowing us to introduce additional factors (1 - b), (1 - d), etc., into the original expression. In a court of law, in any publication with a specific purpose, and in many other situations, it’s undoubtedly reasonable to assume that all evidence deemed relevant to the asserted conclusion is presented.
To assign the antecedent probability of any proposition, may be a matter of difficulty or impossibility, and one212 with which logic and the theory of probability have little concern. From the general body of science in our possession, we must in each case make the best judgment we can. But in the absence of all knowledge the probability should be considered = 12, for if we make it less than this we incline to believe it false rather than true. Thus, before we possessed any means of estimating the magnitudes of the fixed stars, the statement that Sirius was greater than the sun had a probability of exactly 12; it was as likely that it would be greater as that it would be smaller; and so of any other star. This was the assumption which Michell made in his admirable speculations.119 It might seem, indeed, that as every proposition expresses an agreement, and the agreements or resemblances between phenomena are infinitely fewer than the differences (p. 44), every proposition should in the absence of other information be infinitely improbable. But in our logical system every term may be indifferently positive or negative, so that we express under the same form as many differences as agreements. It is impossible therefore that we should have any reason to disbelieve rather than to believe a statement about things of which we know nothing. We can hardly indeed invent a proposition concerning the truth of which we are absolutely ignorant, except when we are entirely ignorant of the terms used. If I ask the reader to assign the odds that a “Platythliptic Coefficient is positive” he will hardly see his way to doing so, unless he regard them as even.
Assigning the initial probability of any statement can be difficult or impossible, and it’s something that logic and probability theory don’t really address. From the general body of knowledge we have, we must make the best judgment we can in each situation. However, when we lack all knowledge, the probability should be considered 1/2, because if we make it lower than that, we tend to believe it’s false rather than true. For example, before we had any way to measure the sizes of fixed stars, the claim that Sirius was larger than the sun had a probability of exactly 1/2; it was equally likely to be bigger as it was to be smaller, and the same goes for any other star. This was the basis of Michell’s excellent speculations. It might seem that since every statement represents an agreement, and the agreements or similarities between phenomena are infinitely fewer than the differences (p. 44), every statement should be infinitely improbable in the absence of other information. But in our logical system, every term can be either positive or negative, allowing us to express just as many differences as agreements. Therefore, we have no real reason to disbelieve rather than believe a statement about things we know nothing about. We can hardly come up with a statement regarding its truth when we're completely ignorant, unless we don’t understand the terms used. If I ask the reader to determine the odds that a “Platythliptic Coefficient is positive,” they will likely struggle to do so unless they assume the odds are even.
The assumption that complete doubt is properly expressed by 12 has been called in question by Bishop Terrot,120 who proposes instead the indefinite symbol 00; and he considers that “the à priori probability derived from absolute ignorance has no effect upon the force of a subsequently admitted probability.” But if we grant that the probability may have any value between 0 and 1, and that every separate value is equally likely, then n and 1 - n are equally likely, and the average is always 12. Or we may take p . dp to express the probability that our213 estimate concerning any proposition should lie between p and p + dp. The complete probability of the proposition is then the integral taken between the limits 1 and 0, or again 12.
The idea that total doubt is best represented by 12 has been challenged by Bishop Terrot,120 who suggests using the indefinite symbol 00; he believes that “the à priori probability derived from complete ignorance doesn’t impact the strength of a probability admitted later.” However, if we accept that probability can take any value between 0 and 1, and that every individual value is equally likely, then n and 1 - n are also equally likely, making the average always 12. Alternatively, we could use p . dp to express the likelihood that our213 estimation regarding any proposition falls between p and p + dp. The overall probability of the proposition is then the integral calculated between the limits of 1 and 0, or once again 12.
Difficulties of the Theory.
The theory of probability, though undoubtedly true, requires very careful application. Not only is it a branch of mathematics in which oversights are frequently committed, but it is a matter of great difficulty in many cases, to be sure that the formula correctly represents the data of the problem. These difficulties often arise from the logical complexity of the conditions, which might be, perhaps, to some extent cleared up by constantly bearing in mind the system of combinations as developed in the Indirect Logical Method. In the study of probabilities, mathematicians had unconsciously employed logical processes far in advance of those in possession of logicians, and the Indirect Method is but the full statement of these processes.
The theory of probability, while definitely valid, demands careful application. It’s a branch of mathematics where mistakes happen often, and it can be quite challenging to ensure that the formula accurately reflects the data of the problem. These challenges usually stem from the logical complexity of the conditions, which might be somewhat clarified by continually keeping in mind the system of combinations outlined in the Indirect Logical Method. In studying probabilities, mathematicians have unknowingly used logical processes well ahead of what logicians had at their disposal, and the Indirect Method simply articulates these processes fully.
It is very curious how often the most acute and powerful intellects have gone astray in the calculation of probabilities. Seldom was Pascal mistaken, yet he inaugurated the science with a mistaken solution.121 Leibnitz fell into the extraordinary blunder of thinking that the number twelve was as probable a result in the throwing of two dice as the number eleven.122 In not a few cases the false solution first obtained seems more plausible to the present day than the correct one since demonstrated. James Bernoulli candidly records two false solutions of a problem which he at first thought self-evident; and he adds a warning against the risk of error, especially when we attempt to reason on this subject without a rigid adherence to methodical rules and symbols. Montmort was not free from similar mistakes. D’Alembert constantly fell into blunders, and could not perceive, for instance, that the probabilities would be the same when214 coins are thrown successively as when thrown simultaneously. Some men of great reputation, such as Ancillon, Moses Mendelssohn, Garve, Auguste Comte,123 Poinsot, and J. S. Mill,124 have so far misapprehended the theory, as to question its value or even to dispute its validity. The erroneous statements about the theory given in the earlier editions of Mill’s System of Logic were partially withdrawn in the later editions.
It’s interesting how frequently the sharpest minds have stumbled when calculating probabilities. Pascal was rarely wrong, yet he started this field with an incorrect solution.121 Leibnitz made the unusual mistake of believing that rolling a twelve with two dice was just as likely as rolling an eleven.122 In many instances, the incorrect solution initially found seems more believable today than the accurate one that's been proven. James Bernoulli honestly noted two incorrect answers to a problem he first thought was obvious, adding a caution about the risk of error, especially when we try to think about this topic without strictly following methodical rules and symbols. Montmort also made similar errors. D’Alembert frequently made mistakes, not realizing, for example, that the probabilities would be the same whether coins are flipped one after another or all at once. Some highly regarded figures, like Ancillon, Moses Mendelssohn, Garve, Auguste Comte,123 Poinsot, and J. S. Mill,124 have misunderstood the theory to the point of questioning its worth or even disputing its validity. The incorrect statements about the theory found in the earlier editions of Mill’s System of Logic were mostly retracted in later editions.
Many persons have a fallacious tendency to believe that when a chance event has happened several times together in an unusual conjunction, it is less likely to happen again. D’Alembert seriously held that if head was thrown three times running with a coin, tail would more probably appear at the next trial.125 Bequelin adopted the same opinion, and yet there is no reason for it whatever. If the event be really casual, what has gone before cannot in the slightest degree influence it. As a matter of fact, the more often a casual event takes place the more likely it is to happen again; because there is some slight empirical evidence of a tendency. The source of the fallacy is to be found entirely in the feelings of surprise with which we witness an event happening by chance, in a manner which seems to proceed from design.
Many people mistakenly believe that when a random event happens several times in a row in an unusual way, it's less likely to happen again. D’Alembert argued that if heads comes up three times in a row when flipping a coin, tails is more likely to appear on the next flip.125 Bequelin shared the same view, but there is no reason for this belief. If the event is truly random, what has happened before does not affect it at all. In fact, the more often a random event occurs, the more likely it is to happen again because there’s some slight empirical evidence of a trend. The root of this misconception lies entirely in our surprise when we see a chance event happening in a way that seems deliberate.
Misapprehension may also arise from overlooking the difference between permutations and combinations. To throw ten heads in succession with a coin is no more unlikely than to throw any other particular succession of heads and tails, but it is much less likely than five heads and five tails without regard to their order, because there are no less than 252 different particular throws which will give this result, when we abstract the difference of order.
Misunderstanding can also come from not recognizing the difference between permutations and combinations. Getting ten heads in a row with a coin is just as unlikely as getting any specific sequence of heads and tails, but it’s much less likely than getting five heads and five tails regardless of their order, because there are 252 different combinations of throws that can result in that outcome when we ignore the order.
Difficulties arise in the application of the theory from our habitual disregard of slight probabilities. We are obliged practically to accept truths as certain which are nearly so, because it ceases to be worth while to calculate the difference. No punishment could be inflicted if absolutely certain evidence of guilt were required, and as215 Locke remarks, “He that will not stir till he infallibly knows the business he goes about will succeed, will have but little else to do but to sit still and perish.”126 There is not a moment of our lives when we do not lie under a slight danger of death, or some most terrible fate. There is not a single action of eating, drinking, sitting down, or standing up, which has not proved fatal to some person. Several philosophers have tried to assign the limit of the probabilities which we regard as zero; Buffon named 110,000, because it is the probability, practically disregarded, that a man of 56 years of age will die the next day. Pascal remarked that a man would be esteemed a fool for hesitating to accept death when three dice gave sixes twenty times running, if his reward in case of a different result was to be a crown; but as the chance of death in question is only 1 ÷ 660, or unity divided by a number of 47 places of figures, we may be said to incur greater risks every day for less motives. There is far greater risk of death, for instance, in a game of cricket or a visit to the rink.
Difficulties come up when applying the theory because we usually ignore small probabilities. We are practically forced to accept truths as almost certain, since it's not worth calculating the difference. No punishment could be enforced if we only acted on absolutely certain evidence of guilt, and as Locke points out, “He that will not stir till he infallibly knows the business he goes about will succeed, will have but little else to do but to sit still and perish.”126 There isn’t a moment in our lives when we aren’t at a slight risk of death or some terrible fate. Every action, whether eating, drinking, sitting down, or standing up, has led to someone's demise. Several philosophers have tried to pinpoint the threshold of probabilities we consider as zero; Buffon stated 110,000, because it represents the practically ignored probability that a 56-year-old man will die the next day. Pascal noted that people would think someone foolish for hesitating to accept death if three dice rolled sixes twenty times in a row, especially if the reward for a different result was a crown; however, since the chance of death in this case is only 1 ÷ 660, or one divided by a number with 47 digits, we take on greater risks every day for lesser reasons. For example, there is a much higher risk of death in a game of cricket or during a skate at the rink.
Nothing is more requisite than to distinguish carefully between the truth of a theory and the truthful application of the theory to actual circumstances. As a general rule, events in nature and art will present a complexity of relations exceeding our powers of treatment. The intricate action of the mind often intervenes and renders complete analysis hopeless. If, for instance, the probability that a marksman shall hit the target in a single shot be 1 in 10, we might seem to have no difficulty in calculating the probability of any succession of hits; thus the probability of three successive hits would be one in a thousand. But, in reality, the confidence and experience derived from the first successful shot would render a second success more probable. The events are not really independent, and there would generally be a far greater preponderance of runs of apparent luck, than a simple calculation of probabilities could account for. In some persons, however, a remarkable series of successes will produce a degree of excitement rendering continued success almost impossible.
Nothing is more important than carefully distinguishing between the truth of a theory and how that theory is accurately applied to real situations. Generally speaking, events in nature and art present a complexity of relationships that exceed our ability to analyze them fully. The mind's intricate workings often make complete analysis impossible. For example, if the chance of a marksman hitting the target with one shot is 1 in 10, we might think it’s straightforward to calculate the odds of hitting it consecutively; so the chances of three hits in a row would be 1 in 1,000. However, in reality, the confidence and experience gained from the first successful shot make the second success more likely. The events aren't truly independent, and there tends to be a much larger occurrence of streaks of apparent luck than simple probability calculations would suggest. In some people, a remarkable string of successes can create a level of excitement that makes continued success nearly impossible.
Attempts to apply the theory of probability to the216 results of judicial proceedings have proved of little value, simply because the conditions are far too intricate. As Laplace said, “Tant de passions, d’intérêts divers et de circonstances compliquent les questions relatives à ces objets, qu’elles sont presque toujours insolubles.” Men acting on a jury, or giving evidence before a court, are subject to so many complex influences that no mathematical formulas can be framed to express the real conditions. Jurymen or even judges on the bench cannot be regarded as acting independently, with a definite probability in favour of each delivering a correct judgment. Each man of the jury is more or less influenced by the opinion of the others, and there are subtle effects of character and manner and strength of mind which defy analysis. Even in physical science we can in comparatively few cases apply the theory in a definite manner, because the data required are too complicated and difficult to obtain. But such failures in no way diminish the truth and beauty of the theory itself; in reality there is no branch of science in which our symbols can cope with the complexity of Nature. As Donkin said,—
Attempts to apply probability theory to the216 outcomes of court cases have been mostly ineffective because the conditions are way too complex. As Laplace said, “So many passions, diverse interests, and circumstances complicate the issues related to these subjects that they are almost always unsolvable.” People serving on a jury or giving testimony in court are influenced by so many intricate factors that no mathematical formulas can accurately capture the real conditions. Jurors or even judges cannot be seen as acting independently, with a clear probability of delivering a correct verdict. Each juror is somewhat swayed by the opinions of others, and there are subtle influences of personality, demeanor, and mental strength that resist analysis. Even in physical science, we can only apply theory in a clear way in a few cases because the data needed is too complicated and hard to gather. However, these limitations don't lessen the truth and beauty of the theory itself; in fact, there's no area of science where our symbols can fully handle the complexity of Nature. As Donkin said,—
“I do not see on what ground it can be doubted that every definite state of belief concerning a proposed hypothesis, is in itself capable of being represented by a numerical expression, however difficult or impracticable it may be to ascertain its actual value. It would be very difficult to estimate in numbers the vis viva of all the particles of a human body at any instant; but no one doubts that it is capable of numerical expression.”127
“I don't see why anyone would doubt that every specific belief about a proposed hypothesis can be represented by a numerical value, even if figuring out what that value is might be really challenging or impossible. It would be extremely hard to quantify the vis viva of all the particles in a human body at any given moment; but no one questions that it can be expressed numerically.”127
The difficulty, in short, is merely relative to our knowledge and skill, and is not absolute or inherent in the subject. We must distinguish between what is theoretically conceivable and what is practicable with our present mental resources. Provided that our aspirations are pointed in a right direction, we must not allow them to be damped by the consideration that they pass beyond what can now be turned to immediate use. In spite of its immense difficulties of application, and the aspersions which have been mistakenly cast upon it, the theory of probabilities, I repeat, is the noblest, as it will in course217 of time prove, perhaps the most fruitful branch of mathematical science. It is the very guide of life, and hardly can we take a step or make a decision of any kind without correctly or incorrectly making an estimation of probabilities. In the next chapter we proceed to consider how the whole cogency of inductive reasoning rests upon probabilities. The truth or untruth of a natural law, when carefully investigated, resolves itself into a high or low degree of probability, and this is the case whether or not we are capable of producing precise numerical data.
The difficulty, in short, is just relative to our knowledge and skills, and isn’t absolute or inherent in the subject itself. We need to differentiate between what is theoretically possible and what we can actually do with our current mental resources. As long as our goals are aimed in the right direction, we shouldn’t let the fact that they go beyond what we can use right now hold us back. Despite its huge challenges and the unfair criticism it has faced, I maintain that the theory of probabilities is the most admirable and will eventually prove to be one of the most fruitful areas of mathematical science. It guides our lives, and it’s hard to take a step or make any decision without correctly or incorrectly assessing probabilities. In the next chapter, we will explore how the whole foundation of inductive reasoning relies on probabilities. The truth or falsehood of a natural law, when carefully examined, boils down to a high or low degree of probability, whether or not we can provide exact numerical data.
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CHAPTER XI.
Inductive Inference Philosophy.
We have inquired into the nature of perfect induction, whereby we pass backwards from certain observed combinations of events, to the logical conditions governing such combinations. We have also investigated the grounds of that theory of probability, which must be our guide when we leave certainty behind, and dilute knowledge with ignorance. There is now before us the difficult task of endeavouring to decide how, by the aid of that theory, we can ascend from the facts to the laws of nature; and may then with more or less success anticipate the future course of events. All our knowledge of natural objects must be ultimately derived from observation, and the difficult question arises—How can we ever know anything which we have not directly observed through one of our senses, the apertures of the mind? The utility of reasoning is to assure ourselves that, at a determinate time and place, or under specified conditions, a certain phenomenon will be observed. When we can use our senses and perceive that the phenomenon does occur, reasoning is superfluous. If the senses cannot be used, because the event is in the future, or out of reach, how can reasoning take their place? Apparently, at least, we must infer the unknown from the known, and the mind must itself create an addition to the sum of knowledge. But I hold that it is quite impossible to make any real additions to the contents of our knowledge, except through new impressions upon the senses, or upon some seat of feeling. I shall219 attempt to show that inference, whether inductive or deductive, is never more than an unfolding of the contents of our experience, and that it always proceeds upon the assumption that the future and the unperceived will be governed by the same conditions as the past and the perceived, an assumption which will often prove to be mistaken.
We have looked into the concept of perfect induction, where we work backwards from specific observed combinations of events to understand the logical conditions that govern those combinations. We've also examined the foundations of the theory of probability, which must guide us when we move away from certainty and mix knowledge with ignorance. Now we face the challenging task of figuring out how, using that theory, we can rise from the facts to the laws of nature; then, with varying degrees of success, predict the future course of events. All our knowledge of natural objects ultimately comes from observation, and a challenging question arises—how can we ever know anything that we haven't directly observed through one of our senses, the gateways of the mind? The goal of reasoning is to assure ourselves that, at a specific time and place, or under certain conditions, a particular phenomenon will be observed. When we can use our senses and see that the phenomenon occurs, reasoning is unnecessary. If the senses can't be used because the event is in the future or beyond our reach, how can reasoning fill that gap? It seems that we must infer the unknown from the known, and the mind must create an addition to our knowledge. However, I believe it is quite impossible to genuinely add to our knowledge without new impressions on our senses or feelings. I will219 attempt to demonstrate that inference, whether inductive or deductive, is always just an unfolding of our experiences, operating under the assumption that the future and the unobserved will follow the same conditions as the past and the observed, an assumption that often turns out to be wrong.
In inductive as in deductive reasoning the conclusion never passes beyond the premises. Reasoning adds no more to the implicit contents of our knowledge, than the arrangement of the specimens in a museum adds to the number of those specimens. Arrangement adds to our knowledge in a certain sense: it allows us to perceive the similarities and peculiarities of the specimens, and on the assumption that the museum is an adequate representation of nature, it enables us to judge of the prevailing forms of natural objects. Bacon’s first aphorism holds perfectly true, that man knows nothing but what he has observed, provided that we include his whole sources of experience, and the whole implicit contents of his knowledge. Inference but unfolds the hidden meaning of our observations, and the theory of probability shows how far we go beyond our data in assuming that new specimens will resemble the old ones, or that the future may be regarded as proceeding uniformly with the past.
In both inductive and deductive reasoning, the conclusion can never go beyond the premises. Reasoning doesn’t add anything to the implicit contents of our knowledge, just like organizing items in a museum doesn’t increase the number of those items. Organization does enhance our understanding in some way: it helps us notice the similarities and differences among the items, and assuming the museum accurately represents nature, it lets us assess the common forms of natural objects. Bacon’s first aphorism holds true: people know nothing beyond what they have observed, as long as we consider all sources of experience and the entire implicit content of their knowledge. Inference simply reveals the hidden meanings in our observations, and the theory of probability illustrates how far we stray from our data in assuming that new items will be like the old ones, or that the future can be seen as continuing in the same way as the past.
Various Classes of Inductive Truths.
It will be desirable, in the first place, to distinguish between the several kinds of truths which we endeavour to establish by induction. Although there is a certain common and universal element in all our processes of reasoning, yet diversity arises in their application. Similarity of condition between the events from which we argue, and those to which we argue, must always be the ground of inference; but this similarity may have regard either to time or place, or the simple logical combination of events, or to any conceivable junction of circumstances involving quality, time, and place. Having met with many pieces of substance possessing ductility and a bright yellow colour, and having discovered, by perfect induction, that they all possess a high specific220 gravity, and a freedom from the corrosive action of acids, we are led to expect that every piece of substance, possessing like ductility and a similar yellow colour, will have an equally high specific gravity, and a like freedom from corrosion by acids. This is a case of the coexistence of qualities; for the character of the specimens examined alters not with time nor place.
It’s important, first of all, to differentiate between the various types of truths that we try to establish through induction. While there is a common and universal aspect to all our reasoning processes, differences come up in how they’re applied. The similarity between the events we reason from and the events we’re reasoning about always has to be the basis for our conclusions; however, this similarity can relate to time, location, or the simple logical combination of events, or any conceivable mix of circumstances involving quality, time, and place. Having encountered many substances that are ductile and bright yellow, and having found through thorough induction that they all share a high specific gravity and resistance to acidic corrosion, we expect that any substance with the same ductility and similar yellow color will have an equally high specific gravity and similar resistance to acidic corrosion. This is an example of the coexistence of qualities, as the characteristics of the samples examined do not change with time or location.
In a second class of cases, time will enter as a principal ground of similarity. When we hear a clock pendulum beat time after time, at equal intervals, and with a uniform sound, we confidently expect that the stroke will continue to be repeated uniformly. A comet having appeared several times at nearly equal intervals, we infer that it will probably appear again at the end of another like interval. A man who has returned home evening after evening for many years, and found his house standing, may, on like grounds, expect that it will be standing the next evening, and on many succeeding evenings. Even the continuous existence of an object in an unaltered state, or the finding again of that which we have hidden, is but a matter of inference depending on experience.
In a second category of cases, time will be a key factor in the similarity. When we hear a clock's pendulum ticking consistently, at regular intervals, and with a steady sound, we confidently expect that the ticking will keep happening the same way. A comet that has appeared several times at almost equal intervals leads us to believe it will likely show up again after another similar interval. A person who has come home every evening for many years and found their house still standing may, for similar reasons, expect that it will still be there the next evening, and on many more evenings to come. Even the ongoing presence of an object in its original condition, or finding something we’ve hidden, is really just an inference based on our past experiences.
A still larger and more complex class of cases involves the relations of space, in addition to those of time and quality. Having observed that every triangle drawn upon the diameter of a circle, with its apex upon the circumference, apparently contains a right angle, we may ascertain that all triangles in similar circumstances will contain right angles. This is a case of pure space reasoning, apart from circumstances of time or quality, and it seems to be governed by different principles of reasoning. I shall endeavour to show, however, that geometrical reasoning differs but in degree from that which applies to other natural relations.
A bigger and more complex group of cases involves the relationships of space, along with those of time and quality. After noticing that every triangle drawn on the diameter of a circle, with its peak on the edge, seems to have a right angle, we can determine that all triangles in similar situations will also have right angles. This is an example of pure spatial reasoning, separate from considerations of time or quality, and it appears to follow different reasoning principles. However, I will attempt to show that geometrical reasoning is only a matter of degree in comparison to reasoning that applies to other natural relationships.
The Relation of Cause and Effect.
In a very large part of the scientific investigations which must be considered, we deal with events which follow from previous events, or with existences which succeed existences. Science, indeed, might arise even were material nature a fixed and changeless whole. Endow mind with the power to travel about, and compare part221 with part, and it could certainly draw inferences concerning the similarity of forms, the coexistence of qualities, or the preponderance of a particular kind of matter in a changeless world. A solid universe, in at least approximate equilibrium, is not inconceivable, and then the relation of cause and effect would evidently be no more than the relation of before and after. As nature exists, however, it is a progressive existence, ever moving and changing as time, the great independent variable, proceeds. Hence it arises that we must continually compare what is happening now with what happened a moment before, and a moment before that moment, and so on, until we reach indefinite periods of past time. A comet is seen moving in the sky, or its constituent particles illumine the heavens with their tails of fire. We cannot explain the present movements of such a body without supposing its prior existence, with a definite amount of energy and a definite direction of motion; nor can we validly suppose that our task is concluded when we find that it came wandering to our solar system through the unmeasured vastness of surrounding space. Every event must have a cause, and that cause again a cause, until we are lost in the obscurity of the past, and are driven to the belief in one First Cause, by whom the course of nature was determined.
In a large part of scientific research, we examine events that result from previous events or existences that follow other existences. Science could emerge even if the material world were a fixed and unchanging entity. If we give the mind the ability to explore and compare parts with each other, it could definitely make inferences about similarities in forms, the coexistence of qualities, or the dominance of a particular type of matter in an unchanging world. A solid universe, at least in a rough sense of balance, isn’t beyond imagination, and in that case, the relationship between cause and effect would simply be the relationship of before and after. However, nature, as it exists, is a progressive reality, constantly moving and changing as time, the great independent variable, moves on. This means we have to continually compare what’s happening now with what happened a moment ago, and a moment before that, and so on, until we reach indefinite stretches of the past. A comet is seen moving in the sky, or its particles light up the heavens with their fiery tails. We can’t explain the current movements of such a body without assuming it had a prior existence, with a specific amount of energy and a defined direction of motion; nor can we validly conclude our task when we find it came drifting into our solar system from the incredible vastness of space around it. Every event must have a cause, and that cause must have another cause, until we become lost in the uncertainty of the past and are compelled to believe in one First Cause, by which the flow of nature was established.
Fallacious Use of the Term Cause.
The words Cause and Causation have given rise to infinite trouble and obscurity, and have in no slight degree retarded the progress of science. From the time of Aristotle, the work of philosophy has been described as the discovery of the causes of things, and Francis Bacon adopted the notion when he said “vere scire esse per causas scire.” Even now it is not uncommonly supposed that the knowledge of causes is something different from other knowledge, and consists, as it were, in getting possession of the keys of nature. A single word may thus act as a spell, and throw the clearest intellect into confusion, as I have often thought that Locke was thrown into confusion when endeavouring to find a meaning for the word power.128 In Mill’s System of222 Logic the term cause seems to have re-asserted its old noxious power. Not only does Mill treat the Laws of Causation as almost coextensive with science, but he so uses the expression as to imply that when once we pass within the circle of causation we deal with certainties.
The terms Cause and Causation have caused endless confusion and have significantly slowed down the advancement of science. Since the time of Aristotle, philosophy has been described as the search for the causes of things, a concept that Francis Bacon embraced when he stated “vere scire esse per causas scire.” Even today, many still believe that understanding causes is different from other knowledge, almost as if it involves possessing the keys to nature. A single word can serve as a spell, throwing even the clearest mind into confusion—just as I believe Locke experienced while trying to define the term power.128 In Mill’s System of222 Logic, the term cause appears to have reclaimed its previously harmful influence. Mill doesn't just consider the Laws of Causation to be nearly synonymous with science; he uses the term in a way that suggests once we enter the realm of causation, we are dealing with certainties.
The philosophical danger which attaches to the use of this word may be thus described. A cause is defined as the necessary or invariable antecedent of an event, so that when the cause exists the effect will also exist or soon follow. If then we know the cause of an event, we know what will certainly happen; and as it is implied that science, by a proper experimental method, may attain to a knowledge of causes, it follows that experience may give us a certain knowledge of future events. But nothing is more unquestionable than that finite experience can never give us certain knowledge of the future, so that either a cause is not an invariable antecedent, or else we can never gain certain knowledge of causes. The first horn of this dilemma is hardly to be accepted. Doubtless there is in nature some invariably acting mechanism, such that from certain fixed conditions an invariable result always emerges. But we, with our finite minds and short experience, can never penetrate the mystery of those existences which embody the Will of the Creator, and evolve it throughout time. We are in the position of spectators who witness the productions of a complicated machine, but are not allowed to examine its intimate structure. We learn what does happen and what does appear, but if we ask for the reason, the answer would involve an infinite depth of mystery. The simplest bit of matter, or the most trivial incident, such as the stroke of two billiard balls, offers infinitely more to learn than ever the human intellect can fathom. The word cause covers just as much untold meaning as any of the words substance, matter, thought, existence.
The philosophical issue related to this word can be described like this. A cause is defined as the necessary or consistent precursor of an event, meaning when the cause is present, the effect will also be present or soon occur. So, if we understand the cause of an event, we know what will definitely happen; and since it's suggested that science, through proper experimental methods, can achieve knowledge of causes, it follows that experience may provide us with certain knowledge of future events. However, nothing is clearer than the fact that limited experience can never give us certain knowledge of the future, meaning either a cause is not a consistent precursor, or we can never truly know causes for sure. The first option in this dilemma is hard to accept. Surely, there is some mechanism in nature that consistently operates, such that from specific conditions, a consistent outcome always results. But we, with our limited minds and short experiences, can never fully understand the mystery of those entities that express the Will of the Creator and unfold it over time. We are like spectators watching the outputs of a complex machine but are not allowed to examine its inner workings. We observe what happens and what seems to occur, but if we ask for the reasons, the answer would involve an infinite depth of mystery. The simplest piece of matter, or the most trivial event, like the collision of two billiard balls, offers infinitely more to learn than the human mind can ever comprehend. The word cause contains just as much ungraspable meaning as any of the words substance, matter, thought, existence.
Confusion of Two Questions.
The subject is much complicated, too, by the confusion of two distinct questions. An event having happened, we may ask—
The subject is also made more complicated by the confusion of two separate questions. Once an event has occurred, we can ask—
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(2) Of what kind is that cause?
No one would assert that the mind possesses any faculty capable of inferring, prior to experience, that the occurrence of a sudden noise with flame and smoke indicates the combustion of a black powder, formed by the mixture of black, white, and yellow powders. The greatest upholder of à priori doctrines will allow that the particular aspect, shape, size, colour, texture, and other qualities of a cause must be gathered through the senses.
No one would claim that the mind has any ability to infer, before experience, that the sudden presence of noise, flame, and smoke signals the burning of a black powder made from a mix of black, white, and yellow powders. Even the strongest supporter of à priori beliefs would agree that the specific appearance, shape, size, color, texture, and other characteristics of a cause must be learned through the senses.
The question whether there is any cause at all for an event, is of a totally different kind. If an explosion could happen without any prior existing conditions, it must be a new creation—a distinct addition to the universe. It may be plausibly held that we can imagine neither the creation nor annihilation of anything. As regards matter, this has long been held true; as regards force, it is now almost universally assumed as an axiom that energy can neither come into nor go out of existence without distinct acts of Creative Will. That there exists any instinctive belief to this effect, indeed, seems doubtful. We find Lucretius, a philosopher of the utmost intellectual power and cultivation, gravely assuming that his raining atoms could turn aside from their straight paths in a self-determining manner, and by this spontaneous origination of energy determine the form of the universe.129 Sir George Airy, too, seriously discussed the mathematical conditions under which a perpetual motion, that is, a perpetual source of self-created energy, might exist.130 The larger part of the philosophic world has long held that in mental acts there is free will—in short, self-causation. It is in vain to attempt to reconcile this doctrine with that of an intuitive belief in causation, as Sir W. Hamilton candidly allowed.
The question of whether there’s any cause for an event is completely different. If an explosion could occur without any prior conditions, it would have to be a new creation—a distinct addition to the universe. It’s reasonable to think that we can’t truly imagine the creation or destruction of anything. This has been accepted for matter for a long time; regarding force, it’s now almost universally assumed that energy can’t come into being or disappear without specific acts of Creative Will. Whether there’s any instinctive belief in this seems doubtful. We see Lucretius, a philosopher of great intellect and education, seriously suggesting that his falling atoms could change direction on their own and, through this spontaneous generation of energy, shape the universe.129 Sir George Airy also seriously examined the mathematical conditions under which perpetual motion, or a continual source of self-created energy, might be possible.130 Most of the philosophical community has long believed that mental actions involve free will—in other words, self-causation. It’s pointless to try to reconcile this belief with the intuitive belief in causation, as Sir W. Hamilton honestly acknowledged.
It is obvious, moreover, that to assert the existence of a cause for every event cannot do more than remove into the indefinite past the inconceivable fact and mystery of creation. At any given moment matter and energy224 were equal to what they are at present, or they were not; if equal, we may make the same inquiry concerning any other moment, however long prior, and we are thus obliged to accept one horn of the dilemma—existence from infinity, or creation at some moment. This is but one of the many cases in which we are compelled to believe in one or other of two alternatives, both inconceivable. My present purpose, however, is to point out that we must not confuse this supremely difficult question with that into which inductive science inquires on the foundation of facts. By induction we gain no certain knowledge; but by observation, and the inverse use of deductive reasoning, we estimate the probability that an event which has occurred was preceded by conditions of specified character, or that such conditions will be followed by the event.
It’s clear that claiming there’s a cause for every event only pushes the unfathomable mystery of creation further back into the past. At any given moment, matter and energy were either the same as they are now or they weren’t; if they were the same, we can ask the same question about any earlier moment, no matter how far back. This forces us to choose between two options—existence from infinity or creation at some point. This is just one example of how we’re stuck believing in one of two alternatives, both of which are hard to grasp. However, my main point is that we shouldn’t mix up this incredibly complex issue with the questions that inductive science examines based on facts. Through induction, we don’t gain certain knowledge; rather, through observation and the reverse use of deductive reasoning, we assess the likelihood that an event that has happened was preceded by specific conditions, or that those conditions will lead to the event.
Definition of the Term Cause.
Clear definitions of the word cause have been given by several philosophers. Hobbes has said, “A cause is the sum or aggregate of all such accidents, both in the agents and the patients, as concur in the producing of the effect propounded; all which existing together, it cannot be understood but that the effect existeth with them; or that it can possibly exist if any of them be absent.” Brown, in his Essay on Causation, gave a nearly corresponding statement. “A cause,” he says,131 “may be defined to be the object or event which immediately precedes any change, and which existing again in similar circumstances will be always immediately followed by a similar change.” Of the kindred word power, he likewise says:132 “Power is nothing more than that invariableness of antecedence which is implied in the belief of causation.”
Clear definitions of the word cause have been given by several philosophers. Hobbes said, “A cause is the total of all those events, both in the agents and the patients, that come together to produce the effect mentioned; since all these must exist together, it’s impossible to understand the effect existing without them, or that it could possibly exist if any of them were missing.” Brown, in his Essay on Causation, made a similar point. “A cause,” he states,131 “can be defined as the object or event that immediately precedes any change, and that, if it occurs again under similar circumstances, will always be immediately followed by a similar change.” Regarding the related term power, he also mentions:132 “Power is simply the consistent sequence that is implied in the belief of causation.”
These definitions may be accepted with the qualification that our knowledge of causes in such a sense can be probable only. The work of science consists in ascertaining the combinations in which phenomena present themselves.225 Concerning every event we shall have to determine its probable conditions, or the group of antecedents from which it probably follows. An antecedent is anything which exists prior to an event; a consequent is anything which exists subsequently to an antecedent. It will not usually happen that there is any probable connection between an antecedent and consequent. Thus nitrogen is an antecedent to the lighting of a common fire; but it is so far from being a cause of the lighting, that it renders the combustion less active. Daylight is an antecedent to all fires lighted during the day, but it probably has no appreciable effect upon their burning. But in the case of any given event it is usually possible to discover a certain number of antecedents which seem to be always present, and with more or less probability we conclude that when they exist the event will follow.
These definitions can be accepted with the understanding that our knowledge of causes can only be probable. The work of science involves determining the combinations in which phenomena appear. 225 For every event, we need to find its probable conditions, or the group of factors that likely lead to it. An antecedent is anything that exists before an event; a consequent is anything that occurs after an antecedent. There usually isn't a likely connection between an antecedent and a consequent. For example, nitrogen is an antecedent to starting a fire, but it doesn't cause the fire; instead, it actually makes combustion less effective. Daylight is an antecedent to all fires lit during the day, but it likely doesn't significantly affect how they burn. However, for any specific event, it is often possible to identify a certain number of antecedents that seem to always be present, and with varying degrees of probability, we conclude that when they are there, the event will likely occur.
Let it be observed that the utmost latitude is at present enjoyed in the use of the term cause. Not only may a cause be an existent thing endowed with powers, as oxygen is the cause of combustion, gunpowder the cause of explosion, but the very absence or removal of a thing may also be a cause. It is quite correct to speak of the dryness of the Egyptian atmosphere, or the absence of moisture, as being the cause of the preservation of mummies, and other remains of antiquity. The cause of a mountain elevation, Ingleborough for instance, is the excavation of the surrounding valleys by denudation. It is not so usual to speak of the existence of a thing at one moment as the cause of its existence at the next, but to me it seems the commonest case of causation which can occur. The cause of motion of a billiard ball may be the stroke of another ball; and recent philosophy leads us to look upon all motions and changes, as but so many manifestations of prior existing energy. In all probability there is no creation of energy and no destruction, so that as regards both mechanical and molecular changes, the cause is really the manifestation of existing energy. In the same way I see not why the prior existence of matter is not also a cause as regards its subsequent existence. All science tends to show us that the existence of the universe in a particular state at one moment, is the condition of its existence at the next moment, in an apparently different226 state. When we analyse the meaning which we can attribute to the word cause, it amounts to the existence of suitable portions of matter endowed with suitable quantities of energy. If we may accept Horne Tooke’s assertion, cause has etymologically the meaning of thing before. Though, indeed, the origin of the word is very obscure, its derivatives, the Italian cosa, and the French chose, mean simply thing. In the German equivalent ursache, we have plainly the original meaning of thing before, the sache denoting “interesting or important object,” the English sake, and ur being the equivalent of the English ere, before. We abandon, then, both etymology and philosophy, when we attribute to the laws of causation any meaning beyond that of the conditions under which an event may be expected to happen, according to our observation of the previous course of nature.
It's important to note that there is currently a lot of freedom in how we use the term cause. A cause can be a real thing with powers, like oxygen being the cause of combustion or gunpowder being the cause of an explosion, but it can also refer to the lack or removal of something. It's completely accurate to describe the dryness of the Egyptian atmosphere, or the absence of moisture, as the reason for the preservation of mummies and other ancient remains. The reason for the elevation of a mountain like Ingleborough is the erosion of the surrounding valleys. It's not as common to think of something's existence at one moment as the reason for its existence at the next, but it seems to me that this is actually one of the most typical cases of causation. The motion of a billiard ball can be caused by the strike of another ball; recent philosophy encourages us to view all movements and changes as simply expressions of previously existing energy. It's likely that energy is neither created nor destroyed, meaning that for both mechanical and molecular changes, the cause is really just the expression of existing energy. Similarly, I don't see why the prior existence of matter couldn't also be a cause for its later existence. All science suggests that the state of the universe at one moment sets the stage for its state at the next moment, even if they seem different. When we break down what we mean by the word cause, it comes down to having the right amounts of matter with the right amounts of energy. If we take Horne Tooke's statement, cause etymologically means thing before. Although the origins of the word are quite unclear, its derivatives in Italian cosa and French chose simply mean thing. In the German equivalent ursache, we can clearly see the original meaning of thing before, where sache refers to an “interesting or important object,” and ur resembles the English ere, meaning before. Therefore, when we attribute any significance beyond that of the conditions under which an event can be expected to occur—based on our observations of the natural world—we are stepping away from both etymology and philosophy in regard to the laws of causation.
I have no objection to use the words cause and causation, provided they are never allowed to lead us to imagine that our knowledge of nature can attain to certainty. I repeat that if a cause is an invariable and necessary condition of an event, we can never know certainly whether the cause exists or not. To us, then, a cause is not to be distinguished from the group of positive or negative conditions which, with more or less probability, precede an event. In this sense, there is no particular difference between knowledge of causes and our general knowledge of the succession of combinations, in which the phenomena of nature are presented to us, or found to occur in experimental inquiry.
I have no problem with using the words cause and causation, as long as they don't make us think that our understanding of nature can be completely certain. I want to emphasize that if a cause is an unchanging and necessary condition for an event, we can never be sure if that cause actually exists. For us, a cause shouldn't be viewed differently from the range of positive or negative conditions that, with varying degrees of likelihood, come before an event. In this way, there's really no significant difference between understanding causes and our overall understanding of the series of combinations in which natural phenomena are presented to us or observed in experimental research.
Distinction of Inductive and Deductive Results.
We must carefully avoid confusing together inductive investigations which terminate in the establishment of general laws, and those which seem to lead directly to the knowledge of future particular events. That process only can be called induction which gives general laws, and it is by the subsequent employment of deduction that we anticipate particular events. If the observation of a number of cases shows that alloys of metals fuse at lower temperatures than their constituent metals, I may with more or less probability draw a general inference to that227 effect, and may thence deductively ascertain the probability that the next alloy examined will fuse at a lower temperature than its constituents. It has been asserted, indeed, by Mill,133 and partially admitted by Mr. Fowler,134 that we can argue directly from case to case, so that what is true of some alloys will be true of the next. Professor Bain has adopted the same view of reasoning. He thinks that Mill has extricated us from the dead lock of the syllogism and effected a total revolution in logic. He holds that reasoning from particulars to particulars is not only the usual, the most obvious and the most ready method, but that it is the type of reasoning which best discloses the real process.135 Doubtless, this is the usual result of our reasoning, regard being had to degrees of probability; but these logicians fail entirely to give any explanation of the process by which we get from case to case.
We need to be careful not to mix up inductive investigations that lead to general laws with those that seem to predict specific future events. The term "induction" refers only to processes that establish general laws, while deduction is used to predict particular events. If observing several cases shows that metal alloys melt at lower temperatures than their individual metals, I can, with varying degrees of certainty, make a general conclusion about this effect and then deduce the likelihood that the next alloy tested will also melt at a lower temperature than its components. Indeed, Mill,133 and partially Mr. Fowler,134 have claimed that we can directly compare cases, so what applies to some alloys should also apply to the next one. Professor Bain shares this reasoning perspective. He believes Mill has freed us from the stalemate of syllogisms and brought about a significant change in logic. Bain argues that reasoning from specific cases to other specific cases is not only the most typical, obvious, and convenient method, but also represents the best way to reveal the actual process.135 This might be the usual outcome of our reasoning when considering degrees of probability; however, these logicians completely fail to explain how we move from one case to another.
It may be allowed that the knowledge of future particular events is the main purpose of our investigations, and if there were any process of thought by which we could pass directly from event to event without ascending into general truths, this method would be sufficient, and certainly the briefest. It is true, also, that the laws of mental association lead the mind always to expect the like again in apparently like circumstances, and even animals of very low intelligence must have some trace of such powers of association, serving to guide them more or less correctly, in the absence of true reasoning faculties. But it is the purpose of logic, according to Mill, to ascertain whether inferences have been correctly drawn, rather than to discover them.136 Even if we can, then, by habit, association, or any rude process of inference, infer the future directly from the past, it is the work of logic to analyse the conditions on which the correctness of this inference depends. Even Mill would admit that such analysis involves the consideration of general truths,137 and228 in this, as in several other important points, we might controvert Mill’s own views by his own statements. It seems to me undesirable in a systematic work like this to enter into controversy at any length, or to attempt to refute the views of other logicians. But I shall feel bound to state, in a separate publication, my very deliberate opinion that many of Mill’s innovations in logical science, and especially his doctrine of reasoning from particulars to particulars, are entirely groundless and false.
It might be accepted that understanding specific future events is the main goal of our investigations, and if there were a way of thinking that allowed us to move directly from one event to another without having to rely on broad principles, that approach would be both sufficient and certainly the quickest. It's also true that the laws of mental association make us expect similar outcomes in seemingly similar situations, and even animals with very low intelligence must have some level of these associative powers, which help guide them reasonably well, even without true reasoning abilities. However, according to Mill, the aim of logic is to determine whether conclusions have been correctly drawn rather than to find them. Even if we can, through habit, association, or any basic reasoning process, predict the future directly from the past, it's logic's role to analyze the conditions that make this inference accurate. Even Mill would agree that such analysis requires considering general truths, and in this regard, as well as several other significant issues, we could challenge Mill's own views using his own statements. It seems to me unwise in a systematic work like this to engage in lengthy arguments or to try to disprove the ideas of other logicians. However, I feel compelled to express, in a separate publication, my strong belief that many of Mill's contributions to logical science, especially his idea of reasoning from specifics to specifics, are completely unfounded and incorrect.
The Grounds of Inductive Inference.
I hold that in all cases of inductive inference we must invent hypotheses, until we fall upon some hypothesis which yields deductive results in accordance with experience. Such accordance renders the chosen hypothesis more or less probable, and we may then deduce, with some degree of likelihood, the nature of our future experience, on the assumption that no arbitrary change takes place in the conditions of nature. We can only argue from the past to the future, on the general principle set forth in this work, that what is true of a thing will be true of the like. So far then as one object or event differs from another, all inference is impossible, particulars as particulars can no more make an inference than grains of sand can make a rope. We must always rise to something which is general or same in the cases, and assuming that sameness to be extended to new cases we learn their nature. Hearing a clock tick five thousand times without exception or variation, we adopt the very probable hypothesis that there is some invariably acting machine which produces those uniform sounds, and which will, in the absence of change, go on producing them. Meeting twenty times with a bright yellow ductile substance, and finding it always to be very heavy and incorrodible, I infer that there was some natural condition which tended in the creation of things to associate these properties together, and I expect to find them associated in the next instance. But there always is the possibility that some unknown change may take place between past and future cases. The clock may run down, or be subject to a hundred accidents altering its condition. There is no reason in the nature of things, so far as known229 to us, why yellow colour, ductility, high specific gravity, and incorrodibility, should always be associated together, and in other cases, if not in this, men’s expectations have been deceived. Our inferences, therefore, always retain more or less of a hypothetical character, and are so far open to doubt. Only in proportion as our induction approximates to the character of perfect induction, does it approximate to certainty. The amount of uncertainty corresponds to the probability that other objects than those examined may exist and falsity our inferences; the amount of probability corresponds to the amount of information yielded by our examination; and the theory of probability will be needed to prevent us from over-estimating or under-estimating the knowledge we possess.
I believe that in all cases of inductive reasoning, we must come up with hypotheses until we find one that provides deductive results consistent with experience. This consistency makes the chosen hypothesis more or less likely to be true, allowing us to infer, with some degree of certainty, what our future experiences might be, assuming no random changes occur in the conditions of nature. We can only make predictions about the future based on the past, following the general principle in this work that what is true for one thing will also be true for similar things. As far as one object or event differs from another, all reasoning is impossible; individual specifics alone cannot make an inference, just as grains of sand can’t form a rope. We always need to generalize something shared between the cases, and assuming that this similarity applies to new cases helps us learn their nature. For example, if we hear a clock tick five thousand times without fail or variation, we are likely to conclude that there’s a reliable machine behind those consistent sounds, which will continue to produce them without change. If we encounter a bright yellow, flexible substance twenty times and it’s always very heavy and resistant to corrosion, I would infer that there's some natural condition that tends to link these properties, and I would expect to see them associated again next time. However, there’s always the chance that something unknown may change between past and future instances. The clock may stop, or it might face numerous accidents that alter its state. There’s no inherent reason, as far as we know, why yellow color, flexibility, high density, and resistance to corrosion should always go together, and in other situations, if not this one, people’s expectations have often been wrong. Therefore, our conclusions always retain a level of uncertainty, and they remain somewhat hypothetical and subject to doubt. Only as our reasoning gets closer to perfect induction does it approach certainty. The amount of uncertainty corresponds to the likelihood that there are other objects beyond those examined which could invalidate our conclusions; the degree of probability reflects the information provided by our examination; and we need the theory of probability to help us avoid overestimating or underestimating the knowledge we have.
Illustrations of the Inductive Process.
To illustrate the passage from the known to the apparently unknown, let us suppose that the phenomena under investigation consist of numbers, and that the following six numbers being exhibited to us, we are required to infer the character of the next in the series:—
To illustrate the transition from the known to the seemingly unknown, let's assume that the phenomena we're studying consist of numbers. If we're shown the following six numbers, we need to figure out the nature of the next one in the series:—
The question first of all arises, How may we describe this series of numbers? What is uniformly true of them? The reader cannot fail to perceive at the first glance that they all end in five, and the problem is, from the properties of these six numbers, to infer the properties of the next number ending in five. If we test their properties by the process of perfect induction, we soon perceive that they have another common property, namely that of being divisible by five without remainder. May we then assert that the next number ending in five is also divisible by five, and, if so, upon what grounds? Or extending the question, Is every number ending in five divisible by five? Does it follow that because six numbers obey a supposed law, therefore 376,685,975 or any other number, however large, obeys the law? I answer certainly not. The law in question is undoubtedly true; but its truth is not proved by any finite number of examples. All that these six numbers can do is to suggest to my mind the possible existence of230 such a law; and I then ascertain its truth, by proving deductively from the rules of decimal numeration, that any number ending in five must be made up of multiples of five, and must therefore be itself a multiple.
The question arises: How can we describe this series of numbers? What do they all have in common? At first glance, it's clear that they all end in five, and the challenge is to deduce the properties of the next number ending in five based on these six numbers. If we examine their properties through perfect induction, we quickly notice another shared trait: they are all divisible by five without remainder. Can we then say that the next number ending in five is also divisible by five, and if so, what’s the reasoning behind it? To broaden the question, is every number ending in five divisible by five? Does the fact that six numbers follow a certain rule mean that 376,685,975 or any other number, no matter how large, must follow it as well? I would say certainly not. The rule in question is undoubtedly valid; however, its validity isn't proven by a finite number of examples. All these six numbers can do is suggest to me the possible existence of such a law; and I then verify its truth by deductively proving from the rules of decimal numbering that any number ending in five must be composed of multiples of five, and thus must itself be a multiple.
To make this more plain, let the reader now examine the numbers—
To make this clearer, let the reader now look at the numbers—
They all end in 7 instead of 5, and though not at equal intervals, the intervals are the same as in the previous case. After consideration, the reader will perceive that these numbers all agree in being prime numbers, or multiples of unity only. May we then infer that the next, or any other number ending in 7, is a prime number? Clearly not, for on trial we find that 27, 57, 117 are not primes. Six instances, then, treated empirically, lead us to a true and universal law in one case, and mislead us in another case. We ought, in fact, to have no confidence in any law until we have treated it deductively, and have shown that from the conditions supposed the results expected must ensue. No one can show from the principles of number, that numbers ending in 7 should be primes.
They all end in 7 instead of 5, and although not at equal intervals, the intervals are the same as in the previous case. After reflection, the reader will notice that these numbers are all prime numbers, or only divisible by 1 and themselves. Can we then conclude that the next number, or any other number ending in 7, is a prime number? Clearly not, because when we test them, we find that 27, 57, and 117 are not primes. Six examples, then, treated empirically, lead us to a true and universal law in one situation and mislead us in another. We should actually have no confidence in any law until we’ve examined it deductively and shown that, based on the supposed conditions, the expected results must follow. No one can demonstrate from the principles of number that numbers ending in 7 should be primes.
From the history of the theory of numbers some good examples of false induction can be adduced. Taking the following series of prime numbers,
From the history of number theory, we can find some clear examples of false induction. Consider the following series of prime numbers,
it will be found that they all agree in being values of the general expression x2 + x + 41, putting for x in succession the values, 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, &c. We seem always to obtain a prime number, and the induction is apparently strong, to the effect that this expression always will give primes. Yet a few more trials disprove this false conclusion. Put x = 40, and we obtain 40 × 40 + 40 + 41, or 41 × 41. Such a failure could never have happened, had we shown any deductive reason why x2 + x + 41 should give primes.
It turns out that they all agree on the values of the general expression x2 + x + 41, by substituting for x the values 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, and so on. We consistently seem to get a prime number, and the evidence strongly suggests that this expression will always produce primes. However, a few more tests disproved this incorrect conclusion. If we set x = 40, we get 40 × 40 + 40 + 41, which is 41 × 41. Such a failure could not have occurred if we had provided a deductive reason why x2 + x + 41 should yield primes.
There can be no doubt that what here happens with forty instances, might happen with forty thousand or forty million instances. An apparent law never once failing up to a certain point may then suddenly break down, so that inductive reasoning, as it has been described by some writers, can give no sure knowledge of what is to come. Babbage pointed out, in his Ninth Bridgewater231 Treatise, that a machine could be constructed to give a perfectly regular series of numbers through a vast series of steps, and yet to break the law of progression suddenly at any required point. No number of particular cases as particulars enables us to pass by inference to any new case. It is hardly needful to inquire here what can be inferred from an infinite series of facts, because they are never practically within our power; but we may unhesitatingly accept the conclusion, that no finite number of instances can ever prove a general law, or can give us certain knowledge of even one other instance.
There’s no doubt that what happens here with forty examples could also happen with forty thousand or forty million examples. An apparent law that holds true up to a certain point may suddenly fail, which means that inductive reasoning, as described by some writers, can’t provide reliable knowledge about what’s next. Babbage noted in his Ninth Bridgewater231 Treatise that a machine could be created to generate a perfectly regular sequence of numbers over a vast range of steps, yet still break the pattern unexpectedly at any given point. No number of specific cases allows us to infer anything about a new case. It’s not really necessary to discuss what can be deduced from an infinite series of facts, since they are never practically available to us; but we can confidently conclude that no finite number of instances can ever prove a general law, or give us certain knowledge about even one other instance.
General mathematical theorems have indeed been discovered by the observation of particular cases, and may again be so discovered. We have Newton’s own statement, to the effect that he was thus led to the all-important Binomial Theorem, the basis of the whole structure of mathematical analysis. Speaking of a certain series of terms, expressing the area of a circle or hyperbola, he says: “I reflected that the denominators were in arithmetical progression; so that only the numerical co-efficients of the numerators remained to be investigated. But these, in the alternate areas, were the figures of the powers of the number eleven, namely 110, 111, 112, 113, 114; that is, in the first 1; in the second 1, 1; in the third 1, 2, 1; in the fourth 1, 3, 3, 1; in the fifth 1, 4, 6, 4, 1.138 I inquired, therefore, in what manner all the remaining figures could be found from the first two; and I found that if the first figure be called m, all the rest could be found by the continual multiplication of the terms of the formula
General mathematical theorems have indeed been discovered by observing specific cases, and they may be discovered this way again. We have Newton’s own statement that he was led to the crucial Binomial Theorem, which forms the foundation of all mathematical analysis. Discussing a particular series of terms representing the area of a circle or hyperbola, he says: “I realized that the denominators were in arithmetic progression; so only the numerical coefficients of the numerators needed further investigation. But these, in the alternating areas, were the figures from the powers of the number eleven, specifically 110, 111, 112, 113, 114; in the first 1; in the second 1, 1; in the third 1, 2, 1; in the fourth 1, 3, 3, 1; in the fifth 1, 4, 6, 4, 1.138 I therefore investigated how all the remaining figures could be derived from the first two; and I discovered that if the first figure is called m, all the others can be found through the continual multiplication of the terms of the formula.
It is pretty evident, from this most interesting statement, that Newton, having simply observed the succession of the numbers, tried various formulæ until he found one which agreed with them all. He was so little satisfied with this process, however, that he verified particular results of his new theorem by comparison with the results of common232 multiplication, and the rule for the extraction of the square root. Newton, in fact, gave no demonstration of his theorem; and the greatest mathematicians of the last century, James Bernoulli, Maclaurin, Landen, Euler, Lagrange, &c., occupied themselves with discovering a conclusive method of deductive proof.
It's clear from this fascinating statement that Newton, simply by observing the sequence of numbers, experimented with different formulas until he found one that matched them all. However, he was not completely satisfied with this method; he double-checked specific results of his new theorem against the outcomes of ordinary multiplication and the rule for extracting square roots. In fact, Newton didn't provide any demonstration of his theorem, and the leading mathematicians of the last century—James Bernoulli, Maclaurin, Landen, Euler, Lagrange, etc.—focused on discovering a definitive method of deductive proof.
There can be no doubt that in geometry also discoveries have been suggested by direct observation. Many of the now trivial propositions of Euclid’s Elements were probably thus discovered, by the ancient Greek geometers; and we have pretty clear evidence of this in the Commentaries of Proclus.140 Galileo was the first to examine the remarkable properties of the cycloid, the curve described by a point in the circumference of a wheel rolling on a plane. By direct observation he ascertained that the area of the curve is apparently three times that of the generating circle or wheel, but he was unable to prove this exactly, or to verify it by strict geometrical reasoning. Sir George Airy has recorded a curious case, in which he fell accidentally by trial on a new geometrical property of the sphere.141 But discovery in such cases means nothing more than suggestion, and it is always by pure deduction that the general law is really established. As Proclus puts it, we must pass from sense to consideration.
There's no doubt that geometry has also had discoveries sparked by direct observation. Many of the now-simple propositions in Euclid’s Elements were likely discovered this way by ancient Greek geometers, and we have pretty clear evidence of this in Proclus's Commentaries.140 Galileo was the first to study the amazing properties of the cycloid, which is the curve traced by a point on the edge of a wheel rolling on a flat surface. Through direct observation, he found that the area of the curve is seemingly three times that of the circle or wheel that generates it, but he couldn't prove this exactly or confirm it with strict geometric reasoning. Sir George Airy noted an interesting case in which he stumbled upon a new geometrical property of the sphere by chance.141 However, discovery in these instances is simply a suggestion, and it is only through pure deduction that the general law is truly established. As Proclus states, we must pass from sense to consideration.

Given, for instance, the series of figures in the accompanying diagram, measurement will show that the curved lines approximate to semicircles, and the rectilinear figures to right-angled triangles. These figures may seem to suggest to the mind the general law that angles inscribed233 in semicircles are right angles; but no number of instances, and no possible accuracy of measurement would really establish the truth of that general law. Availing ourselves of the suggestion furnished by the figures, we can only investigate deductively the consequences which flow from the definition of a circle, until we discover among them the property of containing right angles. Persons have thought that they had discovered a method of trisecting angles by plane geometrical construction, because a certain complex arrangement of lines and circles had appeared to trisect an angle in every case tried by them, and they inferred, by a supposed act of induction, that it would succeed in all other cases. De Morgan has recorded a proposed mode of trisecting the angle which could not be discriminated by the senses from a true general solution, except when it was applied to very obtuse angles.142 In all such cases, it has always turned out either that the angle was not trisected at all, or that only certain particular angles could be thus trisected. The trisectors were misled by some apparent or special coincidence, and only deductive proof could establish the truth and generality of the result. In this particular case, deductive proof shows that the problem attempted is impossible, and that angles generally cannot be trisected by common geometrical methods.
Given, for example, the series of figures in the accompanying diagram, measurement will show that the curved lines resemble semicircles, and the straight figures look like right-angled triangles. These figures might lead one to think of the general rule that angles inscribed in semicircles are right angles; however, no amount of examples or precision in measurement would truly confirm that rule. Taking the hints from the figures, we can only methodically explore the consequences of the definition of a circle until we find among them the property of containing right angles. People have believed they found a way to trisect angles using plane geometric construction because a certain complex arrangement of lines and circles seemed to trisect an angle in every case they tested, leading them to conclude, through a supposed act of induction, that it would work for all other cases. De Morgan documented a proposed method for trisecting an angle that couldn't be distinguished by the senses from an actual general solution, except when applied to very obtuse angles. In all such cases, it has always turned out that either the angle wasn't actually trisected, or that only specific angles could be trisected this way. The trisectors were misled by some apparent or unique coincidence, and only deductive proof could establish the truth and generality of the result. In this particular case, deductive proof shows that the attempted problem is impossible, and that angles generally cannot be trisected using standard geometric methods.
Geometrical Reasoning.
This view of the matter is strongly supported by the further consideration of geometrical reasoning. No skill and care could ever enable us to verify absolutely any one geometrical proposition. Rousseau, in his Emile, tells us that we should teach a child geometry by causing him to measure and compare figures by superposition. While a child was yet incapable of general reasoning, this would doubtless be an instructive exercise; but it never could teach geometry, nor prove the truth of any one proposition. All our figures are rude approximations, and they may happen to seem unequal when they should be equal, and equal when they should be unequal. Moreover figures may from chance be equal in case after case, and234 yet there may be no general reason why they should be so. The results of deductive geometrical reasoning are absolutely certain, and are either exactly true or capable of being carried to any required degree of approximation. In a perfect triangle, the angles must be equal to one half-revolution precisely; even an infinitesimal divergence would be impossible; and I believe with equal confidence, that however many are the angles of a figure, provided there are no re-entrant angles, the sum of the angles will be precisely and absolutely equal to twice as many right-angles as the figure has sides, less by four right-angles. In such cases, the deductive proof is absolute and complete; empirical verification can at the most guard against accidental oversights.
This perspective on the issue is strongly backed by further analysis of geometric reasoning. No amount of skill or care could ever allow us to definitively prove any single geometric proposition. Rousseau, in his Emile, suggests that we should teach a child geometry by having them measure and compare figures through superposition. While this would certainly be a valuable exercise for a child who cannot yet think abstractly, it could never truly teach geometry or validate the truth of any proposition. All of our figures are rough approximations, and they might appear unequal when they’re actually equal, or equal when they should be unequal. Moreover, figures may coincidentally be equal in multiple instances, yet there may be no general reason for this. The outcomes of deductive geometric reasoning are completely certain, and they are either precisely true or can be refined to any necessary level of accuracy. In a perfect triangle, the angles must add up to exactly half a revolution; even the tiniest deviation would be impossible. I am equally confident that, regardless of how many angles a figure has (as long as there are no re-entrant angles), the sum of the angles will be exactly equal to twice the number of right angles corresponding to the figure’s sides, minus four right angles. In such situations, the deductive proof is absolute and complete; empirical verification can only help prevent accidental oversights.
There is a second class of geometrical truths which can only be proved by approximation; but, as the mind sees no reason why that approximation should not always go on, we arrive at complete conviction. We thus learn that the surface of a sphere is equal exactly to two-thirds of the whole surface of the circumscribing cylinder, or to four times the area of the generating circle. The area of a parabola is exactly two-thirds of that of the circumscribing parallelogram. The area of the cycloid is exactly three times that of the generating circle. These are truths that we could never ascertain, nor even verify by observation; for any finite amount of difference, less than what the senses can discern, would falsify them.
There’s a second category of geometric truths that can only be proven through approximation; however, since our minds see no reason why this approximation shouldn’t continue, we become completely convinced. We learn that the surface area of a sphere is exactly two-thirds of the total surface area of the enclosing cylinder, or four times the area of the circle that generates it. The area of a parabola is exactly two-thirds of that of the enclosing parallelogram. The area of a cycloid is exactly three times that of the generating circle. These are truths that we could never find out or even verify by observation, because any finite difference smaller than what our senses can perceive would make them false.
There are geometrical relations again which we cannot assign exactly, but can carry to any desirable degree of approximation. The ratio of the circumference to the diameter of a circle is that of 3·14159265358979323846.... to 1, and the approximation may be carried to any extent by the expenditure of sufficient labour. Mr. W. Shanks has given the value of this natural constant, known as π, to the extent of 707 places of decimals.143 Some years since, I amused myself by trying how near I could get to this ratio, by the careful use of compasses, and I did not come nearer than 1 part in 540. We might imagine measurements so accurately executed as to give us eight or ten places correctly. But the power of the hands and235 senses must soon stop, whereas the mental powers of deductive reasoning can proceed to an unlimited degree of approximation. Geometrical truths, then, are incapable of verification; and, if so, they cannot even be learnt by observation. How can I have learnt by observation a proposition of which I cannot even prove the truth by observation, when I am in possession of it? All that observation or empirical trial can do is to suggest propositions, of which the truth may afterwards be proved deductively.
There are geometric relationships that we can’t define precisely, but we can approximate them to any level we want. The ratio of the circumference to the diameter of a circle is 3.14159265358979323846.... to 1, and with enough effort, we can get our approximation as close as we like. Mr. W. Shanks has calculated this natural constant, known as π, to 707 decimal places.143 Some years ago, I had fun trying to get as close as possible to this ratio using a compass, and I could only get to within 1 part in 540. We might think of measurements so precise that they would give us eight or ten correct places. However, human hands and senses have their limits, while the capacity for deductive reasoning can keep going to achieve unlimited approximations. Therefore, geometric truths can’t be verified; if that’s the case, they can’t be learned through observation either. How can I learn through observation a statement that I can’t even prove to be true by observation when I already have it? All observation or experimental testing can do is suggest statements, which can later be proven true through deduction.
If Viviani’s story is to be believed, Galileo endeavoured to satisfy himself about the area of the cycloid by cutting out several large cycloids in pasteboard, and then comparing the areas of the curve and the generating circle by weighing them. In every trial the curve seemed to be rather less than three times the circle, so that Galileo, we are told, began to suspect that the ratio was not precisely 3 to 1. It is quite clear, however, that no process of weighing or measuring could ever prove truths like these, and it remained for Torricelli to show what his master Galileo had only guessed at.144
If we believe Viviani’s account, Galileo tried to figure out the area of the cycloid by cutting out several large cycloids from cardboard and then comparing the areas of the curve and the generating circle by weighing them. In every attempt, the curve seemed to be slightly less than three times the area of the circle, which led Galileo to suspect that the ratio wasn't exactly 3 to 1. However, it's clear that no method of weighing or measuring could ever definitively prove these truths, and it was up to Torricelli to demonstrate what his teacher Galileo had merely speculated.144
Much has been said about the peculiar certainty of mathematical reasoning, but it is only certainty of deductive reasoning, and equal certainty attaches to all correct logical deduction. If a triangle be right-angled, the square on the hypothenuse will undoubtedly equal the sum of the two squares on the other sides; but I can never be sure that a triangle is right-angled: so I can be certain that nitric acid will not dissolve gold, provided I know that the substances employed really correspond to those on which I tried the experiment previously. Here is like certainty of inference, and like doubt as to the facts.
A lot has been said about the unique certainty of mathematical reasoning, but it's really only a certainty of deductive reasoning, and the same level of certainty applies to all correct logical deductions. If a triangle is a right triangle, then the square of the hypotenuse will definitely equal the sum of the squares of the other two sides. However, I can never be completely sure that a triangle is a right triangle. Similarly, I can be confident that nitric acid won't dissolve gold, but only if I'm certain that the substances I'm using actually match those I tested before. This shows a similar certainty in inference, alongside a similar doubt about the facts.
Discrimination of Certainty and Probability.
We can never recur too often to the truth that our knowledge of the laws and future events of the external world is only probable. The mind itself is quite capable of possessing certain knowledge, and it is well to discriminate carefully between what we can and cannot know236 with certainty. In the first place, whatever feeling is actually present to the mind is certainly known to that mind. If I see blue sky, I may be quite sure that I do experience the sensation of blueness. Whatever I do feel, I do feel beyond all doubt. We are indeed very likely to confuse what we really feel with what we are inclined to associate with it, or infer inductively from it; but the whole of our consciousness, as far as it is the result of pure intuition and free from inference, is certain knowledge beyond all doubt.
We can never remind ourselves too often that our understanding of the laws and future events of the external world is just a matter of probability. Our minds are definitely capable of having certain knowledge, and it's important to clearly distinguish between what we can and cannot know236 for sure. First of all, anything that we actually feel in our minds is definitely known to us. If I see a blue sky, I can be completely sure that I am experiencing the sensation of blueness. Whatever I feel, I feel with no doubt at all. It’s true that we often confuse what we genuinely feel with what we might associate with it or conclude from it; however, all of our awareness, as long as it stems from pure intuition and is free from inference, is certain knowledge without any doubt.
In the second place, we may have certainty of inference; the fundamental laws of thought, and the rule of substitution (p. 9), are certainly true; and if my senses could inform me that A was indistinguishable in colour from B, and B from C, then I should be equally certain that A was indistinguishable from C. In short, whatever truth there is in the premises, I can certainly embody in their correct logical result. But the certainty generally assumes a hypothetical character. I never can be quite sure that two colours are exactly alike, that two magnitudes are exactly equal, or that two bodies whatsoever are identical even in their apparent qualities. Almost all our judgments involve quantitative relations, and, as will be shown in succeeding chapters, we can never attain exactness and certainty where continuous quantity enters. Judgments concerning discontinuous quantity or numbers, however, allow of certainty; I may establish beyond doubt, for instance, that the difference of the squares of 17 and 13 is the product of 17 + 13 and 17 - 13, and is therefore 30 × 4, or 120.
In the second place, we can have certainty in reasoning; the basic laws of thought and the rule of substitution (p. 9) are definitely true. If my senses told me that A was the same color as B, and B was the same as C, then I would also be certain that A was the same as C. In short, whatever truth exists in the premises, I can definitely express in their correct logical conclusion. However, this certainty often has a hypothetical nature. I can never be completely sure that two colors are exactly the same, that two measurements are precisely equal, or that two objects are identical even in their observable qualities. Almost all our judgments involve quantitative relationships, and, as will be discussed in the following chapters, we can never achieve precision and certainty when it comes to continuous quantities. On the other hand, judgments about discrete quantities or numbers can provide certainty; for example, I can definitively confirm that the difference between the squares of 17 and 13 is the product of (17 + 13) and (17 - 13), which equals 30 × 4, or 120.
Inferences which we draw concerning natural objects are never certain except in a hypothetical point of view. It might seem to be certain that iron is magnetic, or that gold is incapable of solution in nitric acid; but, if we carefully investigate the meanings of these statements, they will be found to involve no certainty but that of consciousness and that of hypothetical inference. For what do I mean by iron or gold? If I choose a remarkable piece of yellow substance, call it gold, and then immerse it in a liquid which I call nitric acid, and find that there is no change called solution, then consciousness has certainly informed me that, with my meaning of the terms, “Gold is insoluble in nitric acid.” I may further237 be certain of something else; for if this gold and nitric acid remain what they were, I may be sure there will be no solution on again trying the experiment. If I take other portions of gold and nitric acid, and am sure that they really are identical in properties with the former portions, I can be certain that there will be no solution. But at this point my knowledge becomes purely hypothetical; for how can I be sure without trial that the gold and acid are really identical in nature with what I formerly called gold and nitric acid. How do I know gold when I see it? If I judge by the apparent qualities—colour, ductility, specific gravity, &c., I may be misled, because there may always exist a substance which to the colour, ductility, specific gravity, and other specified qualities, joins others which we do not expect. Similarly, if iron is magnetic, as shown by an experiment with objects answering to those names, then all iron is magnetic, meaning all pieces of matter identical with my assumed piece. But in trying to identify iron, I am always open to mistake. Nor is this liability to mistake a matter of speculation only.145
Inferences we make about natural objects are never certain except from a hypothetical perspective. It might seem certain that iron is magnetic or that gold can't dissolve in nitric acid. However, if we examine what these statements really mean, we find that they involve no certainty beyond our awareness and hypothetical reasoning. What exactly do I mean by iron or gold? If I take a notable yellow substance, call it gold, and then put it in a liquid I call nitric acid and observe no change (no solution), then I’ve clearly concluded that, based on my definitions, “Gold is insoluble in nitric acid.” I can be certain of another point: if this gold and nitric acid remain unchanged, I can be sure that there will be no solution if I try the experiment again. If I use other samples of gold and nitric acid and am confident they truly have the same properties as the original samples, I can be sure there will be no solution. But at this stage, my knowledge relies purely on hypotheticals; how can I be certain without experimentation that the gold and acid are genuinely identical to what I once labeled as gold and nitric acid? How do I recognize gold when I see it? If I base my judgment on observable qualities—color, ductility, specific gravity, etc.—I might be misled, since there might always be a substance that, while sharing those qualities, has additional ones we don't expect. Likewise, if iron is magnetic, as shown by experiments with objects labeled as such, then all iron must be magnetic, meaning all pieces of material identical to my initial piece. But in the effort to identify iron, I'm always at risk of making a mistake. This potential for error isn't just a theoretical concern.
The history of chemistry shows that the most confident inferences may have been falsified by the confusion of one substance with another. Thus strontia was never discriminated from baryta until Klaproth and Haüy detected differences between some of their properties. Accordingly chemists must often have inferred concerning strontia what was only true of baryta, and vice versâ. There is now no doubt that the recently discovered substances, cæsium and rubidium, were long mistaken for potassium.146 Other elements have often been confused together—for instance, tantalum and niobium; sulphur and selenium; cerium, lanthanum, and didymium; yttrium and erbium.
The history of chemistry shows that even the most confident conclusions may have been proven wrong due to mixing one substance with another. For example, strontium was never distinguished from barium until Klaproth and Haüy noticed differences in some of their properties. As a result, chemists likely assumed traits about strontium that were actually true for barium, and vice versa. There is now no doubt that the recently discovered elements, cesium and rubidium, were often confused with potassium. Other elements have also been mixed up, such as tantalum and niobium; sulfur and selenium; cerium, lanthanum, and didymium; yttrium and erbium.
Even the best known laws of physical science do not exclude false inference. No law of nature has been better established than that of universal gravitation, and we believe with the utmost confidence that any body capable of affecting the senses will attract other bodies, and fall to the earth if not prevented. Euler remarks238 that, although he had never made trial of the stones which compose the church of Magdeburg, yet he had not the least doubt that all of them were heavy, and would fall if unsupported. But he adds, that it would be extremely difficult to give any satisfactory explanation of this confident belief.147 The fact is, that the belief ought not to amount to certainty until the experiment has been tried, and in the meantime a slight amount of uncertainty enters, because we cannot be sure that the stones of the Magdeburg Church resemble other stones in all their properties.
Even the best-known laws of physical science can lead to incorrect conclusions. No law of nature is more firmly established than the law of universal gravitation, and we are completely confident that any object that can be perceived will attract other objects and will fall to the ground if not held up. Euler notes238 that, although he had never tested the stones that make up the church of Magdeburg, he had no doubt that all of them were heavy and would fall if unsupported. However, he adds that it's extremely challenging to provide a satisfactory explanation for this strong belief. The truth is, that belief shouldn't be considered certain until the experiment has been conducted, and in the meantime, there's a small amount of uncertainty because we can't be sure that the stones of the Magdeburg Church share all the same properties as other stones.
In like manner, not one of the inductive truths which men have established, or think they have established, is really safe from exception or reversal. Lavoisier, when laying the foundations of chemistry, met with so many instances tending to show the existence of oxygen in all acids, that he adopted a general conclusion to that effect, and devised the name oxygen accordingly. He entertained no appreciable doubt that the acid existing in sea salt also contained oxygen;148 yet subsequent experience falsified his expectations. This instance refers to a science in its infancy, speaking relatively to the possible achievements of men. But all sciences are and ever will remain in their infancy, relatively to the extent and complexity of the universe which they undertake to investigate. Euler expresses no more than the truth when he says that it would be impossible to fix on any one thing really existing, of which we could have so perfect a knowledge as to put us beyond the reach of mistake.149 We may be quite certain that a comet will go on moving in a similar path if all circumstances remain the same as before; but if we leave out this extensive qualification, our predictions will always be subject to the chance of falsification by some unexpected event, such as the division of Biela’s comet or the interference of an unknown gravitating body.
In the same way, none of the inductive truths that people have established, or think they’ve established, are truly safe from exception or reversal. When Lavoisier was laying the groundwork for chemistry, he encountered so many instances suggesting that oxygen exists in all acids that he came to a general conclusion and named it oxygen. He had no real doubt that the acid in sea salt also contained oxygen;148 yet later experiences disproved his beliefs. This example pertains to a science that was just beginning, in relation to what humans are capable of achieving. However, all sciences are and will always remain in their infancy compared to the vastness and complexity of the universe they seek to explore. Euler accurately states that it’s impossible to pinpoint any one thing that actually exists with such complete knowledge that we couldn't make a mistake about it.149 We can be quite sure that a comet will continue moving along a similar path if all conditions stay the same as before; but if we omit this broad qualification, our predictions will always be vulnerable to being proven wrong by some unexpected event, like the splitting of Biela’s comet or the influence of an unknown gravitational body.
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Inductive inference might attain to certainty if our knowledge of the agents existing throughout the universe were complete, and if we were at the same time certain that the same Power which created the universe would allow it to proceed without arbitrary change. There is always a possibility of causes being in existence without our knowledge, and these may at any moment produce an unexpected effect. Even when by the theory of probabilities we succeed in forming some notion of the comparative confidence with which we should receive inductive results, it yet appears to me that we must make an assumption. Events come out like balls from the vast ballot-box of nature, and close observation will enable us to form some notion, as we shall see in the next chapter, of the contents of that ballot-box. But we must still assume that, between the time of an observation and that to which our inferences relate, no change in the ballot-box has been made.
Inductive reasoning could become certain if we had complete knowledge of all the forces at work in the universe, and if we were also sure that the same Power that created the universe would let it operate without arbitrary changes. There's always the chance that causes exist without our awareness, and these could unexpectedly lead to effects at any moment. Even when we use probability theory to gauge how confidently we should accept inductive conclusions, it still seems to me that we're making an assumption. Events emerge like balls from nature's vast ballot box, and careful observation will help us understand what's inside that ballot box, as we’ll discuss in the next chapter. However, we still need to assume that no changes have occurred in the ballot box between the time we observe and the time our conclusions apply.
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CHAPTER XII.
THE INDUCTIVE OR INVERSE APPLICATION OF THE THEORY OF PROBABILITY.
We have hitherto considered the theory of probability only in its simple deductive employment, in which it enables us to determine from given conditions the probable character of events happening under those conditions. But as deductive reasoning when inversely applied constitutes the process of induction, so the calculation of probabilities may be inversely applied; from the known character of certain events we may argue backwards to the probability of a certain law or condition governing those events. Having satisfactorily accomplished this work, we may indeed calculate forwards to the probable character of future events happening under the same conditions; but this part of the process is a direct use of deductive reasoning (p. 226).
We have so far looked at probability theory only in its straightforward deductive way, which helps us figure out the likely outcomes of events based on certain conditions. However, just as deductive reasoning can be flipped to form the process of induction, so too can probability calculations be used in reverse; from the known outcomes of certain events, we can deduce the likelihood of a specific law or condition affecting those events. Once we have successfully done this, we can certainly predict the likely outcomes of future events under the same conditions; but this part of the process is a straightforward application of deductive reasoning (p. 226).
Now it is highly instructive to find that whether the theory of probability be deductively or inductively applied, the calculation is always performed according to the principles and rules of deduction. The probability that an event has a particular condition entirely depends upon the probability that if the condition existed the event would follow. If we take up a pack of common playing cards, and observe that they are arranged in perfect numerical order, we conclude beyond all reasonable doubt that they have been thus intentionally arranged by some person acquainted with the usual order of sequence. This conclusion is quite irresistible, and rightly241 so; for there are but two suppositions which we can make as to the reason of the cards being in that particular order:—
Now it’s really insightful to see that whether we apply the theory of probability deductively or inductively, the calculations are always done based on the principles and rules of deduction. The probability of an event having a specific condition entirely depends on the probability that if that condition existed, the event would occur. If we take a standard deck of playing cards and notice that they are arranged in perfect numerical order, we can say with complete certainty that they’ve been intentionally organized by someone familiar with the typical sequence. This conclusion is totally compelling, and rightly so; because there are only two assumptions we can make about why the cards are in that particular order:—
1. They may have been intentionally arranged by some one who would probably prefer the numerical order.
1. They might have been deliberately organized by someone who likely prefers the numerical order.
2. They may have fallen into that order by chance, that is, by some series of conditions which, being unknown to us, cannot be known to lead by preference to the particular order in question.
2. They might have ended up in that order by chance, meaning that some series of conditions, which we don't know about, can't be said to specifically lead to the particular order in question.
The latter supposition is by no means absurd, for any one order is as likely as any other when there is no preponderating tendency. But we can readily calculate by the doctrine of permutations the probability that fifty-two objects would fall by chance into any one particular order. Fifty-two objects can be arranged in 52 × 51 × ... × 3 × 2 × 1 or about 8066 × (10)64 possible orders, the number obtained requiring 68 places of figures for its full expression. Hence it is excessively unlikely that anyone should ever meet with a pack of cards arranged in perfect order by accident. If we do meet with a pack so arranged, we inevitably adopt the other supposition, that some person, having reasons for preferring that special order, has thus put them together.
The latter assumption is definitely not absurd, because any arrangement is just as likely as any other when there isn’t a dominant tendency. However, we can easily calculate the chances, using permutations, that fifty-two items would randomly fall into any specific order. Fifty-two items can be arranged in 52 × 51 × ... × 3 × 2 × 1, which is about 8066 × (10)64 possible arrangements, a number that takes 68 digits to express fully. Therefore, it is extremely unlikely that anyone would ever come across a pack of cards arranged in perfect order by chance. If we do find a pack arranged that way, we naturally conclude that someone, having reasons for wanting that specific order, has put them together.
We know that of the immense number of possible orders the numerical order is the most remarkable; it is useful as proving the perfect constitution of the pack, and it is the intentional result of certain games. At any rate, the probability that intention should produce that order is incomparably greater than the probability that chance should produce it; and as a certain pack exists in that order, we rightly prefer the supposition which most probably leads to the observed result.
We understand that out of the countless ways to organize things, the numerical order stands out. It's helpful in demonstrating the perfect setup of the deck, and it's a deliberate outcome of specific games. In any case, the likelihood that intention creates that order is far higher than the chance that randomness does; and since a particular deck exists in that order, we reasonably favor the assumption that most likely leads to the observed outcome.
By a similar mode of reasoning we every day arrive, and validly arrive, at conclusions approximating to certainty. Whenever we observe a perfect resemblance between two objects, as, for instance, two printed pages, two engravings, two coins, two foot-prints, we are warranted in asserting that they proceed from the same type, the same plate, the same pair of dies, or the same boot. And why? Because it is almost impossible that with different types, plates, dies, or boots some apparent distinction of form should not be produced. It is impossible242 for the hand of the most skilful artist to make two objects alike, so that mechanical repetition is the only probable explanation of exact similarity.
By following a similar line of thought, we reach conclusions close to certainty every day. Whenever we see a perfect similarity between two things, like two printed pages, two engravings, two coins, or two footprints, we can confidently say they come from the same source, the same plate, the same set of dies, or the same shoe. And why is that? Because it’s almost impossible for different types, plates, dies, or shoes not to produce some noticeable difference in form. Even the most skilled artist cannot create two identical objects, so mechanical duplication is the only likely reason for exact similarity.
We can often establish with extreme probability that one document is copied from another. Suppose that each document contains 10,000 words, and that the same word is incorrectly spelt in each. There is then a probability of less than 1 in 10,000 that the same mistake should be made in each. If we meet with a second error occurring in each document, the probability is less than 1 in 10,000 × 9999, that two such coincidences should occur by chance, and the numbers grow with extreme rapidity for more numerous coincidences. We cannot make any precise calculations without taking into account the character of the errors committed, concerning the conditions of which we have no accurate means of estimating probabilities. Nevertheless, abundant evidence may thus be obtained as to the derivation of documents from each other. In the examination of many sets of logarithmic tables, six remarkable errors were found to be present in all but two, and it was proved that tables printed at Paris, Berlin, Florence, Avignon, and even in China, besides thirteen sets printed in England between the years 1633 and 1822, were derived directly or indirectly from some common source.150 With a certain amount of labour, it is possible to establish beyond reasonable doubt the relationship or genealogy of any number of copies of one document, proceeding possibly from parent copies now lost. The relations between the manuscripts of the New Testament have been elaborately investigated in this manner, and the same work has been performed for many classical writings, especially by German scholars.
We can often determine with a high level of certainty that one document is copied from another. Imagine that each document has 10,000 words, and the same word is misspelled in both. The chance of that same mistake occurring in both documents is less than 1 in 10,000. If we find a second mistake in each document, the odds drop to less than 1 in 10,000 × 9999 that two such errors would happen by chance, and the likelihood decreases rapidly as more coincidences are found. We can’t make exact calculations without considering the nature of the errors, which we have no precise way of estimating. Still, we can collect plenty of evidence that shows documents are derived from one another. In reviewing several sets of logarithmic tables, six notable errors were found in all but two, and it was shown that tables printed in Paris, Berlin, Florence, Avignon, and even in China, as well as thirteen sets printed in England between 1633 and 1822, came from a common source.150 With some effort, it’s possible to establish a clear connection or lineage for any number of copies of one document, which may trace back to original copies that are now lost. The relationships among the manuscripts of the New Testament have been thoroughly examined in this way, and similar work has been done for many classical writings, especially by German scholars.
Principle of the Inverse Method.
The inverse application of the rules of probability entirely depends upon a proposition which may be thus stated, nearly in the words of Laplace.151 If an event can243 be produced by any one of a certain number of different causes, all equally probable à priori, the probabilities of the existence of these causes as inferred from the event, are proportional to the probabilities of the event as derived from these causes. In other words, the most probable cause of an event which has happened is that which would most probably lead to the event supposing the cause to exist; but all other possible causes are also to be taken into account with probabilities proportional to the probability that the event would happen if the cause existed. Suppose, to fix our ideas clearly, that E is the event, and C1 C2 C3 are the three only conceivable causes. If C1 exist, the probability is p1 that E would follow; if C2 or C3 exist, the like probabilities are respectively p2 and p3. Then as p1 is to p2, so is the probability of C1 being the actual cause to the probability of C2 being it; and, similarly, as p2 is to p3, so is the probability of C2 being the actual cause to the probability of C3 being it. By a simple mathematical process we arrive at the conclusion that the actual probability of C1 being the cause is
The inverse application of probability rules depends completely on a proposition that can be stated almost in Laplace's words.151 If an event can happen due to any one of several different causes, all equally likely in advance, the probabilities of these causes based on the event are proportional to the probabilities of the event based on these causes. In other words, the most likely cause of an event that has occurred is the one that would most likely lead to the event if that cause were true; however, all other possible causes should also be considered with probabilities proportional to the likelihood that the event would occur if the cause were true. To clarify this, let’s say E is the event, and C1, C2, and C3 are the only three possible causes. If C1 exists, the probability that E would happen is p1; if C2 or C3 exist, the probabilities would be p2 and p3, respectively. Thus, the ratio of p1 to p2 is the same as the probability of C1 being the actual cause compared to C2, and similarly, the ratio of p2 to p3 is the same as the probability of C2 being the actual cause compared to C3. Through a straightforward mathematical process, we arrive at the conclusion that the actual probability of C1 being the cause is
and the similar probabilities of the existence of C2 and C3 are,
and the similar likelihoods of the existence of C2 and C3 are,
The sum of these three fractions amounts to unity, which correctly expresses the certainty that one cause or other must be in operation.
The total of these three fractions adds up to one, which clearly shows that some cause must be at work.
We may thus state the result in general language. If it is certain that one or other of the supposed causes exists, the probability that any one does exist is the probability that if it exists the event happens, divided by the sum of all the similar probabilities. There may seem to be an intricacy in this subject which may prove distasteful to some readers; but this intricacy is essential to the subject in hand. No one can possibly understand the principles of inductive reasoning, unless he will take the trouble to master the meaning of this rule, by which we recede from an event to the probability of each of its possible causes.
We can summarize the outcome in simple terms. If it’s certain that one of the supposed causes exists, the likelihood of any one of them being the cause is the probability that if it exists, the event occurs, divided by the total of all those similar probabilities. This topic might seem complicated, which could be off-putting for some readers; however, this complexity is crucial to the matter at hand. No one can truly grasp the principles of inductive reasoning without taking the time to understand this rule, which allows us to move from an event to the probability of each potential cause.
This rule or principle of the indirect method is that which common sense leads us to adopt almost instinctively,244 before we have any comprehension of the principle in its general form. It is easy to see, too, that it is the rule which will, out of a great multitude of cases, lead us most often to the truth, since the most probable cause of an event really means that cause which in the greatest number of cases produces the event. Donkin and Boole have given demonstrations of this principle, but the one most easy to comprehend is that of Poisson. He imagines each possible cause of an event to be represented by a distinct ballot-box, containing black and white balls, in such a ratio that the probability of a white ball being drawn is equal to that of the event happening. He further supposes that each box, as is possible, contains the same total number of balls, black and white; then, mixing all the contents of the boxes together, he shows that if a white ball be drawn from the aggregate ballot-box thus formed, the probability that it proceeded from any particular ballot-box is represented by the number of white balls in that particular box, divided by the total number of white balls in all the boxes. This result corresponds to that given by the principle in question.152
This rule or principle of the indirect method is something we tend to adopt almost instinctively through common sense, even before we fully understand it in a broader sense. It’s also clear that this rule will most frequently lead us to the truth when faced with numerous cases, since the most likely cause of an event is the one that typically produces it. Donkin and Boole have provided evidence for this principle, but the one that's easiest to grasp is Poisson's. He imagines each potential cause of an event represented by a separate ballot box, filled with black and white balls in a ratio where the chance of drawing a white ball equals the probability of the event occurring. He also assumes that each box contains the same total number of balls, both black and white; then, by mixing all the boxes together, he demonstrates that if a white ball is drawn from the combined ballot box, the chance that it came from any specific ballot box is represented by the number of white balls in that box divided by the total number of white balls across all the boxes. This outcome aligns with the principle in question.152
Thus, if there be three boxes, each containing ten balls in all, and respectively containing seven, four, and three white balls, then on mixing all the balls together we have fourteen white ones; and if we draw a white ball, that is if the event happens, the probability that it came out of the first box is 714; which is exactly equal to 710710 + 410 + 310, the fraction given by the rule of the Inverse Method.
So, if there are three boxes, each containing a total of ten balls, with seven, four, and three of them being white, then when we mix all the balls together, we end up with fourteen white ones. If we draw a white ball—meaning the event occurs—the probability that it came from the first box is 714; which is equal to 710710 + 410 + 310, which is the fraction given by the rule of the Inverse Method.
Simple Applications of the Inverse Method.
In many cases of scientific induction we may apply the principle of the inverse method in a simple manner. If only two, or at the most a few hypotheses, may be made as to the origin of certain phenomena, we may sometimes easily calculate the respective probabilities. It was thus that Bunsen and Kirchhoff established, with a probability little short of certainty, that iron exists in the sun. On comparing the spectra of sunlight and of the light proceeding245 from the incandescent vapour of iron, it became apparent that at least sixty bright lines in the spectrum of iron coincided with dark lines in the sun’s spectrum. Such coincidences could never be observed with certainty, because, even if the lines only closely approached, the instrumental imperfections of the spectroscope would make them apparently coincident, and if one line came within half a millimetre of another, on the map of the spectra, they could not be pronounced distinct. Now the average distance of the solar lines on Kirchhoff’s map is 2 mm., and if we throw down a line, as it were, by pure chance on such a map, the probability is about one-half that the new line will fall within 12 mm. on one side or the other of some one of the solar lines. To put it in another way, we may suppose that each solar line, either on account of its real breadth, or the defects of the instrument, possesses a breadth of 12 mm., and that each line in the iron spectrum has a like breadth. The probability then is just one-half that the centre of each iron line will come by chance within 1 mm. of the centre of a solar line, so as to appear to coincide with it. The probability of casual coincidence of each iron line with a solar line is in like manner 12. Coincidence in the case of each of the sixty iron lines is a very unlikely event if it arises casually, for it would have a probability of only (12)60 or less than 1 in a trillion. The odds, in short, are more than a million million millions to unity against such casual coincidence.153 But on the other hypothesis, that iron exists in the sun, it is highly probable that such coincidences would be observed; it is immensely more probable that sixty coincidences would be observed if iron existed in the sun, than that they should arise from chance. Hence by our principle it is immensely probable that iron does exist in the sun.
In many cases of scientific reasoning, we can simply use the principle of the inverse method. If we can only come up with two or, at most, a few hypotheses about the origin of certain phenomena, we can sometimes easily calculate the respective probabilities. This was how Bunsen and Kirchhoff established, with a probability close to certainty, that iron is present in the sun. By comparing the spectra of sunlight with the light from incandescent iron vapor, it became clear that at least sixty bright lines in the iron spectrum matched dark lines in the sun's spectrum. Such matches could never be observed with complete certainty because, even if the lines were very close, imperfections in the spectroscope would make them seem coincident. If one line came within half a millimeter of another on the spectrum map, they couldn’t be definitively called distinct. The average distance of the solar lines on Kirchhoff's map is 2 mm. If we randomly drop a line on such a map, there’s about a 50% chance that the new line will fall within 12 mm on either side of one of the solar lines. In other words, we can assume that each solar line, due to its actual width or instrument defects, has a width of 12 mm, and that each line in the iron spectrum follows the same rule. The probability is therefore about 50% that the center of each iron line will randomly come within 1 mm of the center of a solar line, making it appear as if they coincided. Similarly, the chance of any iron line coinciding with a solar line is also 12. The chance that all sixty iron lines would align casually is extremely unlikely, with a probability of only (12)60, or less than 1 in a trillion. In short, the odds against such coincidence happening by chance are more than a million trillion to one.153 However, if we assume that iron does exist in the sun, it’s highly probable that these coincidences would be observed; it’s vastly more likely that we would see sixty coincidences if iron were indeed in the sun than that they would happen by chance. Therefore, according to our principle, it is highly probable that iron is present in the sun.
All the other interesting results, given by the comparison of spectra, rest upon the same principle of probability. The almost complete coincidence between the spectra of solar, lunar, and planetary light renders it practically certain that the light is all of solar origin, and is reflected from the surfaces of the moon and planets, suffering only246 slight alteration from the atmospheres of some of the planets. A fresh confirmation of the truth of the Copernican theory is thus furnished.
All the other interesting results from comparing spectra rely on the same principle of probability. The nearly identical spectra of sunlight, moonlight, and planetary light makes it almost certain that this light all comes from the sun and is simply reflected off the surfaces of the moon and planets, experiencing only slight changes due to the atmospheres of some of the planets. This provides further confirmation of the validity of the Copernican theory.
Herschel proved in this way the connection between the direction of the oblique faces of quartz crystals, and the direction in which the same crystals rotate the plane of polarisation of light. For if it is found in a second crystal that the relation is the same as in the first, the probability of this happening by chance is 12; the probability that in another crystal also the direction will be the same is 14, and so on. The probability that in n + 1 crystals there would be casual agreement of direction is the nth power of 12. Thus, if in examining fourteen crystals the same relation of the two phenomena is discovered in each, the odds that it proceeds from uniform conditions are more than 8000 to 1.154 Since the first observations on this subject were made in 1820, no exceptions have been observed, so that the probability of invariable connection is incalculably great.
Herschel demonstrated the link between the angles of the slanted surfaces of quartz crystals and the direction in which those crystals rotate the plane of polarized light. If a second crystal shows the same relationship as the first, the chance of this happening randomly is 12; the chance that another crystal will also have the same direction is 14, and so on. The probability that in n + 1 crystals there would be random agreement in direction is the nth power of 12. Therefore, if the same relationship between these two phenomena is found in all fourteen crystals examined, the odds that this is due to consistent conditions are more than 8000 to 1.154 Since the initial observations on this topic were made in 1820, no exceptions have been found, making the probability of a consistent connection incredibly high.
It is exceedingly probable that the ancient Egyptians had exactly recorded the eclipses occurring during long periods of time, for Diogenes Laertius mentions that 373 solar and 832 lunar eclipses had been observed, and the ratio between these numbers exactly expresses that which would hold true of the eclipses of any long period, of say 1200 or 1300 years, as estimated on astronomical grounds. It is evident that an agreement between small numbers, or customary numbers, such as seven, one hundred, a myriad, &c., is much more likely to happen from chance, and therefore gives much less presumption of dependence. If two ancient writers spoke of the sacrifice of oxen, they would in all probability describe it as a hecatomb, and there would be nothing remarkable in the coincidence. But it is impossible to point out any special reason why an old writer should select such numbers as 373 and 832, unless they had been the results of observation.
It's very likely that the ancient Egyptians accurately recorded eclipses over long periods of time, as Diogenes Laertius notes that 373 solar and 832 lunar eclipses were observed. The ratio between these numbers perfectly matches what you would expect for eclipses over a lengthy period, like 1200 or 1300 years, based on astronomical calculations. It's clear that a match between smaller or common numbers, like seven, one hundred, or a myriad, is much more likely to occur by chance, so it provides much less evidence of a connection. If two ancient writers mentioned the sacrifice of oxen, they would probably refer to it as a hecatomb, and this wouldn’t be surprising. However, there’s no clear reason why an ancient writer would choose specific numbers like 373 and 832 unless they were based on actual observations.
On similar grounds, we must inevitably believe in the247 human origin of the flint flakes so copiously discovered of late years. For though the accidental stroke of one stone against another may often produce flakes, such as are occasionally found on the sea-shore, yet when several flakes are found in close company, and each one bears evidence, not of a single blow only, but of several successive blows, all conducing to form a symmetrical knife-like form, the probability of a natural and accidental origin becomes incredibly small, and the contrary supposition, that they are the work of intelligent beings, approximately certain.155
On similar grounds, we must inevitably believe in the247 human origin of the flint flakes that have been discovered in large numbers in recent years. While it's true that the accidental strike of one stone against another can sometimes produce flakes, like those occasionally found on the beach, when several flakes are found closely together and each one shows signs of not just a single impact but multiple successive strikes that shape them into a symmetrical knife-like form, the likelihood of a natural and accidental origin becomes extremely low. Therefore, the assumption that they are made by intelligent beings becomes nearly certain.155
The Theory of Probability in Astronomy.
The science of astronomy, occupied with the simple relations of distance, magnitude, and motion of the heavenly bodies, admits more easily than almost any other science of interesting conclusions founded on the theory of probability. More than a century ago, in 1767, Michell showed the extreme probability of bonds connecting together systems of stars. He was struck by the unexpected number of fixed stars which have companions close to them. Such a conjunction might happen casually by one star, although possibly at a great distance from the other, happening to lie on a straight line passing near the earth. But the probabilities are so greatly against such an optical union happening often in the expanse of the heavens, that Michell asserted the existence of some connection between most of the double stars. It has since been estimated by Struve, that the odds are 9570 to 1 against any two stars of not less than the seventh magnitude falling within the apparent distance of four seconds of each other by chance, and yet ninety-one such cases were known when the estimation was made, and many more cases have since been discovered. There were also four known triple stars, and yet the odds against the appearance of any one such conjunction are 173,524 to 1.156 The conclusions of Michell have been248 entirely verified by the discovery that many double stars are connected by gravitation.
The field of astronomy, which deals with the basic relationships of distance, size, and movement of celestial bodies, allows for intriguing conclusions based on the theory of probability more easily than almost any other science. Over a century ago, in 1767, Michell demonstrated the high likelihood of connections between star systems. He was amazed by the unexpected number of fixed stars that have close companions. Such a pairing could occur by chance if one star happens to be aligned in a straight line near Earth with another star, even if they are far apart. However, the chances of this optical alignment happening frequently in the vastness of space are incredibly low, leading Michell to propose that there is some sort of connection between most double stars. Struve later estimated that the odds are 9,570 to 1 against any two stars of at least the seventh magnitude being within an apparent distance of four seconds of each other by chance. Still, there were ninety-one such documented cases at the time of this estimation, and many more have been found since. Additionally, there were four known triple stars, and the odds against any single occurrence of such a combination are 173,524 to 1.156 Michell's conclusions have been entirely confirmed by the discovery that many double stars are indeed connected by gravity.248
Michell also investigated the probability that the six brightest stars in the Pleiades should have come by accidents into such striking proximity. Estimating the number of stars of equal or greater brightness at 1500, be found the odds to be nearly 500,000 to 1 against casual conjunction. Extending the same kind of argument to other clusters, such as that of Præsepe, the nebula in the hilt of Perseus’ sword, he says:157 “We may with the highest probability conclude, the odds against the contrary opinion being many million millions to one, that the stars are really collected together in clusters in some places, where they form a kind of system, while in others there are either few or none of them, to whatever cause this may be owing, whether to their mutual gravitation, or to some other law or appointment of the Creator.”
Michell also looked into the chances that the six brightest stars in the Pleiades happened to end up so close together by coincidence. Estimating that there were about 1,500 stars of equal or greater brightness, he found the odds to be nearly 500,000 to 1 against this casual grouping. Applying the same reasoning to other clusters, like the one in Præsepe, the nebula in the hilt of Perseus’ sword, he stated:157 “We can conclude with a high level of certainty, with the odds against the opposite view being many millions of millions to one, that the stars really are grouped together in clusters in some areas, forming a sort of system, while in other areas there are either very few or none at all, for reasons that may be due to their mutual gravitation or to some other law or design by the Creator.”
The calculations of Michell have been called in question by the late James D. Forbes,158 and Mr. Todhunter vaguely countenances his objections,159 otherwise I should not have thought them of much weight. Certainly Laplace accepts Michell’s views,160 and if Michell be in error it is in the methods of calculation, not in the general validity of his reasoning and conclusions.
The calculations by Michell have been questioned by the late James D. Forbes,158 and Mr. Todhunter somewhat supports his objections,159 otherwise I wouldn't have thought they were very significant. Clearly, Laplace agrees with Michell's views,160 and if Michell is wrong, it's in his calculation methods, not in the overall validity of his reasoning and conclusions.
Similar calculations might no doubt be applied to the peculiar drifting motions which have been detected by Mr. R A. Proctor in some of the constellations.161 The odds are very greatly against any numerous group of stars moving together in any one direction by chance. On like grounds, there can be no doubt that the sun has a considerable proper motion because on the average the fixed stars show a tendency to move apparently from one point of the heavens towards that diametrically opposite. The sun’s motion in the contrary direction would explain this tendency, otherwise we must believe that thousands of stars accidentally agree in their direction of motion, or are249 urged by some common force from which the sun is exempt. It may be said that the rotation of the earth is proved in like manner, because it is immensely more probable that one body would revolve than that the sun, moon, planets, comets, and the whole of the stars of the heavens should be whirled round the earth daily, with a uniform motion superadded to their own peculiar motions. This appears to be mainly the reason which led Gilbert, one of the earliest English Copernicans, and in every way an admirable physicist, to admit the rotation of the earth, while Francis Bacon denied it.
Similar calculations could easily be applied to the unique drifting motions that Mr. R A. Proctor has noted in some constellations. The chances are very low that a large group of stars would move together in the same direction purely by coincidence. Likewise, there's strong evidence that the sun has significant proper motion because, on average, the fixed stars seem to move from one point in the sky towards the opposite point. The sun’s motion in the opposite direction would explain this trend; otherwise, we would have to assume that thousands of stars coincidentally align in their direction of movement or are influenced by some common force that the sun is unaffected by. One could argue that the rotation of the earth is proven in a similar way, since it's far more likely that one body would rotate than that the sun, moon, planets, comets, and all the stars in the sky would revolve around the earth each day, all while maintaining their own unique movements. This reasoning likely influenced Gilbert, one of the first English supporters of Copernicus and a remarkable physicist in his own right, to accept the earth's rotation, while Francis Bacon rejected it.
In contemplating the planetary system, we are struck with the similarity in direction of nearly all its movements. Newton remarked upon the regularity and uniformity of these motions, and contrasted them with the eccentricity and irregularity of the cometary orbits.162 Could we, in fact, look down upon the system from the northern side, we should see all the planets moving round from west to east, the satellites moving round their primaries, and the sun, planets, and satellites rotating in the same direction, with some exceptions on the verge of the system. In the time of Laplace eleven planets were known, and the directions of rotation were known for the sun, six planets, the satellites of Jupiter, Saturn’s ring, and one of his satellites. Thus there were altogether 43 motions all concurring, namely:—
When we think about the solar system, we notice that nearly all its movements are in the same direction. Newton pointed out the consistency and sameness of these motions and compared them to the strange and unpredictable paths of comets. If we could view the system from above, we would see all the planets orbiting from west to east, the moons circling their planets, and the sun, planets, and moons all rotating in the same direction, with a few exceptions at the edge of the system. During Laplace's time, eleven planets were known, and the rotation directions were established for the sun, six planets, Jupiter's moons, Saturn's ring, and one of its moons. In total, there were 43 motions all aligned:
Orbital motions of eleven planets | 11 |
Orbital motions of eighteen satellites | 18 |
Axial rotations | 14 |
— |
|
43 |
The probability that 43 motions independent of each other would coincide by chance is the 42nd power of 12, so that the odds are about 4,400,000,000,000 to 1 in favour of some common cause for the uniformity of direction. This probability, as Laplace observes,163 is higher than that of many historical events which we undoubtingly believe. In the present day, the probability is much increased by the discovery of additional planets, and the rotation of other250 satellites, and it is only slightly weakened by the fact that some of the outlying satellites are exceptional in direction, there being considerable evidence of an accidental disturbance in the more distant parts of the system.
The chance that 43 independent motions would align by random chance is the 42nd power of 12, making the odds about 4,400,000,000,000 to 1 in favor of a common cause for the consistent direction. This probability, as Laplace notes,163 is greater than that of many historical events we believe without question. Today, the probability increases thanks to the discovery of more planets and the rotation of other250 satellites, and it's only slightly reduced by the fact that some of the outer satellites have unusual directions, suggesting considerable evidence of a random disturbance in the more distant areas of the system.
Hardly less remarkable than the uniform direction of motion is the near approximation of the orbits of the planets to a common plane. Daniel Bernoulli roughly estimated the probability of such an agreement arising from accident as 1 ÷ (12)6 the greatest inclination of any orbit to the sun’s equator being 1-12th part of a quadrant. Laplace devoted to this subject some of his most ingenious investigations. He found the probability that the sum of the inclinations of the planetary orbits would not exceed by accident the actual amount (·914187 of a right angle for the ten planets known in 1801) to be 110! (·914187)10 or about ·00000011235. This probability may be combined with that derived from the direction of motion, and it then becomes immensely probable that the constitution of the planetary system arose out of uniform conditions, or, as we say, from some common cause.164
Hardly less remarkable than the consistent direction of motion is how closely the orbits of the planets align with a common plane. Daniel Bernoulli roughly estimated the odds of this happening by chance as 1 ÷ (12)6, with the greatest tilt of any orbit to the sun's equator being 1/12 of a quadrant. Laplace dedicated some of his most brilliant investigations to this topic. He calculated that the likelihood of the total inclinations of the planetary orbits not exceeding the actual amount (0.914187 of a right angle for the ten planets known in 1801) by chance is 110! (0.914187)10, or about 0.00000011235. This probability can be combined with the one from the direction of motion, making it extremely likely that the structure of the planetary system resulted from uniform conditions, or, as we say, from some common cause.164
If the same kind of calculation be applied to the orbits of comets, the result is very different.165 Of the orbits which have been determined 48·9 per cent. only are direct or in the same direction as the planetary motions.166 Hence it becomes apparent that comets do not properly belong to the solar system, and it is probable that they are stray portions of nebulous matter which have accidentally become attached to the system by the attractive powers of the sun or Jupiter.
If the same type of calculation is applied to the orbits of comets, the outcome is quite different.165 Of the orbits that have been determined, only 48.9 percent are direct or move in the same direction as the planetary motions.166 Therefore, it becomes clear that comets don't really belong to the solar system, and it's likely that they are random bits of nebulous material that have unintentionally become associated with the system due to the gravitational pull of the sun or Jupiter.
The General Inverse Problem.
In the instances described in the preceding sections, we have been occupied in receding from the occurrence of certain similar events to the probability that there251 must have been a condition or cause for such events. We have found that the theory of probability, although never yielding a certain result, often enables us to establish an hypothesis beyond the reach of reasonable doubt. There is, however, another method of applying the theory, which possesses for us even greater interest, because it illustrates, in the most complete manner, the theory of inference adopted in this work, which theory indeed it suggested. The problem to be solved is as follows:—
In the situations discussed in the previous sections, we've been focused on moving away from the occurrence of certain similar events to the likelihood that there251 must have been a condition or cause for these events. We've discovered that the theory of probability, while never providing a certain outcome, often helps us formulate a hypothesis that is beyond reasonable doubt. However, there's another way to apply this theory that is even more interesting to us because it fully demonstrates the inference theory used in this work, which is actually what inspired it. The problem we need to solve is as follows:—
An event having happened a certain number of times, and failed a certain number of times, required the probability that it will happen any given number of times in the future under the same circumstances.
An event that has occurred a specific number of times and has failed a specific number of times requires the likelihood that it will happen any number of times in the future under the same conditions.
All the larger planets hitherto discovered move in one direction round the sun; what is the probability that, if a new planet exterior to Neptune be discovered, it will move in the same direction? All known permanent gases, except chlorine, are colourless; what is the probability that, if some new permanent gas should be discovered, it will be colourless? In the general solution of this problem, we wish to infer the future happening of any event from the number of times that it has already been observed to happen. Now, it is very instructive to find that there is no known process by which we can pass directly from the data to the conclusion. It is always requisite to recede from the data to the probability of some hypothesis, and to make that hypothesis the ground of our inference concerning future events. Mathematicians, in fact, make every hypothesis which is applicable to the question in hand; they then calculate, by the inverse method, the probability of every such hypothesis according to the data, and the probability that if each hypothesis be true, the required future event will happen. The total probability that the event will happen is the sum of the separate probabilities contributed by each distinct hypothesis.
All the larger planets that have been discovered so far move in one direction around the sun; what are the chances that if a new planet outside of Neptune is discovered, it will also move in the same direction? All known permanent gases, except for chlorine, are colorless; what are the chances that if some new permanent gas is discovered, it will be colorless? In solving this problem, we want to predict the future occurrence of any event based on how many times it has already been observed. It's important to note that there’s no known way to go directly from the data to the conclusion. We always need to step back from the data to evaluate the probability of some hypothesis and use that hypothesis as the basis for our predictions about future events. Mathematicians actually consider every hypothesis that could apply to the issue at hand; then they calculate, using the inverse method, the probability of each hypothesis based on the data, as well as the probability that if each hypothesis is true, the specified future event will occur. The total probability that the event will happen is the sum of the individual probabilities contributed by each distinct hypothesis.
To illustrate more precisely the method of solving the problem, it is desirable to adopt some concrete mode of representation, and the ballot-box, so often employed by mathematicians, will best serve our purpose. Let the happening of any event be represented by the drawing of a white ball from a ballot-box, while the failure of an252 event is represented by the drawing of a black ball. Now, in the inductive problem we are supposed to be ignorant of the contents of the ballot-box, and are required to ground all our inferences on our experience of those contents as shown in successive drawings. Rude common sense would guide us nearly to a true conclusion. Thus, if we had drawn twenty balls one after another, replacing the ball after each drawing, and the ball had in each case proved to be white, we should believe that there was a considerable preponderance of white balls in the urn, and a probability in favour of drawing a white ball on the next occasion. Though we had drawn white balls for thousands of times without fail, it would still be possible that some black balls lurked in the urn and would at last appear, so that our inferences could never be certain. On the other hand, if black balls came at intervals, we should expect that after a certain number of trials the black balls would appear again from time to time with somewhat the same frequency.
To explain more clearly how to solve the problem, it helps to use a specific way of representing it, and the ballot box, often used by mathematicians, will serve our needs well. Let's say that an event happening is represented by drawing a white ball from the ballot box, while an event not happening is indicated by drawing a black ball. In this inductive problem, we assume we don’t know what’s inside the ballot box and need to base all our conclusions on our experience with the contents revealed through successive drawings. Basic common sense would lead us close to the right conclusion. For example, if we drew twenty balls one after another, replacing each ball after drawing, and each time it turned out to be white, we would believe there were likely more white balls than black in the urn, and we would think there was a good chance we’d draw a white ball next time. Even if we drew white balls thousands of times in a row, there could still be some black balls hiding in the urn that might eventually show up, meaning our conclusions could never be entirely certain. Conversely, if black balls appeared sporadically, we’d expect that after a certain number of trials, the black balls would start to appear again with about the same frequency.
The mathematical solution of the question consists in little more than a close analysis of the mode in which our common sense proceeds. If twenty white balls have been drawn and no black ball, my common sense tells me that any hypothesis which makes the black balls in the urn considerable compared with the white ones is improbable; a preponderance of white balls is a more probable hypothesis, and as a deduction from this more probable hypothesis, I expect a recurrence of white balls. The mathematician merely reduces this process of thought to exact numbers. Taking, for instance, the hypothesis that there are 99 white and one black ball in the urn, he can calculate the probability that 20 white balls would be drawn in succession in those circumstances; he thus forms a definite estimate of the probability of this hypothesis, and knowing at the same time the probability of a white ball reappearing if such be the contents of the urn, he combines these probabilities, and obtains an exact estimate that a white ball will recur in consequence of this hypothesis. But as this hypothesis is only one out of many possible ones, since the ratio of white and black balls may be 98 to 2, or 97 to 3, or 96 to 4, and so on, he has to repeat the estimate for every such possible hypothesis.253 To make the method of solving the problem perfectly evident, I will describe in the next section a very simple case of the problem, originally devised for the purpose by Condorcet, which was also adopted by Lacroix,167 and has passed into the works of De Morgan, Lubbock, and others.
The mathematical solution to the question mainly involves closely analyzing how our common sense works. If twenty white balls are drawn and no black balls, my common sense says that any theory suggesting there are many black balls in the urn compared to white ones is unlikely; a greater number of white balls is a more realistic guess, and based on this more likely guess, I expect to see more white balls. The mathematician just turns this thought process into exact numbers. For example, if we assume there are 99 white balls and one black ball in the urn, he can calculate the chances of drawing 20 white balls in a row under those circumstances; this gives a precise estimate of the likelihood of this assumption. Knowing the probability of drawing a white ball again if those are the contents of the urn, he combines these probabilities to get a clear estimate that a white ball will be drawn next based on this hypothesis. But since this hypothesis is only one of many possible ones—like the ratio of white to black balls could be 98 to 2, or 97 to 3, or 96 to 4, and so on—he needs to repeat this estimation for each possible scenario. 253 To clarify the method of solving the problem, I will describe a very simple case that was originally created for this purpose by Condorcet, which was also used by Lacroix,167 and has been included in the works of De Morgan, Lubbock, and others.
Simple Illustration of the Inverse Problem.
Suppose it to be known that a ballot-box contains only four black or white balls, the ratio of black and white balls being unknown. Four drawings having been made with replacement, and a white ball having appeared on each occasion but one, it is required to determine the probability that a white ball will appear next time. Now the hypotheses which can be made as to the contents of the urn are very limited in number, and are at most the following five:—
Suppose we know that a ballot box has only four black or white balls, but we don’t know the ratio of black to white balls. After drawing four times with replacement, we got a white ball each time except once. Now, we need to determine the probability that a white ball will show up next. The possible hypotheses about what’s in the urn are quite limited, and there are at most these five:—
4 |
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The actual occurrence of black and white balls in the drawings puts the first and last hypothesis out of the question, so that we have only three left to consider.
The actual presence of black and white balls in the drawings rules out the first and last hypotheses, leaving us with only three to consider.
If the box contains three white and one black, the probability of drawing a white each time is 34, and a black 14; so that the compound event observed, namely, three white and one black, has the probability 34 × 34 × 34 × 14, by the rule already given (p. 204). But as it is indifferent in what order the balls are drawn, and the black ball might come first, second, third, or fourth, we must multiply by four, to obtain the probability of three white and one black in any order, thus getting 2764.
If the box has three white balls and one black ball, the chance of picking a white ball each time is 34, and a black ball is 14; therefore, the combined event of drawing three white balls and one black ball has a probability of 34 × 34 × 34 × 14, according to the rule provided (p. 204). However, since the order in which the balls are drawn doesn’t matter, and the black ball could be drawn first, second, third, or fourth, we need to multiply by four to find the probability of having three white balls and one black ball in any order, resulting in 2764.
Taking the next hypothesis of two white and two black balls in the urn, we obtain for the same probability the quantity 12 × 12 × 12 × 12 × 4, or 1664, and from the third hypothesis of one white and three black we deduce likewise 14 × 14 × 14 × 34 × 4, or 364. According, then, as we254 adopt the first, second, or third hypothesis, the probability that the result actually noticed would follow is 2764, 1664, and 364. Now it is certain that one or other of these hypotheses must be the true one, and their absolute probabilities are proportional to the probabilities that the observed events would follow from them (pp. 242, 243). All we have to do, then, in order to obtain the absolute probability of each hypothesis, is to alter these fractions in a uniform ratio, so that their sum shall be unity, the expression of certainty. Now, since 27 + 16 + 3 = 46, this will be effected by dividing each fraction by 46, and multiplying by 64. Thus the probabilities of the first, second, and third hypotheses are respectively—
Taking the next assumption of two white and two black balls in the urn, we get the same probability expressed as 12 × 12 × 12 × 12 × 4, or 1664. From the third assumption of one white and three black, we similarly deduce 14 × 14 × 14 × 34 × 4, or 364. Depending on whether we accept the first, second, or third hypothesis, the probability of the actual result occurring is 2764, 1664, and 364. It’s clear that one of these hypotheses must be correct, and their absolute probabilities relate to the likelihood of the observed events resulting from them (pp. 242, 243). To find the absolute probability for each hypothesis, we simply need to adjust these fractions by a uniform ratio so that their total equals one, representing certainty. Since 27 + 16 + 3 = 46, we achieve this by dividing each fraction by 46 and multiplying by 64. Therefore, the probabilities of the first, second, and third hypotheses are respectively—
The inductive part of the problem is completed, since we have found that the urn most likely contains three white and one black ball, and have assigned the exact probability of each possible supposition. But we are now in a position to resume deductive reasoning, and infer the probability that the next drawing will yield, say a white ball. For if the box contains three white and one black ball, the probability of drawing a white one is certainly 34; and as the probability of the box being so constituted is 2746, the compound probability that the box will be so filled and will give a white ball at the next trial, is
The inductive part of the problem is done, since we’ve determined that the urn likely contains three white balls and one black ball, and we’ve assigned the exact probability for each possible scenario. Now we can switch back to deductive reasoning and figure out the probability that the next draw will be, let’s say, a white ball. If the box has three white and one black ball, the probability of drawing a white one is definitely 34; and since the probability of the box being that way is 2746, the overall probability that the box will be filled that way and will give a white ball in the next draw is
Again, the probability is 1646 that the box contains two white and two black, and under those conditions the probability is 12 that a white ball will appear; hence the probability that a white ball will appear in consequence of that condition, is
Again, the probability is 1646 that the box contains two white balls and two black balls, and under those conditions the probability is 12 that a white ball will show up; therefore, the probability that a white ball will show up because of that condition is
From the third supposition we get in like manner the probability
From the third assumption, we likewise obtain the likelihood.
Since one and not more than one hypothesis can be true,255 we may add together these separate probabilities, and we find that
Since only one hypothesis can be true, we can combine these separate probabilities, and we find that
is the complete probability that a white ball will be next drawn under the conditions and data supposed.
is the total probability that a white ball will be drawn next based on the given conditions and data.
General Solution of the Inverse Problem.
In the instance of the inverse method described in the last section, the balls supposed to be in the ballot-box were few, for the purpose of simplifying the calculation. In order that our solution may apply to natural phenomena, we must render our hypotheses as little arbitrary as possible. Having no à priori knowledge of the conditions of the phenomena in question, there is no limit to the variety of hypotheses which might be suggested. Mathematicians have therefore had recourse to the most extensive suppositions which can be made, namely, that the ballot-box contains an infinite number of balls; they have then varied the proportion of white to black balls continuously, from the smallest to the greatest possible proportion, and estimated the aggregate probability which results from this comprehensive supposition.
In the case of the inverse method described in the last section, the number of balls imagined to be in the ballot box was limited to simplify the calculations. To ensure our solution applies to real-world phenomena, we need to make our hypotheses as non-arbitrary as possible. Without any prior knowledge of the conditions of the phenomena in question, the range of hypotheses that can be proposed is endless. Therefore, mathematicians have turned to the broadest assumptions, namely that the ballot box contains an infinite number of balls; they have then varied the ratio of white to black balls continuously, from the smallest to the largest possible ratio, and calculated the overall probability that arises from this all-encompassing assumption.
To explain their procedure, let us imagine that, instead of an infinite number, the ballot-box contains a large finite number of balls, say 1000. Then the number of white balls might be 1 or 2 or 3 or 4, and so on, up to 999. Supposing that three white and one black ball have been drawn from the urn as before, there is a certain very small probability that this would have occurred in the case of a box containing one white and 999 black balls; there is also a small probability that from such a box the next ball would be white. Compound these probabilities, and we have the probability that the next ball really will be white, in consequence of the existence of that proportion of balls. If there be two white and 998 black balls in the box, the probability is greater and will increase until the balls are supposed to be in the proportion of those drawn. Now 999 different hypotheses are possible, and the calculation is to be made for each of these, and their aggregate taken as the final result. It is256 apparent that as the number of balls in the box is increased, the absolute probability of any one hypothesis concerning the exact proportion of balls is decreased, but the aggregate results of all the hypotheses will assume the character of a wider average.
To explain their process, let’s imagine that instead of having an infinite number, the ballot box has a large but finite number of balls, say 1,000. The number of white balls could be 1, 2, 3, or 4, and so on, up to 999. If we assume that three white and one black ball have been drawn from the urn as before, there’s a very small chance that this could happen if the box contained one white and 999 black balls; there’s also a small chance that the next ball drawn would be white. When we combine these probabilities, we get the chance that the next ball will indeed be white because of the existing ratio of balls. If there are two white and 998 black balls in the box, the probability increases and continues to rise until the balls are in the same proportion as those that were drawn. Now, there are 999 possible hypotheses, and we need to calculate the probability for each of them and then take the overall sum as the final outcome. It’s clear that as the number of balls in the box increases, the specific probability of each hypothesis regarding the exact ratio of balls decreases, but the overall results of all the hypotheses will represent a broader average.
When we take the step of supposing the balls within the urn to be infinite in number, the possible proportions of white and black balls also become infinite, and the probability of any one proportion actually existing is infinitely small. Hence the final result that the next ball drawn will be white is really the sum of an infinite number of infinitely small quantities. It might seem impossible to calculate out a problem having an infinite number of hypotheses, but the wonderful resources of the integral calculus enable this to be done with far greater facility than if we supposed any large finite number of balls, and then actually computed the results. I will not attempt to describe the processes by which Laplace finally accomplished the complete solution of the problem. They are to be found described in several English works, especially De Morgan’s Treatise on Probabilities, in the Encyclopædia Metropolitana, and Mr. Todhunter’s History of the Theory of Probability. The abbreviating power of mathematical analysis was never more strikingly shown. But I may add that though the integral calculus is employed as a means of summing infinitely numerous results, we in no way abandon the principles of combinations already treated. We calculate the values of infinitely numerous factorials, not, however, obtaining their actual products, which would lead to an infinite number of figures, but obtaining the final answer to the problem by devices which can only be comprehended after study of the integral calculus.
When we assume that the balls in the urn are infinite in number, the possible ratios of white and black balls also become infinite, making the probability of any specific ratio actually existing incredibly small. Therefore, the final outcome that the next ball drawn will be white is essentially the sum of an infinite number of infinitesimal quantities. It might seem impossible to solve a problem with an infinite number of hypotheses, but the amazing tools of integral calculus allow us to do this much more easily than if we assumed any large finite number of balls and then computed the results. I won’t try to explain the methods by which Laplace ultimately solved the problem completely. These methods are detailed in several English works, particularly De Morgan's Treatise on Probabilities, in the Encyclopædia Metropolitana, and Mr. Todhunter’s History of the Theory of Probability. The ability of mathematical analysis to simplify is never more evident. However, I should point out that even though we use integral calculus to sum up infinitely many results, we do not abandon the principles of combinations that we've already discussed. We calculate the values of infinitely many factorials, not by obtaining their actual products—which would result in an infinite number of digits—but by finding the final answer to the problem using techniques that can only be understood after studying integral calculus.
It must be allowed that the hypothesis adopted by Laplace is in some degree arbitrary, so that there was some opening for the doubt which Boole has cast upon it.168 But it may be replied, (1) that the supposition of an infinite number of balls treated in the manner of Laplace is less arbitrary and more comprehensive than any other that can be suggested. (2) The result does not differ257 much from that which would be obtained on the hypothesis of any large finite number of balls. (3) The supposition leads to a series of simple formulas which can be applied with ease in many cases, and which bear all the appearance of truth so far as it can be independently judged by a sound and practiced understanding.
It should be acknowledged that the assumption made by Laplace is somewhat arbitrary, leaving room for the doubts that Boole has raised about it.168 However, it can be argued that (1) the idea of an infinite number of balls considered in Laplace's way is less arbitrary and more inclusive than any other suggestion. (2) The outcome is not much different from what would result from the assumption of a large finite number of balls. (3) This assumption leads to a series of straightforward formulas that can be easily applied in many situations and appear to be true based on sound and experienced judgment.
Rules of the Inverse Method.
By the solution of the problem, as described in the last section, we obtain the following series of simple rules.
By solving the problem outlined in the last section, we come up with the following straightforward rules.
1. To find the probability that an event which has not hitherto been observed to fail will happen once more, divide the number of times the event has been observed increased by one, by the same number increased by two.
1. To find the probability that an event that hasn't been observed to fail will happen again, add one to the number of times the event has been observed, then divide that by the same number plus two.
If there have been m occasions on which a certain event might have been observed to happen, and it has happened on all those occasions, then the probability that it will happen on the next occasion of the same kind m + 1m + 2. For instance, we may say that there are nine places in the planetary system where planets might exist obeying Bode’s law of distance, and in every place there is a planet obeying the law more or less exactly, although no reason is known for the coincidence. Hence the probability that the next planet beyond Neptune will conform to the law is 1011.
If there have been m instances where a certain event has occurred, and it has happened every time, then the likelihood that it will occur the next time the same event takes place is m + 1m + 2. For example, we can say there are nine locations in the solar system where planets might exist that follow Bode’s law of distance, and at each location, there is a planet that roughly follows the law, even though there’s no known reason for this occurrence. Therefore, the probability that the next planet beyond Neptune will follow the law is 1011.
2. To find the, probability that an event which has not hitherto failed will not fail for a certain number of new occasions, divide the number of times the event has happened increased by one, by the same number increased by one and the number of times it is to happen.
2. To find the probability that an event that hasn’t failed so far will continue to succeed for a certain number of new occasions, add one to the number of times the event has occurred, then divide that by the same number increased by one and the number of times it is expected to occur.
An event having happened m times without fail, the probability that it will happen n more times is m + 1m + n + 1. Thus the probability that three new planets would obey Bode’s law is 1013; but it must be allowed that this, as well as the previous result, would be much weakened by the fact that Neptune can barely be said to obey the law.
An event has occurred m times without fail, so the probability that it will happen n more times is m + 1m + n + 1. Therefore, the probability that three new planets would follow Bode’s law is 1013; however, it's important to note that this, just like the previous result, would be significantly undermined by the fact that Neptune can hardly be considered to follow the law.
3. An event having happened and failed a certain number of times, to find the probability that it will happen the next time, divide the number of times the event has258 happened increased by one, by the whole number of times the event has happened or failed increased by two.
3. If an event has occurred and failed a certain number of times, to find the probability that it will happen next time, add one to the number of times the event has occurred, and then divide that by the total number of times the event has occurred or failed, adding two to that total.
If an event has happened m times and failed n times, the probability that it will happen on the next occasion is m + 1m + n + 2. Thus, if we assume that of the elements discovered up to the year 1873, 50 are metallic and 14 non-metallic, then the probability that the next element discovered will be metallic is 5166. Again, since of 37 metals which have been sufficiently examined only four, namely, sodium, potassium, lanthanum, and lithium, are of less density than water, the probability that the next metal examined or discovered will be less dense than water is 4 + 137 + 2 or 539.
If an event has occurred m times and has failed n times, the probability that it will happen the next time is m + 1m + n + 2. So, if we assume that of the elements discovered up to the year 1873, 50 are metallic and 14 are non-metallic, the probability that the next element discovered will be metallic is 5166. Additionally, since out of 37 metals that have been sufficiently studied, only four—sodium, potassium, lanthanum, and lithium—are less dense than water, the probability that the next metal examined or discovered will be less dense than water is 4 + 137 + 2 or 539.
We may state the results of the method in a more general manner thus,169—If under given circumstances certain events A, B, C, &c., have happened respectively m, n, p, &c., times, and one or other of these events must happen, then the probabilities of these events are proportional to m + 1, n + 1, p + 1, &c., so that the probability of A will be m + 1m + 1 + n + 1 + p + 1 + &c. But if new events may happen in addition to those which have been observed, we must assign unity for the probability of such new event. The odds then become 1 for a new event, m + 1 for A, n + 1 for B, and so on, and the absolute probability of A is m + 11 + m + 1 + n + 1 + &c.
We can express the results of the method more generally like this,169—If certain events A, B, C, etc., have occurred m, n, p, etc., times respectively under certain conditions, and one of these events must occur, then the probabilities of these events are proportional to m + 1, n + 1, p + 1, etc. Therefore, the probability of A will be m + 1m + 1 + n + 1 + p + 1 + etc.. However, if new events can occur in addition to those already observed, we must assign a probability of 1 for this new event. The odds then become 1 for a new event, m + 1 for A, n + 1 for B, and so on, making the absolute probability of A m + 11 + m + 1 + n + 1 + etc..
It is interesting to trace out the variations of probability according to these rules. The first time a casual event happens it is 2 to 1 that it will happen again; if it does happen it is 3 to 1 that it will happen a third time; and on successive occasions of the like kind the odds become 4, 5, 6, &c., to 1. The odds of course will be discriminated from the probabilities which are successively 23, 34, 45, &c. Thus on the first occasion on which a person sees a shark, and notices that it is accompanied by a little pilot fish, the odds are 2 to 1, or the probability 23, that the next shark will be so accompanied.
It’s interesting to look at how the odds change according to these rules. The first time something random happens, there’s a 2 to 1 chance it will happen again; if it does happen, the odds are 3 to 1 that it will occur a third time; and with each similar occurrence, the odds increase to 4, 5, 6, etc., to 1. The odds will of course be distinguished from the probabilities, which are successively 23, 34, 45, etc. So, on the first occasion a person sees a shark and notices it has a little pilot fish with it, the odds are 2 to 1, or the probability 23, that the next shark will also have a pilot fish with it.
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When an event has happened a very great number of times, its happening once again approaches nearly to certainty. If we suppose the sun to have risen one thousand million times, the probability that it will rise again, on the ground of this knowledge merely, is 1,000,000,000 + 11,000,000,000 + 1 + 1. But then the probability that it will continue to rise for as long a period in the future is only 1,000,000,000 + 12,000,000,000 + 1, or almost exactly 12. The probability that it will continue so rising a thousand times as long is only about 11001. The lesson which we may draw from these figures is quite that which we should adopt on other grounds, namely, that experience never affords certain knowledge, and that it is exceedingly improbable that events will always happen as we observe them. Inferences pushed far beyond their data soon lose any considerable probability. De Morgan has said,170 “No finite experience whatsoever can justify us in saying that the future shall coincide with the past in all time to come, or that there is any probability for such a conclusion.” On the other hand, we gain the assurance that experience sufficiently extended and prolonged will give us the knowledge of future events with an unlimited degree of probability, provided indeed that those events are not subject to arbitrary interference.
When something has happened a huge number of times, the chances of it happening again become almost certain. If we assume the sun has risen one billion times, the probability that it will rise again, based solely on this knowledge, is 1,000,000,000 + 11,000,000,000 + 1 + 1. However, the probability that it will keep rising for an equal period into the future is only 1,000,000,0012,000,000,001, or nearly 12. The likelihood that it will continue to rise a thousand times as long is only about 11001. The takeaway from these figures is similar to what we should conclude for other reasons: that experience never provides certain knowledge, and it’s very unlikely that events will always unfold as we expect. Assumptions pushed too far beyond the available data quickly lose significant probability. De Morgan has said,170 “No finite experience whatsoever can justify us in saying that the future shall coincide with the past in all time to come, or that there is any probability for such a conclusion.” On the bright side, we can have confidence that a sufficiently broad and lengthy experience will provide us knowledge of future events with an unlimited level of probability, as long as those events are not influenced by random factors.
It must be clearly understood that these probabilities are only such as arise from the mere happening of the events, irrespective of any knowledge derived from other sources concerning those events or the general laws of nature. All our knowledge of nature is indeed founded in like manner upon observation, and is therefore only probable. The law of gravitation itself is only probably true. But when a number of different facts, observed under the most diverse circumstances, are found to be harmonized under a supposed law of nature, the probability of the law approximates closely to certainty. Each science rests upon so many observed facts, and derives so much support from analogies or connections with other sciences, that there are comparatively few cases where our judgment of the probability of an event depends entirely upon a few antecedent260 events, disconnected from the general body of physical science.
It should be clearly understood that these probabilities come solely from the occurrence of the events themselves, without considering any knowledge gained from other sources about those events or the laws of nature. Our understanding of nature is similarly based on observation and is therefore only probable. Even the law of gravitation is probably true. However, when various facts, observed in the most different circumstances, align under a proposed natural law, the probability of that law approaches certainty. Each science is built on numerous observed facts and draws considerable support from analogies or connections with other sciences, so there are relatively few instances where our judgment of an event's probability relies solely on a few prior events, disconnected from the broader framework of physical science.
Events, again, may often exhibit a regularity of succession or preponderance of character, which the simple formula will not take into account. For instance, the majority of the elements recently discovered are metals, so that the probability of the next discovery being that of a metal, is doubtless greater than we calculated (p. 258). At the more distant parts of the planetary system, there are symptoms of disturbance which would prevent our placing much reliance on any inference from the prevailing order of the known planets to those undiscovered ones which may possibly exist at great distances. These and all like complications in no way invalidate the theoretic truth of the formulas, but render their sound application much more difficult.
Events often show a consistent pattern or dominant characteristics that the simple formula doesn't account for. For example, most of the recently discovered elements are metals, so the likelihood of the next finding being a metal is definitely higher than we calculated (p. 258). In the more distant regions of the planetary system, there are signs of disruption that would make it unreliable to draw conclusions about the known planets when considering those undiscovered ones that might exist far away. These complexities do not disprove the theoretical accuracy of the formulas, but they make their practical application much more challenging.
Erroneous objections have been raised to the theory of probability, on the ground that we ought not to trust to our à priori conceptions of what is likely to happen, but should always endeavour to obtain precise experimental data to guide us.171 This course, however, is perfectly in accordance with the theory, which is our best and only guide, whatever data we possess. We ought to be always applying the inverse method of probabilities so as to take into account all additional information. When we throw up a coin for the first time, we are probably quite ignorant whether it tends more to fall head or tail upwards, and we must therefore assume the probability of each event as 12. But if it shows head in the first throw, we now have very slight experimental evidence in favour of a tendency to show head. The chance of two heads is now slightly greater than 14, which it appeared to be at first,172 and as we go on throwing the coin time after time, the probability of head appearing next time constantly varies in a slight degree according to the character of our previous experience. As Laplace remarks, we ought always to have regard to such considerations in common life. Events when closely scrutinized will hardly ever prove to be quite independent, and the slightest preponderance261 one way or the other is some evidence of connection, and in the absence of better evidence should be taken into account.
Erroneous objections have been raised against the theory of probability, claiming that we shouldn’t rely on our **à priori** ideas of what is likely to happen, but should always strive to obtain precise experimental data to guide us.171 However, this approach is completely in line with the theory, which is our best and only guide, regardless of the data we have. We should always apply the inverse method of probabilities to consider all additional information. When we flip a coin for the first time, we probably have no idea whether it’s more likely to land heads or tails, so we must assume the probability of each outcome is 12. But if it lands heads on the first flip, we now have very slight experimental evidence suggesting a tendency toward heads. The chance of two heads is now slightly greater than 14, which was our initial assumption,172 and as we continue flipping the coin, the probability of heads appearing next time constantly changes slightly based on our previous experiences. As Laplace points out, we should always consider these factors in everyday life. Events, when closely examined, are rarely completely independent, and even a slight tendency in one direction or another provides some evidence of a connection, which should be taken into account in the absence of better evidence.
The grand object of seeking to estimate the probability of future events from past experience, seems to have been entertained by James Bernoulli and De Moivre, at least such was the opinion of Condorcet; and Bernoulli may be said to have solved one case of the problem.173 The English writers Bayes and Price are, however, undoubtedly the first who put forward any distinct rules on the subject.174 Condorcet and several other eminent mathematicians advanced the mathematical theory of the subject; but it was reserved to the immortal Laplace to bring to the subject the full power of his genius, and carry the solution of the problem almost to perfection. It is instructive to observe that a theory which arose from petty games of chance, the rules and the very names of which are forgotten, gradually advanced, until it embraced the most sublime problems of science, and finally undertook to measure the value and certainty of all our inductions.
The main goal of trying to estimate the likelihood of future events based on past experiences seems to have been considered by James Bernoulli and De Moivre, at least according to Condorcet; and Bernoulli can be said to have addressed one aspect of the problem.173 However, the English writers Bayes and Price are definitely the first to present any clear rules on the topic.174 Condorcet and several other notable mathematicians contributed to the mathematical theory of the subject, but it was the remarkable Laplace who brought his full genius to it, nearly perfecting the solution to the problem. It's interesting to note that a theory that began with trivial games of chance, whose rules and names are now forgotten, gradually evolved to encompass the most profound challenges in science and ultimately sought to quantify the value and certainty of all our conclusions.
Fortuitous Coincidences.
We should have studied the theory of probability to very little purpose, if we thought that it would furnish us with an infallible guide. The theory itself points out the approximate certainty, that we shall sometimes be deceived by extraordinary fortuitous coincidences. There is no run of luck so extreme that it may not happen, and it may happen to us, or in our time, as well as to other persons or in other times. We may be forced by correct calculation to refer such coincidences to a necessary cause, and yet we may be deceived. All that the calculus of probability pretends to give, is the result in the long run, as it is called, and this really means in an infinity of cases. During any finite experience, however long, chances may be against us. Nevertheless the theory is the best guide we can have. If we always think and act according to its well-interpreted indications,262 we shall have the best chance of escaping error; and if all persons, throughout all time to come, obey the theory in like manner, they will undoubtedly thereby reap the greatest advantage.
We would be wasting our time studying the theory of probability if we believed it would give us an infallible guide. The theory itself indicates that there’s a good chance we’ll occasionally be misled by unusual coincidences. No streak of luck is so extreme that it can’t happen, and it can happen to us or during our time, just as it can for others in different times. We might be forced by correct calculations to attribute such coincidences to a necessary cause, yet we could still be misled. What probability calculus aims to provide is the long-term result, which really means over an infinite number of cases. In any finite experience, no matter how long, the odds might be against us. Nevertheless, this theory is the best guide we have. If we always think and act according to its well-interpreted indications,262 we’ll have the best chance of avoiding errors; and if everyone follows the theory in the same way for all time to come, they will surely gain the most benefit from it.
No rule can be given for discriminating between coincidences which are casual and those which are the effects of law. By a fortuitous or casual coincidence, we mean an agreement between events, which nevertheless arise from wholly independent and different causes or conditions, and which will not always so agree. It is a fortuitous coincidence, if a penny thrown up repeatedly in various ways always falls on the same side; but it would not be fortuitous if there were any similarity in the motions of the hand, and the height of the throw, so as to cause or tend to cause a uniform result. Now among the infinitely numerous events, objects, or relations in the universe, it is quite likely that we shall occasionally notice casual coincidences. There are seven intervals in the octave, and there is nothing very improbable in the colours of the spectrum happening to be apparently divisible into the same or similar series of seven intervals. It is hardly yet decided whether this apparent coincidence, with which Newton was much struck, is well founded or not,175 but the question will probably be decided in the negative.
No rule can distinguish between coincidences that are random and those that occur due to underlying laws. A random or casual coincidence refers to an agreement between events that arise from completely independent and different causes or conditions, and this agreement won't always happen. For example, it’s a random coincidence if a penny tossed in various ways always lands on the same side; however, it wouldn't be random if there were any similarity in how the hand moved or the height of the throw that caused or contributed to a consistent result. Among the countless events, objects, or relationships in the universe, it’s quite possible that we will occasionally notice random coincidences. There are seven intervals in an octave, and it’s not very unlikely for the colors of the spectrum to be seemingly divisible into similar series of seven intervals. It’s still not clear whether this apparent coincidence, which greatly intrigued Newton, is actually valid or not,175 but the answer will probably turn out to be no.
It is certainly a casual coincidence which the ancients noticed between the seven vowels, the seven strings of the lyre, the seven Pleiades, and the seven chiefs at Thebes.176 The accidents connected with the number seven have misled the human intellect throughout the historical period. Pythagoras imagined a connection between the seven planets and the seven intervals of the monochord. The alchemists were never tired of drawing inferences from the coincidence in numbers of the seven planets and the seven metals, not to speak of the seven days of the week.
It’s definitely an interesting coincidence that the ancients noticed between the seven vowels, the seven strings of the lyre, the seven Pleiades, and the seven leaders at Thebes.176 The associations related to the number seven have confused human understanding throughout history. Pythagoras believed there was a link between the seven planets and the seven intervals of the monochord. The alchemists endlessly made connections between the number of the seven planets and the seven metals, not to mention the seven days of the week.
A singular circumstance was pointed out concerning the dimensions of the earth, sun, and moon; the sun’s diameter was almost exactly 110 times as great as the263 earth’s diameter, while in almost exactly the same ratio the mean distance of the earth was greater than the sun’s diameter, and the mean distance of the moon from the earth was greater than the moon’s diameter. The agreement was so close that it might have proved more than casual, but its fortuitous character is now sufficiently shown by the fact, that the coincidence ceases to be remarkable when we adopt the amended dimensions of the planetary system.
A unique fact was highlighted regarding the sizes of the earth, sun, and moon; the sun’s diameter is nearly 110 times larger than the earth’s diameter, and in nearly the same ratio, the average distance from the earth to the sun is greater than the sun’s diameter, while the average distance from the moon to the earth is greater than the moon’s diameter. The closeness of these measurements is so striking that it could seem more than coincidental, but its random nature is now clearly demonstrated by the fact that this coincidence becomes unremarkable when we use the updated measurements of the planetary system.
A considerable number of the elements have atomic weights, which are apparently exact multiples of that of hydrogen. If this be not a law to be ultimately extended to all the elements, as supposed by Prout, it is a most remarkable coincidence. But, as I have observed, we have no means of absolutely discriminating accidental coincidences from those which imply a deep producing cause. A coincidence must either be very strong in itself, or it must be corroborated by some explanation or connection with other laws of nature. Little attention was ever given to the coincidence concerning the dimensions of the sun, earth, and moon, because it was not very strong in itself, and had no apparent connection with the principles of physical astronomy. Prout’s Law bears more probability because it would bring the constitution of the elements themselves in close connection with the atomic theory, representing them as built up out of a simpler substance.
Many of the elements have atomic weights that are apparently exact multiples of that of hydrogen. If this isn't a law that can eventually be applied to all the elements, as Prout suggested, it's a remarkable coincidence. However, as I've noted, we have no way to definitively distinguish accidental coincidences from those that suggest a significant underlying cause. A coincidence needs to be either very strong on its own or supported by some explanation or links to other natural laws. Little attention was ever paid to the coincidence regarding the sizes of the sun, earth, and moon, because it wasn't particularly strong on its own and had no clear connection to the principles of physical astronomy. Prout's Law is more compelling because it could connect the makeup of the elements themselves closely with atomic theory, suggesting they are made up of a simpler substance.
In historical and social matters, coincidences are frequently pointed out which are due to chance, although there is always a strong popular tendency to regard them as the work of design, or as having some hidden meaning. If to 1794, the number of the year in which Robespierre fell, we add the sum of its digits, the result is 1815, the year in which Napoleon fell; the repetition of the process gives 1830 the year in which Charles the Tenth abdicated. Again, the French Chamber of Deputies, in 1830, consisted of 402 members, of whom 221 formed the party called “La queue de Robespierre,” while the remainder, 181 in number, were named “Les honnêtes gens.” If we give to each letter a numerical value corresponding to its place in the alphabet, it will be found that the sum of the values of the letters in each name exactly indicates the number of the party.
In historical and social matters, people often notice coincidences that happen by chance, but there’s a common tendency to see them as intentional or to suggest they have a hidden meaning. If you take 1794, the year Robespierre fell, and add the sum of its digits, you get 1815, the year Napoleon fell; if you repeat the process, you end up with 1830, the year Charles the Tenth abdicated. Also, in 1830, the French Chamber of Deputies had 402 members, with 221 belonging to the party called “La queue de Robespierre,” while the rest, 181 in total, were called “Les honnêtes gens.” If we assign each letter a numerical value based on its position in the alphabet, the total value of the letters in each name matches the number of the party exactly.
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A number of such coincidences, often of a very curious character, might be adduced, and the probability against the occurrence of each is enormously great. They must be attributed to chance, because they cannot be shown to have the slightest connection with the general laws of nature; but persons are often found to be greatly influenced by such coincidences, regarding them as evidence of fatality, that is of a system of causation governing human affairs independently of the ordinary laws of nature. Let it be remembered that there are an infinite number of opportunities in life for some strange coincidence to present itself, so that it is quite to be expected that remarkable conjunctions will sometimes happen.
Many odd coincidences could be mentioned, and the chances of each happening are extremely low. They should be seen as random events because they can't be linked to the general laws of nature at all; however, people often feel strongly impacted by these coincidences, viewing them as proof of fate, meaning a system of causation that influences human matters outside of normal natural laws. It's important to remember that there are countless chances in life for strange coincidences to occur, so it's not surprising that unusual pairings will occasionally happen.
In all matters of judicial evidence, we must bear in mind the probable occurrence from time to time of unaccountable coincidences. The Roman jurists refused for this reason to invalidate a testamentary deed, the witnesses of which had sealed it with the same seal. For witnesses independently using their own seals might be found to possess identical ones by accident.177 It is well known that circumstantial evidence of apparently overwhelming completeness will sometimes lead to a mistaken judgment, and as absolute certainty is never really attainable, every court must act upon probabilities of a high amount, and in a certain small proportion of cases they must almost of necessity condemn the innocent victims of a remarkable conjuncture of circumstances.178 Popular judgments usually turn upon probabilities of far less amount, as when the palace of Nicomedia, and even the bedchamber of Diocletian, having been on fire twice within fifteen days, the people entirely refused to believe that it could be the result of accident. The Romans believed that there was fatality connected with the name of Sextus.
In all matters of judicial evidence, we need to remember that unexplainable coincidences can happen from time to time. The Roman jurists, for this reason, wouldn’t invalidate a will if the witnesses had sealed it with the same seal. This is because witnesses independently using their own seals might happen to have identical ones by chance.177 It’s well known that circumstantial evidence, even if it seems overwhelmingly complete, can sometimes lead to a wrong judgment. Since absolute certainty is never truly possible, every court must operate on high probabilities, and in a small number of cases, they may inadvertently condemn innocent victims due to a strange set of circumstances.178 Public opinions often hinge on much lower probabilities, as when the palace of Nicomedia, and even Diocletian’s bedroom, caught fire twice within fifteen days, causing the people to completely refuse to believe it could be mere coincidence. The Romans thought there was a fatal connection to the name Sextus.
“Semper sub Sextis perdita Roma fuit.”
“Rome has always been lost under the Sixth.”
The utmost precautions will not provide against all contingencies. To avoid errors in important calculations,265 it is usual to have them repeated by different computers; but a case is on record in which three computers made exactly the same calculations of the place of a star, and yet all did it wrong in precisely the same manner, for no apparent reason.179
The highest precautions won't cover all possibilities. To prevent mistakes in crucial calculations, it's common to have them checked by different people; however, there's a documented case where three people calculated the position of a star in exactly the same way, and all of them were wrong in exactly the same way, for no clear reason.179
Summary of the Theory of Inductive Inference.
The theory of inductive inference stated in this and the previous chapters, was suggested by the study of the Inverse Method of Probability, but it also bears much resemblance to the so-called Deductive Method described by Mill, in his celebrated System of Logic. Mill’s views concerning the Deductive Method, probably form the most original and valuable part of his treatise, and I should have ascribed the doctrine entirely to him, had I not found that the opinions put forward in other parts of his work are entirely inconsistent with the theory here upheld. As this subject is the most important and difficult one with which we have to deal, I will try to remedy the imperfect manner in which I have treated it, by giving a recapitulation of the views adopted.
The theory of inductive inference outlined in this and the previous chapters was inspired by the study of the Inverse Method of Probability, but it also closely resembles the so-called Deductive Method described by Mill in his famous System of Logic. Mill’s thoughts on the Deductive Method are likely the most original and valuable parts of his work, and I would have credited the doctrine entirely to him if I hadn’t found that some of his other views are completely inconsistent with the theory presented here. Since this topic is the most important and complex one we have to address, I will try to improve the way I've discussed it by summarizing the views we've adopted.
All inductive reasoning is but the inverse application of deductive reasoning. Being in possession of certain particular facts or events expressed in propositions, we imagine some more general proposition expressing the existence of a law or cause; and, deducing the particular results of that supposed general proposition, we observe whether they agree with the facts in question. Hypothesis is thus always employed, consciously or unconsciously. The sole conditions to which we need conform in framing any hypothesis is, that we both have and exercise the power of inferring deductively from the hypothesis to the particular results, which are to be compared with the known facts. Thus there are but three steps in the process of induction:—
All inductive reasoning is simply the opposite of deductive reasoning. Starting with specific facts or events stated in propositions, we come up with a more general proposition that indicates a law or cause; then, we derive the particular outcomes from that proposed general proposition and check if they match the facts we have. Hypothesis is always used, either intentionally or not. The only requirements for forming any hypothesis are that we have and can use the ability to deduce from the hypothesis to the specific results that will be compared with the known facts. So, there are just three steps in the process of induction:—
(1) Framing some hypothesis as to the character of the general law.
(1) Formulating a hypothesis about the nature of general law.
(2) Deducing consequences from that law.
(2) Figuring out what that law means.
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(3) Observing whether the consequences agree with the particular facts under consideration.
(3) Checking if the outcomes match the specific facts being looked at.
In very simple cases of inverse reasoning, hypothesis may seem altogether needless. To take numbers again as a convenient illustration, I have only to look at the series,
In very simple cases of reverse reasoning, hypotheses might seem completely unnecessary. To use numbers again as a convenient example, I just have to look at the series,
to know at once that the general law is that of geometrical progression; I need no successive trial of various hypotheses, because I am familiar with the series, and have long since learnt from what general formula it proceeds. In the same way a mathematician becomes acquainted with the integrals of a number of common formulas, so that he need not go through any process of discovery. But it is none the less true that whenever previous reasoning does not furnish the knowledge, hypotheses must be framed and tried (p. 124).
to know right away that the general rule follows a geometric progression; I don’t need to try out different hypotheses one after the other because I’m already familiar with the series and have learned long ago the general formula it follows. Similarly, a mathematician gets to know the integrals of several common formulas, so they don’t have to go through a discovery process each time. However, it’s still true that whenever existing reasoning doesn’t provide the required knowledge, hypotheses must be created and tested (p. 124).
There naturally arise two cases, according as the nature of the subject admits of certain or only probable deductive reasoning. Certainty, indeed, is but a singular case of probability, and the general principles of procedure are always the same. Nevertheless, when certainty of inference is possible, the process is simplified. Of several mutually inconsistent hypotheses, the results of which can be certainly compared with fact, but one hypothesis can ultimately be entertained. Thus in the inverse logical problem, two logically distinct conditions could not yield the same series of possible combinations. Accordingly, in the case of two terms we had to choose one of six different kinds of propositions (p. 136), and in the case of three terms, our choice lay among 192 possible distinct hypotheses (p. 140). Natural laws, however, are often quantitative in character, and the possible hypotheses are then infinite in variety.
There are two cases that often come up, depending on whether the subject allows for certain or only likely reasoning. Certainty is just a specific type of probability, and the general approach remains the same. However, when we can be certain about our conclusions, the process becomes easier. Among several conflicting hypotheses that can be reliably compared to facts, only one hypothesis can ultimately be accepted. So, in the reverse logical problem, two logically different conditions wouldn't lead to the same set of possible combinations. Thus, when considering two terms, we had to select one from six different types of propositions (p. 136), and for three terms, we had 192 possible distinct hypotheses to choose from (p. 140). However, natural laws are often quantitative, meaning there can be an infinite variety of possible hypotheses.
When deduction is certain, comparison with fact is needed only to assure ourselves that we have rightly selected the hypothetical conditions. The law establishes itself, and no number of particular verifications can add to its probability. Having once deduced from the principles of algebra that the difference of the squares of two numbers is equal to the product of their sum and difference, no number of particular trials of its truth will render it more certain. On the other hand, no finite267 number of particular verifications of a supposed law will render that law certain. In short, certainty belongs only to the deductive process, and to the teachings of direct intuition; and as the conditions of nature are not given by intuition, we can only be certain that we have got a correct hypothesis when, out of a limited number conceivably possible, we select that one which alone agrees with the facts to be explained.
When deduction is certain, we only need to compare it with facts to confirm that we’ve correctly chosen the hypothetical conditions. The law stands on its own, and no amount of specific tests can increase its likelihood. Once we’ve derived from algebra that the difference of the squares of two numbers equals the product of their sum and difference, no amount of specific trials will make it any more certain. Conversely, no finite number of specific tests of a supposed law will make that law definite. In short, certainty belongs solely to the deductive process and the insights of direct intuition; since the conditions of nature aren't provided by intuition, we can only be sure we've arrived at a correct hypothesis when, from a limited number of possibilities, we choose the one that aligns with the facts to be explained.
In geometry and kindred branches of mathematics, deductive reasoning is conspicuously certain, and it would often seem as if the consideration of a single diagram yields us certain knowledge of a general proposition. But in reality all this certainty is of a purely hypothetical character. Doubtless if we could ascertain that a supposed circle was a true and perfect circle, we could be certain concerning a multitude of its geometrical properties. But geometrical figures are physical objects, and the senses can never assure us as to their exact forms. The figures really treated in Euclid’s Elements are imaginary, and we never can verify in practice the conclusions which we draw with certainty in inference; questions of degree and probability enter.
In geometry and related areas of math, deductive reasoning is often seen as very certain, and it may seem like looking at just one diagram gives us definite knowledge about a general statement. However, in reality, this certainty is purely hypothetical. Indeed, if we could determine that a supposed circle was a true and perfect circle, we could be confident about many of its geometric properties. But geometric figures are physical objects, and our senses can never guarantee their exact shapes. The figures discussed in Euclid’s Elements are imaginary, and we can never practically verify the conclusions we draw with certainty through inference; issues of degree and probability come into play.
Passing now to subjects in which deduction is only probable, it ceases to be possible to adopt one hypothesis to the exclusion of the others. We must entertain at the same time all conceivable hypotheses, and regard each with the degree of esteem proportionate to its probability. We go through the same steps as before.
Passing now to topics where deduction is only likely, it becomes impossible to choose one hypothesis over the others. We must consider all possible hypotheses at the same time and evaluate each one based on how likely it is. We follow the same steps as before.
(1) We frame an hypothesis.
We propose a hypothesis.
(2) We deduce the probability of various series of possible consequences.
(2) We determine the likelihood of different sets of possible outcomes.
(3) We compare the consequences with the particular facts, and observe the probability that such facts would happen under the hypothesis.
(3) We look at the outcomes alongside the specific facts and consider the likelihood that those facts would occur based on the assumption.
The above processes must be performed for every conceivable hypothesis, and then the absolute probability of each will be yielded by the principle of the inverse method (p. 242). As in the case of certainty we accept that hypothesis which certainly gives the required results, so now we accept as most probable that hypothesis which most probably gives the results; but we are obliged to entertain at the same time all other hypotheses with268 degrees of probability proportionate to the probabilities that they would give the same results.
The processes mentioned above need to be carried out for every possible hypothesis, and then the absolute probability of each will be provided by the principle of the inverse method (p. 242). Just like in the case of certainty, we choose the hypothesis that definitely produces the desired results; now, we accept as most likely the hypothesis that most likely produces those results. However, we must also consider all other hypotheses with268 probabilities according to how likely they are to yield the same results.
So far we have treated only of the process by which we pass from special facts to general laws, that inverse application of deduction which constitutes induction. But the direct employment of deduction is often combined with the inverse. No sooner have we established a general law, than the mind rapidly draws particular consequences from it. In geometry we may almost seem to infer that because one equilateral triangle is equiangular, therefore another is so. In reality it is not because one is that another is, but because all are. The geometrical conditions are perfectly general, and by what is sometimes called parity of reasoning whatever is true of one equilateral triangle, so far as it is equilateral, is true of all equilateral triangles.
So far, we've only discussed the process of moving from specific facts to general laws, which is the reverse application of deduction that defines induction. However, the direct use of deduction often combines with the reverse process. As soon as we establish a general law, our minds quickly draw specific conclusions from it. In geometry, it might seem like we can infer that because one equilateral triangle is equiangular, another must be too. In reality, it’s not that one being so makes another so, but rather that all of them do. The geometrical conditions are completely general, and through what is sometimes called parity of reasoning, whatever is true for one equilateral triangle, as far as it is equilateral, is true for all equilateral triangles.
Similarly, in all other cases of inductive inference, where we seem to pass from some particular instances to a new instance, we go through the same process. We form an hypothesis as to the logical conditions under which the given instances might occur; we calculate inversely the probability of that hypothesis, and compounding this with the probability that a new instance would proceed from the same conditions, we gain the absolute probability of occurrence of the new instance in virtue of this hypothesis. But as several, or many, or even an infinite number of mutually inconsistent hypotheses may be possible, we must repeat the calculation for each such conceivable hypothesis, and then the complete probability of the future instance will be the sum of the separate probabilities. The complication of this process is often very much reduced in practice, owing to the fact that one hypothesis may be almost certainly true, and other hypotheses, though conceivable, may be so improbable as to be neglected without appreciable error.
Similarly, in all other cases of inductive reasoning, when we seem to move from specific examples to a new instance, we follow the same process. We form a hypothesis about the logical conditions under which the given examples might occur; we then calculate the inverse probability of that hypothesis. By combining this with the probability that a new instance would arise from the same conditions, we find the absolute probability of the new instance occurring based on this hypothesis. However, since several, many, or even an infinite number of mutually inconsistent hypotheses could be possible, we need to repeat the calculation for each conceivable hypothesis, and the total probability of the future instance will be the sum of the individual probabilities. The complexity of this process is often significantly reduced in practice because one hypothesis may be nearly certain, while other hypotheses, although possible, may be so unlikely that they can be ignored without significant error.
When we possess no knowledge whatever of the conditions from which the events proceed, we may be unable to form any probable hypotheses as to their mode of origin. We have now to fall back upon the general solution of the problem effected by Laplace, which consists in admitting on an equal footing every conceivable ratio of favourable and unfavourable chances for the production269 of the event, and then accepting the aggregate result as the best which can be obtained. This solution is only to be accepted in the absence of all better means, but like other results of the calculus of probability, it comes to our aid where knowledge is at an end and ignorance begins, and it prevents us from over-estimating the knowledge we possess. The general results of the solution are in accordance with common sense, namely, that the more often an event has happened the more probable, as a general rule, is its subsequent recurrence. With the extension of experience this probability increases, but at the same time the probability is slight that events will long continue to happen as they have previously happened.
When we have no knowledge of the conditions from which events arise, we may struggle to come up with likely theories about their origin. We must rely on the general solution to the problem proposed by Laplace, which involves treating every possible ratio of favorable and unfavorable chances for the event's occurrence as equally valid, and then accepting the overall result as the best we can get. This solution should only be used when better options are not available, but like other findings in probability theory, it assists us when our knowledge runs out and ignorance begins, helping us avoid overestimating what we know. The overall results of this approach align with common sense: the more frequently an event has occurred, the more likely it is to happen again, as a general rule. As we gain more experience, this probability increases, but at the same time, there's a low chance that events will continue to happen in the same way they have in the past.
We have now pursued the theory of inductive inference, as far as can be done with regard to simple logical or numerical relations. The laws of nature deal with time and space, which are infinitely divisible. As we passed from pure logic to numerical logic, so we must now pass from questions of discontinuous, to questions of continuous quantity, encountering fresh considerations of much difficulty. Before, therefore, we consider how the great inductions and generalisations of physical science illustrate the views of inductive reasoning just explained, we must break off for a time, and review the means which we possess of measuring and comparing magnitudes of time, space, mass, force, momentum, energy, and the various manifestations of energy in motion, heat, electricity, chemical change, and the other phenomena of nature.
We have now explored the theory of inductive reasoning as far as we can in relation to simple logical or numerical relationships. The laws of nature concern time and space, which can be divided infinitely. Just as we transitioned from pure logic to numerical logic, we must now shift from issues of discrete quantities to issues of continuous quantities, facing new and challenging considerations. Before we examine how the major inductions and generalizations of physical science reflect the ideas of inductive reasoning we've discussed, we need to pause for a moment to review the ways we can measure and compare the magnitudes of time, space, mass, force, momentum, energy, and the various forms of energy manifested in motion, heat, electricity, chemical change, and other natural phenomena.
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BOOK III.
METHODS OF MEASUREMENT.
BOOK III.
MEASUREMENT METHODS.
CHAPTER XIII.
PRECISION MEASUREMENT OF PHENOMENA.
As physical science advances, it becomes more and more accurately quantitative. Questions of simple logical fact after a time resolve themselves into questions of degree, time, distance, or weight. Forces hardly suspected to exist by one generation, are clearly recognised by the next, and precisely measured by the third generation. But one condition of this rapid advance is the invention of suitable instruments of measurement. We need what Francis Bacon called Instantiæ citantes, or evocantes, methods of rendering minute phenomena perceptible to the senses; and we also require Instantiæ radii or curriculi, that is measuring instruments. Accordingly, the introduction of a new instrument often forms an epoch in the history of science. As Davy said, “Nothing tends so much to the advancement of knowledge as the application of a new instrument. The native intellectual powers of men in different times are not so much the causes of the different success of their labours, as the peculiar nature of the means and artificial resources in their possession.”
As physical science progresses, it becomes increasingly quantitative. Questions that once seemed purely logical evolve into questions of degree, time, distance, or weight. Forces that one generation barely suspected to exist are clearly identified by the next, and precisely measured by the third generation. However, a key factor in this rapid advancement is the invention of appropriate measuring instruments. We need what Francis Bacon referred to as Instantiæ citantes or evocantes, methods for making minute phenomena visible to our senses; and we also need Instantiæ radii or curriculi, which are measuring instruments. Therefore, the introduction of a new instrument often marks a significant turning point in the history of science. As Davy stated, “Nothing contributes more to the advancement of knowledge than the application of a new instrument. The inherent intellectual abilities of people in different eras are not as significant in determining the varying success of their efforts as the specific nature of the means and tools available to them.”
In the absence indeed of advanced theory and analytical271 power, a very precise instrument would be useless. Measuring apparatus and mathematical theory should advance pari passu, and with just such precision as the theorist can anticipate results, the experimentalist should be able to compare them with experience. The scrupulously accurate observations of Flamsteed were the proper complement to the intense mathematical powers of Newton.
Without advanced theory and analytical271 power, even the best instruments are pointless. Measuring tools and mathematical theory should develop together, and just as precisely as theorists can predict results, experimentalists should be able to verify them against real-world outcomes. Flamsteed’s meticulous observations were a perfect match for Newton’s exceptional mathematical abilities.
Every branch of knowledge commences with quantitative notions of a very rude character. After we have far progressed, it is often amusing to look back into the infancy of the science, and contrast present with past methods. At Greenwich Observatory in the present day, the hundredth part of a second is not thought an inconsiderable portion of time. The ancient Chaldæans recorded an eclipse to the nearest hour, and the early Alexandrian astronomers thought it superfluous to distinguish between the edge and centre of the sun. By the introduction of the astrolabe, Ptolemy and the later Alexandrian astronomers could determine the places of the heavenly bodies within about ten minutes of arc. Little progress then ensued for thirteen centuries, until Tycho Brahe made the first great step towards accuracy, not only by employing better instruments, but even more by ceasing to regard an instrument as correct. Tycho, in fact, determined the errors of his instruments, and corrected his observations. He also took notice of the effects of atmospheric refraction, and succeeded in attaining an accuracy often sixty times as great as that of Ptolemy. Yet Tycho and Hevelius often erred several minutes in the determination of a star’s place, and it was a great achievement of Rœmer and Flamsteed to reduce this error to seconds. Bradley, the modern Hipparchus, carried on the improvement, his errors in right ascension, according to Bessel, being under one second of time, and those of declination under four seconds of arc. In the present day the average error of a single observation is probably reduced to the half or quarter of what it was in Bradley’s time; and further extreme accuracy is attained by the multiplication of observations, and their skilful combination according to the theory of error. Some of the more important constants, for instance that272 of nutation, have been determined within the tenth part of a second of space.180
Every area of knowledge starts with basic quantitative ideas. Once we progress significantly, it can be entertaining to look back at the early stages of the science and compare current methods with those of the past. At Greenwich Observatory today, a hundredth of a second is considered a significant measurement of time. In ancient times, the Chaldeans recorded an eclipse to the nearest hour, and the early Alexandrian astronomers thought it unnecessary to differentiate between the edge and center of the sun. With the introduction of the astrolabe, Ptolemy and later Alexandrian astronomers could pinpoint the locations of celestial bodies within about ten minutes of arc. Little advancement occurred for thirteen centuries until Tycho Brahe made the first major breakthrough toward precision, not only by using better instruments but also by acknowledging that instruments could be incorrect. Tycho actually identified the errors in his instruments and adjusted his observations accordingly. He also considered the impact of atmospheric refraction and achieved an accuracy often sixty times better than Ptolemy's. Nevertheless, Tycho and Hevelius still made errors of several minutes in locating a star’s position, and it was a significant achievement for Rœmer and Flamsteed to reduce this error to seconds. Bradley, the modern Hipparchus, further improved accuracy, with his errors in right ascension, according to Bessel, being under one second of time, and his declination errors under four seconds of arc. Nowadays, the average error of a single observation is likely reduced to half or a quarter of what it was during Bradley’s time, and even greater accuracy is achieved by increasing the number of observations and skillfully combining them using error theory. Some of the key constants, such as that of nutation, have been determined to within a tenth of a second of space.180
It would be a matter of great interest to trace out the dependence of this progress upon the introduction of new instruments. The astrolabe of Ptolemy, the telescope of Galileo, the pendulum of Galileo and Huyghens, the micrometer of Horrocks, and the telescopic sights and micrometer of Gascoygne and Picard, Rœmer’s transit instrument, Newton’s and Hadley’s quadrant, Dollond’s achromatic lenses, Harrison’s chronometer, and Ramsden’s dividing engine—such were some of the principal additions to astronomical apparatus. The result is, that we now take note of quantities, 300,000 or 400,000 times as small as in the time of the Chaldæans.
It would be really interesting to explore how this progress relates to the introduction of new tools. Ptolemy's astrolabe, Galileo's telescope, Galileo and Huygens' pendulum, Horrocks' micrometer, Gascoygne and Picard's telescopic sights and micrometer, Rœmer’s transit instrument, Newton’s and Hadley’s quadrant, Dollond’s achromatic lenses, Harrison’s chronometer, and Ramsden’s dividing engine—these were some of the key advancements in astronomical instruments. As a result, we can now measure quantities that are 300,000 to 400,000 times smaller than what was measured in the time of the Chaldæans.
It would be interesting again to compare the scrupulous accuracy of a modern trigonometrical survey with Eratosthenes’ rude but ingenious guess at the difference of latitude between Alexandria and Syene—or with Norwood’s measurement of a degree of latitude in 1635. “Sometimes I measured, sometimes I paced,” said Norwood; “and I believe I am within a scantling of the truth.” Such was the germ of those elaborate geodesical measurements which have made the dimensions of the globe known to us within a few hundred yards.
It would be intriguing to compare the meticulous precision of a modern trigonometrical survey with Eratosthenes’ rough but clever estimate of the difference in latitude between Alexandria and Syene—or with Norwood’s measurement of a degree of latitude in 1635. “Sometimes I measured, sometimes I paced,” said Norwood; “and I believe I’m pretty close to the truth.” This was the foundation of those detailed geodesical measurements that have revealed the Earth’s dimensions to us within just a few hundred yards.
In other branches of science, the invention of an instrument has usually marked, if it has not made, an epoch. The science of heat might be said to commence with the construction of the thermometer, and it has recently been advanced by the introduction of the thermo-electric pile. Chemistry has been created chiefly by the careful use of the balance, which forms a unique instance of an instrument remaining substantially in the form in which it was first applied to scientific purposes by Archimedes. The balance never has been and probably never can be improved, except in details of construction. The torsion balance, introduced by Coulomb towards the end of last century, has rapidly become essential in many branches of investigation. In the hands of Cavendish and Baily, it gave a determination of the earth’s density; applied in the galvanometer, it gave a delicate measure of electrical273 forces, and is indispensable in the thermo-electric pile. This balance is made by simply suspending any light rod by a thin wire or thread attached to the middle point. And we owe to it almost all the more delicate investigations in the theories of heat, electricity, and magnetism.
In other fields of science, the creation of a new instrument often marks, if not defines, a significant era. The study of heat could be said to start with the invention of the thermometer, and it has recently been enhanced by the addition of the thermo-electric pile. Chemistry mainly developed thanks to the precise use of the balance, which is a unique example of an instrument staying largely the same since it was first used for scientific purposes by Archimedes. The balance has never really been improved and probably never will be, except for minor construction details. The torsion balance, introduced by Coulomb towards the end of the last century, has quickly become crucial in many areas of research. In the hands of Cavendish and Baily, it provided a measurement of the earth’s density; when used in the galvanometer, it allowed for a sensitive measurement of electrical forces, and it's essential in the thermo-electric pile. This balance is created by simply suspending a light rod from a thin wire or thread attached to its middle point. We owe almost all of the more delicate research in the theories of heat, electricity, and magnetism to it.
Though we can now take note of the millionth of an inch in space, and the millionth of a second in time, we must not overlook the fact that in other operations of science we are yet in the position of the Chaldæans. Not many years have elapsed since the magnitudes of the stars, meaning the amounts of light they send to the observer’s eye, were guessed at in the rudest manner, and the astronomer adjudged a star to this or that order of magnitude by a rough comparison with other stars of the same order. To Sir John Herschel we owe an attempt to introduce a uniform method of measurement and expression, bearing some relation to the real photometric magnitudes of the stars.181 Previous to the researches of Bunsen and Roscoe on the chemical action of light, we were devoid of any mode of measuring the energy of light; even now the methods are tedious, and it is not clear that they give the energy of light so much as one of its special effects. Many natural phenomena have hardly yet been made the subject of measurement at all, such as the intensity of sound, the phenomena of taste and smell, the magnitude of atoms, the temperature of the electric spark or of the sun’s photosphere.
Though we can now measure a millionth of an inch in space and a millionth of a second in time, we shouldn’t forget that in other areas of science, we are still in a primitive state, like the Chaldæans. It hasn't been long since the brightness of stars—how much light they emit to the observer—was estimated in the simplest ways, and astronomers classified stars into different brightness categories by roughly comparing them to others in the same category. We owe it to Sir John Herschel for trying to establish a consistent method of measurement and expression that relates more closely to the actual brightness of stars.181 Before Bunsen and Roscoe researched the chemical effects of light, we had no way to measure the energy of light; even now, the techniques are cumbersome, and it’s uncertain whether they accurately reflect the energy of light or merely one of its specific effects. Many natural phenomena, such as the intensity of sound, the sensations of taste and smell, the size of atoms, and the temperature of the electric spark or the sun’s photosphere, have hardly been measured at all.
To suppose, then, that quantitative science treats only of exactly measurable quantities, is a gross if it be a common mistake. Whenever we are treating of an event which either happens altogether or does not happen at all, we are engaged with a non-quantitative phenomenon, a matter of fact, not of degree; but whenever a thing may be greater or less, or twice or thrice as great as another, whenever, in short, ratio enters even in the rudest manner, there science will have a quantitative character. There can be little doubt, indeed, that every science as it progresses will become gradually more and more quantitative. Numerical precision is the soul of science, as274 Herschel said, and as all natural objects exist in space, and involve molecular movements, measurable in velocity and extent, there is no apparent limit to the ultimate extension of quantitative science. But the reader must not for a moment suppose that, because we depend more and more upon mathematical methods, we leave logical methods behind us. Number, as I have endeavoured to show, is logical in its origin, and quantity is but a development of number, or analogous thereto.
To assume that quantitative science deals only with exactly measurable quantities is a common but significant misunderstanding. When we discuss an event that either completely occurs or doesn’t occur at all, we are dealing with a non-quantitative phenomenon—it's a matter of fact, not a matter of degree. However, when something can be greater or less, or twice or three times as great as something else, whenever ratios come into play in even the simplest form, science takes on a quantitative nature. There's little doubt that as science advances, it will become increasingly quantitative. Numerical precision is the essence of science, as Herschel noted, and since all natural objects exist in space and involve molecular movements that can be measured in terms of speed and extent, there seems to be no clear limit to the ultimate reach of quantitative science. However, the reader should not think that because we rely more on mathematical methods, we are abandoning logical methods. Number, as I've tried to demonstrate, has its roots in logic, and quantity is just a development of number or something similar.
Division of the Subject.
The general subject of quantitative investigation will have to be divided into several parts. We shall firstly consider the means at our disposal for measuring phenomena, and thus rendering them more or less amenable to mathematical treatment. This task will involve an analysis of the principles on which accurate methods of measurement are founded, forming the subject of the remainder of the present chapter. As measurement, however, only yields ratios, we have in the next chapter to consider the establishment of unit magnitudes, in terms of which our results may be expressed. As every phenomenon is usually the sum of several distinct quantities depending upon different causes, we have next to investigate in Chapter XV. the methods by which we may disentangle complicated effects, and refer each part of the joint effect to its separate cause.
The broader topic of quantitative research will need to be divided into several sections. First, we will look at the tools available for measuring phenomena, which allows us to make them more or less suitable for mathematical analysis. This will require examining the principles that underlie accurate measurement methods and will be the focus of the rest of this chapter. However, since measurement only provides ratios, we will need to explore the establishment of unit magnitudes in the next chapter, so our results can be expressed in those terms. Because every phenomenon is typically the sum of several distinct quantities influenced by different factors, we will then investigate in Chapter XV the methods for untangling complex effects and linking each part of the overall effect to its specific cause.
It yet remains for us in subsequent chapters to treat of quantitative induction, properly so called. We must follow out the inverse logical method, as it presents itself in problems of a far higher degree of difficulty than those which treat of objects related in a simple logical manner, and incapable of merging into each other by addition and subtraction.
It still remains for us in the following chapters to discuss quantitative induction in the proper sense. We need to follow the inverse logical method, as it appears in problems that are much more complex than those that deal with objects related in a straightforward logical way, and that can't be combined by addition or subtraction.
Continuous Quantity.
The phenomena of nature are for the most part manifested in quantities which increase or decrease continuously. When we inquire into the precise meaning of continuous quantity, we find that it can only be described275 as that which is divisible without limit. We can divide a millimetre into ten, or a hundred, or a thousand, or ten thousand parts, and mentally at any rate we can carry on the division ad infinitum. Any finite space, then, must be conceived as made up of an infinite number of parts each infinitely small. We cannot entertain the simplest geometrical notions without allowing this. The conception of a square involves the conception of a side and diagonal, which, as Euclid beautifully proves in the 117th proposition of his tenth book, have no common measure,182 meaning no finite common measure. Incommensurable quantities are, in fact, those which have for their only common measure an infinitely small quantity. It is somewhat startling to find, too, that in theory incommensurable quantities will be infinitely more frequent than commensurable. Let any two lines be drawn haphazard; it is infinitely unlikely that they will be commensurable, so that the commensurable quantities, which we are supposed to deal with in practice, are but singular cases among an infinitely greater number of incommensurable cases.
The phenomena of nature mostly show up in quantities that increase or decrease continuously. When we look into what continuous quantity really means, we find that it can only be described as something that can be divided endlessly. We can break a millimeter into ten, a hundred, a thousand, or ten thousand parts, and in our minds, at least, we can keep dividing it forever. So, any finite space must be seen as made up of an infinite number of parts, each infinitely small. We can't grasp even the simplest geometric ideas without accepting this. The idea of a square involves the idea of a side and a diagonal, which, as Euclid elegantly shows in the 117th proposition of his tenth book, have no common measure, meaning no finite common measure. Incommensurable quantities are, in fact, those that have for their only common measure an infinitely small quantity. It's also a bit surprising to discover that, in theory, incommensurable quantities will be infinitely more common than commensurable ones. If you draw any two lines randomly, it's incredibly unlikely that they’ll be commensurable, so the commensurable quantities we typically work with in practice are just rare cases among an infinitely larger number of incommensurable ones.
Practically, however, we treat all quantities as made up of the least quantities which our senses, assisted by the best measuring instruments, can perceive. So long as microscopes were uninvented, it was sufficient to regard an inch as made up of a thousand thousandths of an inch; now we must treat it as composed of a million millionths. We might apparently avoid all mention of infinitely small quantities, by never carrying our approximations beyond quantities which the senses can appreciate. In geometry, as thus treated, we should never assert two quantities to be equal, but only to be apparently equal. Legendre really adopts this mode of treatment in the twentieth proposition of the first book of his Geometry; and it is practically adopted throughout the physical sciences, as we shall afterwards see. But though our fingers, and senses, and instruments must stop somewhere, there is no reason why the mind should not go on. We can see that a proof which is only carried through a few steps in fact, might be carried on without limit, and it is276 this consciousness of no stopping-place, which renders Euclid’s proof of his 117th proposition so impressive. Try how we will to circumvent the matter, we cannot really avoid the consideration of the infinitely small and the infinitely great. The same methods of approximation which seem confined to the finite, mentally extend themselves to the infinite.
Practically, we treat all quantities as being made up of the smallest units that our senses, along with the best measuring tools, can detect. Before microscopes were invented, it was enough to think of an inch as made up of a thousand thousandths of an inch; now we consider it as composed of a million millionths. We could seemingly avoid talking about infinitely small quantities by only considering amounts that our senses can perceive. In geometry, under this approach, we should never claim that two quantities are equal, but only that they are apparently equal. Legendre actually uses this approach in the twentieth proposition of the first book of his Geometry, and it's practically used throughout the physical sciences, as we will see later. However, while our fingers, senses, and instruments have their limits, there's no reason our minds can’t explore further. We can understand that a proof which only goes a few steps in reality could extend indefinitely, and it’s this awareness of having no stopping point that makes Euclid’s proof of his 117th proposition so striking. No matter how we try to sidestep the issue, we can't truly avoid considering the infinitely small and the infinitely large. The same methods of approximation that seem limited to the finite can mentally expand into the infinite.
One result of these considerations is, that we cannot possibly adjust two quantities in absolute equality. The suspension of Mahomet’s coffin between two precisely equal magnets is theoretically conceivable but practically impossible. The story of the Merchant of Venice turns upon the infinite improbability that an exact quantity of flesh could be cut. Unstable equilibrium cannot exist in nature, for it is that which is destroyed by an infinitely small displacement. It might be possible to balance an egg on its end practically, because no egg has a surface of perfect curvature. Suppose the egg shell to be perfectly smooth, and the feat would become impossible.
One takeaway from these thoughts is that we can't possibly make two quantities perfectly equal. The idea of Mahomet’s coffin being suspended between two exactly equal magnets is theoretically possible but practically impossible. The story of the Merchant of Venice revolves around the incredibly unlikely scenario of cutting an exact amount of flesh. Unstable equilibrium can't exist in nature because it's destroyed by even the tiniest shift. It might be possible to balance an egg on its end in practice since no egg has a perfectly curved surface. But if the eggshell were perfectly smooth, that would be impossible.
The Fallacious Indications of the Senses.
I may briefly remind the reader how little we can trust to our unassisted senses in estimating the degree or magnitude of any phenomenon. The eye cannot correctly estimate the comparative brightness of two luminous bodies which differ much in brilliancy; for we know that the iris is constantly adjusting itself to the intensity of the light received, and thus admits more or less light according to circumstances. The moon which shines with almost dazzling brightness by night, is pale and nearly imperceptible while the eye is yet affected by the vastly more powerful light of day. Much has been recorded concerning the comparative brightness of the zodiacal light at different times, but it would be difficult to prove that these changes are not due to the varying darkness at the time, or the different acuteness of the observer’s eye. For a like reason it is exceedingly difficult to establish the existence of any change in the form or comparative brightness of nebulæ; the appearance of a nebula greatly depends upon the keenness of sight of the observer, or the accidental condition of freshness or277 fatigue of his eye. The same is true of lunar observations; and even the use of the best telescope fails to remove this difficulty. In judging of colours, again, we must remember that light of any given colour tends to dull the sensibility of the eye for light of the same colour.
I want to remind the reader how little we can rely on our unaided senses when estimating the degree or magnitude of any phenomenon. Our eyes can’t accurately judge the brightness of two light sources that differ significantly in intensity; the iris constantly adjusts to the light's intensity, letting in more or less light depending on the situation. The moon, which seems almost blindingly bright at night, appears pale and nearly invisible when our eyes are still affected by the much stronger daylight. A lot has been recorded about the changing brightness of zodiacal light at different times, but it’s hard to prove that these changes aren’t just due to the varying darkness at the moment or the different sharpness of the observer’s eyesight. For similar reasons, it's really difficult to establish whether there are any changes in the shape or brightness of nebulas; how a nebula looks heavily depends on the observer's eyesight or the temporary condition of their eye, whether fresh or tired. The same goes for lunar observations; even the best telescope can’t eliminate this issue. When we judge colors, we should also keep in mind that light of a specific color can lessen our eye's sensitivity to light of that same color.
Nor is the eye when unassisted by instruments a much better judge of magnitude. Our estimates of the size of minute bright points, such as the fixed stars, are completely falsified by the effects of irradiation. Tycho calculated from the apparent size of the star-discs, that no one of the principal fixed stars could be contained within the area of the earth’s orbit. Apart, however, from irradiation or other distinct causes of error our visual estimates of sizes and shapes are often astonishingly incorrect. Artists almost invariably draw distant mountains in ludicrous disproportion to nearer objects, as a comparison of a sketch with a photograph at once shows. The extraordinary apparent difference of size of the sun or moon, according as it is high in the heavens or near the horizon, should be sufficient to make us cautious in accepting the plainest indications of our senses, unassisted by instrumental measurement. As to statements concerning the height of the aurora and the distance of meteors, they are to be utterly distrusted. When Captain Parry says that a ray of the aurora shot suddenly downwards between him and the land which was only 3,000 yards distant, we must consider him subject to an illusion of sense.183
The naked eye, without tools, isn't much better at judging size. Our perceptions of tiny bright points, like fixed stars, are completely distorted by the effects of irradiation. Tycho estimated from the apparent size of star disks that none of the main fixed stars could fit within the earth's orbit. However, aside from irradiation or other clear sources of error, our visual assessments of sizes and shapes are often surprisingly inaccurate. Artists usually depict distant mountains in a ridiculously exaggerated scale compared to closer objects, as a side-by-side view of a sketch and a photograph quickly reveals. The striking difference in the apparent size of the sun or moon, depending on whether it's high in the sky or close to the horizon, should make us wary of trusting even the simplest signs from our senses without using instruments. As for claims about the height of the aurora and the distance of meteors, they should be completely disregarded. When Captain Parry claims that a ray of the aurora shot down between him and the land, which was just 3,000 yards away, we must consider him to be experiencing a sensory illusion.183
It is true that errors of observation are more often errors of judgment than of sense. That which is actually seen must be so far truly seen; and if we correctly interpret the meaning of the phenomenon, there would be no error at all. But the weakness of the bare senses as measuring instruments, arises from the fact that they import varying conditions of unknown amount, and we cannot make the requisite corrections and allowances as in the case of a solid and invariable instrument.
It’s true that mistakes in observation are usually mistakes in judgment rather than in perception. What we actually see must be seen correctly to some extent; if we accurately interpret the meaning of what we observe, there wouldn’t be any mistake at all. However, the limitations of our senses as measuring tools come from the fact that they bring in different conditions of unknown degrees, and we can’t make the necessary adjustments like we can with a reliable and unchanging instrument.
Bacon has excellently stated the insufficiency of the278 senses for estimating the magnitudes of objects, or detecting the degrees in which phenomena present themselves. “Things escape the senses,” he says, “because the object is not sufficient in quantity to strike the sense: as all minute bodies; because the percussion of the object is too great to be endured by the senses: as the form of the sun when looking directly at it in mid-day; because the time is not proportionate to actuate the sense: as the motion of a bullet in the air, or the quick circular motion of a firebrand, which are too fast, or the hour-hand of a common clock, which is too slow; from the distance of the object as to place: as the size of the celestial bodies, and the size and nature of all distant bodies; from prepossession by another object: as one powerful smell renders other smells in the same room imperceptible; from the interruption of interposing bodies: as the internal parts of animals; and because the object is unfit to make an impression upon the sense: as the air or the invisible and untangible spirit which is included in every living body.”
Bacon has clearly explained the limitations of our senses when it comes to judging the size of objects or recognizing how phenomena appear. “Things can be missed by the senses,” he says, “because the object isn't large enough to be noticed: like tiny things; because the impact of the object is too intense for the senses to handle: like staring directly at the sun at noon; because the timing isn't right for the senses to respond: like the speed of a bullet in the air, or the quick spin of a burning stick, which happen too fast, or the hour hand of a regular clock, which moves too slowly; because of the distance of the object: like the size of stars and other distant bodies; because of distraction by another object: like a strong smell that makes other smells in the same room fade away; because of things blocking the way: like the internal parts of animals; and because the object isn’t able to make a sensory impression: like air or the invisible, untouchable spirit found in all living things.”
Complexity of Quantitative Questions.
One remark which we may well make in entering upon quantitative questions, has regard to the great variety and extent of phenomena presented to our notice. So long as we deal only with a simply logical question, that question is merely, Does a certain event happen? or, Does a certain object exist? No sooner do we regard the event or object as capable of more and less, than the question branches out into many. We must now ask, How much is it compared with its cause? Does it change when the amount of the cause changes? If so, does it change in the same or opposite direction? Is the change in simple proportion to that of the cause? If not, what more complex law of connection holds true? This law determined satisfactorily in one series of circumstances may be varied under new conditions, and the most complex relations of several quantities may ultimately be established.
One point worth mentioning as we dive into quantitative questions is the huge variety and range of phenomena we encounter. As long as we're dealing with a simple logical question, it’s just, Does a certain event occur? or, Does a certain object exist? But once we think of the event or object as having more or less, the questions multiply. Now we need to ask, How much is it in relation to its cause? Does it change when the amount of the cause changes? If so, does it change in the same direction or the opposite? Is the change directly proportional to that of the cause? If not, what more complex law of connection applies? A law that’s reliably established in one set of circumstances might change under new conditions, and ultimately, we can identify the most intricate relationships among several quantities.
In every question of physical science there is thus a series of steps the first one or two of which are usually made with ease while the succeeding ones demand more279 and more careful measurement. We cannot lay down any invariable series of questions which must be asked from nature. The exact character of the questions will vary according to the nature of the case, but they will usually be of an evident kind, and we may readily illustrate them by examples. Suppose that we are investigating the solution of some salt in water. The first is a purely logical question: Is there solution, or is there not? Assuming the answer to be in the affirmative, we next inquire, Does the solubility vary with the temperature, or not? In all probability some variation will exist, and we must have an answer to the further question, Does the quantity dissolved increase, or does it diminish with the temperature? In by far the greatest number of cases salts and substances of all kinds dissolve more freely the higher the temperature of the water; but there are a few salts, such as calcium sulphate, which follow the opposite rule. A considerable number of salts resemble sodium sulphate in becoming more soluble up to a certain temperature, and then varying in the opposite direction. We next require to assign the amount of variation as compared with that of the temperature, assuming at first that the increase of solubility is proportional to the increase of temperature. Common salt is an instance of very slight variation, and potassium nitrate of very considerable increase with temperature. Accurate observations will probably show, however, that the simple law of proportionate variation is only approximately true, and some more complicated law involving the second, third, or higher powers of the temperature may ultimately be established. All these investigations have to be carried out for each salt separately, since no distinct principles by which we may infer from one substance to another have yet been detected. There is still an indefinite field for further research open; for the solubility of salts will probably vary with the pressure under which the medium is placed; the presence of other salts already dissolved may have effects yet unknown. The researches already effected as regards the solvent power of water must be repeated with alcohol, ether, carbon bisulphide, and other media, so that unless general laws can be detected, this one phenomenon of solution can280 never be exhaustively treated. The same kind of questions recur as regards the solution or absorption of gases in liquids, the pressure as well as the temperature having then a most decided effect, and Professor Roscoe’s researches on the subject present an excellent example of the successive determination of various complicated laws.184
In every question of physical science, there’s a series of steps. The first few are usually easy, but the later ones require more and more careful measurements. We can’t set a fixed series of questions to ask nature. The exact questions will differ based on the situation, but they’re typically straightforward, and we can illustrate them with examples. For instance, if we’re looking into whether a salt dissolves in water, the first question is a logical one: Does it dissolve or not? If the answer is yes, we then ask, Does the solubility change with temperature? It’s likely that there will be some variation, and we need to answer the next question: Does the amount dissolved increase or decrease with temperature? In most cases, salts and other substances dissolve more as the water temperature rises, though there are some, like calcium sulfate, that behave differently. Many salts, similar to sodium sulfate, become more soluble up to a certain temperature before changing direction. Next, we need to measure the extent of this variation compared to the temperature, initially assuming that the increase in solubility is proportional to the increase in temperature. Common salt shows very little variation, while potassium nitrate shows a significant increase with temperature. However, accurate observations will likely reveal that the simple proportionality law is only approximately correct, and a more complex rule involving higher powers of temperature might eventually be established. Each salt has to be studied separately because we haven't found any clear principles that allow us to infer from one substance to another. There’s still a vast area for further research; for instance, the solubility of salts might change with the pressure of the environment. The presence of other dissolved salts may have unknown effects as well. Research on the solvent properties of water also needs to be repeated with alcohol, ether, carbon bisulfide, and other solvents. Without discovering general laws, this single phenomenon of solution never can be fully understood. Similar questions arise about the solution or absorption of gases in liquids, where both pressure and temperature play significant roles, and Professor Roscoe’s research on the subject provides an excellent example of the step-by-step determination of various complex laws.
There is hardly a branch of physical science in which similar complications are not ultimately encountered. In the case of gravity, indeed, we arrive at the final law, that the force is the same for all kinds of matter, and varies only with the distance of action. But in other subjects the laws, if simple in their ultimate nature, are disguised and complicated in their apparent results. Thus the effect of heat in expanding solids, and the reverse effect of forcible extension or compression upon the temperature of a body, will vary from one substance to another, will vary as the temperature is already higher or lower, and, will probably follow a highly complex law, which in some cases gives negative or exceptional results. In crystalline substances the same researches have to be repeated in each distinct axial direction.
There’s hardly a branch of physical science where similar complications aren’t eventually faced. With gravity, we find that the basic law states that the force is the same for all types of matter and only changes with distance. However, in other areas, the laws, while simple at their core, become obscured and complicated in their visible effects. For example, the impact of heat on expanding solids, as well as the opposite effect that stretching or compressing a body has on its temperature, can differ from one substance to another. These effects will change based on whether the temperature is higher or lower and likely follow a very complex law, which in some situations leads to negative or unexpected outcomes. In crystalline materials, the same studies need to be repeated for each unique axial direction.
In the sciences of pure observation, such as those of astronomy, meteorology, and terrestrial magnetism, we meet with many interesting series of quantitative determinations. The so-called fixed stars, as Giordano Bruno divined, are not really fixed, and may be more truly described as vast wandering orbs, each pursuing its own path through space. We must then determine separately for each star the following questions:—
In the sciences that rely on pure observation, like astronomy, meteorology, and terrestrial magnetism, we come across many fascinating sets of numerical measurements. The so-called fixed stars, as Giordano Bruno realized, aren’t actually fixed and are better described as immense wandering orbs, each traveling along its own path through space. We need to determine separately for each star the following questions:—
1. Does it move?
2. In what direction?
3. At what velocity?
4. Is this velocity variable or uniform?
5. If variable, according to what law?
6. Is the direction uniform?
7. If not, what is the form of the apparent path?
8. Does it approach or recede?
9. What is the form of the real path?
1. Does it move?
2. Which way is it going?
3. How fast is it moving?
4. Is the speed constant or changing?
5. If it's changing, based on what principle?
6. Is the direction constant?
7. If not, what does the apparent path look like?
8. Is it getting closer or moving away?
9. What does the actual path look like?
The successive answers to such questions in the case of certain binary stars, have afforded a proof that the281 motions are due to a central force coinciding in law with gravity, and doubtless identical with it. In other cases the motions are usually so small that it is exceedingly difficult to distinguish them with certainty. And the time is yet far off when any general results as regards stellar motions can be established.
The answers to these questions about certain binary stars have provided evidence that the281 movements are caused by a central force that follows the same rules as gravity and is likely the same as it. In other situations, the movements are typically so slight that it's really hard to identify them with certainty. We still have a long way to go before we can establish any general conclusions about stellar movements.
The variation in the brightness of stars opens an unlimited field for curious observation. There is not a star in the heavens concerning which we might not have to determine:—
The variation in the brightness of stars provides endless opportunities for fascinating observation. There isn't a star in the sky that we wouldn't need to assess:—
1. Does it vary in brightness?
2. Is the brightness increasing or decreasing?
3. Is the variation uniform?
4. If not, according to what law does it vary?
1. Does it change in brightness?
2. Is the brightness going up or down?
3. Is the change consistent?
4. If not, what rule does it follow for variation?
In a majority of cases the change will probably be found to have a periodic character, in which case several other questions will arise, such as—
In most cases, the change will likely have a periodic nature, which will lead to several other questions, such as—
5. What is the length of the period?
6. Are there minor periods?
7. What is the law of variation within the period?
8. Is there any change in the amount of variation?
9. If so, is it a secular, i.e. a continually growing
change, or does it give evidence of a greater period?
5. What is the length of the period?
6. Are there shorter periods?
7. What is the rule for variation within the period?
8. Is there any change in the degree of variation?
9. If so, is it long-term, i.e. a continuously increasing change, or does it indicate a longer period?
Already the periodic changes of a certain number of stars have been determined with accuracy, and the lengths of the periods vary from less than three days up to intervals of time at least 250 times as great. Periods within periods have also been detected.
The regular changes in some stars have already been accurately measured, and the lengths of these cycles range from under three days to time spans at least 250 times longer. There are also instances of shorter cycles occurring within these longer ones.
There is, perhaps, no subject in which more complicated quantitative conditions have to be determined than terrestrial magnetism. Since the time when the declination of the compass was first noticed, as some suppose by Columbus, we have had successive discoveries from time to time of the progressive change of declination from century to century; of the periodic character of this change; of the difference of the declination in various parts of the earth’s surface; of the varying laws of the change of declination; of the dip or inclination of the needle, and the corresponding laws of its periodic changes; the horizontal and perpendicular intensities have also been the subject of exact measurement, and have been found to vary with place and time, like the directions of282 the needle; daily and yearly periodic changes have also been detected, and all the elements are found to be subject to occasional storms or abnormal perturbations, in which the eleven year period, now known to be common to many planetary relations, is apparent. The complete solution of these motions of the compass needle involves nothing less than a determination of its position and oscillations in every part of the world at any epoch, the like determination for another epoch, and so on, time after time, until the periods of all changes are ascertained. This one subject offers to men of science an almost inexhaustible field for interesting quantitative research, in which we shall doubtless at some future time discover the operation of causes now most mysterious and unaccountable.
There’s probably no topic with more complex quantitative conditions to determine than terrestrial magnetism. Since the compass's declination was first noticed—some say by Columbus—there have been continuous discoveries about how declination changes over the centuries, the periodic nature of this change, the differences in declination across various parts of the Earth's surface, the varying laws governing these changes, and the dip or inclination of the needle along with its periodic changes. The horizontal and vertical intensities have also been precisely measured and found to vary by location and time, just like the direction the needle points. Daily and yearly periodic changes have been observed, and all elements are subject to occasional storms or unusual disturbances, where an eleven-year cycle, common to many planetary relationships, is evident. Solving the movements of the compass needle requires determining its position and oscillations in every part of the world at any given time, then doing the same for another time period, and so on, repeatedly until the periods of all changes are identified. This one topic provides scientists with an almost endless opportunity for fascinating quantitative research, where we will undoubtedly uncover the causes of phenomena that are currently still mysterious and unexplainable.
The Methods of Accurate Measurement.
In studying the modes by which physicists have accomplished very exact measurements, we find that they are very various, but that they may perhaps be reduced under the following three classes:—
In studying how physicists have achieved very precise measurements, we see that there are many different methods, but they can possibly be categorized into the following three classes:—
1. The increase or decrease, in some determinate ratio, of the quantity to be measured, so as to bring it within the scope of our senses, and to equate it with the standard unit, or some determinate multiple or sub-multiple of this unit.
1. The increase or decrease, in a specific ratio, of the quantity that needs to be measured, so it can be perceived by our senses and compared to the standard unit, or some specific multiple or fraction of this unit.
2. The discovery of some natural conjunction of events which will enable us to compare directly the multiples of the quantity with those of the unit, or a quantity related in a definite ratio to that unit.
2. The discovery of a natural alignment of events that allows us to directly compare the multiples of a quantity with those of the unit, or a quantity that has a specific ratio to that unit.
3. Indirect measurement, which gives us not the quantity itself, but some other quantity connected with it by known mathematical relations.
3. Indirect measurement, which provides us not with the quantity itself, but with another quantity linked to it through known mathematical relationships.
Conditions of Accurate Measurement.
Several conditions are requisite in order that a measurement may be made with great accuracy, and that the results may be closely accordant when several independent measurements are made.
Several conditions are necessary to ensure that a measurement can be made with high accuracy, and that the results are closely aligned when multiple independent measurements are taken.
In the first place the magnitude must be exactly defined by sharp terminations, or precise marks of inconsiderable283 thickness. When a boundary is vague and graduated, like the penumbra in a lunar eclipse, it is impossible to say where the end really is, and different people will come to different results. We may sometimes overcome this difficulty to a certain extent, by observations repeated in a special manner, as we shall afterwards see; but when possible, we should choose opportunities for measurement when precise definition is easy. The moment of occultation of a star by the moon can be observed with great accuracy, because the star disappears with perfect suddenness; but there are other astronomical conjunctions, eclipses, transits, &c., which occupy a certain length of time in happening, and thus open the way to differences of opinion. It would be impossible to observe with precision the movements of a body possessing no definite points of reference. The colours of the complete spectrum shade into each other so continuously that exact determinations of refractive indices would have been impossible, had we not the dark lines of the solar spectrum as precise points for measurement, or various kinds of homogeneous light, such as that of sodium, possessing a nearly uniform length of vibration.
First, the size must be clearly defined by sharp edges or precise markers of minimal thickness. When a boundary is unclear and gradual, like the shadow during a lunar eclipse, it's impossible to determine its exact end, leading to different conclusions from different people. Sometimes, we can mitigate this issue to some extent by making specific repeated observations, as we will see later; however, whenever possible, we should look for measurement opportunities where precise definitions are easy. The moment a star is covered by the moon can be observed very accurately because the star vanishes suddenly; however, other astronomical events, such as conjunctions, eclipses, and transits, take a certain amount of time to occur, allowing for variations in interpretation. It would be impossible to accurately observe the movements of an object that has no definite reference points. The colors in a complete spectrum blend into each other so seamlessly that determining exact refractive indices would have been unfeasible if we didn’t have the dark lines in the solar spectrum as clear reference points, or various types of consistent light, like sodium, which has a nearly uniform vibration wavelength.
In the second place, we cannot measure accurately unless we have the means of multiplying or dividing a quantity without considerable error, so that we may correctly equate one magnitude with the multiple or submultiple of the other. In some cases we operate upon the quantity to be measured, and bring it into accurate coincidence with the actual standard, as when in photometry we vary the distance of our luminous body, until its illuminating power at a certain point is equal to that of a standard lamp. In other cases we repeat the unit until it equals the object, as in surveying land, or determining a weight by the balance. The requisites of accuracy now are:—(1) That we can repeat unit after unit of exactly equal magnitude; (2) That these can be joined together so that the aggregate shall really be the sum of the parts. The same conditions apply to subdivision, which may be regarded as a multiplication of subordinate units. In order to measure to the thousandth of an inch, we must be able to add thousandth after thousandth without error in the magnitude of these spaces, or in their conjunction.
First, we can't measure accurately unless we can multiply or divide a quantity without significant error, so we can correctly compare one size to a multiple or fraction of another. Sometimes we work with the quantity to be measured, adjusting it to match the actual standard, like when in photometry we change the distance of our light source until its brightness at a specific point matches that of a standard lamp. Other times, we repeat the unit until it matches the object, as in land surveying or weighing something with a scale. The requirements for accuracy are: (1) We can repeat units of exactly equal size; (2) These can be combined so that the total is truly the sum of the parts. The same rules apply to subdivision, which can be seen as multiplying smaller units. To measure down to the thousandth of an inch, we need to be able to add thousandth after thousandth without errors in the size of these measurements or in how they come together.
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Measuring Instruments.
To consider the mechanical construction of scientific instruments, is no part of my purpose in this book. I wish to point out merely the general purpose of such instruments, and the methods adopted to carry out that purpose with great precision. In the first place we must distinguish between the instrument which effects a comparison between two quantities, and the standard magnitude which often forms one of the quantities compared. The astronomer’s clock, for instance, is no standard of the efflux of time; it serves but to subdivide, with approximate accuracy, the interval of successive passages of a star across the meridian, which it may effect perhaps to the tenth part of a second, or 1864000 part of the whole. The moving globe itself is the real standard clock, and the transit instrument the finger of the clock, while the stars are the hour, minute, and second marks, none the less accurate because they are disposed at unequal intervals. The photometer is a simple instrument, by which we compare the relative intensity of rays of light falling upon a given spot. The galvanometer shows the comparative intensity of electric currents passing through a wire. The calorimeter gauges the quantity of heat passing from a given object. But no such instruments furnish the standard unit in terms of which our results are to be expressed. In one peculiar case alone does the same instrument combine the unit of measurement and the means of comparison. A theodolite, mural circle, sextant, or other instrument for the measurement of angular magnitudes has no need of an additional physical unit; for the circle itself, or complete revolution, is the natural unit to which all greater or lesser amounts of angular magnitude are referred.
Considering the mechanical design of scientific instruments isn't my focus in this book. I just want to highlight the general purpose of these instruments and the methods used to achieve that purpose with great accuracy. First, we need to differentiate between the instrument that compares two quantities and the standard measurement that often contributes to one of the quantities being compared. For example, the astronomer’s clock isn't a standard for measuring the passage of time; it only helps to divide, with approximate accuracy, the time intervals between successive appearances of a star crossing the meridian, which it can do maybe to the tenth of a second, or 1864000 of the whole. The moving globe itself is the true standard clock, and the transit instrument is the hand of the clock, while the stars represent the hour, minute, and second marks, which are just as accurate even though they’re spaced unevenly. The photometer is a straightforward instrument that lets us compare the relative intensity of light rays hitting a specific spot. The galvanometer indicates the comparative strength of electric currents flowing through a wire. The calorimeter measures the amount of heat transferred from a specific object. However, none of these instruments provide a standard unit in which our results are expressed. Only in one specific instance does the same instrument combine the unit of measurement and the means of comparison. A theodolite, mural circle, sextant, or any other tool for measuring angles doesn't need an extra physical unit because the circle itself, or a full rotation, serves as the natural unit to which all larger or smaller angles are compared.
The result of every measurement is to make known the purely numerical ratio existing between the magnitude to be measured, and a certain other magnitude, which should, when possible, be a fixed unit or standard magnitude, or at least an intermediate unit of which the value can be ascertained in terms of the ultimate standard. But though a ratio is the required result, an equation is the mode in which the ratio is determined and expressed. In285 every measurement we equate some multiple or submultiple of one quantity, with some multiple or submultiple of another, and equality is always the fact which we ascertain by the senses. By the eye, the ear, or the touch, we judge whether there is a discrepancy or not between two lights, two sounds, two intervals of time, two bars of metal. Often indeed we substitute one sense for the other, as when the efflux of time is judged by the marks upon a moving slip of paper, so that equal intervals of time are represented by equal lengths. There is a tendency to reduce all comparisons to the comparison of space magnitudes, but in every case one of the senses must be the ultimate judge of coincidence or non-coincidence.
The outcome of every measurement is to reveal the purely numerical ratio between the size being measured and another size, which, whenever possible, should be a fixed unit or standard size, or at least an intermediate unit that can be valued in terms of the ultimate standard. While a ratio is the desired outcome, an equation is the method by which the ratio is determined and expressed. In285 every measurement, we equate some multiple or fraction of one quantity with some multiple or fraction of another, and equality is always what we determine through our senses. We check with our eyes, ears, or touch to see if there’s a difference between two lights, two sounds, two time intervals, or two pieces of metal. Often, we even substitute one sense for another, like when we gauge time through marks on a moving slip of paper, so that equal time intervals are shown by equal lengths. There’s a tendency to reduce all comparisons to comparing spatial magnitudes, but in every case, one of the senses must ultimately judge whether things match or don’t match.
Since the equation to be established may exist between any multiples or submultiples of the quantities compared, there naturally arise several different modes of comparison adapted to different cases. Let p be the magnitude to be measured, and q that in terms of which it is to be expressed. Then we wish to find such numbers x and y, that the equation p = xyq may be true. This equation may be presented in four forms, namely:—
Since the equation we're trying to establish can involve any multiples or fractions of the quantities being compared, several different methods of comparison naturally arise for various situations. Let p be the quantity to be measured, and q the one it will be expressed in terms of. We want to find numbers x and y such that the equation p = xyq holds true. This equation can be represented in four different forms, namely:—
First Form. |
Second Form. |
Third Form. |
Fourth Form. |
p = xy q |
p
yx = q |
py = qx |
px = qy |
Each of these modes of expressing the same equation corresponds to one mode of effecting a measurement.
Each of these ways of expressing the same equation corresponds to a method of taking a measurement.
When the standard quantity is greater than that to be measured, we often adopt the first mode, and subdivide the unit until we get a magnitude equal to that measured. The angles observed in surveying, in astronomy, or in goniometry are usually smaller than a whole revolution, and the measuring circle is divided by the use of the screw and microscope, until we obtain an angle undistinguishable from that observed. The dimensions of minute objects are determined by subdividing the inch or centimetre, the screw micrometer being the most accurate means of subdivision. Ordinary temperatures are estimated by division of the standard interval between the freezing and boiling points of water, as marked on a thermometer tube.
When the standard quantity is larger than what we need to measure, we often use the first method and break down the unit until we reach a size that matches what we’re measuring. The angles measured in surveying, astronomy, or goniometry are typically less than a full revolution, and we divide the measuring circle by using a screw and microscope until we get an angle that can’t be distinguished from the one measured. The sizes of tiny objects are determined by dividing the inch or centimeter, with the screw micrometer being the most precise way to do this. Regular temperatures are estimated by dividing the standard range between the freezing and boiling points of water, as indicated on a thermometer tube.
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In a still greater number of cases, perhaps, we multiply the standard unit until we get a magnitude equal to that to be measured. Ordinary measurement by a foot rule, a surveyor’s chain, or the excessively careful measurements of the base line of a trigonometrical survey by standard bars, are sufficient instances of this procedure.
In even more cases, we might increase the standard unit until it matches the amount we're trying to measure. Regular measurement with a foot rule, a surveyor's chain, or the very precise measurements of the baseline in a trigonometric survey using standard bars are good examples of this method.
In the second case, where p yx = q, we multiply or divide a magnitude until we get what is equal to the unit, or to some magnitude easily comparable with it. As a general rule the quantities which we desire to measure in physical science are too small rather than too great for easy determination, and the problem consists in multiplying them without introducing error. Thus the expansion of a metallic bar when heated from 0°C to 100° may be multiplied by a train of levers or cog wheels. In the common thermometer the expansion of the mercury, though slight, is rendered very apparent, and easily measurable by the fineness of the tube, and many other cases might be quoted. There are some phenomena, on the contrary, which are too great or rapid to come within the easy range of our senses, and our task is then the opposite one of diminution. Galileo found it difficult to measure the velocity of a falling body, owing to the considerable velocity acquired in a single second. He adopted the elegant device, therefore, of lessening the rapidity by letting the body roll down an inclined plane, which enables us to reduce the accelerating force in any required ratio. The same purpose is effected in the well-known experiments performed on Attwood’s machine, and the measurement of gravity by the pendulum really depends on the same principle applied in a far more advantageous manner. Wheatstone invented a beautiful method of galvanometry for strong currents, which consists in drawing off from the main current a certain determinate portion, which is equated by the galvanometer to a standard current. In short, he measures not the current itself but a known fraction of it.
In the second case, where p yx = q, we multiply or divide a quantity until we get something equal to the unit, or to another quantity that’s easy to compare with it. Generally, the quantities we want to measure in physical science tend to be too small rather than too large for easy determination, and the challenge lies in multiplying them without making mistakes. For example, the expansion of a metal bar when heated from 0°C to 100°C can be multiplied using a system of levers or gears. In a typical thermometer, the expansion of the mercury, even though small, becomes very noticeable and easily measurable due to the thinness of the tube, and there are many other examples. On the other hand, some phenomena are too large or fast for our senses to easily handle, and our task becomes one of reducing them. Galileo found it challenging to measure the speed of a falling object because of the significant speed it gained in just one second. So, he cleverly reduced the speed by allowing the object to roll down an inclined plane, which allowed him to lessen the accelerating force in any required ratio. The same goal is achieved in the famous experiments done with Attwood’s machine, and the measurement of gravity using the pendulum is based on the same principle but applied in a much more advantageous way. Wheatstone developed a clever method of galvanometry for strong currents, which involves taking a specific portion from the main current, which is then equated by the galvanometer to a standard current. In essence, he measures not the current itself but a known fraction of it.
In many electrical and other experiments, we wish to measure the movements of a needle or other body, which are not only very slight in themselves, but the manifestations of exceedingly small forces. We cannot even287 approach a delicately balanced needle without disturbing it. Under these circumstances the only mode of proceeding with accuracy, is to attach a very small mirror to the moving body, and employ a ray of light reflected from the mirror as an index of its movements. The ray may be considered quite incapable of affecting the body, and yet by allowing the ray to pass to a sufficient distance, the motions of the mirror may be increased to almost any extent. A ray of light is in fact a perfectly weightless finger or index of indefinite length, with the additional advantage that the angular deviation is by the law of reflection double that of the mirror. This method was introduced by Gauss, and is now of great importance; but in Wollaston’s reflecting goniometer a ray of light had previously been employed as an index. Lavoisier and Laplace had also used a telescope in connection with the pyrometer.
In many electrical and other experiments, we want to measure the movements of a needle or other object, which are not only very small but also the result of extremely tiny forces. We can't even get close to a delicately balanced needle without disturbing it. In this situation, the only accurate way to proceed is to attach a very small mirror to the moving object and use a ray of light reflected from the mirror to indicate its movements. The ray can be considered completely unable to affect the object, and by allowing the ray to travel a sufficient distance, the movements of the mirror can be amplified almost indefinitely. A ray of light is essentially a perfectly weightless pointer of unlimited length, with the added advantage that the angle of deviation is, according to the law of reflection, double that of the mirror. This method was introduced by Gauss and is now very important; however, in Wollaston’s reflecting goniometer, a ray of light had already been used as an index. Lavoisier and Laplace had also used a telescope in conjunction with the pyrometer.
It is a great advantage in some instruments that they can be readily made to manifest a phenomenon in a greater or less degree, by a very slight change in the construction. Thus either by enlarging the bulb or contracting the tube of the thermometer, we can make it give more conspicuous indications of change of temperature. The ordinary barometer, on the other hand, always gives the variations of pressure on one scale. The torsion balance is remarkable for the extreme delicacy which may be attained by increasing the length and lightness of the rod, and the length and thinness of the supporting thread. Forces so minute as the attraction of gravitation between two balls, or the magnetic and diamagnetic attraction of common liquids and gases, may thus be made apparent, and even measured. The common chemical balance, too, is capable theoretically of unlimited sensibility.
Some instruments have a major advantage because they can easily show a phenomenon more or less intensely with just a small change in their design. For example, by either expanding the bulb or narrowing the tube of a thermometer, we can make it more visibly respond to temperature changes. In contrast, the regular barometer always shows pressure variations on a single scale. The torsion balance is notable for its remarkable sensitivity, which can be enhanced by increasing the length and lightness of the rod, as well as the length and thinness of the supporting thread. This makes it possible to detect and even measure extremely small forces, like the gravitational attraction between two balls or the magnetic and diamagnetic attraction of common liquids and gases. Additionally, the standard chemical balance theoretically has unlimited sensitivity.
The third mode of measurement, which may be called the Method of Repetition, is of such great importance and interest that we must consider it in a separate section. It consists in multiplying both magnitudes to be compared until some multiple of the first is found to coincide very nearly with some multiple of the second. If the multiplication can be effected to an unlimited extent, without the introduction of countervailing errors, the accuracy with which the required ratio can be determined is unlimited,288 and we thus account for the extraordinary precision with which intervals of time in astronomy are compared together.
The third mode of measurement, which we can call the Method of Repetition, is so important and interesting that we need to discuss it in a separate section. It involves multiplying both quantities being compared until a multiple of the first quantity closely matches a multiple of the second. If we can multiply without any limit and without introducing errors that counteract each other, the accuracy with which we can determine the desired ratio is limitless,288 which explains the remarkable precision with which time intervals in astronomy are compared.
The fourth mode of measurement, in which we equate submultiples of two magnitudes, is comparatively seldom employed, because it does not conduce to accuracy. In the photometer, perhaps, we may be said to use it; we compare the intensity of two sources of light, by placing them both at such distances from a given surface, that the light falling on the surface is tolerable to the eye, and equally intense from each source. Since the intensity of light varies inversely as the square of the distance, the relative intensities of the luminous bodies are proportional to the squares of their distances. The equal intensity of two rays of similarly coloured light may be most accurately ascertained in the mode suggested by Arago, namely, by causing the rays to pass in opposite directions through two nearly flat lenses pressed together. There is an exact equation between the intensities of the beams when Newton’s rings disappear, the ring created by one ray being exactly the complement of that created by the other.
The fourth way to measure, where we compare submultiples of two quantities, is used less often because it doesn't promote accuracy. We might say it's used in a photometer; we compare the brightness of two light sources by positioning them at distances from a surface so that the light hitting the surface is tolerable to the eye and equally intense from each source. Since the brightness of light decreases inversely with the square of the distance, the relative brightness of the light sources is proportional to the squares of their distances. To accurately determine the equal intensity of two rays of similarly colored light, we can follow Arago's suggestion, which involves allowing the rays to pass in opposite directions through two nearly flat lenses pressed together. The intensities of the beams are exactly equal when Newton’s rings disappear, with the ring formed by one ray being the exact complement of that created by the other.
The Method of Repetition.
The ratio of two quantities can be determined with unlimited accuracy, if we can multiply both the object of measurement and the standard unit without error, and then observe what multiple of the one coincides or nearly coincides with some multiple of the other. Although perfect coincidence can never be really attained, the error thus arising may be indefinitely reduced. For if the equation py = qx be uncertain to the amount e, so that py = qx ± e, then we have p = q xy ± ey , and as we are supposed to be able to make y as great as we like without increasing the error e, it follows that we can make e ÷ y as small as we like, and thus approximate within an inconsiderable quantity to the required ratio x ÷ y.
The ratio of two quantities can be determined with unlimited accuracy if we can multiply both the measurement and the standard unit without error, and then see what multiple of one lines up or nearly lines up with some multiple of the other. Although perfect alignment can never truly be achieved, the error that results can be reduced indefinitely. If the equation py = qx has an uncertainty of e, meaning py = qx ± e, then we have p = q xy ± ey. Since we assume we can make y as large as we want without increasing the error e, it follows that we can make e ÷ y as small as we want, allowing us to approximate closely to the desired ratio x ÷ y.
This method of repetition is naturally employed whenever quantities can be repeated, or repeat themselves289 without error of juxtaposition, which is especially the case with the motions of the earth and heavenly bodies. In determining the length of the sidereal day, we determine the ratio between the earth’s revolution round the sun, and its rotation on its own axis. We might ascertain the ratio by observing the successive passages of a star across the zenith, and comparing the interval by a good clock with that between two passages of the sun, the difference being due to the angular movement of the earth round the sun. In such observations we should have an error of a considerable part of a second at each observation, in addition to the irregularities of the clock. But the revolutions of the earth repeat themselves day after day, and year after year, without the slightest interval between the end of one period and the beginning of another. The operation of multiplication is perfectly performed for us by nature. If, then, we can find an observation of the passage of a star across the meridian a hundred years ago, that is of the interval of time between the passage of the sun and the star, the instrumental errors in measuring this interval by a clock and telescope may be greater than in the present day, but will be divided by about 36,524 days, and rendered excessively small. It is thus that astronomers have been able to ascertain the ratio of the mean solar to the sidereal day to the 8th place of decimals (1·00273791 to 1), or to the hundred millionth part, probably the most accurate result of measurement in the whole range of science.
This method of repetition is naturally used whenever quantities can be repeated, or repeat themselves289 without errors in placement, which is especially true for the movements of the earth and celestial bodies. To determine the length of a sidereal day, we find the ratio between the earth’s orbit around the sun and its rotation on its axis. We can determine this ratio by observing the successive appearances of a star at the zenith and comparing the time interval with a reliable clock to that between two appearances of the sun, with the difference arising from the earth's angular movement around the sun. In these observations, there would be a significant error of a fraction of a second for each observation, in addition to the irregularities of the clock. However, the earth's revolutions repeat each day and year without any gap between the end of one cycle and the start of another. Nature perfectly handles the operation of multiplication for us. So, if we can find an observation of a star crossing the meridian from a hundred years ago, noting the time interval between the star and the sun, any instrumental errors in measuring this time using a clock and telescope may be larger than today’s, but they will be spread across about 36,524 days, making them very small. This is how astronomers have been able to determine the ratio of the mean solar day to the sidereal day to the eighth decimal place (1·00273791 to 1), or to the hundred-millionth part, probably yielding the most precise measurement in the entire field of science.
The antiquity of this mode of comparison is almost as great as that of astronomy itself. Hipparchus made the first clear application of it, when he compared his own observations with those of Aristarchus, made 145 years previously, and thus ascertained the length of the year. This calculation may in fact be regarded as the earliest attempt at an exact determination of the constants of nature. The method is the main resource of astronomers; Tycho, for instance, detected the slow diminution of the obliquity of the earth’s axis, by the comparison of observations at long intervals. Living astronomers use the method as much as earlier ones; but so superior in accuracy are all observations taken during the last hundred years to all previous ones, that it is often290 found preferable to take a shorter interval, rather than incur the risk of greater instrumental errors in the earlier observations.
The age of this way of comparing observations is almost as old as astronomy itself. Hipparchus was the first to apply it clearly when he compared his own observations with those of Aristarchus, which were made 145 years earlier, and figured out the length of the year. This calculation can actually be seen as the first serious attempt to accurately determine the constants of nature. This method is essential for astronomers; for example, Tycho identified the gradual change in the tilt of the earth’s axis by comparing observations spaced out over long periods. Modern astronomers use this method just as much as their predecessors; however, the accuracy of observations taken over the last hundred years is so much higher than earlier ones that it’s often better to use a shorter interval for comparisons instead of risking greater errors from older instruments.
It is obvious that many of the slower changes of the heavenly bodies must require the lapse of large intervals of time to render their amount perceptible. Hipparchus could not possibly have discovered the smaller inequalities of the heavenly motions, because there were no previous observations of sufficient age or exactness to exhibit them. And just as the observations of Hipparchus formed the starting-point for subsequent comparisons, so a large part of the labour of present astronomers is directed to recording the present state of the heavens so exactly, that future generations of astronomers may detect changes, which cannot possibly become known in the present age.
It's clear that many of the gradual changes in celestial bodies take a long time to become noticeable. Hipparchus wouldn't have been able to identify the smaller irregularities in their movements because there weren't any earlier observations that were old enough or precise enough to show them. Just like Hipparchus's observations were the foundation for future comparisons, a significant portion of today’s astronomers’ work is focused on accurately documenting the current condition of the skies, allowing future generations to notice changes that can't be recognized in our time.
The principle of repetition was very ingeniously employed in an instrument first proposed by Mayer in 1767, and carried into practice in the Repeating Circle of Borda. The exact measurement of angles is indispensable, not only in astronomy but also in trigonometrical surveys, and the highest skill in the mechanical execution of the graduated circle and telescope will not prevent terminal errors of considerable amount. If instead of one telescope, the circle be provided with two similar telescopes, these may be alternately directed to two distant points, say the marks in a trigonometrical survey, so that the circle shall be turned through any multiple of the angle subtended by those marks, before the amount of the angular revolution is read off upon the graduated circle. Theoretically speaking, all error arising from imperfect graduation might thus be indefinitely reduced, being divided by the number of repetitions. In practice, the advantage of the invention is not found to be very great, probably because a certain error is introduced at each observation in the changing and fixing of the telescopes. It is moreover inapplicable to moving objects like the heavenly bodies, so that its use is confined to important trigonometrical surveys.
The principle of repetition was cleverly used in an instrument first suggested by Mayer in 1767 and put into practice in Borda’s Repeating Circle. Accurate angle measurement is essential, not just in astronomy but also in trigonometrical surveys, and even the best craftsmanship in making the graduated circle and telescope won’t eliminate significant terminal errors. If instead of one telescope, the circle has two similar telescopes, they can be alternately pointed at two distant points, like the markers in a trigonometrical survey, so that the circle can be rotated through any multiple of the angle formed by those markers before reading the amount of angular rotation on the graduated circle. Theoretically, all errors from imperfect graduations could be reduced indefinitely since they would be divided by the number of repetitions. In practice, however, the benefits of this invention aren't found to be very significant, likely because a certain error is introduced with each observation while adjusting and fixing the telescopes. Additionally, it can't be used with moving objects like celestial bodies, so its application is limited to important trigonometrical surveys.
The pendulum is the most perfect of all instruments, chiefly because it admits of almost endless repetition. Since the force of gravity never ceases, one swing of the pendulum is no sooner ended than the other is begun, so that the juxtaposition of successive units is absolutely291 perfect. Provided that the oscillations be equal, one thousand oscillations will occupy exactly one thousand times as great an interval of time as one oscillation. Not only is the subdivision of time entirely dependent on this fact, but in the accurate measurement of gravity, and many other important determinations, it is of the greatest service. In the deepest mine, we could not observe the rapidity of fall of a body for more than a quarter of a minute, and the measurement of its velocity would be difficult, and subject to uncertain errors from resistance of air, &c. In the pendulum, we have a body which can be kept rising and falling for many hours, in a medium entirely under our command or if desirable in a vacuum. Moreover, the comparative force of gravity at different points, at the top and bottom of a mine for instance, can be determined with wonderful precision, by comparing the oscillations of two exactly similar pendulums, with the aid of electric clock signals.
The pendulum is the most perfect of all instruments, mainly because it allows for almost endless repetition. Since the force of gravity never stops, one swing of the pendulum is barely finished before the next one begins, making the spacing between successive swings absolutely perfect. As long as the swings are equal, a thousand swings will take exactly one thousand times longer than a single swing. This fact not only underlies how we divide time but is also incredibly useful for accurately measuring gravity and many other important calculations. In the deepest mine, we can only observe the speed of a falling object for about thirty seconds, and measuring its velocity would be challenging and prone to errors due to air resistance, etc. With a pendulum, we have an object that can be kept moving up and down for hours in an environment totally under our control, or in a vacuum if needed. Additionally, we can measure the relative force of gravity at different points, such as at the top and bottom of a mine, with amazing accuracy by comparing the swings of two identical pendulums, using electric clock signals for assistance.
To ascertain the comparative times of vibration of two pendulums, it is only requisite to swing them one in front of the other, to record by a clock the moment when they coincide in swing, so that one hides the other, and then count the number of vibrations until they again come to coincidence. If one pendulum makes m vibrations and the other n, we at once have our equation pn = qm; which gives the length of vibration of either pendulum in terms of the other. This method of coincidence, embodying the principle of repetition in perfection, was employed with wonderful skill by Sir George Airy, in his experiments on the Density of the Earth at the Harton Colliery, the pendulums above and below being compared with clocks, which again were compared with each other by electric signals. So exceedingly accurate was this method of observation, as carried out by Sir George Airy, that he was able to measure a total difference in the vibrations at the top and bottom of the shaft, amounting to only 2·24 seconds in the twenty-four hours, with an error of less than one hundredth part of a second, or one part in 8,640,000 of the whole day.185
To determine the relative vibration times of two pendulums, you just need to swing them in front of each other, note the exact moment they align in their swing so that one covers the other, and then count the number of vibrations until they align again. If one pendulum makes m vibrations and the other n, we immediately have our equation pn = qm; which shows the length of vibration of either pendulum in relation to the other. This coincidence method, which perfectly embodies the principle of repetition, was used with remarkable skill by Sir George Airy in his experiments on the Density of the Earth at the Harton Colliery. The pendulums above and below were compared with clocks, which were also synchronized using electric signals. The accuracy of this observation method, as conducted by Sir George Airy, was so precise that he could measure a total difference in vibrations at the top and bottom of the shaft, amounting to only 2.24 seconds over twenty-four hours, with an error of less than one hundredth of a second, or one part in 8,640,000 of the entire day.185
The principle of repetition has been elegantly applied292 in observing the motion of waves in water. If the canal in which the experiments are made be short, say twenty feet long, the waves will pass through it so rapidly that an observation of one length, as practised by Walker, will be subject to much terminal error, even when the observer is very skilful. But it is a result of the undulatory theory that a wave is unaltered, and loses no time by complete reflection, so that it may be allowed to travel backwards and forwards in the same canal, and its motion, say through sixty lengths, or 1200 feet, may be observed with the same accuracy as in a canal 1200 feet long, with the advantage of greater uniformity in the condition of the canal and water.186 It is always desirable, if possible, to bring an experiment into a small compass, so that it may be well under command, and yet we may often by repetition enjoy at the same time the advantage of extensive trial.
The principle of repetition has been skillfully applied292 to observe the movement of waves in water. If the canal used for the experiments is short, about twenty feet long, the waves will move through it so quickly that taking a measurement of one wavelength, like Walker did, will lead to significant errors, even for a skilled observer. However, according to the undulatory theory, a wave remains unchanged and doesn't lose any time during complete reflection, which means it can travel back and forth in the same canal. Its motion, say over sixty wavelengths, or 1200 feet, can be measured with the same accuracy as in a 1200-foot-long canal, with the added benefit of more consistent conditions in the canal and water.186 It's always preferable, whenever possible, to keep an experiment compact so it can be easily controlled, while still allowing for the advantage of thorough testing through repetition.
One reason of the great accuracy of weighing with a good balance is the fact, that weights placed in the same scale are naturally added together without the slightest error. There is no difficulty in the precise juxtaposition of two grams, but the juxtaposition of two metre measures can only be effected with tolerable accuracy, by the use of microscopes and many precautions. Hence, the extreme trouble and cost attaching to the exact measurement of a base line for a survey, the risk of error entering at every juxtaposition of the measuring bars, and indefatigable attention to all the requisite precautions being necessary throughout the operation.
One reason for the high accuracy of weighing with a good balance is that weights placed in the same scale are naturally combined without any error. It’s easy to precisely place two grams next to each other, but positioning two meter measures accurately can only be done with reasonable precision, using microscopes and various precautions. Therefore, there is significant trouble and expense involved in accurately measuring a baseline for a survey, the risk of error occurring with every alignment of the measuring bars, and constant attention to all necessary precautions is required throughout the process.
Measurements by Natural Coincidence.
In certain cases a peculiar conjunction of circumstances enables us to dispense more or less with instrumental aids, and to obtain very exact numerical results in the simplest manner. The mere fact, for instance, that no human being has ever seen a different face of the moon from that familiar to us, conclusively proves that the period of rotation of the moon on its own axis is equal293 to that of its revolution round the earth. Not only have we the repetition of these movements during 1000 or 2000 years at least, but we have observations made for us at very remote periods, free from instrumental error, no instrument being needed. We learn that the seventh satellite of Saturn is subject to a similar law, because its light undergoes a variation in each revolution, owing to the existence of some dark tract of land; now this failure of light always occurs while it is in the same position relative to Saturn, clearly proving the equality of the axial and revolutional periods, as Huygens perceived.187 A like peculiarity in the motions of Jupiter’s fourth satellite was similarly detected by Maraldi in 1713.
In certain cases, a unique combination of circumstances allows us to do without instruments and get very precise numerical results in a straightforward way. For example, the simple fact that no human has ever seen a different face of the moon than the one we're used to conclusively shows that the moon's rotation period on its axis is the same as its revolution period around the Earth. Not only do we observe these movements repeating for at least 1,000 or 2,000 years, but we also have records from very distant times, free from instrumental errors, since no instruments were needed. We find that the seventh moon of Saturn follows a similar pattern, as its light varies with each revolution because of the presence of some dark area; this dimming always happens when it is in the same position relative to Saturn, clearly demonstrating that the periods of axial rotation and revolution are equal, as Huygens noted. A similar oddity in the motions of Jupiter’s fourth moon was also discovered by Maraldi in 1713.
Remarkable conjunctions of the planets may sometimes allow us to compare their periods of revolution, through great intervals of time, with much accuracy. Laplace in explaining the long inequality in the motions of Jupiter and Saturn, was assisted by a conjunction of these planets, observed at Cairo, towards the close of the eleventh century. Laplace calculated that such a conjunction must have happened on the 31st of October, A.D. 1087; and the discordance between the distances of the planets as recorded, and as assigned by theory, was less than one-fifth part of the apparent diameter of the sun. This difference being less than the probable error of the early record, the theory was confirmed as far as facts were available.188
Remarkable alignments of the planets can sometimes let us accurately compare their orbits over long periods. Laplace, in explaining the long-term variation in the movements of Jupiter and Saturn, was supported by an alignment of these planets observed in Cairo around the end of the 11th century. Laplace calculated that this alignment must have occurred on October 31, CE 1087; and the difference between the recorded distances of the planets and those predicted by theory was less than one-fifth of the apparent diameter of the sun. Since this difference was smaller than the likely error in the early record, the theory was validated as far as the available facts allowed.188
Ancient astronomers often showed the highest ingenuity in turning any opportunities of measurement which occurred to good account. Eratosthenes, as early as 250 B.C., happening to hear that the sun at Syene, in Upper Egypt, was visible at the summer solstice at the bottom of a well, proving that it was in the zenith, proposed to determine the dimensions of the earth, by measuring the length of the shadow of a rod at Alexandria on the same day of the year. He thus learnt in a rude manner the difference of latitude between Alexandria and Syene and finding it to be about one fiftieth part of the whole circumference, he ascertained the dimensions of the294 earth within about one sixth part of the truth. The use of wells in astronomical observation appears to have been occasionally practised in comparatively recent times as by Flamsteed in 1679.189 The Alexandrian astronomers employed the moon as an instrument of measurement in several sagacious modes. When the moon is exactly half full, the moon, sun, and earth, are at the angles of a right-angled triangle. Aristarchus measured at such a time the moon’s elongation from the sun, which gave him the two other angles of the triangle, and enabled him to judge of the comparative distances of the moon and sun from the earth. His result, though very rude, was far more accurate than any notions previously entertained, and enabled him to form some estimate of the comparative magnitudes of the bodies. Eclipses of the moon were very useful to Hipparchus in ascertaining the longitude of the stars, which are invisible when the sun is above the horizon. For the moon when eclipsed must be 180° distant from the sun; hence it is only requisite to measure the distance of a fixed star in longitude from the eclipsed moon to obtain with ease its angular distance from the sun.
Ancient astronomers often demonstrated incredible creativity in making the most of measurement opportunities that arose. As early as 250 BCE, Eratosthenes learned that the sun was directly overhead at noon in Syene, Upper Egypt, during the summer solstice, as it was visible at the bottom of a well. He decided to determine the size of the Earth by measuring the length of a shadow cast by a rod in Alexandria on the same day of the year. This allowed him to calculate, using a basic method, the difference in latitude between Alexandria and Syene. Finding it to be about one-fiftieth of the Earth's total circumference, he estimated the Earth’s dimensions to within about one-sixth of the actual figure. The use of wells for astronomical observations seems to have occasionally continued in relatively recent times, as evidenced by Flamsteed in 1679.189 The Alexandrian astronomers also used the moon as a measurement tool in several clever ways. When the moon is exactly half full, the moon, sun, and Earth form a right triangle. At such a time, Aristarchus measured the moon’s distance from the sun, which allowed him to figure out the two other angles of the triangle and make a judgment about the relative distances of the moon and sun from the Earth. His result, although quite rough, was much more accurate than any previous estimates and helped him make some assessment of the comparative sizes of these celestial bodies. Hipparchus found lunar eclipses very useful for determining the longitude of stars, which cannot be seen when the sun is above the horizon. During a lunar eclipse, the moon is positioned 180° away from the sun; therefore, by measuring the longitudinal distance of a fixed star from the eclipsed moon, one can easily find its angular distance from the sun.
In later times the eclipses of Jupiter have served to measure an angle; for at the middle moment of the eclipse the satellite must be in the same straight line with the planet and sun, so that we can learn from the known laws of movement of the satellite the longitude of Jupiter as seen from the sun. If at the same time we measure the elongation or apparent angular distance of Jupiter from the sun, as seen from the earth, we have all the angles of the triangle between Jupiter, the sun, and the earth, and can calculate the comparative magnitudes of the sides of the triangle by trigonometry.
In later times, the eclipses of Jupiter have been used to measure an angle; because at the peak of the eclipse, the satellite aligns in a straight line with the planet and the sun. This allows us to determine the longitude of Jupiter from the sun based on the known movement patterns of the satellite. If we also measure the elongation or apparent angular distance of Jupiter from the sun as observed from Earth, we then have all the angles of the triangle formed by Jupiter, the sun, and the Earth, which enables us to calculate the relative sizes of the triangle's sides using trigonometry.
The transits of Venus over the sun’s face are other natural events which give most accurate measurements of the sun’s parallax, or apparent difference of position as seen from distant points of the earth’s surface. The sun forms a kind of background on which the place of the planet is marked, and serves as a measuring instrument free from all the errors of construction which affect295 human instruments. The rotation of the earth, too, by variously affecting the apparent velocity of ingress or egress of Venus, as seen from different places, discloses the amount of the parallax. It has been sufficiently shown that by rightly choosing the moments of observation, the planetary bodies may often be made to reveal their relative distance, to measure their own position, to record their own movements with a high degree of accuracy. With the improvement of astronomical instruments, such conjunctions become less necessary to the progress of the science, but it will always remain advantageous to choose those moments for observation when instrumental errors enter with the least effect.
The transits of Venus across the sun’s surface are other natural events that provide the most accurate measurements of the sun’s parallax, or the apparent change in position as seen from different points on the Earth. The sun acts as a backdrop on which the position of the planet is marked, serving as a measuring tool free from all the construction errors that affect human-made instruments. The Earth's rotation also influences the apparent speed of Venus entering or leaving its transit, as observed from various locations, revealing the amount of parallax. It has been clearly demonstrated that by carefully selecting the times for observation, planetary bodies can often be used to reveal their relative distances, measure their own positions, and record their movements with high accuracy. As astronomical instruments have improved, such conjunctions have become less essential for the advancement of science, but it will always be beneficial to choose observation moments when instrumental errors have the least impact.
In other sciences, exact quantitative laws can occasionally be obtained without instrumental measurement, as when we learn the exactly equal velocity of sounds of different pitch, by observing that a peal of bells or a musical performance is heard harmoniously at any distance to which the sound penetrates; this could not be the case, as Newton remarked, if one sound overtook the other. One of the most important principles of the atomic theory, was proved by implication before the use of the balance was introduced into chemistry. Wenzel observed, before 1777, that when two neutral substances decompose each other, the resulting salts are also neutral. In mixing sodium sulphate and barium nitrate, we obtain insoluble barium sulphate and neutral sodium nitrate. This result could not follow unless the nitric acid, requisite to saturate one atom of sodium, were exactly equal to that required by one atom of barium, so that an exchange could take place without leaving either acid or base in excess.
In other sciences, we can sometimes figure out exact quantitative laws without using instruments, like when we observe that sounds of different pitches travel at the same speed, since we can hear a peal of bells or a musical performance harmoniously from any distance the sound reaches; this wouldn't be true, as Newton pointed out, if one sound caught up to the other. One of the key principles of atomic theory was inferred before the balance was used in chemistry. Wenzel noted, before 1777, that when two neutral substances break down each other, the resulting salts are also neutral. When we mix sodium sulfate and barium nitrate, we get insoluble barium sulfate and neutral sodium nitrate. This outcome couldn't happen unless the nitric acid needed to neutralize one atom of sodium was exactly equal to what one atom of barium needed, allowing the exchange to occur without leaving either acid or base in excess.
An important principle of mechanics may also be established by a simple acoustical observation. When a rod or tongue of metal fixed at one end is set in vibration, the pitch of the sound may be observed to be exactly the same, whether the vibrations be small or great; hence the oscillations are isochronous, or equally rapid, independently of their magnitude. On the ground of theory, it can be shown that such a result only happens when the flexure is proportional to the deflecting force. Thus the simple observation that the pitch of296 the sound of a harmonium, for instance, does not change with its loudness establishes an exact law of nature.190
An important principle of mechanics can also be established through a straightforward observation about sound. When a metal rod or tongue that is fixed at one end starts to vibrate, the pitch of the sound remains exactly the same, whether the vibrations are small or large. This means the oscillations are isochronous, or equally rapid, regardless of their size. Theoretically, it can be demonstrated that this result occurs only when the bending is proportional to the force applied. Therefore, the simple observation that the pitch of the sound produced by a harmonium, for example, does not change with its volume establishes a precise law of nature.190
A closely similar instance is found in the proof that the intensity of light or heat rays varies inversely as the square of the distance increases. For the apparent magnitude certainly varies according to this law; hence, if the intensity of light varied according to any other law, the brightness of an object would be different at different distances, which is not observed to be the case. Melloni applied the same kind of reasoning, in a somewhat different form, to the radiation of heat-rays.
A similar example can be seen in the proof that the intensity of light or heat rays decreases inversely with the square of the distance. The apparent brightness definitely changes according to this law; therefore, if the intensity of light changed according to any other law, the brightness of an object would appear different at different distances, which is not what we observe. Melloni used the same kind of logic, though in a slightly different way, to analyze the radiation of heat rays.
Modes of Indirect Measurement.
Some of the most conspicuously beautiful experiments in the whole range of science, have been devised for the purpose of indirectly measuring quantities, which in their extreme greatness or smallness surpass the powers of sense. All that we need to do, is to discover some other conveniently measurable phenomenon, which is related in a known ratio or according to a known law, however complicated, with that to be measured. Having once obtained experimental data, there is no further difficulty beyond that of arithmetic or algebraic calculation.
Some of the most strikingly beautiful experiments in all of science have been created to indirectly measure quantities that are either incredibly large or small, beyond our ability to perceive. All we need to do is find another phenomenon that can be measured conveniently, which has a known ratio or follows a known law—no matter how complicated—related to what we want to measure. Once we have the experimental data, the only challenge left is simple arithmetic or algebraic calculation.
Gold is reduced by the gold-beater to leaves so thin, that the most powerful microscope would not detect any measurable thickness. If we laid several hundred leaves upon each other to multiply the thickness, we should still have no more than 1100th of an inch at the most to measure, and the errors arising in the superposition and measurement would be considerable. But we can readily obtain an exact result through the connected amount of weight. Faraday weighed 2000 leaves of gold, each 3 38 inch square, and found them equal to 384 grains. From the known specific gravity of gold it was easy to calculate that the average thickness of the leaves was 1282,000 of an inch.191
Gold is thinned out by the gold-beater into leaves so delicate that even the strongest microscope wouldn’t detect any measurable thickness. If we stacked several hundred leaves on top of each other to increase the thickness, we’d still end up with no more than 1100th of an inch at best to measure, and the errors from stacking and measuring would be significant. However, we can easily achieve an accurate result using the total weight. Faraday weighed 2000 leaves of gold, each measuring 3 38 inches square, and found that they weighed 384 grains. With the known specific gravity of gold, it was straightforward to calculate that the average thickness of the leaves was 1282,000 of an inch.191
We must ascribe to Newton the honour of leading the297 way in methods of minute measurement. He did not call waves of light by their right name, and did not understand their nature; yet he measured their length, though it did not exceed the 2,000,000th part of a metre or the one fifty-thousandth part of an inch. He pressed together two lenses of large but known radii. It was easy to calculate the interval between the lenses at any point, by measuring the distance from the central point of contact. Now, with homogeneous rays the successive rings of light and darkness mark the points at which the interval between the lenses is equal to one half, or any multiple of half a vibration of the light, so that the length of the vibration became known. In a similar manner many phenomena of interference of rays of light admit of the measurement of the wave lengths. Fringes of interference arise from rays of light which cross each other at a small angle, and an excessively minute difference in the lengths of the waves makes a very perceptible difference in the position of the point at which two rays will interfere and produce darkness.
We should give credit to Newton for being the pioneer in the methods of precise measurement. He didn’t name light waves correctly and didn’t fully grasp their nature, yet he measured their length, which was no more than 2,000,000th of a meter or one fifty-thousandth of an inch. He placed two lenses with large but known radii close together. It was straightforward to calculate the distance between the lenses at any point by measuring the distance from the central point of contact. With uniform rays, the alternating rings of light and darkness indicate where the distance between the lenses equals one half or any multiple of half a wave of light, allowing the length of the wave to be determined. Similarly, many light interference phenomena allow for the measurement of wave lengths. Interference fringes result from light rays crossing each other at a small angle, and even a tiny difference in wave lengths causes a noticeable change in where two rays interfere to create darkness.
Fizeau has recently employed Newton’s rings to measure small amounts of motion. By merely counting the number of rings of sodium monochromatic light passing a certain point where two glass plates are in close proximity, he is able to ascertain with the greatest accuracy and ease the change of distance between these glasses, produced, for instance, by the expansion of a metallic bar, connected with one of the glass plates.192
Fizeau has recently used Newton’s rings to measure tiny movements. By simply counting the number of rings of sodium monochromatic light at a specific point where two glass plates are close together, he can determine with high accuracy and ease the change in distance between these plates, caused, for example, by the expansion of a metal bar connected to one of the glass plates.192
Nothing excites more admiration than the mode in which scientific observers can occasionally measure quantities, which seem beyond the bounds of human observation. We know the average depth of the Pacific Ocean to be 14,190 feet, not by actual sounding, which would be impracticable in sufficient detail, but by noticing the rate of transmission of earthquake waves from the South American to the opposite coasts, the rate of movement being connected by theory with the depth of the water.193 In the same way the average depth of the Atlantic Ocean is inferred to be no less than 22,157 feet, from the velocity298 of the ordinary tidal waves. A tidal wave again gives beautiful evidence of an effect of the law of gravity, which we could never in any other way detect. Newton estimated that the moon’s force in moving the ocean is only one part in 2,871,400 of the whole force of gravity, so that even the pendulum, used with the utmost skill, would fail to render it apparent. Yet, the immense extent of the ocean allows the accumulation of the effect into a very palpable amount; and from the comparative heights of the lunar and solar tides, Newton roughly estimated the comparative forces of the moon’s and sun’s gravity at the earth.194
Nothing inspires more admiration than the way scientists can sometimes measure quantities that seem beyond human observation. We know the average depth of the Pacific Ocean is 14,190 feet, not through actual soundings—which would be impractical in enough detail—but by observing the speed of earthquake waves transmitted from the South American coast to the opposite shores, with their speed linked by theory to the water's depth.193 In the same way, the average depth of the Atlantic Ocean is estimated to be no less than 22,157 feet, based on the speed of standard tidal waves. A tidal wave also beautifully demonstrates an effect of the law of gravity that we could never detect in any other manner. Newton estimated that the moon’s influence on moving the ocean is only one part in 2,871,400 of the total force of gravity, meaning even the most skillful use of a pendulum would fail to show it clearly. Yet, the vast size of the ocean allows this effect to accumulate into a noticeable amount; and by comparing the heights of lunar and solar tides, Newton roughly estimated the relative gravitational forces of the moon and the sun on the Earth.194
A few years ago it might have seemed impossible that we should ever measure the velocity with which a star approaches or recedes from the earth, since the apparent position of the star is thereby unaltered. But the spectroscope now enables us to detect and even measure such motions with considerable accuracy, by the alteration which it causes in the apparent rapidity of vibration, and consequently in the refrangibility of rays of light of definite colour. And while our estimates of the lateral movements of stars depend upon our very uncertain knowledge of their distances, the spectroscope gives the motions of approach and recess irrespective of other motions excepting that of the earth. It gives in short the motions of approach and recess of the stars relatively to the earth.195
A few years ago, it might have seemed impossible to measure how fast a star is moving toward or away from the Earth, since its apparent position doesn’t change. But the spectroscope now allows us to detect and even measure these motions quite accurately by altering the apparent speed of vibration, which affects the refrangibility of light rays of specific colors. While our estimates of the sideways movements of stars rely on our uncertain knowledge of their distances, the spectroscope measures the motions of stars as they approach or recede from us, regardless of other movements except for that of the Earth. In short, it provides the motions of stars relative to the Earth.195
The rapidity of vibration for each musical tone, having been accurately determined by comparison with the Syren (p. 10), we can use sounds as indirect indications of rapid vibrations. It is now known that the contraction of a muscle arises from the periodical contractions of each separate fibre, and from a faint sound or susurrus which accompanies the action of a muscle, it is inferred that each contraction lasts for about one 300th part of a second. Minute quantities of radiant heat are now always measured indirectly by the electricity which they produce when falling upon a thermopile. The extreme delicacy of the method seems to be due to the power of multiplication at several points in the apparatus. The number of elements or junctions299 of different metals in the thermopile can be increased so that the tension of the electric current derived from the same intensity of radiation is multiplied; the effect of the current upon the magnetic needle can be multiplied within certain bounds, by passing the current many times round it in a coil; the excursions of the needle can be increased by rendering it astatic and increasing the delicacy of its suspension; lastly, the angular divergence can be observed, with any required accuracy, by the use of an attached mirror and distant scale viewed through a telescope (p. 287). Such is the delicacy of this method of measuring heat, that Dr. Joule succeeded in making a thermopile which would indicate a difference of 0°·000114 Cent.196
The speed of vibration for each musical tone has been precisely measured using the Syren (p. 10). We can use sounds as indirect indicators of rapid vibrations. It's now understood that a muscle contracts through periodic contractions of each individual fiber, and a faint sound or whisper that occurs with muscle action suggests that each contraction lasts about one 300th of a second. Tiny amounts of radiant heat are now always measured indirectly by the electricity they generate when they hit a thermopile. The extreme sensitivity of this method seems to stem from the ability to amplify signals at several points in the apparatus. The number of elements or junctions299 made of different metals in the thermopile can be increased so that the strength of the electric current generated by the same amount of radiation is multiplied; the effect of the current on the magnetic needle can be amplified within certain limits by wrapping the current multiple times around it in a coil; the movements of the needle can be enhanced by making it astatic and improving its suspension's sensitivity; finally, the angular divergence can be measured with the precision needed by using an attached mirror and a distant scale viewed through a telescope (p. 287). This method of measuring heat is so sensitive that Dr. Joule managed to create a thermopile capable of indicating a difference of 0°·000114 Cent.196
A striking case of indirect measurement is furnished by the revolving mirror of Wheatstone and Foucault, whereby a minute interval of time is estimated in the form of an angular deviation. Wheatstone viewed an electric spark in a mirror rotating so rapidly, that if the duration of the spark had been more than one 72,000th part of a second, the point of light would have appeared elongated to an angular extent of one-half degree. In the spark, as drawn directly from a Leyden jar, no elongation was apparent, so that the duration of the spark was immeasurably small; but when the discharge took place through a bad conductor, the elongation of the spark denoted a sensible duration.197 In the hands of Foucault the rotating mirror gave a measure of the time occupied by light in passing through a few metres of space.
A notable example of indirect measurement is the revolving mirror developed by Wheatstone and Foucault, which allows for the estimation of a very short time interval through angular deviation. Wheatstone observed an electric spark in a mirror that was spinning so fast that if the spark had lasted longer than one 72,000th of a second, the point of light would have seemed stretched to an angle of half a degree. Since there was no visible elongation in the spark from a Leyden jar, it indicated that the spark's duration was extremely brief; however, when the discharge occurred through a poor conductor, the elongation of the spark indicated a measurable duration.197 Under Foucault's work, the rotating mirror was used to measure the time it takes for light to travel through a few meters.
Comparative Use of Measuring Instruments.
In almost every case a measuring instrument serves, and should serve only as a means of comparison between two or more magnitudes. As a general rule, we should not attempt to make the divisions of the measuring scale exact multiples or submultiples of the unit, but, regarding them as arbitrary marks, should determine their values by comparison with the standard itself. The perpendicular wires in the field of a transit telescope, are fixed at nearly300 equal but arbitrary distances, and those distances are afterwards determined, as first suggested by Malvasia, by watching the passage of star after star across them, and noting the intervals of time by the clock. Owing to the perfectly regular motion of the earth, these time intervals give exact determinations of the angular intervals. In the same way, the angular value of each turn of the screw micrometer attached to a telescope, can be easily and accurately ascertained.
In almost every case, a measuring instrument acts, and should only act, as a way to compare two or more amounts. Generally, we shouldn’t try to make the divisions of the measuring scale exact multiples or fractions of the unit; instead, we should see them as arbitrary marks and figure out their values by comparing them to the standard itself. The vertical wires in the field of a transit telescope are set at nearly300 equal but arbitrary distances. Those distances are then determined, as Malvasia first suggested, by observing when each star passes across them and timing the intervals with a clock. Because of the perfectly regular motion of the earth, these time intervals provide precise measurements of the angular intervals. Similarly, the angular value of each turn of the screw micrometer attached to a telescope can be easily and accurately determined.
When a thermopile is used to observe radiant heat, it would be almost impossible to calculate on à priori grounds what is the value of each division of the galvanometer circle, and still more difficult to construct a galvanometer, so that each division should have a given value. But this is quite unnecessary, because by placing the thermopile before a body of known dimensions, at a known distance, with a known temperature and radiating power, we measure a known amount of radiant heat, and inversely measure the value of the indications of the thermopile. In a similar way Dr. Joule ascertained the actual temperature produced by the compression of bars of metal. For having inserted a small thermopile composed of a single junction of copper and iron wire, and noted the deflections of the galvanometer, he had only to dip the bars into water of different temperatures, until he produced a like deflection, in order to ascertain the temperature developed by pressure.198
When using a thermopile to measure radiant heat, it would be nearly impossible to calculate the exact value of each division on the galvanometer circle based on prior knowledge alone, and even harder to build a galvanometer so that each division has a specific value. Fortunately, this isn’t necessary because by positioning the thermopile in front of an object with known dimensions, at a set distance, and with a known temperature and radiating power, we can measure a specific amount of radiant heat and, in turn, determine the value of the thermopile’s readings. Similarly, Dr. Joule figured out the actual temperature generated by compressing metal bars. He placed a small thermopile made of a single junction of copper and iron wire and recorded the galvanometer's deflections. By immersing the bars in water of varying temperatures until he achieved the same deflection, he was able to find out the temperature produced by the pressure.198
In some cases we are obliged to accept a very carefully constructed instrument as a standard, as in the case of a standard barometer or thermometer. But it is then best to treat all inferior instruments comparatively only, and determine the values of their scales by comparison with the assumed standard.
In some cases, we have to accept a very precisely made instrument as a standard, like a standard barometer or thermometer. However, it's better to treat all lesser instruments comparatively and figure out the values of their scales by comparing them to the accepted standard.
Systematic Performance of Measurements.
When a large number of accurate measurements have to be effected, it is usually desirable to make a certain number of determinations with scrupulous care, and afterwards use them as points of reference for the remaining301 determinations. In the trigonometrical survey of a country, the principal triangulation fixes the relative positions and distances of a few points with rigid accuracy. A minor triangulation refers every prominent hill or village to one of the principal points, and then the details are filled in by reference to the secondary points. The survey of the heavens is effected in a like manner. The ancient astronomers compared the right ascensions of a few principal stars with the moon, and thus ascertained their positions with regard to the sun; the minor stars were afterwards referred to the principal stars. Tycho followed the same method, except that he used the more slowly moving planet Venus instead of the moon. Flamsteed was in the habit of using about seven stars, favourably situated at points all round the heavens. In his early observations the distances of the other stars from these standard points were determined by the use of the quadrant.199 Even since the introduction of the transit telescope and the mural circle, tables of standard stars are formed at Greenwich, the positions being determined with all possible accuracy, so that they can be employed for purposes of reference by astronomers.
When a lot of precise measurements need to be taken, it’s usually best to start by making a certain number of careful determinations and then use those as reference points for the rest of the measurements. In a country's trigonometrical survey, the main triangulation defines the exact positions and distances of a few key points. A secondary triangulation then relates every notable hill or village to one of these main points, and additional details are filled in based on the secondary points. The survey of the skies is done in a similar way. Ancient astronomers compared the positions of a few main stars with the moon to determine their locations in relation to the sun; smaller stars were later referenced to the main ones. Tycho used a similar approach, but chose the slower-moving planet Venus instead of the moon. Flamsteed typically used about seven stars that were well-positioned around the sky. In his early observations, he measured the distances of other stars from these standard points using a quadrant. Ever since the introduction of the transit telescope and the mural circle, tables of standard stars have been created at Greenwich, with their positions determined as accurately as possible so that astronomers can use them as reference points.
In ascertaining the specific gravities of substances, all gases are referred to atmospheric air at a given temperature and pressure; all liquids and solids are referred to water. We require to compare the densities of water and air with great care, and the comparative densities of any two substances whatever can then be ascertained.
In determining the specific gravities of substances, all gases are compared to atmospheric air at a specific temperature and pressure; all liquids and solids are compared to water. We need to carefully compare the densities of water and air, and then we can find the comparative densities of any two substances.
In comparing a very great with a very small magnitude, it is usually desirable to break up the process into several steps, using intermediate terms of comparison. We should never think of measuring the distance from London to Edinburgh by laying down measuring rods, throughout the whole length. A base of several miles is selected on level ground, and compared on the one hand with the standard yard, and on the other with the distance of London and Edinburgh, or any other two points, by trigonometrical survey. Again, it would be exceedingly difficult to compare the light of a star with that of the sun, which would be about thirty thousand million times greater; but Herschel302200 effected the comparison by using the full moon as an intermediate unit. Wollaston ascertained that the sun gave 801,072 times as much light as the full moon, and Herschel determined that the light of the latter exceeded that of α Centauri 27,408 times, so that we find the ratio between the light of the sun and star to be that of about 22,000,000,000 to 1.
When comparing a very large magnitude to a very small one, it's often helpful to break the process down into several steps, using intermediate comparison terms. We shouldn't think about measuring the distance from London to Edinburgh by laying down measuring rods along the entire length. Instead, we select a base of several miles on flat ground and compare it—on one hand—with a standard yard, and on the other with the distance between London and Edinburgh, or any other two points, through trigonometrical survey. Similarly, it would be extremely challenging to compare the light of a star to that of the sun, which is about thirty billion times brighter; however, Herschel used the full moon as an intermediate unit for this comparison. Wollaston found that the sun gives off 801,072 times as much light as the full moon, and Herschel established that the light from the full moon is 27,408 times greater than that of α Centauri, leading us to find that the ratio of light between the sun and the star is roughly 22,000,000,000 to 1.
The Pendulum.
By far the most perfect and beautiful of all instruments of measurement is the pendulum. Consisting merely of a heavy body suspended freely at an invariable distance from a fixed point, it is most simple in construction; yet all the highest problems of physical measurement depend upon its careful use. Its excessive value arises from two circumstances.
By far the most perfect and beautiful of all measuring devices is the pendulum. Made up of a heavy weight hanging freely from a fixed point at a constant distance, it is very simple in design; however, all the most important issues of physical measurement rely on its precise use. Its immense value comes from two key factors.
(1) The method of repetition is eminently applicable to it, as already described (p. 290).
(1) The method of repetition works really well for it, as already explained (p. 290).
(2) Unlike other instruments, it connects together three different quantities, those of space, time, and force.
(2) Unlike other tools, it links together three different factors: space, time, and force.
In most works on natural philosophy it is shown, that when the oscillations of the pendulum are infinitely small, the square of the time occupied by an oscillation is directly proportional to the length of the pendulum, and indirectly proportional to the force affecting it, of whatever kind. The whole theory of the pendulum is contained in the formula, first given by Huygens in his Horologium Oscillatorium.
In most studies on natural philosophy, it is demonstrated that when the swings of the pendulum are extremely small, the square of the time it takes for one swing is directly proportional to the length of the pendulum and indirectly proportional to the force acting on it, regardless of its type. The entire theory of the pendulum is captured in the formula first introduced by Huygens in his Horologium Oscillatorium.
The quantity 3·14159 is the constant ratio of the circumference and radius of a circle, and is of course known with accuracy. Hence, any two of the three quantities concerned being given, the third may be found; or any two being maintained invariable, the third will be invariable. Thus a pendulum of invariable length suspended at the same place, where the force of gravity may be considered constant, furnishes a measure of time. The same invariable pendulum being made to vibrate at different points of303 the earth’s surface, and the times of vibration being astronomically determined, the force of gravity becomes accurately known. Finally, with a known force of gravity, and time of vibration ascertained by reference to the stars, the length is determinate.
The value 3.14159 is the constant ratio of a circle's circumference to its radius and is, of course, known with precision. Therefore, if you have any two of the three related quantities, you can find the third; or if you keep any two constant, the third will also remain constant. For example, a pendulum with a fixed length, swung from the same location where the force of gravity can be considered constant, provides a measure of time. If this same pendulum swings at different points on the Earth’s surface and the swing times are measured astronomically, we can accurately know the force of gravity. Finally, with the force of gravity established and the swing time determined by reference to the stars, the length is also determined.
All astronomical observations depend upon the first manner of using the pendulum, namely, in the astronomical clock. In the second employment it has been almost equally indispensable. The primary principle that gravity is equal in all matter was proved by Newton’s and Gauss’ pendulum experiments. The torsion pendulum of Michell, Cavendish, and Baily, depending upon exactly the same principles as the ordinary pendulum, gave the density of the earth, one of the foremost natural constants. Kater and Sabine, by pendulum observations in different parts of the earth, ascertained the variation of gravity, whence comes a determination of the earth’s ellipticity. The laws of electric and magnetic attraction have also been determined by the method of vibrations, which is in constant use in the measurement of the horizontal force of terrestrial magnetism.
All astronomical observations rely on the first way of using the pendulum, specifically in the astronomical clock. In its second application, it has been just as essential. The fundamental idea that gravity is consistent across all matter was demonstrated through pendulum experiments by Newton and Gauss. The torsion pendulum developed by Michell, Cavendish, and Baily, which operates on the same principles as a regular pendulum, provided the density of the Earth, one of the key natural constants. Kater and Sabine determined variations in gravity through pendulum observations in different locations on Earth, which helped establish the Earth's shape. The laws of electric and magnetic attraction have also been measured using vibration methods, which are regularly employed to measure the horizontal force of terrestrial magnetism.
We must not confuse with the ordinary use of the pendulum its application by Newton, to show the absence of internal friction against space,201 or to ascertain the laws of motion and elasticity.202 In these cases the extent of vibration is the quantity measured, and the principles of the instrument are different.
We shouldn't mix up the common use of the pendulum with how Newton applied it to demonstrate the lack of internal friction against space,201 or to determine the laws of motion and elasticity.202 In these situations, the range of vibration is what gets measured, and the principles of the instrument are distinct.
Attainable Accuracy of Measurement.
It is a matter of some interest to compare the degrees of accuracy which can be attained in the measurement of different kinds of magnitude. Few measurements of any kind are exact to more than six significant figures,203 but it is seldom that such accuracy can be hoped for. Time is the magnitude which seems to be capable of the most exact estimation, owing to the properties of the pendulum, and the principle of repetition described in previous sections.304 As regards short intervals of time, it has already been stated that Sir George Airy was able to estimate one part in 8,640,000, an exactness, as he truly remarks, “almost beyond conception.”204 The ratio between the mean solar and the sidereal day is known to be about one part in one hundred millions, or to the eighth place of decimals, (p. 289).
It’s interesting to compare the levels of accuracy that can be achieved in measuring different types of quantities. Few measurements are exact beyond six significant figures,203 but it’s rare to achieve that level of precision. Time is the quantity that seems to allow for the most precise measurements, thanks to the properties of the pendulum and the principle of repetition mentioned in earlier sections.304 Regarding short intervals of time, it has already been noted that Sir George Airy could estimate one part in 8,640,000, a precision that he truthfully describes as “almost beyond conception.”204 The ratio of the mean solar day to the sidereal day is known to be about one part in one hundred million, or to the eighth decimal place, (p. 289).
Determinations of weight seem to come next in exactness, owing to the fact that repetition without error is applicable to them. An ordinary good balance should show about one part in 500,000 of the load. The finest balance employed by M. Stas, turned with one part in 825,000 of the load.205 But balances have certainly been constructed to show one part in a million,206 and Ramsden is said to have constructed a balance for the Royal Society, to indicate one part in seven millions, though this is hardly credible. Professor Clerk Maxwell takes it for granted that one part in five millions can be detected, but we ought to discriminate between what a balance can do when first constructed, and when in continuous use.
Determinations of weight seem to come next in accuracy, because they can be repeated without error. A typical good balance should show about one part in 500,000 of the load. The best balance used by M. Stas indicated one part in 825,000 of the load.205 However, balances have definitely been made to show one part in a million,206 and Ramsden is said to have created a balance for the Royal Society that could indicate one part in seven million, although this is hard to believe. Professor Clerk Maxwell assumes that one part in five million can be detected, but we should differentiate between what a balance can do when it's first made and what it can do when it’s been used continuously.
Determinations of length, unless performed with extraordinary care, are open to much error in the junction of the measuring bars. Even in measuring the base line of a trigonometrical survey, the accuracy generally attained is only that of about one part in 60,000, or an inch in the mile; but it is said that in four measurements of a base line carried out very recently at Cape Comorin, the greatest error was 0·077 inch in 1·68 mile, or one part in 1,382,400, an almost incredible degree of accuracy. Sir J. Whitworth has shown that touch is even a more delicate mode of measuring lengths than sight, and by means of a splendidly executed screw, and a small cube of iron placed between two flat-ended iron bars, so as to be suspended when touching them, he can detect a change of dimension in a bar, amounting to no more than one-millionth of an inch.207
Determining lengths, unless done with exceptional care, is prone to significant errors where the measuring bars connect. Even when measuring the base line of a triangulation survey, the typical accuracy achieved is about one part in 60,000, or an inch per mile. However, it is reported that in four very recent measurements of a base line at Cape Comorin, the greatest error was just 0.077 inches over 1.68 miles, equating to one part in 1,382,400, which is an astonishing level of precision. Sir J. Whitworth demonstrated that touch is an even more sensitive method for measuring lengths than sight. Using a finely crafted screw and a small cube of iron positioned between two flat-ended iron bars, allowing it to hang when touching them, he can detect a change in dimension of a bar as small as one-millionth of an inch.207
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CHAPTER XIV.
Units and standards of measurement.
As we have seen, instruments of measurement are only means of comparison between one magnitude and another, and as a general rule we must assume some one arbitrary magnitude, in terms of which all results of measurement are to be expressed. Mere ratios between any series of objects will never tell us their absolute magnitudes; we must have at least one ratio for each, and we must have one absolute magnitude. The number of ratios n are expressible in n equations, which will contain at least n + 1 quantities, so that if we employ them to make known n magnitudes, we must have one magnitude known. Hence, whether we are measuring time, space, density, mass, weight, energy, or any other physical quantity, we must refer to some concrete standard, some actual object, which if once lost and irrecoverable, all our measures lose their absolute meaning. This concrete standard is in all cases arbitrary in point of theory, and its selection a question of practical convenience.
As we've discussed, measurement tools are just ways to compare one measurement to another. Generally, we have to assume one specific measurement that we use as a reference for all our results. Simply comparing different objects won't give us their actual sizes; we need at least one comparison for each object and one absolute measurement. The number of comparisons n can be represented by n equations, which will include at least n + 1 values. So, if we want to determine n sizes, we have to know one of those sizes in advance. Therefore, whether we're measuring time, distance, density, mass, weight, energy, or any other physical quantity, we need to relate it to a specific standard, a real object. If that object is ever lost and can't be recovered, all our measurements lose their clear meaning. This specific standard is theoretically arbitrary in all cases, and choosing it is a matter of practical convenience.
There are two kinds of magnitude, indeed, which do not need to be expressed in terms of arbitrary concrete units, since they pre-suppose the existence of natural standard units. One case is that of abstract number itself, which needs no special unit, because any object which exists or is thought of as separate from other objects (p. 157) furnishes us with a unit, and is the only standard required.
There are actually two types of magnitude that don’t need to be expressed in arbitrary concrete units because they assume the existence of natural standard units. One example is abstract numbers themselves, which don’t require a specific unit since any object that exists or is thought of as separate from other objects (p. 157) provides us with a unit and is the only standard needed.
Angular magnitude is the second case in which we have a natural unit of reference, namely the whole306 revolution or perigon, as it has been called by Mr. Sandeman.208 It is a necessary result of the uniform properties of space, that all complete revolutions are equal to each other, so that we need not select any one revolution, but can always refer anew to space itself. Whether we take the whole perigon, its half, or its quarter, is really immaterial; Euclid took the right angle, because the Greek geometers had never generalised their notions of angular magnitude sufficiently to treat angles of all magnitudes, or of unlimited quantity of revolution. Euclid defines a right angle as half that made by a line with its own continuation, which is of course equal to half a revolution, but which was not treated as an angle by him. In mathematical analysis a different fraction of the perigon is taken, namely, such a fraction that the arc or portion of the circumference included within it is equal to the radius of the circle. In this point of view angular magnitude is an abstract ratio, namely, the ratio between the length of arc subtended and the length of the radius. The geometrical unit is then necessarily the angle corresponding to the ratio unity. This angle is equal to about 57°, 17′, 44″·8, or decimally 57°·295779513... .209 It was called by De Morgan the arcual unit, but a more convenient name for common use would be radian, as suggested by Professor Everett. Though this standard angle is naturally employed in mathematical analysis, and any other unit would introduce great complexity, we must not look upon it as a distinct unit, since its amount is connected with that of the half perigon, by the natural constant 3·14159... usually denoted by the letter π.
Angular magnitude is the second case where we have a natural reference unit, namely a full revolution or perigon, as Mr. Sandeman called it. It’s a fundamental aspect of the uniform properties of space that all complete revolutions are equal, so we don’t need to pick any specific one; we can always refer back to space itself. Whether we take the whole perigon, its half, or its quarter is really irrelevant; Euclid chose the right angle because the Greek geometers never generalized their ideas of angular magnitude enough to deal with angles of all sizes or unlimited quantity of revolution. Euclid defines a right angle as half the angle made by a line and its extension, which is equal to half a revolution, but he didn’t treat it as an angle. In mathematical analysis, a different fraction of the perigon is used, specifically one where the arc or section of the circumference it covers is equal to the radius of the circle. From this perspective, angular magnitude is an abstract ratio, namely the ratio between the length of the arc subtended and the length of the radius. The geometric unit is then necessarily the angle that corresponds to the ratio of one. This angle is about 57°, 17′, 44″·8, or in decimal form, 57°·295779513... It was called the arcual unit by De Morgan, but a more practical name for everyday use would be radian, as suggested by Professor Everett. While this standard angle is naturally used in mathematical analysis, and any different unit would complicate things greatly, we should not think of it as a separate unit, since its value is connected to that of the half perigon through the natural constant 3·14159..., usually represented by the letter π.
When we pass to other species of quantity, the choice of unit is found to be entirely arbitrary. There is absolutely no mode of defining a length, but by selecting some physical object exhibiting that length between certain obvious points—as, for instance, the extremities of a bar, or marks made upon its surface.
When we move on to different types of quantities, the choice of unit seems completely arbitrary. There’s really no way to define a length except by picking some physical object that shows that length between two clear points—like the ends of a bar or marks made on its surface.
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Standard Unit of Time.
Time is the great independent variable of all change—that which itself flows on uninterruptedly, and brings the variety which we call motion and life. When we reflect upon its intimate nature, Time, like every other element of existence, proves to be an inscrutable mystery. We can only say with St. Augustin, to one who asks us what is time, “I know when you do not ask me.” The mind of man will ask what can never be answered, but one result of a true and rigorous logical philosophy must be to convince us that scientific explanation can only take place between phenomena which have something in common, and that when we get down to primary notions, like those of time and space, the mind must meet a point of mystery beyond which it cannot penetrate. A definition of time must not be looked for; if we say with Hobbes,210 that it is “the phantasm of before and after in motion,” or with Aristotle that it is “the number of motion according to former and latter,” we obviously gain nothing, because the notion of time is involved in the expressions before and after, former and latter. Time is undoubtedly one of those primary notions which can only be defined physically, or by observation of phenomena which proceed in time.
Time is the major independent factor of all change—it's what flows continuously and brings about the variety we refer to as motion and life. When we think about its true nature, Time, like everything else in existence, turns out to be an unfathomable mystery. We can only echo St. Augustine's response to someone who asks what time is: "I know when you’re not asking me." The human mind will seek answers that can never be provided, but one result of a genuine and strict logical philosophy is that it should convince us that scientific explanations can only occur between phenomena that share something in common. When we delve into fundamental concepts like time and space, the mind encounters a point of mystery that it simply cannot go beyond. We shouldn't try to define time; if we say, as Hobbes does, that it is “the illusion of before and after in motion,” or, as Aristotle states, that it is “the count of motion based on earlier and later,” we clearly gain nothing, since the concept of time is wrapped up in the terms before and after, earlier and later. Time is definitely one of those fundamental concepts that can only be defined physically or through observing phenomena that occur within time.
If we have not advanced a step beyond Augustin’s acute reflections on this subject,211 it is curious to observe the wonderful advances which have been made in the practical measurement of its efflux. In earlier centuries the rude sun-dial or the rising of a conspicuous star gave points of reference, while the flow of water from the clepsydra, the burning of a candle, or, in the monastic ages, even the continuous chanting of psalms, were the means of roughly subdividing periods, and marking the hours of the day and night.212 The sun and stars still furnish the standard of time, but means of accurate subdivision have become requisite, and this has been furnished by the pendulum308 and the chronograph. By the pendulum we can accurately divide the day into seconds of time. By the chronograph we can subdivide the second into a hundred, a thousand, or even a million parts. Wheatstone measured the duration of an electric spark, and found it to be no more than one 115,200th part of a second, while more recently Captain Noble has been able to appreciate intervals of time not exceeding the millionth part of a second.
If we haven't progressed beyond Augustine's insightful thoughts on this topic,211 it's interesting to note the amazing strides made in practically measuring its passage. In earlier centuries, simple sun dials or the appearance of a prominent star served as reference points, while the flow of water from a water clock, the burning of a candle, or even the constant chanting of psalms during monastic times provided rough ways to divide time and mark the hours of day and night.212 The sun and stars still serve as our timekeeping standards, but accurate subdivisions have become essential, and this has been accomplished with the pendulum308 and the chronograph. With the pendulum, we can precisely divide the day into seconds. With the chronograph, we can break a second down into a hundred, a thousand, or even a million parts. Wheatstone measured the duration of an electric spark and found it to be just one 115,200th of a second, while more recently, Captain Noble has been able to measure time intervals down to the millionth of a second.
When we come to inquire precisely what phenomenon it is that we thus so minutely measure, we meet insurmountable difficulties. Newton distinguished time according as it was absolute or apparent time, in the following words:—“Absolute, true, and mathematical time, of itself and from its own nature, flows equably without regard to anything external, and by another name is called duration; relative, apparent and common time, is some sensible and external measure of duration by the means of motion.”213 Though we are perhaps obliged to assume the existence of a uniformly increasing quantity which we call time, yet we cannot feel or know abstract and absolute time. Duration must be made manifest to us by the recurrence of some phenomenon. The succession of our own thoughts is no doubt the first and simplest measure of time, but a very rude one, because in some persons and circumstances the thoughts evidently flow with much greater rapidity than in other persons and circumstances. In the absence of all other phenomena, the interval between one thought and another would necessarily become the unit of time, but the most cursory observations show that there are changes in the outward world much better fitted by their constancy to measure time than the change of thoughts within us.
When we try to find out exactly what phenomenon we are measuring so closely, we encounter significant challenges. Newton distinguished between absolute and apparent time, saying: “Absolute, true, and mathematical time flows steadily on its own, without any relation to external factors, and is also known as duration; relative, apparent, and common time is some external measurement of duration based on motion.”213 While we might have to accept that a consistently increasing quantity we call time exists, we cannot truly feel or know abstract and absolute time. Duration must reveal itself to us through the repetition of some phenomenon. The flow of our own thoughts is certainly the first and simplest way to measure time, but it's quite a rough measure because, for some people and in various situations, thoughts clearly occur much more quickly than in others. If no other phenomena exist, the gap between one thought and the next would have to serve as the unit of time; however, even a brief observation shows that changes in the external world are much better suited to measure time due to their consistency compared to the changes happening within our thoughts.
The earth, as I have already said, is the real clock of the astronomer, and is practically assumed as invariable in its movements. But on what ground is it so assumed? According to the first law of motion, every body perseveres in its state of rest or of uniform motion in a right line, unless it is compelled to change that state by forces impressed thereon. Rotatory motion is subject to a like309 condition, namely, that it perseveres uniformly unless disturbed by extrinsic forces. Now uniform motion means motion through equal spaces in equal times, so that if we have a body entirely free from all resistance or perturbation, and can measure equal spaces of its path, we have a perfect measure of time. But let it be remembered that this law has never been absolutely proved by experience; for we cannot point to any body, and say that it is wholly unresisted or undisturbed; and even if we had such a body, we should need some independent standard of time to ascertain whether its motion was really uniform. As it is in moving bodies that we find the best standard of time, we cannot use them to prove the uniformity of their own movements, which would amount to a petitio principii. Our experience comes to this, that when we examine and compare the movements of bodies which seem to us nearly free from disturbance, we find them giving nearly harmonious measures of time. If any one body which seems to us to move uniformly is not doing so, but is subject to fits and starts unknown to us, because we have no absolute standard of time, then all other bodies must be subject to the same arbitrary fits and starts, otherwise there would be discrepancy disclosing the irregularities. Just as in comparing together a number of chronometers, we should soon detect bad ones by their going irregularly, as compared with the others, so in nature we detect disturbed movement by its discrepancy from that of other bodies which we believe to be undisturbed, and which agree nearly among themselves. But inasmuch as the measure of motion involves time, and the measure of time involves motion, there must be ultimately an assumption. We may define equal times, as times during which a moving body under the influence of no force describes equal spaces;214 but all we can say in support of this definition is, that it leads us into no known difficulties, and that to the best of our experience one freely moving body gives the same results as any other.
The Earth, as I've already mentioned, is the real clock of the astronomer and is assumed to be constant in its movements. But why is this assumption made? According to the first law of motion, every object stays in its state of rest or moves at a constant speed in a straight line unless it's forced to change that state by outside forces. Rotational motion is subject to the same rule: it continues uniformly unless disrupted by external influences. Uniform motion means moving through equal distances in equal amounts of time, so if we have an object completely free from any resistance or disturbance, and can measure equal distances of its path, we would have a perfect measure of time. However, it should be noted that this law has never been absolutely proven by experience; we can't point to any object and say it is completely unresisted or undisturbed. Even if such an object existed, we would need a separate standard of time to determine if its motion was truly uniform. Since we find the best standard of time in moving objects, we can't use them to prove the uniformity of their own movements, which would be a circular argument. Our experience shows that when we examine and compare the movements of bodies that appear nearly free from disturbance, we find them providing almost consistent measures of time. If any one object that seems to move uniformly isn’t actually doing so but is experiencing fits and starts that are unknown to us—since we lack an absolute standard of time—then all other objects must experience the same unpredictable fits and starts; otherwise, we would observe discrepancies that reveal irregularities. Just as comparing multiple chronometers allows us to quickly identify faulty ones by their irregular timing compared to the others, in nature, we spot disturbed movements by their differences from other bodies that we believe to be undisturbed and that mostly agree with each other. However, since measuring motion involves time and measuring time involves motion, we ultimately have to make an assumption. We may define equal times as the periods during which a moving object, influenced by no force, covers equal distances; but all we can say to support this definition is that it leads us into no known problems and that, as far as we can tell, one freely moving object gives us results similar to any other.
When we inquire where the freely moving body is, no perfectly satisfactory answer can be given. Practically the rotating globe is sufficiently accurate, and Thomson310 and Tait say: “Equal times are times during which the earth turns through equal angles.”215 No long time has passed since astronomers thought it impossible to detect any inequality in its movement. Poisson was supposed to have proved that a change in the length of the sidereal day amounting to one ten-millionth part in 2,500 years was incompatible with an ancient eclipse recorded by the Chaldæans, and similar calculations were made by Laplace. But it is now known that these calculations were somewhat in error, and that the dissipation of energy arising out of the friction of tidal waves, and the radiation of the heat into space, has slightly decreased the rapidity of the earth’s rotatory motion. The sidereal day is now longer by one part in 2,700,000, than it was in 720 B.C. Even before this discovery, it was known that invariability of rotation depended upon the perfect maintenance of the earth’s internal heat, which is requisite in order that the earth’s dimensions shall be unaltered. Now the earth being superior in temperature to empty space, must cool more or less rapidly, so that it cannot furnish an absolute measure of time. Similar objections could be raised to all other rotating bodies within our cognisance.
When we ask where the freely moving body is, no perfectly satisfactory answer can be given. Practically, the rotating globe is accurate enough, and Thomson and Tait state: “Equal times are times during which the earth turns through equal angles.”215 Not long ago, astronomers thought it was impossible to detect any inconsistencies in its movement. Poisson was believed to have proven that a change in the length of the sidereal day amounting to one ten-millionth in 2,500 years was incompatible with an ancient eclipse recorded by the Chaldæans, and similar calculations were made by Laplace. However, it is now understood that these calculations had some errors, and that the energy loss from tidal wave friction and radiation of heat into space has slightly reduced the speed of the earth’s rotation. The sidereal day is now longer by one part in 2,700,000 than it was in 720 B.C. Even before this discovery, it was known that the constancy of rotation depended on the perfect maintenance of the earth’s internal heat, which is necessary to keep the earth's dimensions unchanged. Now, since the earth is warmer than empty space, it must cool at some rate, meaning it cannot provide an absolute measure of time. Similar issues could be raised about all other rotating bodies within our knowledge.
The moon’s motion round the earth, and the earth’s motion round the sun, form the next best measure of time. They are subject, indeed, to disturbance from other planets, but it is believed that these perturbations must in the course of time run through their rhythmical courses, leaving the mean distances unaffected, and consequently, by the third Law of Kepler, the periodic times unchanged. But there is more reason than not to believe that the earth encounters a slight resistance in passing through space, like that which is so apparent in Encke’s comet. There may also be dissipation of energy in the electrical relations of the earth to the sun, possibly identical with that which is manifested in the retardation of comets.216 It is probably an untrue assumption then, that the earth’s orbit remains quite invariable. It is just possible that some other body may be found in the course of time to furnish a better311 standard of time than the earth in its annual motion. The greatly superior mass of Jupiter and its satellites, and their greater distance from the sun, may render the electrical dissipation of energy less considerable than in the case of the earth. But the choice of the best measure will always be an open one, and whatever moving body we choose may ultimately be shown to be subject to disturbing forces.
The moon's orbit around the earth and the earth's orbit around the sun are the next best ways to measure time. They can be affected by other planets, but it's thought that these disruptions will eventually follow their regular patterns, leaving the average distances unchanged, and therefore, based on Kepler’s third law, the periodic times will also remain the same. However, there’s good reason to think that the earth experiences a slight resistance while moving through space, similar to what is seen in Encke’s comet. There might also be energy loss in the electrical connections between the earth and the sun, which could be related to the delays observed in comets.216 It's likely an inaccurate assumption that the earth's orbit remains completely constant. It's possible that, in the future, another body might be found that provides a better standard for time than the earth’s yearly motion. The significantly larger mass of Jupiter and its moons, along with their greater distance from the sun, may mean that their electrical energy loss is less significant than that of the earth. But the decision on the best measure of time will always be open to discussion, and whichever celestial body we choose may ultimately be revealed to be influenced by disturbing forces.
The pendulum, although so admirable an instrument for subdivision of time, fails as a standard; for though the same pendulum affected by the same force of gravity performs equal vibrations in equal times, yet the slightest change in the form or weight of the pendulum, the least corrosion of any part, or the most minute displacement of the point of suspension, falsifies the results, and there enter many other difficult questions of temperature, friction, resistance, length of vibration, &c.
The pendulum, while an impressive tool for measuring time, isn't a reliable standard. Even though the same pendulum, influenced by the same gravitational force, makes equal swings in equal intervals, any small change in its shape or weight, any corrosion on any part, or even the tiniest shift in the suspension point can distort the results. Additionally, there are many other complex issues to consider, like temperature, friction, resistance, and the length of the swing, etc.
Thomson and Tait are of opinion217 that the ultimate standard of chronometry must be founded on the physical properties of some body of more constant character than the earth; for instance, a carefully arranged metallic spring, hermetically sealed in an exhausted glass vessel. But it is hard to see how we can be sure that the dimensions and elasticity of a piece of wrought metal will remain perfectly unchanged for the few millions of years contemplated by them. A nearly perfect gas, like hydrogen, is perhaps the only kind of substance in the unchanged elasticity of which we could have confidence. Moreover, it is difficult to perceive how the undulations of such a spring could be observed with the requisite accuracy. More recently Professor Clerk Maxwell has made the novel suggestion, discussed in a subsequent section, that undulations of light in vacuo would form the most universal standard of reference, both as regards time and space. According to this system the unit of time would be the time occupied by one vibration of the particular kind of light whose wave length is taken as the unit of length.
Thomson and Tait believe that the ultimate standard for measuring time should be based on the physical properties of a substance that is more consistent than the Earth; for example, a carefully calibrated metal spring sealed in a vacuum glass container. However, it's hard to be certain that the size and elasticity of a piece of metal will remain completely unchanged over the millions of years they consider. A nearly perfect gas like hydrogen might be the only substance we can trust to maintain its elasticity. Additionally, it's challenging to see how we could accurately observe the vibrations of such a spring. Recently, Professor Clerk Maxwell proposed a new idea, discussed in a later section, that the vibrations of light in a vacuum could serve as the most universal standard for both time and space. In this system, the unit of time would be defined as the duration of one vibration of a specific type of light whose wavelength is used as the unit of length.
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The Unit of Space and the Bar Standard.
Next in importance after the measurement of time is that of space. Time comes first in theory, because phenomena, our internal thoughts for instance, may change in time without regard to space. As to the phenomena of outward nature, they tend more and more to resolve themselves into motions of molecules, and motion cannot be conceived or measured without reference both to time and space.
Next in importance after measuring time is measuring space. Time is considered first in theory because phenomena, like our internal thoughts, can change over time without any consideration of space. However, when it comes to the phenomena of the external world, they increasingly break down into the motion of molecules, and motion can't be understood or measured without considering both time and space.
Turning now to space measurement, we find it almost equally difficult to fix and define once and for ever, a unit magnitude. There are three different modes in which it has been proposed to attempt the perpetuation of a standard length.
Turning now to space measurement, we find it almost as difficult to establish and define a unit of measurement once and for all. There are three different approaches that have been suggested to try to maintain a standard length.
(1) By constructing an actual specimen of the standard yard or metre, in the form of a bar.
(1) By creating a physical example of the standard yard or meter, in the shape of a bar.
(2) By assuming the globe itself to be the ultimate standard of magnitude, the practical unit being a submultiple of some dimension of the globe.
(2) By considering the globe itself as the ultimate standard of size, the practical unit being a smaller version of some measurement of the globe.
(3) By adopting the length of the simple seconds pendulum, as a standard of reference.
(3) By using the length of the simple seconds pendulum as a standard reference.
At first sight it might seem that there was no great difficulty in this matter, and that any one of these methods might serve well enough; but the more minutely we inquire into the details, the more hopeless appears to be the attempt to establish an invariable standard. We must in the first place point out a principle not of an obvious character, namely, that the standard length must be defined by one single object.218 To make two bars of exactly the same length, or even two bars bearing a perfectly defined ratio to each other, is beyond the power of human art. If two copies of the standard metre be made and declared equally correct, future investigators will certainly discover some discrepancy between them, proving of course that they cannot both be the standard, and giving cause for dispute as to what magnitude should then be taken as correct.
At first glance, it might seem like there’s not much difficulty in this issue, and that any of these methods could be good enough; however, the more we dive into the details, the more it becomes clear that trying to establish a consistent standard is quite hopeless. We should first point out a principle that isn’t immediately obvious, which is that the standard length must be defined by one single object.218 Creating two bars that are exactly the same length, or even two bars that have a perfectly defined ratio to each other, is beyond the capabilities of human craftsmanship. If two copies of the standard meter are made and both declared equally correct, future researchers will undoubtedly find some differences between them, which will prove that they can't both be the standard, leading to disputes about which measurement should be considered correct.
If one invariable bar could be constructed and maintained as the absolute standard, no such inconvenience could arise. Each successive generation as it acquired313 higher powers of measurement, would detect errors in the copies of the standard, but the standard itself would be unimpeached, and would, as it were, become by degrees more and more accurately known. Unfortunately to construct and preserve a metre or yard is also a task which is either impossible, or what comes nearly to the same thing, cannot be shown to be possible. Passing over the practical difficulty of defining the ends of the standard length with complete accuracy, whether by dots or lines on the surface, or by the terminal points of the bar, we have no means of proving that substances remain of invariable dimensions. Just as we cannot tell whether the rotation of the earth is uniform, except by comparing it with other moving bodies, believed to be more uniform in motion, so we cannot detect the change of length in a bar, except by comparing it with some other bar supposed to be invariable. But how are we to know which is the invariable bar? It is certain that many rigid and apparently invariable substances do change in dimensions. The bulb of a thermometer certainly contracts by age, besides undergoing rapid changes of dimensions when warmed or cooled through 100° Cent. Can we be sure that even the most solid metallic bars do not slightly contract by age, or undergo variations in their structure by change of temperature. Fizeau was induced to try whether a quartz crystal, subjected to several hundred alternations of temperature, would be modified in its physical properties, and he was unable to detect any change in the coefficient of expansion.219 It does not follow, however, that, because no apparent change was discovered in a quartz crystal, newly-constructed bars of metal would undergo no change.
If we could create and maintain an unchanging standard bar, there wouldn't be any problems. Every new generation, as it got better at measuring, would notice errors in the copies of that standard, but the standard itself would remain intact and would gradually become more precisely understood. Unfortunately, making and preserving a meter or a yard is either impossible or very close to being impossible, as we can't prove it's possible. Setting aside the practical challenge of accurately defining the ends of the standard length with complete precision—whether by marks or lines on the surface, or the endpoints of the bar—we have no way to confirm that materials maintain constant dimensions. Just as we can't determine if the Earth's rotation is consistent without comparing it to other objects thought to be more uniform in motion, we can't identify changes in a bar's length unless we compare it to another bar believed to be unchanging. But how can we know which bar is truly unchanging? It's clear that many solid and seemingly constant materials do alter in size. The bulb of a thermometer definitely shrinks over time and expands or contracts rapidly when heated or cooled by 100° Celsius. Can we even be sure that the sturdiest metal bars don't slightly shrink over time or change in structure due to temperature fluctuations? Fizeau was prompted to investigate whether a quartz crystal, after undergoing several hundred temperature changes, would alter in its physical properties, and he found no detectable change in its coefficient of expansion. However, just because no noticeable change was found in a quartz crystal, it doesn't mean that newly made metal bars wouldn't experience any changes.
The best principle, as it seems to me, upon which the perpetuation of a standard of length can be rested, is that, if a variation of length occurs, it will in all probability be of different amount in different substances. If then a great number of standard metres were constructed of all kinds of different metals and alloys; hard rocks, such as granite, serpentine, slate, quartz, limestone; artificial substances, such as porcelain, glass, &c., &c., careful314 comparison would show from time to time the comparative variations of length of these different substances. The most variable substances would be the most divergent, and the standard would be furnished by the mean length of those which agreed most closely with each other just as uniform motion is that of those bodies which agree most closely in indicating the efflux of time.
The best principle for maintaining a standard length, as I see it, is that if there is a change in length, it will likely vary differently across different materials. So, if we created many standard meters using various metals and alloys; hard stones like granite, serpentine, slate, quartz, and limestone; and synthetic materials like porcelain, glass, etc., careful comparisons would occasionally reveal how these different substances vary in length. The materials that change the most would show the greatest differences, and the standard would be based on the average length of those that are most similar to each other, just as uniform motion is determined by the bodies that register time most consistently.
The Terrestrial Standard.
The second method assumes that the globe itself is a body of invariable dimensions and the founders of the metrical system selected the ten-millionth part of the distance from the equator to the pole as the definition of the metre. The first imperfection in such a method is that the earth is certainly not invariable in size; for we know that it is superior in temperature to surrounding space, and must be slowly cooling and contracting. There is much reason to believe that all earthquakes, volcanoes, mountain elevations, and changes of sea level are evidences of this contraction as asserted by Mr. Mallet.220 But such is the vast bulk of the earth and the duration of its past existence, that this contraction is perhaps less rapid in proportion than that of any bar or other material standard which we can construct.
The second method assumes that the Earth itself has constant dimensions and that the founders of the metric system defined the meter as one ten-millionth of the distance from the equator to the pole. The first flaw in this method is that the Earth is definitely not constant in size; we know it is warmer than the surrounding space and must be slowly cooling and shrinking. There is a lot of evidence to suggest that all earthquakes, volcanoes, mountain formations, and changes in sea level are signs of this contraction, as pointed out by Mr. Mallet.220 However, given the immense size of the Earth and the length of its existence, this contraction is likely slower compared to any bar or other material standard we can create.
The second and chief difficulty of this method arises from the vast size of the earth, which prevents us from making any comparison with the ultimate standard, except by a trigonometrical survey of a most elaborate and costly kind. The French physicists, who first proposed the method, attempted to obviate this inconvenience by carrying out the survey once for all, and then constructing a standard metre, which should be exactly the one ten millionth part of the distance from the pole to the equator. But since all measuring operations are merely approximate, it was impossible that this operation could be perfectly achieved. Accordingly, it was shown in 1838 that the supposed French metre was erroneous to the considerable extent of one part in 5527. It then became necessary either to alter the length of the assumed metre,315 or to abandon its supposed relation to the earth’s dimensions. The French Government and the International Metrical Commission have for obvious reasons decided in favour of the latter course, and have thus reverted to the first method of defining the metre by a given bar. As from time to time the ratio between this assumed standard metre and the quadrant of the earth becomes more accurately known, we have better means of restoring that metre by reference to the globe if required. But until lost, destroyed, or for some clear reason discredited, the bar metre and not the globe is the standard. Thomson and Tait remark that any of the more accurate measurements of the English trigonometrical survey might in like manner be employed to restore our standard yard, in terms of which the results are recorded.
The second main issue with this method comes from the large size of the Earth, which makes it difficult to compare anything to the ultimate standard without a very elaborate and expensive trigonometric survey. The French scientists who first suggested this method tried to get around this problem by conducting the survey once and for all, then creating a standard meter that would be exactly one ten-millionth of the distance from the pole to the equator. However, since all measuring is just an approximation, it was impossible to get this process completely right. As a result, in 1838, it was shown that the so-called French meter was off by a significant amount—about one part in 5527. Therefore, it became necessary to either change the length of the assumed meter or give up its supposed relationship to the Earth's dimensions. For obvious reasons, the French government and the International Metrical Commission chose to abandon that relationship, going back to the original method of defining the meter by a specific bar. As the ratio between this assumed standard meter and the Earth's quadrant becomes more accurately known over time, we have better ways of restoring that meter by referring to the globe if needed. However, unless the meter is lost, destroyed, or discredited for a clear reason, the standard remains the bar meter, not the globe. Thomson and Tait note that any of the more accurate measurements from the English trigonometrical survey could be used similarly to restore our standard yard, which is the basis on which results are recorded.
The Pendulum Standard.
The third method of defining a standard length, by reference to the seconds pendulum, was first proposed by Huyghens, and was at one time adopted by the English Government. From the principle of the pendulum (p. 302) it clearly appears that if the time of oscillation and the force actuating the pendulum be the same, the length of the pendulum must be the same. We do not get rid of theoretical difficulties, for we must assume the attraction of gravity at some point of the earth’s surface, say London, to be unchanged from time to time, and the sidereal day to be invariable, neither assumption being absolutely correct so far as we can judge. The pendulum, in short, is only an indirect means of making one physical quantity of space depend upon two other physical quantities of time and force.
The third way to define a standard length, based on the seconds pendulum, was first suggested by Huyghens and was once used by the English Government. From the principle of the pendulum (p. 302), it’s clear that if the time of oscillation and the force acting on the pendulum are the same, the length of the pendulum must also be the same. We still face theoretical challenges, as we need to assume that the force of gravity at some point on the Earth's surface, like London, remains constant over time, and that the length of a sidereal day does not change—neither assumption is entirely accurate as far as we can tell. The pendulum, in essence, is just an indirect way of linking one physical measurement of space to two other physical measurements of time and force.
The practical difficulties are, however, of a far more serious character than the theoretical ones. The length of a pendulum is not the ordinary length of the instrument, which might be greatly varied without affecting the duration of a vibration, but the distance from the centre of suspension to the centre of oscillation. There are no direct means of determining this latter centre, which depends upon the average momentum of all the particles316 of the pendulum as regards the centre of suspension. Huyghens discovered that the centres of suspension and oscillation are interchangeable, and Kater pointed out that if a pendulum vibrates with exactly the same rapidity when suspended from two different points, the distance between these points is the true length of the equivalent simple pendulum.221 But the practical difficulties in employing Kater’s reversible pendulum are considerable, and questions regarding the disturbance of the air, the force of gravity, or even the interference of electrical attractions have to be entertained. It has been shown that all the experiments made under the authority of Government for determining the ratio between the standard yard and the seconds pendulum, were vitiated by an error in the corrections for the resisting, adherent, or buoyant power of the air in which the pendulums were swung. Even if such corrections were rendered unnecessary by operating in a vacuum, other difficult questions remain.222 Gauss’ mode of comparing the vibrations of a wire pendulum when suspended at two different lengths is open to equal or greater practical difficulties. Thus it is found that the pendulum standard cannot compete in accuracy and certainty with the simple bar standard, and the method would only be useful as an accessory mode of restoring the bar standard if at any time again destroyed.
The practical difficulties are, however, much more serious than the theoretical ones. The length of a pendulum isn’t just the usual length of the device, which could change a lot without affecting how long it vibrates, but rather the distance from the suspension point to the oscillation point. There’s no straightforward way to find this latter point, as it relies on the average momentum of all the particles of the pendulum in relation to the suspension center. Huyghens discovered that the suspension and oscillation centers can be swapped, and Kater pointed out that if a pendulum swings with exactly the same speed from two different points, the distance between those points is the true length of the equivalent simple pendulum. But the practical challenges of using Kater’s reversible pendulum are significant, and issues like air disturbance, gravitational force, and even electrical interference need to be considered. It has been shown that all the experiments conducted under government authority to determine the ratio between the standard yard and the seconds pendulum were flawed due to errors in the corrections for the resistance, adhesion, or buoyancy of the air in which the pendulums were swung. Even if such corrections weren’t needed by operating in a vacuum, other tough questions still arise. Gauss’ method of comparing the vibrations of a wire pendulum when hung at two different lengths faces similar or even greater practical challenges. Thus, it turns out that the pendulum standard cannot match the accuracy and reliability of the simple bar standard, and this method would only be useful as an additional way to restore the bar standard if it were ever destroyed again.
Unit of Density.
Before we can measure the phenomena of nature, we require a third independent unit, which shall enable us to define the quantity of matter occupying any given space. All the changes of nature, as we shall see, are probably so many manifestations of energy; but energy requires some substratum or material machinery of molecules, in and by which it may be manifested. Observation shows that, as regards force, there may be two modes of variation of matter. As Newton says in the first definition of the Principia, “the quantity of matter is the measure of the same, arising from its density and bulk conjunctly.”317 Thus the force required to set a body in motion varies both according to the bulk of the matter, and also according to its quality. Two cubic inches of iron of uniform quality, will require twice as much force as one cubic inch to produce a certain velocity in a given time; but one cubic inch of gold will require more force than one cubic inch of iron. There is then some new measurable quality in matter apart from its bulk, which we may call density, and which is, strictly speaking, indicated by its capacity to resist and absorb the action of force. For the unit of density we may assume that of any substance which is uniform in quality, and can readily be referred to from time to time. Pure water at any definite temperature, for instance that of snow melting under inappreciable pressure, furnishes an invariable standard of density, and by comparing equal bulks of various substances with a like bulk of ice-cold water, as regards the velocity produced in a unit of time by the same force, we should ascertain the densities of those substances as expressed in that of water. Practically the force of gravity is used to measure density; for a beautiful experiment with the pendulum, performed by Newton and repeated by Gauss, shows that all kinds of matter gravitate equally. Two portions of matter then which are in equilibrium in the balance, may be assumed to possess equal inertia, and their densities will therefore be inversely as their cubic dimensions.
Before we can measure natural phenomena, we need a third independent unit that allows us to define the amount of matter in a certain space. All the changes we observe in nature are likely manifestations of energy; however, energy requires some underlying material framework of molecules through which it can be expressed. Observations indicate there are two ways matter can vary in terms of force. As Newton stated in the first definition of the Principia, “the quantity of matter is the measure of the same, arising from its density and bulk conjunctly.”317 Therefore, the force needed to move an object depends on both the size of the matter and its quality. Two cubic inches of iron with uniform quality will need twice as much force as one cubic inch to achieve the same speed within a specific time; however, one cubic inch of gold will need more force than one cubic inch of iron. This implies there is a new measurable quality in matter besides its size, which we can refer to as density, and this density is specifically shown by its ability to resist and absorb force. We can take any uniform substance as a unit of density, which can easily be referenced over time. For example, pure water at a certain temperature, such as that of snow melting under minimal pressure, provides a consistent standard of density. By comparing equal volumes of different substances to the same volume of ice-cold water regarding the speed produced in a set time by the same force, we can determine the densities of those substances relative to water. In practice, gravity is used to measure density; a well-known experiment with the pendulum, conducted by Newton and repeated by Gauss, demonstrates that all types of matter experience the same gravitational pull. Thus, two samples of matter that are in balance can be assumed to have equal inertia, meaning their densities will be inversely related to their cubic sizes.
Unit of Mass.
Multiplying the number of units of density of a portion of matter, by the number of units of space occupied by it, we arrive at the quantity of matter, or, as it is usually called, the unit of mass, as indicated by the inertia and gravity it possesses. To proceed in the most simple manner, the unit of mass ought to be that of a cubic unit of matter of the standard density; but the founders of the metrical system took as their unit of mass, the cubic centimetre of water, at the temperature of maximum density (about 4° Cent.). They called this unit of mass the gramme, and constructed standard specimens of the kilogram, which might be readily referred to by all who required to employ accurate weights. Unfortunately the318 determination of the bulk of a given weight of water at a certain temperature is an operation involving many difficulties, and it cannot be performed in the present day with a greater exactness than that of about one part in 5000, the results of careful observers being sometimes found to differ as much as one part in 1000.223
By multiplying the density of a portion of matter by the volume it occupies, we find the amount of matter, which is commonly referred to as the unit of mass, as shown by its inertia and gravity. To keep things simple, the unit of mass should ideally be based on a cubic unit of matter with standard density; however, the creators of the metric system chose to define the unit of mass as the cubic centimeter of water at its maximum density (around 4°C). They called this unit of mass the gram, and established standard examples of the kilogram for anyone needing precise weights. Unfortunately, determining the volume of a specific weight of water at a given temperature is a task fraught with challenges, and it can't be done today with better accuracy than about one part in 5000, with careful measurements sometimes differing by as much as one part in 1000.223
Weights, on the other hand, can be compared with each other to at least one part in a million. Hence if different specimens of the kilogram be prepared by direct weighing against water, they will not agree closely with each other; the two principal standard kilograms agree neither with each other, nor with their definition. According to Professor Miller the so-called Kilogramme des Archives weighs 15432·34874 grains, while the kilogram deposited at the Ministry of the Interior in Paris, as the standard for commercial purposes, weighs 15432·344 grains. Since a standard weight constructed of platinum, or platinum and iridium, can be preserved free from any appreciable alteration, and since it can be very accurately compared with other weights, we shall ultimately attain the greatest exactness in our measurements of mass, by assuming some single kilogram as a provisional standard, leaving the determination of its actual mass in units of space and density for future investigation. This is what is practically done at the present day, and thus a unit of mass takes the place of the unit of density, both in the French and English systems. The English pound is defined by a certain lump of platinum, preserved at Westminster, and is an arbitrary mass, chosen merely that it may agree as nearly as possible with old English pounds. The gallon, the old English unit of cubic measurement, is defined by the condition that it shall contain exactly ten pounds weight of water at 62° Fahr.; and although it is stated that it has the capacity of about 277·274 cubic inches, this ratio between the cubic and linear systems of measurement is not legally enacted, but left open to investigation. While the French metric system as originally designed was theoretically perfect, it does not differ practically in this point from the English system.
Weights can be compared to each other with a precision of at least one part in a million. Therefore, if different samples of the kilogram are created by weighing directly against water, they won't match closely. The two main standard kilograms do not agree with each other or with their definition. According to Professor Miller, the so-called Kilogramme des Archives weighs 15,432.34874 grains, while the kilogram kept at the Ministry of the Interior in Paris, used as the standard for commercial purposes, weighs 15,432.344 grains. Since a standard weight made of platinum or a platinum-iridium alloy can be kept without significant change and can be very precisely compared to other weights, we will ultimately achieve the highest accuracy in our mass measurements by selecting a single kilogram as a provisional standard, with the actual mass in terms of space and density to be determined later. This is essentially what is being done today, and thus a unit of mass is replacing the unit of density in both the French and English systems. The English pound is defined by a specific piece of platinum stored at Westminster and is an arbitrary mass chosen to closely match old English pounds. The gallon, the former English unit of volume, is defined as the amount of water that weighs exactly ten pounds at 62° Fahrenheit; and while it is mentioned that it has a capacity of about 277.274 cubic inches, this relationship between cubic and linear measurement isn’t legally established and is left for further examination. Although the French metric system was originally designed to be theoretically perfect, it doesn't practically differ in this aspect from the English system.
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Natural System of Standards.
Quite recently Professor Clerk Maxwell has suggested that the vibrations of light and the atoms of matter might conceivably be employed as the ultimate standards of length, time, and mass. We should thus arrive at a natural system of standards, which, though possessing no present practical importance, has considerable theoretical interest. “In the present state of science,” he says, “the most universal standard of length which we could assume would be the wave-length in vacuum of a particular kind of light, emitted by some widely diffused substance such as sodium, which has well-defined lines in its spectrum. Such a standard would be independent of any changes in the dimensions of the earth, and should be adopted by those who expect their writings to be more permanent than that body.”224 In the same way we should get a universal standard unit of time, independent of all questions about the motion of material bodies, by taking as the unit the periodic time of vibration of that particular kind of light whose wave-length is the unit of length. It would follow that with these units of length and time the unit of velocity would coincide with the velocity of light in empty space. As regards the unit of mass, Professor Maxwell, humorously as I should think, remarks that if we expect soon to be able to determine the mass of a single molecule of some standard substance, we may wait for this determination before fixing a universal standard of mass.
Recently, Professor Clerk Maxwell suggested that the vibrations of light and the atoms in matter could potentially be used as the ultimate standards for length, time, and mass. This would lead to a natural system of standards, which, while not currently practical, is quite interesting theoretically. “In the current state of science,” he states, “the most universal standard of length we could assume would be the wave-length in a vacuum of a specific type of light emitted by a widely found substance like sodium, which has distinct lines in its spectrum. This standard would not depend on any changes in the Earth's dimensions and should be adopted by those who want their work to last longer than that.”224 Similarly, we could establish a universal standard unit of time, independent of any issues related to the motion of physical bodies, by using the periodic time of vibration of that specific type of light as the unit of length. Consequently, with these units of length and time, the unit of velocity would align with the speed of light in a vacuum. Regarding the unit of mass, Professor Maxwell humorously remarks that if we expect to soon determine the mass of a single molecule of a standard substance, we might as well wait for that before establishing a universal standard of mass.
In a theoretical point of view there can be no reasonable doubt that vibrations of light are, as far as we can tell, the most fixed in magnitude of all phenomena. There is as usual no certainty in the matter, for the properties of the basis of light may vary to some extent in different parts of space. But no differences could ever be established in the velocity of light in different parts of the solar system, and the spectra of the stars show that the times of vibration there do not differ perceptibly from those in this part of the universe. Thus all presumption is in favour of the absolute constancy of the vibrations of light—absolute, that is, so far as regards any means of investigation we are320 likely to possess. Nearly the same considerations apply to the atomic weight as the standard of mass. It is impossible to prove that all atoms of the same substance are of equal mass, and some physicists think that they differ, so that the fixity of combining proportions may be due only to the approximate constancy of the mean of countless millions of discrepant weights. But in any case the detection of difference is probably beyond our powers. In a theoretical point of view, then, the magnitudes suggested by Professor Maxwell seem to be the most fixed ones of which we have any knowledge, so that they necessarily become the natural units.
From a theoretical perspective, there’s no reasonable doubt that the vibrations of light are, as far as we can see, the most stable in magnitude of all phenomena. As usual, there’s no absolute certainty on this issue, since the properties of light might vary somewhat in different areas of space. However, no differences have been found in the speed of light in various parts of the solar system, and the spectra of stars indicate that their vibration times do not differ noticeably from those in our part of the universe. Therefore, all evidence suggests that the vibrations of light are absolutely constant—absolute in terms of any investigative methods we’re likely to have. Nearly the same arguments apply to atomic weight as a standard for mass. It's impossible to prove that all atoms of the same substance have equal mass, and some physicists believe they differ, meaning the consistency of combining proportions may only reflect the approximate average of countless millions of varying weights. In any case, detecting those differences is probably beyond our capabilities. Theoretically, then, the magnitudes proposed by Professor Maxwell appear to be the most stable that we know of, making them the natural units.
In a practical point of view, as Professor Maxwell would be the first to point out, they are of little or no value, because in the present state of science we cannot measure a vibration or weigh an atom with any approach to the accuracy which is attainable in the comparison of standard metres and kilograms. The velocity of light is not known probably within a thousandth part, and as we progress in the knowledge of light, so we shall progress in the accurate fixation of other standards. All that can be said then, is that it is very desirable to determine the wave-lengths and periods of the principal lines of the solar spectrum, and the absolute atomic weights of the elements, with all attainable accuracy, in terms of our existing standards. The numbers thus obtained would admit of the reproduction of our standards in some future age of the world to a corresponding degree of accuracy, were there need of such reference; but so far as we can see at present, there is no considerable probability that this mode of reproduction would ever be the best mode.
From a practical standpoint, as Professor Maxwell would be the first to highlight, they hold little to no value because, given the current state of science, we can’t measure a vibration or weigh an atom with any level of precision comparable to the standards of meters and kilograms. The speed of light isn't known to within even a thousandth of a unit, and as we advance our understanding of light, we will also improve our ability to accurately establish other standards. Therefore, it is very important to determine the wavelengths and periods of the main lines in the solar spectrum and the absolute atomic weights of the elements as accurately as possible using our current standards. The numbers we get would allow us to reproduce our standards in some future era with a corresponding level of accuracy, should such a reference ever be necessary; however, as far as we can see right now, it seems unlikely that this method of reproduction would ever be the best option.
Subsidiary Units.
Having once established the standard units of time, space, and density or mass, we might employ them for the expression of all quantities of such nature. But it is often convenient in particular branches of science to use multiples or submultiples of the original units, for the expression of quantities in a simple manner. We use the mile rather than the yard when treating of the magnitude of the globe, and the mean distance of the earth and321 sun is not too large a unit when we have to describe the distances of the stars. On the other hand, when we are occupied with microscopic objects, the inch, the line or the millimetre, become the most convenient terms of expression.
Once we establish standard units for time, space, and mass, we can use them to express all quantities of that nature. However, in certain areas of science, it's often easier to use multiples or submultiples of the original units for a simpler expression of quantities. We use miles instead of yards when discussing the size of the Earth, and the average distance between the Earth and the sun is a manageable unit when talking about the distances of stars. On the flip side, when we’re dealing with microscopic objects, inches, lines, or millimeters are the most practical terms to use.
It is allowable for a scientific man to introduce a new unit in any branch of knowledge, provided that it assists precise expression, and is carefully brought into relation with the primary units. Thus Professor A. W. Williamson has proposed as a convenient unit of volume in chemical science, an absolute volume equal to about 11·2 litres representing the bulk of one gram of hydrogen gas at standard temperature and pressure, or the equivalent weight of any other gas, such as 16 grams of oxygen, 14 grams of nitrogen, &c.; in short, the bulk of that quantity of any one of those gases which weighs as many grams as there are units in the number expressing its atomic weight.225 Hofmann has proposed a new unit of weight for chemists, called a crith, to be defined by the weight of one litre of hydrogen gas at 0° C. and 0°·76 mm., weighing about 0·0896 gram.226 Both of these units must be regarded as purely subordinate units, ultimately defined by reference to the primary units, and not involving any new assumption.
It's acceptable for a scientist to introduce a new unit in any field of study, as long as it helps with precise expression and is carefully related to the primary units. For example, Professor A. W. Williamson has suggested a convenient unit of volume in chemistry, representing an absolute volume of about 11.2 liters, which corresponds to the amount of one gram of hydrogen gas at standard temperature and pressure, or the equivalent weight of any other gas, like 16 grams of oxygen, 14 grams of nitrogen, etc.; in short, it's the volume of the amount of any one of those gases that weighs as many grams as its atomic weight. 225 Hofmann has introduced a new weight unit for chemists, called a crith, which is defined by the weight of one liter of hydrogen gas at 0° C. and 0.76 mm, weighing about 0.0896 gram. 226 Both of these units should be seen as purely secondary units, ultimately defined in relation to the primary units, without introducing any new assumptions.
Derived Units.
The standard units of time, space, and mass having been once fixed, many kinds of magnitude are naturally measured by units derived from them. From the metre, the unit of linear magnitude follows in the most obvious manner the centiare or square metre, the unit of superficial magnitude, and the litre that is the cube of the tenth part of a metre, the unit of capacity or volume. Velocity of motion is expressed by the ratio of the space passed over, when the motion is uniform, to the time occupied; hence the unit of velocity is that of a body which passes over a unit of space in a unit of time. In physical science the unit of velocity might be taken as one metre per second.322 Momentum is measured by the mass moving, regard being paid both to the amount of matter and the velocity at which it is moving. Hence the unit of momentum will be that of a unit volume of matter of the unit density moving with the unit velocity, or in the French system, a cubic centimetre of water of the maximum density moving one metre per second.
The standard units of time, space, and mass have been established, allowing various types of measurements to be made using derived units. From the meter, we get the centiare or square meter as the unit of area, and the liter, which is the cube of one-tenth of a meter, as the unit of capacity or volume. Velocity is expressed as the ratio of distance covered, when the movement is constant, to the time taken; therefore, the unit of velocity is a body that travels one unit of distance in one unit of time. In physics, the unit of velocity can be defined as one meter per second.322 Momentum is the product of the mass of an object and its velocity. Thus, the unit of momentum can be seen as one unit volume of matter with unit density moving at unit velocity, or in the French system, a cubic centimeter of water at maximum density moving at one meter per second.
An accelerating force is measured by the ratio of the momentum generated to the time occupied, the force being supposed to act uniformly. The unit of force will therefore be that which generates a unit of momentum in a unit of time, or which causes, in the French system, one cubic centimetre of water at maximum density to acquire in one second a velocity of one metre per second. The force of gravity is the most familiar kind of force, and as, when acting unimpeded upon any substance, it produces in a second a velocity of 9·80868 . . metres per second in Paris, it follows that the absolute unit of force is about the tenth part of the force of gravity. If we employ British weights and measures, the absolute unit of force is represented by the gravity of about half an ounce, since the force of gravity of any portion of matter acting upon that matter during one second, produces a final velocity of 32·1889 feet per second or about 32 units of velocity. Although from its perpetual action and approximate uniformity we find in gravity the most convenient force for reference, and thus habitually employ it to estimate quantities of matter, we must remember that it is only one of many instances of force. Strictly speaking, we should express weight in terms of force, but practically we express other forces in terms of weight.
An accelerating force is measured by the ratio of the momentum produced to the time taken, with the force assumed to act uniformly. Therefore, a unit of force is defined as the amount that generates a unit of momentum in a unit of time, or that causes, in the French system, one cubic centimeter of water at maximum density to reach a velocity of one meter per second in one second. The force of gravity is the most familiar kind of force, and since it causes any object to accelerate to a speed of 9.80868 meters per second in Paris when acting unimpeded for one second, it follows that the absolute unit of force is about one-tenth of the force of gravity. If we use British weights and measures, the absolute unit of force corresponds to the weight of about half an ounce, since the force of gravity on any mass acting on itself for one second results in a final velocity of 32.1889 feet per second, which is roughly 32 units of velocity. Although we find gravity the most convenient force for reference due to its constant action and nearly uniform rate, we must remember that it is just one example of many types of force. Technically, we should express weight in terms of force, but in practice, we describe other forces in terms of weight.
We still require the unit of energy, a more complex notion. The momentum of a body expresses the quantity of motion which belongs or would belong to the aggregate of the particles; but when we consider how this motion is related to the action of a force producing or removing it, we find that the effect of a force is proportional to the mass multiplied by the square of the velocity and it is convenient to take half this product as the expression required. But it is shown in books upon dynamics that it will be exactly the same thing if we define energy by a force acting through a space. The323 natural unit of energy will then be that which overcomes a unit of force acting through a unit of space; when we lift one kilogram through one metre, against gravity, we therefore accomplish 9·80868... units of work, that is, we turn so many units of potential energy existing in the muscles, into potential energy of gravitation. In lifting one pound through one foot there is in like manner a conversion of 32·1889 units of energy. Accordingly the unit of energy will be in the English system, that required to lift one pound through about the thirty-second part of a foot; in terms of metric units, it will be that required to lift a kilogram through about one tenth part of a metre.
We still need the concept of energy, which is more complicated. The momentum of an object represents the quantity of motion associated with it or its particles; however, when we examine how this motion relates to the force acting on it, we discover that the impact of a force is proportional to the mass multiplied by the square of the velocity, and it’s useful to take half of this product as the needed expression. But as shown in dynamics textbooks, it will be exactly the same if we define energy as a force acting over a distance. The323 natural unit of energy is then defined as the amount needed to overcome a unit of force acting over a unit of distance; when we lift one kilogram one meter against gravity, we accomplish approximately 9.80868 units of work, which means we convert that amount of potential energy from our muscles into gravitational potential energy. Similarly, lifting one pound one foot results in a conversion of about 32.1889 units of energy. Therefore, in the English system, the unit of energy will be the amount needed to lift one pound approximately 1/32 of a foot; in metric terms, it will be the amount needed to lift one kilogram about 1/10 of a meter.
Every person is at liberty to measure and record quantities in terms of any unit which he likes. He may use the yard for linear measurement and the litre for cubic measurement, only there will then be a complicated relation between his different results. The system of derived units which we have been briefly considering, is that which gives the most simple and natural relations between quantitative expressions of different kinds, and therefore conduces to ease of comprehension and saving of laborious calculation.
Every person is free to measure and record quantities in any unit they prefer. They can use yards for length and liters for volume, but this will create a complicated relationship between their different results. The system of derived units we've been discussing provides the simplest and most natural relationships between different types of quantitative expressions, making it easier to understand and reducing the need for exhausting calculations.
It would evidently be a source of great convenience if scientific men could agree upon some single system of units, original and derived, in terms of which all quantities could be expressed. Statements would thus be rendered easily comparable, a large part of scientific literature would be made intelligible to all, and the saving of mental labour would be immense. It seems to be generally allowed, too, that the metric system of weights and measures presents the best basis for the ultimate system; it is thoroughly established in Western Europe; it is legalised in England; it is already commonly employed by scientific men; it is in itself the most simple and scientific of systems. There is every reason then why the metric system should be accepted at least in its main features.
It would definitely be a huge convenience if scientists could agree on a single system of units, both original and derived, to express all quantities. This would make statements easily comparable, a lot of scientific literature would become understandable to everyone, and it would save a tremendous amount of mental effort. It seems widely accepted that the metric system of weights and measures provides the best foundation for the ultimate system. It's well established in Western Europe, it’s legal in England, it’s already commonly used by scientists, and it’s the simplest and most scientific system. Therefore, there are plenty of reasons for the metric system to be accepted, at least in its main aspects.
Provisional Units.
Ultimately, as we can hardly doubt, all phenomena will be recognised as so many manifestations of energy; and, being expressed in terms of the unit of energy, will324 be referable to the primary units of space, time, and density. To effect this reduction, however, in any particular case, we must not only be able to compare different quantities of the phenomenon, but to trace the whole series of steps by which it is connected with the primary notions. We can readily observe that the intensity of one source of light is greater than that of another; and, knowing that the intensity of light decreases as the square of the distance increases, we can easily determine their comparative brilliance. Hence we can express the intensity of light falling upon any surface, if we have a unit in which to make the expression. Light is undoubtedly one form of energy, and the unit ought therefore to be the unit of energy. But at present it is quite impossible to say how much energy there is in any particular amount of light. The question then arises,—Are we to defer the measurement of light until we can assign its relation to other forms of energy? If we answer Yes, it is equivalent to saying that the science of light must stand still perhaps for a generation; and not only this science but many others. The true course evidently is to select, as the provisional unit of light, some light of convenient intensity, which can be reproduced from time to time in the same intensity, and which is defined by physical circumstances. All the phenomena of light may be experimentally investigated relatively to this unit, for instance that obtained after much labour by Bunsen and Roscoe.227 In after years it will become a matter of inquiry what is the energy exerted in such unit of light; but it may be long before the relation is exactly determined.
Ultimately, we can hardly doubt that all phenomena will be recognized as various expressions of energy; and when expressed in terms of a unit of energy, they will be related to the basic units of space, time, and density. To achieve this reduction in any specific case, we must not only compare different quantities of the phenomenon but also trace the entire series of steps connecting it to the primary concepts. We can easily see that the intensity of one light source is greater than another; and knowing that light intensity decreases as the square of the distance increases, we can determine their relative brightness. Therefore, we can express the intensity of light hitting any surface if we have a unit to make that expression. Light is undeniably a form of energy, so the unit should be the unit of energy. However, at this point, it’s impossible to quantify how much energy is contained in a specific amount of light. This raises the question—should we postpone measuring light until we can define its relationship to other forms of energy? If we say yes, it suggests that the science of light might stagnate for perhaps a generation, affecting not just this field but many others as well. The better approach is to choose a temporary unit of light, based on a convenient intensity that can be consistently reproduced under the same conditions, defined by physical circumstances. All light phenomena can be experimentally investigated relative to this unit, such as the one achieved after much effort by Bunsen and Roscoe. In the future, it will be a topic of investigation to determine the energy contained in such a unit of light; however, it may take a while before the relationship is precisely defined.
A provisional unit, then, means one which is assumed and physically defined in a safe and reproducible manner, in order that particular quantities may be compared inter se more accurately than they can yet be referred to the primary units. In reality the great majority of our measurements are expressed in terms of such provisionally independent units, and even the unit of mass, as we have seen, ought to be considered as provisional.
A provisional unit, therefore, is one that is assumed and physically defined in a safe and consistent way, so that specific quantities can be compared with each other more accurately than they can be referenced to the primary units. In reality, most of our measurements are stated in terms of these provisional independent units, and even the unit of mass, as we have observed, should be regarded as provisional.
The unit of heat ought to be simply the unit of energy, already described. But a weight can be measured to the325 one-millionth part, and temperature to less than the thousandth part of a degree Fahrenheit, and to less therefore than the five-hundred thousandth part of the absolute temperature, whereas the mechanical equivalent of heat is probably not known to the thousandth part. Hence the need of a provisional unit of heat, which is often taken as that requisite to raise one gram of water through one degree Centigrade, that is from 0° to 1°. This quantity of heat is capable of approximate expression in terms of time, space, and mass; for by the natural constant, determined by Dr. Joule, and called the mechanical equivalent of heat, we know that the assumed unit of heat is equal to the energy of 423·55 gram-metres, or that energy which will raise the mass of 423·55 grams through one metre against 9·8... absolute units of force. Heat may also be expressed in terms of the quantity of ice at 0° Cent., which it is capable of converting into water under inappreciable pressure.
The unit of heat should simply be the unit of energy already described. However, weight can be measured to the325 one-millionth part, and temperature can be measured to less than a thousandth of a degree Fahrenheit, and thus to less than the five-hundred-thousandth part of the absolute temperature, while the mechanical equivalent of heat is likely not known to even the thousandth part. Therefore, we need a temporary unit of heat, which is typically defined as the amount required to raise one gram of water by one degree Celsius, from 0° to 1°. This amount of heat can be roughly expressed in terms of time, space, and mass; because of the natural constant determined by Dr. Joule, known as the mechanical equivalent of heat, we understand that the assumed unit of heat equals the energy of 423.55 gram-metres, or the energy needed to lift a mass of 423.55 grams by one metre against 9.8... absolute units of force. Heat can also be expressed in terms of the amount of ice at 0° Celsius, which it can convert into water under negligible pressure.
Theory of Dimensions.
In order to understand the relations between the quantities dealt with in physical science, it is necessary to pay attention to the Theory of Dimensions, first clearly stated by Joseph Fourier,228 but in later years developed by several physicists. This theory investigates the manner in which each derived unit depends upon or involves one or more of the fundamental units. The number of units in a rectangular area is found by multiplying together the numbers of units in the sides; thus the unit of length enters twice into the unit of area, which is therefore said to have two dimensions with respect to length. Denoting length by L, we may say that the dimensions of area are L × L or L2. It is obvious in the same way that the dimensions of volume or bulk will be L3.
To understand the relationships between the quantities in physical science, it's essential to consider the Theory of Dimensions, which was first clearly articulated by Joseph Fourier,228 but was later developed by various physicists. This theory examines how each derived unit depends on or is related to one or more of the fundamental units. The number of units in a rectangular area is determined by multiplying the number of units on each side; therefore, the unit of length is included twice in the unit of area, which is why it is said to have two dimensions when it comes to length. If we represent length as L, we can express the dimensions of area as L × L or L2. Similarly, it’s clear that the dimensions of volume or bulk will be L3.
The number of units of mass in a body is found by multiplying the number of units of volume, by those of density. Hence mass is of three dimensions as regards length, and one as regards density. Calling density D, the dimensions of mass are L3D. As already explained, however, it is usual to substitute an arbitrary provisional unit of326 mass, symbolised by M; according to the view here taken we may say that the dimensions of M are L3D.
The mass of an object is calculated by multiplying its volume by its density. Thus, mass has three dimensions related to length and one dimension related to density. If we denote density as D, then the dimensions of mass are L3D. However, as already mentioned, it is common to use a temporary standard unit of326 mass, represented by M; based on the perspective taken here, we can say that the dimensions of M are L3D.
Introducing time, denoted by T, it is easy to see that the dimensions of velocity will be LT or LT-1, because the number of units in the velocity of a body is found by dividing the units of length passed over by the units of time occupied in passing. The acceleration of a body is measured by the increase of velocity in relation to the time, that is, we must divide the units of velocity gained by the units of time occupied in gaining it; hence its dimensions will be LT-2. Momentum is the product of mass and velocity, so that its dimensions are MLT-1. The effect of a force is measured by the acceleration produced in a unit of mass in a unit of time; hence the dimensions of force are MLT-2. Work done is proportional to the force acting and to the space through which it acts; so that it has the dimensions of force with that of length added, giving ML2T-2.
Introducing time, represented by T, it's clear that the dimensions of velocity are LT or LT-1, because the number of units in the velocity of a body is determined by dividing the units of length covered by the units of time taken to cover that distance. The acceleration of a body is measured by the increase in velocity over time, meaning we need to divide the units of velocity gained by the units of time taken to gain it; thus, its dimensions will be LT-2. Momentum is the product of mass and velocity, so its dimensions are MLT-1. The effect of a force is measured by the acceleration produced in a unit of mass in a unit of time; therefore, the dimensions of force are MLT-2. Work done is proportional to the force applied and the distance over which it acts; therefore, it has the dimensions of force combined with that of length, resulting in ML2T-2.
It should be particularly noticed that angular magnitude has no dimensions at all, being measured by the ratio of the arc to the radius (p. 305). Thus we have the dimensions LL-1 or L0. This agrees with the statement previously made, that no arbitrary unit of angular magnitude is needed. Similarly, all pure numbers expressing ratios only, such as sines and other trigonometrical functions, logarithms, exponents, &c., are devoid of dimensions. They are absolute numbers necessarily expressed in terms of unity itself, and are quite unaffected by the selection of the arbitrary physical units. Angular magnitude, however, enters into other quantities, such as angular velocity, which has the dimensions 1T or T-1, the units of angle being divided by the units of time occupied. The dimensions of angular acceleration are denoted by T-2.
It’s important to note that angular magnitude has no dimensions at all, as it’s measured by the ratio of the arc to the radius (p. 305). This gives us the dimensions LL-1 or L0. This aligns with the earlier statement that no arbitrary unit of angular magnitude is necessary. Similarly, all pure numbers that express ratios, like sines and other trigonometric functions, logarithms, exponents, etc., are dimensionless. They are absolute numbers expressed in terms of unity itself and are not affected by the choice of arbitrary physical units. However, angular magnitude is part of other quantities like angular velocity, which has the dimensions 1T or T-1, since the units of angle are divided by the time units. The dimensions of angular acceleration are represented by T-2.
The quantities treated in the theories of heat and electricity are numerous and complicated as regards their dimensions. Thermal capacity has the dimensions ML-3, thermal conductivity, ML-1T-1. In Magnetism the dimensions of the strength of pole are M12L32T-1, 327the dimensions of field-intensity are M12L-12T-1, and the intensity of magnetisation has the same dimensions. In the science of electricity physicists have to deal with numerous kinds of quantity, and their dimensions are different too in the electro-static and the electro-magnetic systems. Thus electro-motive force has the dimensions M12L12T-1, in the former, and M12L32T-2 in the latter system. Capacity simply depends upon length in electro-statics, but upon L-1T2 in electro-magnetics. It is worthy of particular notice that electrical quantities have simple dimensions when expressed in terms of density instead of mass. The instances now given are sufficient to show the difficulty of conceiving and following out the relations of the quantities treated in physical science without a systematic method of calculating and exhibiting their dimensions. It is only in quite recent years that clear ideas about these quantities have been attained. Half a century ago probably no one but Fourier could have explained what he meant by temperature or capacity for heat. The notion of measuring electricity had hardly been entertained.
The quantities discussed in the theories of heat and electricity are numerous and complex in terms of their dimensions. Thermal capacity has the dimensions ML-3, while thermal conductivity is ML-1T-1. In magnetism, the dimensions of the strength of a magnetic pole are M12L32T-1, the dimensions of field intensity are M12L-12T-1, and the intensity of magnetization shares the same dimensions. In the field of electricity, physicists deal with several types of quantities, which also have varying dimensions in both electrostatic and electromagnetic systems. For instance, electro-motive force has dimensions of M12L12T-1 in the first system and M12L32T-2 in the second system. Capacity is solely based on length in electrostatics but involves L-1T2 in electromagnetics. It's especially notable that electrical quantities have straightforward dimensions when expressed in terms of density rather than mass. The examples provided are enough to demonstrate the challenges of understanding and following the relationships of the quantities discussed in physical science without a systematic method for calculating and showing their dimensions. Only in recent years have clear concepts about these quantities been developed. Fifty years ago, it’s likely that only Fourier could have explained what he meant by temperature or heat capacity. The idea of measuring electricity was hardly considered.
Besides affording us a clear view of the complex relations of physical quantities, this theory is specially useful in two ways. Firstly, it affords a test of the correctness of mathematical reasoning. According to the Principle of Homogeneity, all the quantities added together, and equated in any equation, must have the same dimensions. Hence if, on estimating the dimensions of the terms in any equation, they be not homogeneous, some blunder must have been committed. It is impossible to add a force to a velocity, or a mass to a momentum. Even if the numerical values of the two members of a non-homogeneous equation were equal, this would be accidental, and any alteration in the physical units would produce inequality and disclose the falsity of the law expressed in the equation.
In addition to giving us a clear understanding of the complex relationships between physical quantities, this theory is especially useful in two ways. First, it provides a way to test the correctness of mathematical reasoning. According to the Principle of Homogeneity, all the quantities that are added together and equated in any equation must have the same dimensions. Therefore, if, upon examining the dimensions of the terms in any equation, they aren't homogeneous, some mistake must have been made. It's impossible to add a force to a velocity, or a mass to a momentum. Even if the numerical values of the two sides of a non-homogeneous equation were equal, that would be purely coincidental, and any change in the physical units would create a discrepancy and reveal the falsehood of the law expressed in the equation.
Secondly, the theory of units enables us readily and infallibly to deduce the change in the numerical expression of any physical quantity, produced by a change in the fundamental units. It is of course obvious that in order to represent the same absolute quantity, a number must vary inversely as the magnitude of the units which are numbered. The yard expressed in feet is 3; taking the inch as the unit instead of the foot it becomes 36. Every quantity into which the dimension length enters positively328 must be altered in like manner. Changing the unit from the foot to the inch, numerical expressions of volume must be multiplied by 12 × 12 × 12. When a dimension enters negatively the opposite rule will hold. If for the minute we substitute the second as unit of time, then we must divide all numbers expressing angular velocities by 60, and numbers expressing angular acceleration by 60 × 60. The rule is that a numerical expression varies inversely as the magnitude of the unit as regards each whole dimension entering positively, and it varies directly as the magnitude of the unit for each whole dimension entering negatively. In the case of fractional exponents, the proper root of the ratio of change has to be taken.
Secondly, the theory of units allows us to easily and accurately determine how the numerical representation of any physical quantity changes when the fundamental units change. It's clear that to represent the same absolute quantity, a number must change inversely with the size of the units being measured. For example, a yard expressed in feet is 3; if we switch to inches as the unit instead of feet, it becomes 36. Every quantity related to length must be adjusted similarly. When we change the unit from feet to inches, the numerical expressions of volume need to be multiplied by 12 × 12 × 12. If a dimension is considered negatively, the opposite rule applies. For instance, if we use seconds instead of minutes as the unit of time, we must divide all numbers representing angular velocities by 60, and those for angular acceleration by 60 × 60. The rule is that a numerical expression changes inversely with the size of the unit for each whole dimension that is measured positively and directly with the size of the unit for each whole dimension that is measured negatively. In cases of fractional exponents, we have to take the appropriate root of the change ratio.
The study of this subject may be continued in Professor J. D. Everett’s “Illustrations of the Centimetre-gramme-second System of Units,” published by Taylor and Francis, 1875; in Professor Maxwell’s “Theory of Heat;” or Professor Fleeming Jenkin’s “Text Book of Electricity.”
The study of this subject can be continued in Professor J. D. Everett’s “Illustrations of the Centimetre-gramme-second System of Units,” published by Taylor and Francis in 1875; in Professor Maxwell’s “Theory of Heat;” or in Professor Fleeming Jenkin’s “Text Book of Electricity.”
Natural Constants.
Having acquired accurate measuring instruments, and decided upon the units in which the results shall be expressed, there remains the question, What use shall be made of our powers of measurement? Our principal object must be to discover general quantitative laws of nature; but a very large amount of preliminary labour is employed in the accurate determination of the dimensions of existing objects, and the numerical relations between diverse forces and phenomena. Step by step every part of the material universe is surveyed and brought into known relations with other parts. Each manifestation of energy is correlated with each other kind of manifestation. Professor Tyndall has described the care with which such operations are conducted.229
Having obtained precise measuring tools and decided on the units for expressing our results, we now face the question of how to utilize our measurement capabilities. Our main goal should be to uncover general quantitative laws of nature; however, a significant amount of preliminary work goes into accurately determining the dimensions of existing objects and the numerical relationships between different forces and phenomena. Gradually, every aspect of the material universe is mapped out and connected with other parts. Each expression of energy is related to every other type of expression. Professor Tyndall has detailed the meticulous nature of such processes.229
“Those who are unacquainted with the details of scientific investigation, have no idea of the amount of labour expended on the determination of those numbers on which important calculations or inferences depend. They have no idea of the patience shown by a Berzelius in determining atomic weights; by a Regnault in determining329 coefficients of expansion; or by a Joule in determining the mechanical equivalent of heat. There is a morality brought to bear upon such matters which, in point of severity, is probably without a parallel in any other domain of intellectual action.”
"People who aren't familiar with the details of scientific research have no idea how much effort goes into figuring out the numbers that important calculations or conclusions rely on. They can't appreciate the patience demonstrated by someone like Berzelius in determining atomic weights, or Regnault in finding coefficients of expansion, or Joule in establishing the mechanical equivalent of heat. There’s a level of seriousness applied to these matters that’s probably unmatched in any other area of intellectual work."
Every new natural constant which is recorded brings many fresh inferences within our power. For if n be the number of such constants known, then 12 (n2—n) is the number of ratios which are within our powers of calculation, and this increases with the square of n. We thus gradually piece together a map of nature, in which the lines of inference from one phenomenon to another rapidly grow in complexity, and the powers of scientific prediction are correspondingly augmented.
Every new natural constant we discover opens up many new possibilities for interpretation. If n is the number of known constants, then 12 (n2—n) represents the number of ratios we can calculate, and this number increases with the square of n. In this way, we gradually assemble a map of nature, where the connections between different phenomena become increasingly complex, and our ability to make scientific predictions grows accordingly.
Babbage230 proposed the formation of a collection of the constant numbers of nature, a work which has at last been taken in hand by the Smithsonian Institution.231 It is true that a complete collection of such numbers would be almost co-extensive with scientific literature, since almost all the numbers occurring in works on chemistry, mineralogy, physics, astronomy, &c., would have to be included. Still a handy volume giving all the more important numbers and their logarithms, referred when requisite to the different units in common use, would be very useful. A small collection of constant numbers will be found at the end of Babbage’s, Hutton’s, and many other tables of logarithms, and a somewhat larger collection is given in Templeton’s Millwright and Engineer’s Pocket Companion.
Babbage proposed creating a collection of nature's constant numbers, a task that has finally been taken on by the Smithsonian Institution. It's true that a complete collection of these numbers would nearly encompass all scientific literature, as virtually every number found in works on chemistry, mineralogy, physics, astronomy, etc., would need to be included. Still, a convenient volume containing all the major numbers and their logarithms, with references to the various widely used units as needed, would be very helpful. A small collection of constant numbers can be found at the end of Babbage's, Hutton's, and many other logarithm tables, and a slightly larger collection is presented in Templeton's Millwright and Engineer’s Pocket Companion.
Our present object will be to classify these constant numbers roughly, according to their comparative generality and importance, under the following heads:—
Our current goal is to roughly categorize these constant numbers based on their relative generality and significance under the following categories:—
(2) Physical constants.
(3) Astronomical constants.
(4) Terrestrial numbers.
(5) Organic numbers.
(6) Social numbers.
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Mathematical Constants.
At the head of the list of natural constants must come those which express the necessary relations of numbers to each other. The ordinary Multiplication Table is the most familiar and the most important of such series of constants, and is, theoretically speaking, infinite in extent. Next we must place the Arithmetical Triangle, the significance of which has already been pointed out (p. 182). Tables of logarithms also contain vast series of natural constants, arising out of the relations of pure numbers. At the base of all logarithmic theory is the mysterious natural constant commonly denoted by e, or ε, being equal to the infinite series 1 + 11 + 11.2 + 11.2.3 + 11.2.3.4 +...., and thus consisting of the sum of the ratios between the numbers of permutations and combinations of 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, &c. things. Tables of prime numbers and of the factors of composite numbers must not be forgotten.
At the top of the list of natural constants should be those that show the necessary relationships between numbers. The standard Multiplication Table is the most familiar and important series of such constants, and theoretically, it's infinite in scope. Next, we should mention the Arithmetic Triangle, which has already been discussed (p. 182). Logarithm tables also include vast series of natural constants that come from the relationships of pure numbers. At the foundation of all logarithmic theory is the mysterious natural constant typically represented by e, or ε, which equals the infinite series 1 + 11 + 11.2 + 11.2.3 + 11.2.3.4 +...., which consists of the sum of the ratios between the numbers of permutations and combinations of 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, &c. items. We must also remember the tables of prime numbers and the factors of composite numbers.
Another vast and in fact infinite series of numerical constants contains those connected with the measurement of angles, and embodied in trigonometrical tables, whether as natural or logarithmic sines, cosines, and tangents. It should never be forgotten that though these numbers find their chief employment in connection with trigonometry, or the measurement of the sides of a right-angled triangle, yet the numbers themselves arise out of numerical relations bearing no special relation to space. Foremost among trigonometrical constants is the well known number π, usually employed as expressing the ratio of the circumference and the diameter of a circle; from π follows the value of the arcual or natural unit of angular value as expressed in ordinary degrees (p. 306).
Another vast and truly infinite series of numerical constants is related to the measurement of angles, represented in trigonometric tables as natural or logarithmic sines, cosines, and tangents. It's important to remember that while these numbers are primarily used in trigonometry, which deals with the measurement of the sides of a right triangle, they originate from numerical relationships that don't specifically relate to space. At the forefront of trigonometric constants is the well-known number π, commonly used to represent the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter; from π comes the value of the arcual or natural unit of angular measurement expressed in standard degrees (p. 306).
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It should be clearly understood that the mathematical constants and tables of reference already in our possession, although very extensive, are only an infinitely small part of what might be formed. With the progress of science the tabulation of new functions will be continually demanded, and it is worthy of consideration whether public money should not be available to reward the severe, long continued, and generally thankless labour which must be gone through in calculating tables. Such labours are a benefit to the whole human race as long as it shall exist, though there are few who can appreciate the extent of this benefit. A most interesting and excellent description of many mathematical tables will be found in De Morgan’s article on Tables, in the English Cyclopædia, Division of Arts and Sciences, vol. vii. p. 976. An almost exhaustive critical catalogue of extant tables is being published by a Committee of the British Association, two portions, drawn up chiefly by Mr. J. W. L. Glaisher and Professor Cayley, having appeared in the Reports of the Association for 1873 and 1875.
It should be clearly understood that the mathematical constants and reference tables we currently have, while extensive, represent only a tiny fraction of what could exist. As science advances, there will always be a need for new functions to be tabulated, and it’s worth discussing whether public funding should be allocated to reward the rigorous, prolonged, and often unappreciated work involved in calculating these tables. Such efforts benefit all of humanity as long as we exist, even though few people recognize the significance of this benefit. A highly interesting and valuable description of many mathematical tables can be found in De Morgan’s article on Tables, in the English Cyclopædia, Division of Arts and Sciences, vol. vii. p. 976. An almost complete critical catalogue of existing tables is being published by a Committee of the British Association, with two sections, mainly prepared by Mr. J. W. L. Glaisher and Professor Cayley, included in the Reports of the Association for 1873 and 1875.
Physical Constants.
The second class of constants contains those which refer to the actual constitution of matter. For the most part they depend upon the peculiarities of the chemical substance in question, but we may begin with those which are of the most general character. In a first sub-class we may place the velocity of light or heat undulations, the numbers expressing the relation between the lengths of the undulations, and the rapidity of the undulations, these numbers depending only on the properties of the ethereal medium, and being probably the same in all parts of the universe. The theory of heat gives rise to several numbers of the highest importance, especially Joule’s mechanical equivalent of heat, the absolute zero of temperature, the mean temperature of empty space, &c.
The second group of constants includes those related to the actual structure of matter. For the most part, they depend on the specific characteristics of the chemical substance involved, but we can start with those that are more general. In the first sub-group, we can include the speed of light or heat waves, the numbers that describe the relationship between the wavelengths of these waves, and the frequency of the waves; these numbers depend solely on the properties of the medium they travel through and are likely the same throughout the universe. The theory of heat leads to several highly important numbers, especially Joule’s mechanical equivalent of heat, absolute zero temperature, the average temperature of empty space, etc.
Taking into account the diverse properties of the elements we must have tables of the atomic weights, the specific heats, the specific gravities, the refractive powers, not only of the elements, but their almost332 infinitely numerous compounds. The properties of hardness, elasticity, viscosity, expansion by heat, conducting powers for heat and electricity, must also be determined in immense detail. There are, however, certain of these numbers which stand out prominently because they serve as intermediate units or terms of comparison. Such are, for instance, the absolute coefficients of expansion of air, water and mercury, the temperature of the maximum density of water, the latent heats of water and steam, the boiling-point of water under standard pressure, the melting and boiling-points of mercury, and so forth.
Considering the various properties of elements, we need to have tables for atomic weights, specific heats, specific gravities, and refractive powers, not just for the elements but also for their countless compounds. We also need to determine in great detail the properties of hardness, elasticity, viscosity, thermal expansion, and the thermal and electrical conductivity. However, some of these numbers are particularly significant because they act as key reference points or comparison terms. Examples include the absolute coefficients of expansion for air, water, and mercury; the temperature at which water is at its maximum density; the latent heats of water and steam; the boiling point of water at standard pressure; and the melting and boiling points of mercury, among others.
Astronomical Constants.
The third great class consists of numbers possessing far less generality because they refer not to the properties of matter, but to the special forms and distances in which matter has been disposed in the part of the universe open to our examination. We have, first of all, to define the magnitude and form of the earth, its mean density, the constant of aberration of light expressing the relation between the earth’s mean velocity in space and the velocity of light. From the earth, as our observatory, we then proceed to lay down the mean distances of the sun, and of the planets from the same centre; all the elements of the planetary orbits, the magnitudes, densities, masses, periods of axial rotation of the several planets are by degrees determined with growing accuracy. The same labours must be gone through for the satellites. Catalogues of comets with the elements of their orbits, as far as ascertainable, must not be omitted.
The third major class includes numbers that are much less general because they refer not to the properties of matter, but to the specific forms and distances in which matter is arranged in the part of the universe we can observe. First, we need to define the size and shape of the Earth, its average density, and the constant of light aberration that shows the relationship between the Earth's average speed in space and the speed of light. From the Earth, our observation point, we then establish the average distances of the sun and the planets from this center; all the elements of the planetary orbits, including sizes, densities, masses, and rotation periods of the various planets, are gradually determined with increasing accuracy. The same work needs to be done for the moons. We should also include catalogs of comets with the details of their orbits, as far as we can determine.
From the earth’s orbit as a new base of observations, we next proceed to survey the heavens and lay down the apparent positions, magnitudes, motions, distances, periods of variation, &c. of the stars. All catalogues of stars from those of Hipparchus and Tycho, are full of numbers expressing rudely the conformation of the visible universe. But there is obviously no limit to the labours of astronomers; not only are millions of distant stars awaiting their first measurements, but those already registered require endless scrutiny as regards their movements in the three dimensions of space, their periods of revolution, their333 changes of brilliance and colour. It is obvious that though astronomical numbers are conventionally called constant, they are probably in all cases subject to more or less rapid variation.
From the Earth's orbit as a new observation point, we move on to explore the sky and record the apparent positions, sizes, movements, distances, periods of variation, etc., of the stars. All star catalogs, from those of Hipparchus and Tycho, are filled with numbers that roughly depict the shape of the visible universe. However, there is clearly no end to the work of astronomers; not only are millions of distant stars waiting to be measured for the first time, but those that have already been documented need constant review regarding their movements in three-dimensional space, their rotation periods, and their changes in brightness and color. It’s clear that even though astronomical numbers are usually called constant, they likely experience more or less rapid changes in all cases.
Terrestrial Numbers.
Our knowledge of the globe we inhabit involves many numerical determinations, which have little or no connection with astronomical theory. The extreme heights of the principal mountains, the mean elevations of continents, the mean or extreme depths of the oceans, the specific gravities of rocks, the temperature of mines, the host of numbers expressing the meteorological or magnetic conditions of every part of the surface, must fall into this class. Many such numbers are not to be called constant, being subject to periodic or secular changes, but they are hardly more variable in fact than some which in astronomical science are set down as constant. In many cases quantities which seem most variable may go through rhythmical changes resulting in a nearly uniform average, and it is only in the long progress of physical investigation that we can hope to discriminate successfully between those elemental numbers which are fixed and those which vary. In the latter case the law of variation becomes the constant relation which is the object of our search.
Our understanding of the world we live in includes a lot of numerical measurements that aren't really related to astronomical theory. The highest points of major mountains, the average elevations of continents, the average or maximum depths of the oceans, the specific gravities of different rocks, the temperatures found in mines, and the numerous statistics describing the weather or magnetic conditions across the surface all fit into this category. Many of these figures aren't truly constant, as they experience periodic or long-term changes, but they're not any more variable than some numbers in astronomical science that are considered constant. Often, quantities that seem to change a lot can go through rhythmic patterns that result in a nearly stable average, and only through extensive investigation of physical phenomena can we hope to effectively distinguish between those fundamental numbers that remain fixed and those that fluctuate. In the latter case, the pattern of variation becomes the consistent relationship that we're trying to find.
Organic Numbers.
The forms and properties of brute nature having been sufficiently defined by the previous classes of numbers, the organic world, both vegetable and animal, remains outstanding, and offers a higher series of phenomena for our investigation. All exact knowledge relating to the forms and sizes of living things, their numbers, the quantities of various compounds which they consume, contain, or excrete, their muscular or nervous energy, &c. must be placed apart in a class by themselves. All such numbers are doubtless more or less subject to variation, and but in a minor degree capable of exact determination. Man, so far as he is an animal, and as regards his physical form, must also be treated in this class.
The forms and properties of raw nature have been clearly defined by the earlier categories of numbers, leaving the organic world, including plants and animals, as a significant area for our exploration. All accurate knowledge related to the shapes and sizes of living things, their populations, the amounts of various substances they consume, contain, or eliminate, their muscular or nervous energy, etc., needs to be categorized separately. All these numbers are certainly subject to some variation and are only somewhat capable of precise measurement. As a creature, man must also be included in this category concerning his physical form.
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Social Numbers.
Little allusion need be made in this work to the fact that man in his economic, sanitary, intellectual, æsthetic, or moral relations may become the subject of sciences, the highest and most useful of all sciences. Every one who is engaged in statistical inquiry must acknowledge the possibility of natural laws governing such statistical facts. Hence we must allot a distinct place to numerical information relating to the numbers, ages, physical and sanitary condition, mortality, &c., of different peoples, in short, to vital statistics. Economic statistics, comprehending the quantities of commodities produced, existing, exchanged and consumed, constitute another extensive body of science. In the progress of time exact investigation may possibly subdue regions of phenomena which at present defy all scientific treatment. That scientific method can ever exhaust the phenomena of the human mind is incredible.
There’s little need to discuss here that people, in their economic, health, intellectual, artistic, or moral aspects, can become subjects of sciences, which are the most significant and useful of all. Anyone involved in statistical analysis must recognize the possibility of natural laws governing these statistical facts. Therefore, we need to dedicate a specific section to numerical information about the numbers, ages, physical and health conditions, mortality rates, etc., of different populations, in short, to vital statistics. Economic statistics, which include the amounts of goods produced, available, traded, and consumed, make up another large area of study. Over time, thorough investigation may eventually conquer areas of phenomena that currently resist all scientific analysis. It’s hard to believe that any scientific method can completely explain the workings of the human mind.
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CHAPTER XV.
Analysis of Quantitative Trends.
In the two preceding chapters we have been engaged in considering how a phenomenon may be accurately measured and expressed. So delicate and complex an operation is a measurement which pretends to any considerable degree of exactness, that no small part of the skill and patience of physicists is usually spent upon this work. Much of this difficulty arises from the fact that it is scarcely ever possible to measure a single effect at a time. The ultimate object must be to discover the mathematical equation or law connecting a quantitative cause with its quantitative effect; this purpose usually involves, as we shall see, the varying of one condition at a time, the other conditions being maintained constant. The labours of the experimentalist would be comparatively light if he could carry out this rule of varying one circumstance at a time. He would then obtain a series of corresponding values of the variable quantities concerned, from which he might by proper hypothetical treatment obtain the required law of connection. But in reality it is seldom possible to carry out this direction except in an approximate manner. Before then we proceed to the consideration of the actual process of quantitative induction, it is necessary to review the several devices by which a complicated series of effects can be disentangled. Every phenomenon measured will usually be the sum, difference, or it may be the product or quotient, of two or more different effects, and these must be in some336 way analysed and separately measured before we possess the materials for inductive treatment.
In the two previous chapters, we have been looking at how to accurately measure and express a phenomenon. Measuring something with a significant level of precision is a delicate and complex task, which is why physicists often spend a lot of skill and patience on this work. Much of this challenge comes from the fact that it's almost always impossible to measure a single effect at a time. The ultimate goal is to find the mathematical equation or law that connects a quantitative cause to its quantitative effect; this usually means varying one condition at a time while keeping the others constant. The experimentalist's job would be much easier if he could consistently follow this rule of changing just one factor at a time. He would then gather a series of corresponding values for the variable quantities involved, from which he could derive the needed law of connection through proper hypothetical treatment. However, in reality, it is rarely possible to fully adhere to this guideline, except in an approximate way. Before we move on to discussing the actual process of quantitative induction, it's essential to review the various methods by which a complicated series of effects can be sorted out. Every measured phenomenon will generally be the sum, difference, product, or quotient of two or more different effects, and these must be analyzed and measured individually before we have the materials for inductive treatment.
Illustrations of the Complication of Effects.
It is easy to bring forward a multitude of instances to show that a phenomenon is seldom to be observed simple and alone. A more or less elaborate process of analysis is almost always necessary. Thus if an experimentalist wishes to observe and measure the expansion of a liquid by heat, he places it in a thermometer tube and registers the rise of the column of liquid in the narrow tube. But he cannot heat the liquid without also heating the glass, so that the change observed is really the difference between the expansions of the liquid and the glass. More minute investigation will show the necessity perhaps of allowing for further minute effects, namely the compression of the liquid and the expansion of the bulb due to the increased pressure of the column as it becomes lengthened.
It's easy to come up with a lot of examples to show that a phenomenon is rarely seen in a simple or isolated form. A more or less detailed analysis process is almost always needed. For instance, if a scientist wants to observe and measure how a liquid expands when heated, they put it in a thermometer tube and note the rise of the liquid column in the narrow tube. However, they can't heat the liquid without also heating the glass, so the change they see is really the difference between how the liquid and the glass expand. A closer investigation will reveal that they might also need to account for minor effects, like the compression of the liquid and the expansion of the bulb due to the increased pressure from the longer liquid column.
In a great many cases an observed effect will be apparently at least the simple sum of two separate and independent effects. The heat evolved in the combustion of oil is partly due to the carbon and partly to the hydrogen. A measurement of the heat yielded by the two jointly, cannot inform us how much proceeds from the one and how much from the other. If by some separate determination we can ascertain how much the hydrogen yields, then by mere subtraction we learn what is due to the carbon; and vice versâ. The heat conveyed by a liquid, may be partly conveyed by true conduction, partly by convection. The light dispersed in the interior of a liquid consists both of what is reflected by floating particles and what is due to true fluorescence;233 and we must find some mode of determining one portion before we can learn the other. The apparent motion of the spots on the sun, is the algebraic sum of the sun’s axial rotation, and of the proper motion of the spots upon the sun’s surface; hence the difficulty of ascertaining by direct observations the period of the sun’s rotation.
In many cases, an observed effect is simply the sum of two separate and independent effects. The heat released during the combustion of oil comes from both the carbon and the hydrogen. Measuring the total heat produced by both doesn’t tell us how much comes from each one. If we can separately determine how much heat the hydrogen generates, then by subtracting that from the total, we can figure out how much is generated by the carbon, and vice versa. The heat transferred by a liquid may be partly through true conduction and partly through convection. The light scattered inside a liquid includes both what is reflected by floating particles and what comes from true fluorescence;233 and we need a way to measure one part before we can determine the other. The apparent movement of spots on the sun is the combination of the sun’s axial rotation and the actual movement of the spots on the sun’s surface, which is why it’s difficult to directly observe the sun’s rotation period.
We cannot obtain the weight of a portion of liquid 337in a chemical balance without weighing it with the containing vessel. Hence to have the real weight of the liquid operated upon in an experiment, we must make a separate weighing of the vessel, with or without the adhering film of liquid according to circumstances. This is likewise the mode in which a cart and its load are weighed together, the tare of the cart previously ascertained being deducted. The variation in the height of the barometer is a joint effect, partly due to the real variation of the atmospheric pressure, partly to the expansion of the mercurial column by heat. The effects may be discriminated, if, instead of one barometer tube we have two tubes containing mercury placed closely side by side, so as to have the same temperature. If one of them be closed at the bottom so as to be unaffected by the atmospheric pressure, it will show the changes due to temperature only, and, by subtracting these changes from those shown in the other tube, employed as a barometer, we get the real oscillations of atmospheric pressure. But this correction, as it is called, of the barometric reading, is better effected by calculation from the readings of an ordinary thermometer.
We can't get the weight of a liquid portion on a chemical balance without weighing it along with its container. To find the actual weight of the liquid used in an experiment, we need to measure the weight of the container separately, with or without the film of liquid depending on the situation. This is similar to weighing a cart and its load together, where the known weight of the cart (the tare) is subtracted. The changes in barometer height result from a combination of the actual variation in atmospheric pressure and the expansion of the mercury column due to heat. We can distinguish these effects if we have two mercury barometer tubes placed closely together at the same temperature. If one tube is closed at the bottom and not affected by atmospheric pressure, it will show only changes from temperature. By subtracting these temperature changes from those shown in the other tube, which serves as a barometer, we can determine the real fluctuations in atmospheric pressure. However, this correction of the barometric reading is more accurately accomplished through calculations based on the readings of a standard thermometer.
In other cases a quantitative effect will be the difference of two causes acting in opposite directions. Sir John Herschel invented an instrument like a large thermometer, which he called the Actinometer,234 and Pouillet constructed a somewhat similar instrument called the Pyrheliometer, for ascertaining the heating power of the sun’s rays. In both instruments the heat of the sun was absorbed by a reservoir containing water, and the rise of temperature of the water was exactly observed, either by its own expansion, or by the readings of a delicate thermometer immersed in it. But in exposing the actinometer to the sun, we do not obtain the full effect of the heat absorbed, because the receiving surface is at the same time radiating heat into empty space. The observed increment of temperature is in short the difference between what is received from the sun and lost by radiation. The latter quantity is capable of ready determination; we have only to shade the instrument from the direct rays of the sun, leaving it338 exposed to the sky, and we can observe how much it cools in a certain time. The total effect of the sun’s rays will obviously be the apparent effect plus the cooling effect in an equal time. By alternate exposure in sun and shade during equal intervals the desired result may be obtained with considerable accuracy.235
In other cases, the overall effect will come from two causes acting in opposite directions. Sir John Herschel invented an instrument similar to a large thermometer, which he named the Actinometer,234 and Pouillet created a somewhat similar device called the Pyrheliometer to measure the heating power of the sun’s rays. In both instruments, the sun's heat was absorbed by a reservoir filled with water, and the temperature increase of the water was carefully measured, either through its own expansion or by reading a sensitive thermometer submerged in it. However, when exposing the actinometer to the sun, we don't capture the complete effect of the absorbed heat because the receiving surface is also radiating heat into empty space. The temperature increase we observe is essentially the difference between what is received from the sun and what is lost through radiation. We can easily determine the latter; we just need to shade the instrument from the sun's direct rays while leaving it exposed to the sky, allowing us to see how much it cools over a certain period. Clearly, the total effect of the sun’s rays will be the observed effect plus the cooling effect over the same time period. By alternating exposure in the sun and shade for equal intervals, we can achieve the desired result with considerable accuracy.235
Two quantitative effects were beautifully distinguished in an experiment of John Canton, devised in 1761 for the purpose of demonstrating the compressibility of water. He constructed a thermometer with a large bulb full of water and a short capillary tube, the part of which above the water was freed from air. Under these circumstances the water was relieved from the pressure of the atmosphere, but the glass bulb in bearing that pressure was somewhat contracted. He next placed the instrument under the receiver of an air-pump, and on exhausting the air, the water sank in the tube. Having thus obtained a measure of the effect of atmospheric pressure on the bulb, he opened the top of the thermometer tube and admitted the air. The level of the water now sank still more, partly from the pressure on the bulb being now compensated, and partly from the compression of the water by the atmospheric pressure. It is obvious that the amount of the latter effect was approximately the difference of the two observed depressions.
Two clear effects were nicely demonstrated in an experiment by John Canton, designed in 1761 to show that water can be compressed. He built a thermometer with a large bulb filled with water and a short capillary tube, with the part above the water free of air. In this setup, the water experienced a release from atmospheric pressure, but the glass bulb slightly contracted under that pressure. He then placed the instrument under an air pump, and when he removed the air, the water level dropped in the tube. After measuring the effect of atmospheric pressure on the bulb, he opened the top of the thermometer tube to let air in. The water level dropped even more, partly because the pressure on the bulb was now balanced, and partly due to the compression of the water from atmospheric pressure. It's clear that the amount of this second effect was about the difference between the two observed drops.
Not uncommonly the actual phenomenon which we wish to measure is considerably less than various disturbing effects which enter into the question. Thus the compressibility of mercury is considerably less than the expansion of the vessels in which it is measured under pressure, so that the attention of the experimentalist has chiefly to be concentrated on the change of magnitude of the vessels. Many astronomical phenomena, such as the parallax or the proper motions of the fixed stars, are far less than the errors caused by instrumental imperfections, or motions arising from precession, nutation, and aberration. We need not be surprised that astronomers have from time to time mistaken one phenomenon for another, as when Flamsteed imagined that he had discovered the parallax of the Pole star.236
It's not uncommon for the actual phenomenon we want to measure to be significantly less than various disturbances that come into play. For example, the compressibility of mercury is much less than the expansion of the containers it's measured in under pressure, so the experimental focus needs to be primarily on the change in volume of the containers. Many astronomical phenomena, like parallax or the proper motions of fixed stars, are much smaller than the errors introduced by flaws in instruments or motions caused by precession, nutation, and aberration. It’s not surprising that astronomers have occasionally mistaken one phenomenon for another, such as when Flamsteed thought he had discovered the parallax of the Pole star.236
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Methods of Eliminating Error.
In any particular experiment it is the object of the experimentalist to measure a single effect only, and he endeavours to obtain that effect free from interfering effects. If this cannot be, as it seldom or never can really be, he makes the effect as considerable as possible compared with the other effects, which he reduces to a minimum, and treats as noxious errors. Those quantities, which are called errors in one case, may really be most important and interesting phenomena in another investigation. When we speak of eliminating error we really mean disentangling the complicated phenomena of nature. The physicist rightly wishes to treat one thing at a time, but as this object can seldom be rigorously carried into practice, he has to seek some mode of counteracting the irrelevant and interfering causes.
In any experiment, the goal of the experimenter is to measure just one effect, and they try to isolate that effect from any interfering factors. If that isn’t possible, which is often the case, they make the desired effect as large as possible in comparison to the other effects, which they minimize and consider to be errors. What are labeled as errors in one context might actually be significant and interesting phenomena in another study. When we talk about removing errors, we really mean sorting through the complex phenomena of nature. The physicist wants to focus on one thing at a time, but since this aim can't usually be perfectly achieved, they need to find a way to counteract the irrelevant and distracting causes.
The general principle is that a single observation can render known only a single quantity. Hence, if several different quantitative effects are known to enter into any investigation, we must have at least as many distinct observations as there are quantities to be determined. Every complete experiment will therefore consist in general of several operations. Guided if possible by previous knowledge of the causes in action, we must arrange the determinations, so that by a simple mathematical process we may distinguish the separate quantities. There appear to be five principal methods by which we may accomplish this object; these methods are specified below and illustrated in the succeeding sections.
The main idea is that one observation can only reveal one quantity. So, if we know that several different quantitative effects are involved in an investigation, we need at least as many distinct observations as there are quantities to identify. Therefore, a complete experiment will usually consist of multiple operations. If we can, we should use prior knowledge of the causes at play to organize our measurements, allowing us to use a straightforward mathematical process to differentiate the individual quantities. There seem to be five main methods we can use to achieve this goal; these methods are listed below and explained in the following sections.
(1) The Method of Avoidance. The physicist may seek for some special mode of experiment or opportunity of observation, in which the error is non-existent or inappreciable.
(1) The Method of Avoidance. The physicist may look for a specific type of experiment or chance to observe, where the error is nonexistent or negligible.
(2) The Differential Method. He may find opportunities of observation when all interfering phenomena remain constant, and only the subject of observation is at one time present and another time absent; the difference between two observations then gives its amount.
(2) The Differential Method. He might find chances to observe when all other factors stay the same, and only the subject of observation is present at one moment and absent at another; the difference between the two observations then indicates its value.
(3) The Method of Correction. He may endeavour to estimate the amount of the interfering effect by the best available mode, and then make a corresponding correction in the results of observation.
(3) The Method of Correction. He may try to measure the extent of the interfering effect using the best method available, and then make an appropriate correction to the observation results.
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(4) The Method of Compensation. He may invent some mode of neutralising the interfering cause by balancing against it an exactly equal and opposite cause of unknown amount.
(4) The Method of Compensation. He might come up with a way to neutralize the interfering cause by counteracting it with an exactly equal and opposite cause of unknown magnitude.
(5) The Method of Reversal. He may so conduct the experiment that the interfering cause may act in opposite directions, in alternate observations, the mean result being free from interference.
(5) The Method of Reversal. He can set up the experiment so that the interfering cause works in opposite directions during alternate observations, with the average result being unaffected by interference.
I. Method of Avoidance of Error.
Astronomers seek opportunities of observation when errors will be as small as possible. In spite of elaborate observations and long-continued theoretical investigation, it is not practicable to assign any satisfactory law to the refractive power of the atmosphere. Although the apparent change of place of a heavenly body produced by refraction may be more or less accurately calculated yet the error depends upon the temperature and pressure of the atmosphere, and, when a ray is highly inclined to the perpendicular, the uncertainty in the refraction becomes very considerable. Hence astronomers always make their observations, if possible, when the object is at the highest point of its daily course, i.e. on the meridian. In some kinds of investigation, as, for instance, in the determination of the latitude of an observatory, the astronomer is at liberty to select one or more stars out of the countless number visible. There is an evident advantage in such a case, in selecting a star which passes close to the zenith, so that it may be observed almost entirely free from atmospheric refraction, as was done by Hooke.
Astronomers look for observation opportunities when errors can be minimized. Despite thorough observations and extensive theoretical research, it's not feasible to pinpoint a reliable pattern for the refractive power of the atmosphere. While the apparent shift in the position of a celestial body caused by refraction can be calculated with some accuracy, the error relies on the temperature and pressure of the atmosphere. When a ray approaches a steep angle to the perpendicular, the uncertainty in refraction becomes significant. Therefore, astronomers try to make their observations when the object is at the highest point in its daily path, i.e., on the meridian. In certain types of investigations, like determining the latitude of an observatory, astronomers can choose one or more stars from the vast number visible. In such cases, there's a clear advantage in selecting a star that passes close to the zenith, allowing observation almost entirely unaffected by atmospheric refraction, as Hooke did.
Astronomers endeavour to render their clocks as accurate as possible, by removing the source of variation. The pendulum is perfectly isochronous so long as its length remains invariable, and the vibrations are exactly of equal length. They render it nearly invariable in length, that is in the distance between the centres of suspension and oscillation, by a compensatory arrangement for the change of temperature. But as this compensation may not be perfectly accomplished, some astronomers place their chief controlling clock in a cellar, or other apartment, where the changes of temperature may be as slight as possible.341 At the Paris Observatory a clock has been placed in the caves beneath the building, where there is no appreciable difference between the summer and winter temperature.
Astronomers strive to make their clocks as precise as possible by eliminating sources of variation. The pendulum is perfectly uniform as long as its length stays constant, and the swings are exactly equal in duration. They keep it almost constant in length, which is the distance between the points of support and swing, by using a compensatory system to adjust for temperature changes. However, since this adjustment might not be flawless, some astronomers position their main controlling clock in a cellar or another room where temperature fluctuations are minimal. At the Paris Observatory, a clock has been placed in the caves beneath the building, where there is no significant difference between summer and winter temperatures.341
To avoid the effect of unequal oscillations Huyghens made his beautiful investigations, which resulted in the discovery that a pendulum, of which the centre of oscillation moved upon a cycloidal path, would be perfectly isochronous, whatever the variation in the length of oscillations. But though a pendulum may be easily rendered in some degree cycloidal by the use of a steel suspension spring, it is found that the mechanical arrangements requisite to produce a truly cycloidal motion introduce more error than they remove. Hence astronomers seek to reduce the error to the smallest amount by maintaining their clock pendulums in uniform movement; in fact, while a clock is in good order and has the same weights, there need be little change in the length of oscillation. When a pendulum cannot be made to swing uniformly, as in experiments upon the force of gravity, it becomes requisite to resort to the third method, and a correction is introduced, calculated on theoretical grounds from the amount of the observed change in the length of vibration.
To avoid the issue of uneven oscillations, Huyghens conducted his remarkable investigations, which led to the discovery that a pendulum, where the center of oscillation moved along a cycloidal path, would be perfectly isochronous, no matter how much the length of oscillations varied. But even though it’s possible to make a pendulum somewhat cycloidal by using a steel suspension spring, it turns out that the mechanical setups needed to create a true cycloidal motion often introduce more errors than they fix. As a result, astronomers try to minimize errors by keeping their clock pendulums moving uniformly; in fact, if a clock is well-maintained and has consistent weights, there shouldn’t be much change in the length of oscillation. When a pendulum can’t swing uniformly, as in experiments measuring gravity, it becomes necessary to use the third method, introducing a correction based on theoretical calculations derived from the observed change in the length of vibration.
It has been mentioned that the apparent expansion of a liquid by heat, when contained in a thermometer tube or other vessel, is the difference between the real expansion of the liquid and that of the containing vessel. The effects can be accurately distinguished provided that we can learn the real expansion by heat of any one convenient liquid; for by observing the apparent expansion of the same liquid in any required vessel we can by difference learn the amount of expansion of the vessel due to any given change of temperature. When we once know the change of dimensions of the vessel, we can of course determine the absolute expansion of any other liquid tested in it. Thus it became an all-important object in scientific research to measure with accuracy the absolute dilatation by heat of some one liquid, and mercury owing to several circumstances was by far the most suitable. Dulong and Petit devised a beautiful mode of effecting this by simply avoiding altogether the effect of the change of size of the vessel. Two upright tubes full of mercury were connected by a fine tube at the bottom, and were maintained at two342 different temperatures. As mercury was free to flow from one tube to the other by the connecting tube, the two columns necessarily exerted equal pressures by the principles of hydrostatics. Hence it was only necessary to measure very accurately by a cathetometer the difference of level of the surfaces of the two columns of mercury, to learn the difference of length of columns of equal hydrostatic pressure, which at once gives the difference of density of the mercury, and the dilatation by heat. The changes of dimension in the containing tubes became a matter of entire indifference, and the length of a column of mercury at different temperatures was measured as easily as if it had formed a solid bar. The experiment was carried out by Regnault with many improvements of detail, and the absolute dilatation of mercury, at temperatures between 0° Cent. and 350°, was determined almost as accurately as was needful.237
It has been noted that the apparent expansion of a liquid when heated, as seen in a thermometer tube or other container, is the difference between the actual expansion of the liquid and that of the container itself. We can accurately identify these effects if we can determine the real thermal expansion of a specific liquid; by observing the apparent expansion of that same liquid in any given vessel, we can figure out the container's expansion due to any temperature change. Once we know how the container's dimensions change, we can easily determine the absolute expansion of any other liquid tested in it. Therefore, it became crucial in scientific research to accurately measure the absolute thermal expansion of a particular liquid, and mercury was suitable for this purpose for several reasons. Dulong and Petit created an elegant method to achieve this by completely eliminating the effects of the container's size change. They connected two upright tubes filled with mercury using a thin tube at the bottom and maintained them at two different temperatures. Since mercury could freely flow between the two tubes via the connecting tube, the two columns exerted equal pressures based on hydrostatic principles. Thus, it was only necessary to accurately measure the height difference between the surfaces of the two mercury columns using a cathetometer, which would provide the difference in length of columns under equal hydrostatic pressure, immediately giving the difference in density of the mercury and its thermal expansion. The dimensional changes within the containing tubes became irrelevant, and the length of a mercury column at different temperatures was measured as easily as if it were a solid bar. Regnault conducted the experiment with many enhancements in detail, and the absolute thermal expansion of mercury, at temperatures ranging from 0° C to 350°, was determined with almost all the accuracy needed.237
The presence of a large and uncertain amount of error may render a method of experiment valueless. Foucault devised a beautiful experiment with the pendulum for demonstrating popularly the rotation of the earth, but it could be of no use for measuring the rotation exactly. It is impossible to make the pendulum swing in a perfect plane, and the slightest lateral motion gives it an elliptic path with a progressive motion of the axis of the ellipse, which disguises and often entirely overpowers that due to the rotation of the earth.238
The presence of a large and uncertain amount of error can make an experimental method worthless. Foucault created a clever pendulum experiment to show the rotation of the Earth to the public, but it couldn’t be used for precise measurements of that rotation. It’s impossible to make the pendulum swing in a perfect plane, and even the tiniest sideways movement causes it to follow an elliptical path with a shifting axis, which obscures and often completely overpowers the effects of the Earth’s rotation.238
Faraday’s laborious experiments on the relation of gravity and electricity were much obstructed by the fact that it is impossible to move a large weight of metal without generating currents of electricity, either by friction or induction. To distinguish the electricity, if any, directly due to the action of gravity from the greater quantities indirectly produced was a problem of excessive difficulty. Baily in his experiments on the density of the earth was aware of the existence of inexplicable disturbances which have since been referred with much probability to the action of electricity.239 The skill and ingenuity of the experimentalist343 are often exhausted in trying to devise a form of apparatus in which such causes of error shall be reduced to a minimum.
Faraday's extensive experiments on the relationship between gravity and electricity faced significant challenges because it's impossible to move a heavy metal weight without generating electric currents, either through friction or induction. Distinguishing any electricity directly caused by gravity from the larger amounts produced indirectly was an extremely difficult problem. Baily, in his experiments on the density of the Earth, noted unexplained disturbances that have since been likely attributed to the effects of electricity.239 The skill and creativity of the experimenter are often stretched thin while trying to create a setup that minimizes such sources of error.343
In some rudimentary experiments we wish merely to establish the existence of a quantitative effect without precisely measuring its amount; if there exist causes of error of which we can neither render the amount known or inappreciable, the best way is to make them all negative so that the quantitative effects will be less than the truth rather than greater. Grove, for instance, in proving that the magnetisation or demagnetisation of a piece of iron raises its temperature, took care to maintain the electro-magnet by which the iron was magnetised at a lower temperature than the iron, so that it would cool rather than warm the iron by radiation or conduction.240
In some basic experiments, we just want to show that a quantitative effect exists without precisely measuring how strong it is; if there are errors that we can't fully understand or minimize, the best approach is to make sure they all lean negative so that the quantitative effects will show less than the actual amount rather than more. For example, Grove, in demonstrating that magnetizing or demagnetizing a piece of iron increases its temperature, made sure to keep the electromagnet that magnetized the iron at a lower temperature than the iron itself, so it would cool the iron instead of warming it through radiation or conduction.240
Rumford’s celebrated experiment to prove that heat was generated out of mechanical force in the boring of a cannon was subject to the difficulty that heat might be brought to the cannon by conduction from neighbouring bodies. It was an ingenious device of Davy to produce friction by a piece of clock-work resting upon a block of ice in an exhausted receiver; as the machine rose in temperature above 32°, it was certain that no heat was received by conduction from the support.241 In many other experiments ice may be employed to prevent the access of heat by conduction, and this device, first put in practice by Murray,242 is beautifully employed in Bunsen’s calorimeter.
Rumford’s famous experiment to show that heat was produced from mechanical force while boring a cannon faced the challenge that heat could be transferred to the cannon by conduction from nearby objects. Davy came up with a clever method to create friction using a clock mechanism on a block of ice in a vacuum chamber; as the machine’s temperature rose above 32°, it was clear that no heat was transferred through conduction from its base.241 In several other experiments, ice can be used to block heat from being conducted, and this method, first utilized by Murray,242 is beautifully applied in Bunsen’s calorimeter.
To observe the true temperature of the air, though apparently so easy, is really a very difficult matter, because the thermometer is sure to be affected either by the sun’s rays, the radiation from neighbouring objects, or the escape of heat into space. These sources of error are too fluctuating to allow of correction, so that the only accurate mode of procedure is that devised by Dr. Joule, of surrounding the thermometer with a copper cylinder ingeniously344 adjusted to the temperature of the air, as described by him, so that the effect of radiation shall be nullified.243
To accurately measure the air temperature, while it seems simple, is actually quite challenging because the thermometer can be influenced by the sun’s rays, heat from nearby objects, or heat escaping into the atmosphere. These sources of error are too unpredictable to fix, so the best method is the one created by Dr. Joule, which involves surrounding the thermometer with a copper cylinder carefully adjusted to match the air temperature. This setup, as he described, nullifies the effects of radiation.243
When the avoidance of error is not practicable, it will yet be desirable to reduce the absolute amount of the interfering error as much as possible before employing the succeeding methods to correct the result. As a general rule we can determine a quantity with less inaccuracy as it is smaller, so that if the error itself be small the error in determining that error will be of a still lower order of magnitude. But in some cases the absolute amount of an error is of no consequence, as in the index error of a divided circle, or the difference between a chronometer and astronomical time. Even the rate at which a clock gains or loses is a matter of little importance provided it remain constant, so that a sure calculation of its amount can be made.
When avoiding errors isn't possible, it's still important to minimize the overall amount of interference as much as we can before using the next methods to correct the results. Generally speaking, we can measure a quantity with less error as it gets smaller, meaning that if the initial error is small, the error in figuring out that error will be even smaller. However, in some situations, the total amount of an error doesn't really matter, like with the index error of a divided circle or the difference between a clock and astronomical time. Even how much a clock gains or loses isn't a big deal as long as it stays consistent, so we can accurately calculate that amount.
2. Differential Method.
When we cannot avoid the existence of error, we can often resort with success to the second mode by measuring phenomena under such circumstances that the error shall remain very nearly the same in all the observations, and neutralise itself as regards the purposes in view. This mode is available whenever we want a difference between quantities and not the absolute quantity of either. The determination of the parallax of the fixed stars is exceedingly difficult, because the amount of parallax is far less than most of the corrections for atmospheric refraction, nutation, aberration, precession, instrumental irregularities, &c., and can with difficulty be detected among these phenomena of various magnitude. But, as Galileo long ago suggested, all such difficulties would be avoided by the differential observation of stars, which, though apparently close together, are really far separated on the line of sight. Two such stars in close apparent proximity will be subject to almost exactly equal errors, so that all we need do is to observe the apparent change of place of the nearer star as referred to the more distant one.345 A good telescope furnished with an accurate micrometer is alone needed for the application of the method. Huyghens appears to have been the first observer who actually tried to employ the method practically, but it was not until 1835 that the improvement of telescopes and micrometers enabled Struve to detect in this way the parallax of the star α Lyræ. It is one of the many advantages of the observation of transits of Venus for the determination of the solar parallax that the refraction of the atmosphere affects in an exactly equal degree the planet and the portion of the sun’s face over which it is passing. Thus the observations are strictly of a differential nature.
When we can't avoid errors, we can often successfully use a second approach by measuring phenomena in such a way that the error remains almost the same across all observations, effectively canceling itself out for our purposes. This method is useful when we need to find a difference between quantities rather than the exact value of either one. Determining the parallax of fixed stars is incredibly challenging because the amount of parallax is much smaller than most corrections for atmospheric refraction, nutation, aberration, precession, instrumental irregularities, etc., and it's hard to distinguish it among these various phenomena. However, as Galileo suggested long ago, all these difficulties could be avoided by observing stars differentially, which, although they seem close together, are actually far apart along our line of sight. Two stars that appear close will experience nearly identical errors, so all we need to do is observe the apparent shift of the closer star in relation to the farther one. A good telescope equipped with an accurate micrometer is all that's needed to apply this method. Huyghens seems to have been the first observer to practically try this method, but it wasn't until 1835 that advancements in telescopes and micrometers allowed Struve to detect the parallax of the star α Lyræ using this approach. One of the many benefits of observing the transits of Venus for determining solar parallax is that atmospheric refraction impacts the planet and the part of the sun it passes over in exactly the same way. Therefore, the observations are purely differential. 345
By the process of substitutive weighing it is possible to ascertain the equality or inequality of two weights with almost perfect freedom from error. If two weights A and B be placed in the scales of the best balance we cannot be sure that the equilibrium of the beam indicates exact equality, because the arms of the beam may be unequal or unbalanced. But if we take B out and put another weight C in, and equilibrium still exists, it is apparent that the same causes of erroneous weighing exist in both cases, supposing that the balance has not been disarranged; B then must be exactly equal to C, since it has exactly the same effect under the same circumstances. In like manner it is a general rule that, if by any uniform mechanical process we get a copy of an object, it is unlikely that this copy will be precisely the same as the original in magnitude and form, but two copies will equally diverge from the original, and will therefore almost exactly resemble each other.
By using substitutive weighing, we can determine whether two weights are equal or not with minimal error. If we place weights A and B on the best balance, we can’t be completely sure that the beam’s balance means they are exactly equal, because the arms of the beam might be unequal or unbalanced. However, if we remove B and replace it with weight C, and the balance remains even, it suggests that the same factors affecting the weighing are present in both scenarios, assuming the balance hasn’t been disturbed. Thus, B must be equal to C, as they have the same effect under the same conditions. Similarly, it’s generally true that if we create a copy of an object through a consistent mechanical method, that copy is unlikely to be exactly the same in size and shape as the original, but two copies will differ from the original in similar ways and will therefore closely resemble each other.
Leslie’s Differential Thermometer244 was well adapted to the experiments for which it was invented. Having two equal bulbs any alteration in the temperature of the air will act equally by conduction on each and produce no change in the indications of the instrument. Only that radiant heat which is purposely thrown upon one of the bulbs will produce any effect. This thermometer in short carries out the principle of the differential method in a mechanical manner.
Leslie’s Differential Thermometer244 was perfectly suited for the experiments it was designed for. With two equal bulbs, any change in air temperature affects both equally through conduction, resulting in no change in the readings of the instrument. The only effect comes from the radiant heat deliberately directed at one of the bulbs. In short, this thermometer demonstrates the principle of the differential method in a mechanical way.
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3. Method of Correction.
Whenever the result of an experiment is affected by an interfering cause to a calculable amount, it is sufficient to add or subtract this amount. We are said to correct observations when we thus eliminate what is due to extraneous causes, although of course we are only separating the correct effects of several agents. The variation in the height of the barometer is partly due to the change of temperature, but since the coefficient of absolute dilatation of mercury has been exactly determined, as already described (p. 341), we have only to make calculations of a simple character, or, what is better still, tabulate a series of such calculations for general use, and the correction for temperature can be made with all desired accuracy. The height of the mercury in the barometer is also affected by capillary attraction, which depresses it by a constant amount depending mainly on the diameter of the tube. The requisite corrections can be estimated with accuracy sufficient for most purposes, more especially as we can check the correctness of the reading of a barometer by comparison with a standard barometer, and introduce if need be an index error including both the error in the affixing of the scale and the effect due to capillarity. But in constructing the standard barometer itself we must take greater precautions; the capillary depression depends somewhat upon the quality of the glass, the absence of air, and the perfect cleanliness of the mercury, so that we cannot assign the exact amount of the effect. Hence a standard barometer is constructed with a wide tube, sometimes even an inch in diameter, so that the capillary effect may be rendered almost zero.245 Gay-Lussac made barometers in the form of a uniform siphon tube, so that the capillary forces acting at the upper and lower surfaces should balance and destroy each other; but the method fails in practice because the lower surface, being open to the air, becomes sullied and subject to a different force of capillarity.
Whenever the outcome of an experiment is influenced by an interfering cause to a measurable extent, it’s enough to add or subtract this amount. We call it correcting observations when we eliminate what’s caused by outside factors, even though we’re just isolating the accurate effects of different agents. The fluctuation in barometer height is partially due to temperature changes, but since the absolute dilatation coefficient of mercury has been accurately determined, as mentioned (p. 341), we only need to perform straightforward calculations, or even better, create a table of such calculations for broader use, allowing us to make temperature corrections with high accuracy. The height of mercury in the barometer is also influenced by capillary attraction, which lowers it by a constant amount mainly depending on the tube diameter. The necessary corrections can be estimated with enough accuracy for most applications, especially as we can verify the accuracy of a barometer reading by comparing it with a standard barometer, and if needed, we can include an index error that incorporates both the scale attachment error and the capillarity effect. However, when building the standard barometer itself, we must take extra precautions; the capillary depression somewhat depends on the quality of the glass, the absence of air, and the cleanliness of the mercury, making it impossible to assign an exact amount for the effect. That’s why a standard barometer is designed with a wide tube, sometimes even an inch in diameter, so that the capillary effect can be nearly eliminated.245 Gay-Lussac created barometers using a uniform siphon tube design, aiming for the capillary forces on the upper and lower surfaces to balance each other out; but this method doesn’t work in practice since the lower surface, open to air, gets dirty and experiences a different capillarity force.
In mechanical experiments friction is an interfering condition, and drains away a portion of the energy intended347 to be operated upon in a definite manner. We should of course reduce the friction in the first place to the lowest possible amount, but as it cannot be altogether prevented, and is not calculable with certainty from any general laws, we must determine it separately for each apparatus by suitable experiments. Thus Smeaton, in his admirable but almost forgotten researches concerning water-wheels, eliminated friction in the most simple manner by determining by trial what weight, acting by a cord and roller upon his model water-wheel, would make it turn without water as rapidly as the water made it turn. In short, he ascertained what weight concurring with the water would exactly compensate for the friction.246 In Dr. Joule’s experiments to determine the mechanical equivalent of heat by the condensation of air, a considerable amount of heat was produced by friction of the condensing pump, and a small portion by stirring the water employed to absorb the heat. This heat of friction was measured by simply repeating the experiment in an exactly similar manner except that no condensation was effected, and observing the change of temperature then produced.247
In mechanical experiments, friction is a disruptive factor that consumes some of the energy intended to be used in a specific way. We should definitely aim to minimize friction as much as possible, but since it can't be completely eliminated and can't be reliably predicted through general laws, we need to measure it individually for each apparatus with appropriate experiments. For instance, Smeaton, in his remarkable but nearly forgotten studies on water-wheels, managed to eliminate friction in a straightforward way by testing what weight, acting through a cord and roller on his model water-wheel, would make it turn as quickly without water as it did with water. In other words, he figured out what weight, together with the water, would precisely balance out the friction. In Dr. Joule’s experiments to find the mechanical equivalent of heat by compressing air, a significant amount of heat was generated due to friction from the condensing pump, and a smaller amount came from stirring the water used to absorb the heat. The heat generated by friction was measured by repeating the experiment in exactly the same way, except without any condensation, and noting the resulting change in temperature.
We may describe as test experiments any in which we perform operations not intended to give the quantity of the principal phenomenon, but some quantity which would otherwise remain as an error in the result. Thus in astronomical observations almost every instrumental error may be avoided by increasing the number of observations and distributing them in such a manner as to produce in the final mean as much error in one way as in the other. But there is one source of error, first discovered by Maskelyne, which cannot be thus avoided, because it affects all observations in the same direction and to the same average amount, namely the Personal Error of the observer or the inclination to record the passage of a star across the wires of the telescope a little too soon or a little too late. This personal error was first carefully described in the Edinburgh Journal of Science, vol. i. p. 178. The difference between the judgment of observers at the Greenwich Observatory usually varies from 1100 to 13348 of a second, and remains pretty constant for the same observers.248 One practised observer in Sir George Airy’s pendulum experiments recorded all his time observations half a second too early on the average as compared with the chief observer.249 In some observers it has amounted to seven or eight-tenths of a second.250 De Morgan appears to have entertained the opinion that this source of error was essentially incapable of elimination or correction.251 But it seems clear, as I suggested without knowing what had been done,252 that this personal error might be determined absolutely with any desirable degree of accuracy by test experiments, consisting in making an artificial star move at a considerable distance and recording by electricity the exact moment of its passage over the wire. This method has in fact been successfully employed in Leyden, Paris, and Neuchatel.253 More recently, observers were trained for the Transit of Venus Expeditions by means of a mechanical model representing the motion of Venus over the sun, this model being placed at a little distance and viewed through a telescope, so that differences in the judgments of different observers would become apparent. It seems likely that tests of this nature might be employed with advantage in other cases.
We can call any kind of test experiments where we perform operations not meant to quantify the main phenomenon, but rather to measure quantities that would otherwise remain as errors in the results. In astronomical observations, nearly every instrumental error can be avoided by increasing the number of observations and arranging them in such a way that the errors balance out in the final average. However, there's one source of error, first identified by Maskelyne, that can't be avoided this way, as it impacts all observations in the same direction and to the same average degree: the Personal Error of the observer. This is the tendency to record the moment a star crosses the telescope's wires a bit too early or too late. This personal error was first thoroughly documented in the Edinburgh Journal of Science, vol. i. p. 178. The difference in judgment among observers at the Greenwich Observatory typically varies from 1100 to 13348 of a second and stays fairly consistent for the same observers.248 One experienced observer involved in Sir George Airy’s pendulum experiments recorded all his time observations an average of half a second too early compared to the chief observer.249 For some observers, it has reached seven or eight-tenths of a second.250 De Morgan seemed to believe that this source of error was fundamentally impossible to eliminate or correct.251 However, it appears clear, as I suggested without knowing what had already been done,252 that this personal error could actually be measured accurately through test experiments that involve creating an artificial star moving at a considerable distance and recording the exact moment it crosses the wire electronically. This method has indeed been successfully used in Leyden, Paris, and Neuchatel.253 More recently, observers were trained for the Transit of Venus Expeditions using a mechanical model that simulated the movement of Venus across the sun. This model was set a little distance away and viewed through a telescope, making the differences in judgments among various observers apparent. It seems likely that tests of this kind could be beneficial in other situations as well.
Newton employed the pendulum for making experiments on the impact of balls. Two balls were hung in contact, and one of them, being drawn aside through a measured arc, was then allowed to strike the other, the arcs of vibration giving sufficient data for calculating the distribution of energy at the moment of impact. The resistance of the air was an interfering cause which he estimated very simply by causing one of the balls to make several complete vibrations without impact and then marking the reduction in the lengths of the arcs, a proper fraction of which reduction was added to each of the other arcs of vibration when impact took place.254
Newton used the pendulum to conduct experiments on how balls collide. Two balls were hung in contact, and one of them was pulled aside through a measured arc and then let go to hit the other. The arcs of vibration provided enough data to calculate the distribution of energy at the moment of impact. Air resistance was an interfering factor that he estimated simply by letting one of the balls make several complete vibrations without hitting the other and then measuring the decrease in the lengths of the arcs. A portion of this reduction was added to each of the other vibration arcs when the impact occurred.254
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The exact definition of the standard of length is one of the most important, as it is one of the most difficult questions in physical science, and the different practice of different nations introduces needless confusion. Were all standards constructed so as to give the true length at a fixed uniform temperature, for instance the freezing-point, then any two standards could be compared without the interference of temperature by bringing them both to exactly the same fixed temperature. Unfortunately the French metre was defined by a bar of platinum at 0°C, while our yard was defined by a bronze bar at 62°F. It is quite impossible, then, to make a comparison of the yard and metre without the introduction of a correction, either for the expansion of platinum or bronze, or both. Bars of metal differ too so much in their rates of expansion according to their molecular condition that it is dangerous to infer from one bar to another.
The precise definition of the standard unit of length is crucial, as it poses one of the biggest challenges in physical science, and differing practices among countries create unnecessary confusion. If all standards were created to reflect the true length at a constant temperature, like the freezing point, then any two standards could be compared without temperature affecting the results by aligning them both to the same fixed temperature. However, the French meter was established using a platinum bar at 0°C, while our yard was established using a bronze bar at 62°F. It's impossible to directly compare the yard and the meter without needing to adjust for the thermal expansion of both platinum and bronze. Additionally, metal bars vary significantly in their expansion rates based on their molecular structure, making it risky to draw conclusions from one type of bar to another.
When we come to use instruments with great accuracy there are many minute sources of error which must be guarded against. If a thermometer has been graduated when perpendicular, it will read somewhat differently when laid flat, as the pressure of a column of mercury is removed from the bulb. The reading may also be somewhat altered if it has recently been raised to a higher temperature than usual, if it be placed under a vacuous receiver, or if the tube be unequally heated as compared with the bulb. For these minute causes of error we may have to introduce troublesome corrections, unless we adopt the simple precaution of using the thermometer in circumstances of position, &c., exactly similar to those in which it was graduated. There is no end to the number of minute corrections which may ultimately be required. A large number of experiments on gases, standard weights and measures, &c., depend upon the height of the barometer; but when experiments in different parts of the world are compared together we ought as a further refinement to take into account the varying force of gravity, which even between London and Paris makes a difference of ·008 inch of mercury.
When we start using instruments with high precision, there are many tiny sources of error that we need to watch out for. If a thermometer has been calibrated while upright, it will give a slightly different reading when laid flat because the pressure of the mercury column is taken off the bulb. The reading might also change a bit if it has recently been heated to a higher temperature than normal, if it's placed under a vacuum, or if the tube is heated unevenly compared to the bulb. Because of these tiny sources of error, we might need to apply complicated corrections, unless we simply use the thermometer in conditions that are exactly the same as those in which it was calibrated. The number of tiny corrections we might need can be endless. Many experiments on gases, standard weights and measures, etc., rely on barometric pressure; however, when comparing experiments from different locations around the world, we should also consider the variations in gravitational force, which can create a difference of 0.008 inches of mercury even between London and Paris.
The measurement of quantities of heat is a matter of great difficulty, because there is no known substance impervious to heat, and the problem is therefore as350 difficult as to measure liquids in porous vessels. To determine the latent heat of steam we must condense a certain amount of the steam in a known weight of water, and then observe the rise of temperature of the water. But while we are carrying out the experiment, part of the heat will escape by radiation and conduction from the condensing vessel or calorimeter. We may indeed reduce the loss of heat by using vessels with double sides and bright surfaces, surrounded with swans-down wool or other non-conducting materials; and we may also avoid raising the temperature of the water much above that of the surrounding air. Yet we cannot by any such means render the loss of heat inconsiderable. Rumford ingeniously proposed to reduce the loss to zero by commencing the experiment when the temperature of the calorimeter is as much below that of the air as it is at the end of the experiment above it. Thus the vessel will first gain and then lose by radiation and conduction, and these opposite errors will approximately balance each other. But Regnault has shown that the loss and gain do not proceed by exactly the same laws, so that in very accurate investigations Rumford’s method is not sufficient. There remains the method of correction which was beautifully carried out by Regnault in his determination of the latent heat of steam. He employed two calorimeters, made in exactly the same way and alternately used to condense a certain amount of steam, so that while one was measuring the latent heat, the other calorimeter was engaged in determining the corrections to be applied, whether on account of radiation and conduction from the vessel or on account of heat reaching the vessel by means of the connecting pipes.255
Measuring heat quantities is quite challenging because there's no substance that can completely block heat, making it as tricky as measuring liquids in porous containers. To find out the latent heat of steam, we need to condense a specific amount of steam into a known weight of water and then monitor the increase in the water's temperature. However, during the experiment, some heat will escape through radiation and conduction from the condensing vessel or calorimeter. We can minimize heat loss by using double-walled vessels with shiny surfaces, surrounded by insulating materials like swans-down wool, and by keeping the water's temperature close to that of the surrounding air. Even so, we can't make heat loss negligible. Rumford cleverly suggested starting the experiment when the calorimeter's temperature is significantly lower than the air's temperature, as it will first absorb heat and then release it. This way, the two opposite heat transfers might balance each other out. However, Regnault demonstrated that the heat loss and gain don't follow the exact same principles, so in very precise experiments, Rumford's method isn't adequate. The correction method devised by Regnault for determining the latent heat of steam is quite effective. He used two identical calorimeters alternately to condense a specific amount of steam, so while one calorimeter was measuring the latent heat, the other was focused on determining the necessary corrections due to heat loss from the vessel or heat gained through the connecting pipes.255
4. Method of Compensation.
There are many cases in which a cause of error cannot conveniently be rendered null, and is yet beyond the reach of the third method, that of calculating the requisite correction from independent observations. The magnitude351 of an error may be subject to continual variations, on account of change of weather, or other fickle circumstances beyond our control. It may either be impracticable to observe the variation of those circumstances in sufficient detail, or, if observed, the calculation of the amount of error may be subject to doubt. In these cases, and only in these cases, it will be desirable to invent some artificial mode of counterpoising the variable error against an equal error subject to exactly the same variation.
There are many situations where a cause of error can’t easily be eliminated, and is still out of reach of the third method, which involves calculating the necessary correction from independent observations. The size of an error can constantly change due to weather or other unpredictable factors we can’t control. It might be difficult to observe these changes in enough detail, or if we do observe them, the calculations of the error amount may be uncertain. In these cases, and only in these cases, it is important to create some artificial way to balance the variable error against an equal error that experiences the same variations.
We cannot weigh an object with great accuracy unless we make a correction for the weight of the air displaced by the object, and add this to the apparent weight. In very accurate investigations relating to standard weights, it is usual to note the barometer and thermometer at the time of making a weighing, and, from the measured bulks of the objects compared, to calculate the weight of air displaced; the third method in fact is adopted. To make these calculations in the frequent weighings requisite in chemical analysis would be exceedingly laborious, hence the correction is usually neglected. But when the chemist wishes to weigh gas contained in a large glass globe for the purpose of determining its specific gravity, the correction becomes of much importance. Hence chemists avoid at once the error, and the labour of correcting it, by attaching to the opposite scale of the balance a dummy sealed glass globe of equal capacity to that containing the gas to be weighed, noting only the difference of weight when the operating globe is full and empty. The correction, being the same for both globes, may be entirely neglected.256
We can't accurately weigh an object without correcting for the weight of the air it displaces and adding that to the apparent weight. In very precise studies involving standard weights, it’s common to check the barometer and thermometer at the time of weighing and use the measured volumes of the objects compared to calculate the weight of the displaced air; in fact, the third method is used. Doing these calculations for the frequent weighings needed in chemical analysis would be extremely tedious, so the correction is usually overlooked. However, when a chemist wants to weigh gas in a large glass globe to determine its specific gravity, the correction becomes very important. To avoid both the error and the effort of correcting it, chemists attach a dummy sealed glass globe of the same size to the opposite side of the balance, only noting the difference in weight when the operating globe is full and empty. Since the correction is the same for both globes, it can be completely ignored.256
A device of nearly the same kind is employed in the construction of galvanometers which measure the force of an electric current by the deflection of a suspended magnetic needle. The resistance of the needle is partly due to the directive influence of the earth’s magnetism, and partly to the torsion of the thread. But the former force may often be inconveniently great as well as troublesome to determine for different inclinations. Hence it is customary to connect together two equally magnetised needles, with their poles pointing in opposite directions,352 one needle being within and another without the coil of wire. As regards the earth’s magnetism, the needles are now astatic or indifferent, the tendency of one needle towards the pole being balanced by that of the other.
A device similar to this is used in making galvanometers, which measure the strength of an electric current by how much a suspended magnetic needle bends. The resistance of the needle comes partly from the Earth's magnetic field and partly from the twist of the thread. However, the influence of the Earth's magnetism can often be too strong and difficult to measure at different angles. So, it's common practice to connect two equally magnetized needles together, with their poles facing opposite ways, one needle placed inside and the other outside the coil of wire. Regarding the Earth's magnetism, the needles are now astatic or indifferent, as the pull of one needle towards the pole is balanced by the pull of the other. 352
An elegant instance of the elimination of a disturbing force by compensation is found in Faraday’s researches upon the magnetism of gases. To observe the magnetic attraction or repulsion of a gas seems impossible unless we enclose the gas in an envelope, probably best made of glass. But any such envelope is sure to be more or less affected by the magnet, so that it becomes difficult to distinguish between three forces which enter into the problem, namely, the magnetism of the gas in question, that of the envelope, and that of the surrounding atmospheric air. Faraday avoided all difficulties by employing two equal and similar glass tubes connected together, and so suspended from the arm of a torsion balance that the tubes were in similar parts of the magnetic field. One tube being filled with nitrogen and the other with oxygen, it was found that the oxygen seemed to be attracted and the nitrogen repelled. The suspending thread of the balance was then turned until the force of torsion restored the tubes to their original places, where the magnetism of the tubes as well as that of the surrounding air, being the same and in the opposite directions upon the two tubes, could not produce any interference. The force required to restore the tubes was measured by the amount of torsion of the thread, and it indicated correctly the difference between the attractive powers of oxygen and nitrogen. The oxygen was then withdrawn from one of the tubes, and a second experiment made, so as to compare a vacuum with nitrogen. No force was now required to maintain the tubes in their places, so that nitrogen was found to be, approximately speaking, indifferent to the magnet, that is, neither magnetic nor diamagnetic, while oxygen was proved to be positively magnetic.257 It required the highest experimental skill on the part of Faraday and Tyndall, to distinguish between what is apparent and real in magnetic attraction and repulsion.
An elegant example of how a disturbing force can be eliminated through compensation is found in Faraday's studies on the magnetism of gases. To observe the magnetic attraction or repulsion of a gas seems impossible unless we contain the gas in a surrounding envelope, likely best made of glass. However, any such envelope will inevitably be influenced by the magnet, making it challenging to differentiate between the three forces involved: the magnetism of the gas in question, that of the envelope, and that of the surrounding air. Faraday navigated these challenges by using two equal and identical glass tubes connected together, and suspended from the arm of a torsion balance in such a way that the tubes were both in similar areas of the magnetic field. One tube was filled with nitrogen while the other was filled with oxygen; it was found that the oxygen appeared to be attracted while the nitrogen was repelled. The suspending thread of the balance was then twisted until the force of torsion returned the tubes to their original positions, where the magnetism of the tubes, along with that of the surrounding air, was equal and acted in opposite directions on the two tubes, thus avoiding any interference. The force needed to return the tubes was measured by the degree of torsion in the thread, accurately reflecting the difference between the attractive forces of oxygen and nitrogen. After removing the oxygen from one of the tubes, a second experiment was conducted to compare a vacuum with nitrogen. This time, no force was needed to keep the tubes in position, indicating that nitrogen was, approximately, neutral to the magnet—meaning it was neither magnetic nor diamagnetic—while oxygen was confirmed to be positively magnetic.257 It required the highest level of experimental skill from Faraday and Tyndall to differentiate between what is obvious and what is real in magnetic attraction and repulsion.
Experience alone can finally decide when a compensating353 arrangement is conducive to accuracy. As a general rule mechanical compensation is the last resource, and in the more accurate observations it is likely to introduce more uncertainty than it removes. A multitude of instruments involving mechanical compensation have been devised, but they are usually of an unscientific character,258 because the errors compensated can be more accurately determined and allowed for. But there are exceptions to this rule, and it seems to be proved that in the delicate and tiresome operation of measuring a base line, invariable bars, compensated for expansion by heat, give the most accurate results. This arises from the fact that it is very difficult to determine accurately the temperature of the measuring bars under varying conditions of weather and manipulation.259 Again, the last refinement in the measurement of time at Greenwich Observatory depends upon mechanical compensation. Sir George Airy, observing that the standard clock increased its losing rate 0·30 second for an increase of one inch in atmospheric pressure, placed a magnet moved by a barometer in such a position below the pendulum, as almost entirely to neutralise this cause of irregularity. The thorough remedy, however, would be to remove the cause of error altogether by placing the clock in a vacuous case.
Experience alone can ultimately determine when a compensating 353 arrangement helps with accuracy. Generally, mechanical compensation is used as a last resort, and in more precise observations, it may actually introduce more uncertainty than it eliminates. Many instruments that use mechanical compensation have been created, but they often lack scientific rigor,258 because the errors they offset can usually be identified and accounted for more accurately. However, there are exceptions to this, and it seems proven that in the careful and tedious process of measuring a baseline, fixed bars that are adjusted for thermal expansion yield the most accurate results. This is because it’s quite challenging to accurately gauge the temperature of the measuring bars under varying weather and handling conditions.259 Furthermore, the latest refinement in measuring time at Greenwich Observatory relies on mechanical compensation. Sir George Airy noticed that the standard clock's error increased by 0.30 seconds with each inch of atmospheric pressure increase, so he positioned a magnet moved by a barometer beneath the pendulum to almost completely counteract this source of irregularity. The ideal solution, however, would be to eliminate the source of the error entirely by placing the clock in a vacuum case.
We thus see that the choice of one or other mode of eliminating an error depends entirely upon circumstances and the object in view; but we may safely lay down the following conclusions. First of all, seek to avoid the source of error altogether if it can be conveniently done; if not, make the experiment so that the error may be as small, but more especially as constant, as possible. If the means are at hand for determining its amount by calculation from other experiments and principles of science, allow the error to exist and make a correction in the result. If this cannot be accurately done or involves too much labour for the purposes in view, then throw in a counteracting error which shall as nearly as possible be of equal amount in all circumstances with that to be eliminated. There yet remains, however, one important method, that of Reversal,354 which will form an appropriate transition to the succeeding chapters on the Method of Mean Results and the Law of Error.
We can see that the choice between different ways to eliminate an error completely depends on the situation and the goal; however, we can confidently draw the following conclusions. First, try to avoid the source of the error altogether if possible; if not, design the experiment so that the error is minimized, but especially that it is as consistent as possible. If you have the means to calculate its amount from other experiments and scientific principles, let the error exist and adjust the result accordingly. If this can’t be done accurately or it requires too much effort for your purposes, then introduce a counteracting error that is as close as possible in magnitude to the one you want to eliminate under all circumstances. Nevertheless, there is still one important method left, that of Reversal,354 which will provide a fitting transition to the upcoming chapters on the Method of Mean Results and the Law of Error.
5. Method of Reversal.
The fifth method of eliminating error is most potent and satisfactory when it can be applied, but it requires that we shall be able to reverse the apparatus and mode of procedure, so as to make the interfering cause act alternately in opposite directions. If we can get two experimental results, one of which is as much too great as the other is too small, the error is equal to half the difference, and the true result is the mean of the two apparent results. It is an unavoidable defect of the chemical balance, for instance, that the points of suspension of the pans cannot be fixed at exactly equal distances from the centre of suspension of the beam. Hence two weights which seem to balance each other will never be quite equal in reality. The difference is detected by reversing the weights, and it may be estimated by adding small weights to the deficient side to restore equilibrium, and then taking as the true weight the geometric mean of the two apparent weights of the same object. If the difference is small, the arithmetic mean, that is half the sum, may be substituted for the geometric mean, from which it will not appreciably differ.
The fifth method of eliminating error is very effective and satisfying when it can be used, but it requires us to be able to reverse the equipment and procedure so we can make the interfering cause act in opposite directions alternately. If we can obtain two experimental results, one of which is too high by a certain amount while the other is too low by the same amount, the error is equal to half the difference, and the true result is the average of the two apparent results. A common limitation of the chemical balance, for example, is that the points of suspension of the pans can’t be perfectly equal distances from the center of suspension of the beam. Therefore, two weights that appear to balance each other will never actually be equal. The difference can be identified by switching the weights, and it can be estimated by adding small weights to the lighter side to restore balance, then taking the geometric mean of the two apparent weights of the same object as the true weight. If the difference is small, the arithmetic mean, which is half the sum, can be used instead of the geometric mean, as it will be very similar.
This method of reversal is most extensively employed in practical astronomy. The apparent elevation of a heavenly body is observed by a telescope moving upon a divided circle, upon which the inclination of the telescope is read off. Now this reading will be erroneous if the circle and the telescope have not accurately the same centre. But if we read off at the same time both ends of the telescope, the one reading will be about as much too small as the other is too great, and the mean will be nearly free from error. In practice the observation is differently conducted, but the principle is the same; the telescope is fixed to the circle, which moves with it, and the angle through which it moves is read off at three, six, or more points, disposed at equal intervals round the circle. The older astronomers, down even to the time of355 Flamsteed, were accustomed to use portions only of a divided circle, generally quadrants, and Römer made a vast improvement when he introduced the complete circle.
This method of reversal is widely used in practical astronomy. The apparent height of a celestial body is observed through a telescope attached to a marked circle, which indicates the angle of the telescope. This reading can be incorrect if the circle and telescope don’t share the same center. However, if we read the measurements at both ends of the telescope simultaneously, one reading will be slightly smaller while the other will be slightly larger, and the average will be quite accurate. In practice, the observation is carried out slightly differently, but the underlying principle remains the same; the telescope is attached to the circle, which moves with it, and the angle it moves through is measured at three, six, or more equal intervals around the circle. Earlier astronomers, up until Flamsteed’s time, typically used only sections of a divided circle, usually quadrants. Römer significantly improved this by introducing the complete circle.
The transit circle, employed to determine the meridian passage of heavenly bodies, is so constructed that the telescope and the axis bearing it, in fact the whole moving part of the instrument, can be taken out of the bearing sockets and turned over, so that what was formerly the western pivot becomes the eastern one, and vice versâ. It is impossible that the instrument could have been so perfectly constructed, mounted, and adjusted that the telescope should point exactly to the meridian, but the effect of the reversal is that it will point as much to the west in one position as it does to the east in the other, and the mean result of observations in the two positions must be free from such cause of error.
The transit circle, used to measure when celestial bodies cross the meridian, is designed so that the telescope and its axis, along with the entire movable part of the instrument, can be removed from the bearing sockets and flipped over. This means that the western pivot becomes the eastern one, and vice versa. It's unlikely that the instrument could be constructed, mounted, and adjusted perfectly enough for the telescope to point exactly to the meridian. However, the result of flipping it is that it will point as far west in one position as it does east in the other, so the average of observations taken in both positions should eliminate that specific error.
The accuracy with which the inclination of the compass needle can be determined depends almost entirely on the method of reversal. The dip needle consists of a bar of magnetised steel, suspended somewhat like the beam of a delicate balance on a slender axis passing through the centre of gravity of the bar, so that it is at liberty to rest in that exact degree of inclination in the magnetic meridian which the magnetism of the earth induces. The inclination is read off upon a vertical divided circle, but to avoid error arising from the centring of the needle and circle, both ends are read, and the mean of the results is taken. The whole instrument is now turned carefully round through 180°, which causes the needle to assume a new position relatively to the circle and gives two new readings, in which any error due to the wrong position of the zero of the division will be reversed. As the axis of the needle may not be exactly horizontal, it is now reversed in the same manner as the transit instrument, the end of the axis which formerly pointed east being made to point west, and a new set of four readings is taken.
The accuracy of determining the tilt of the compass needle mainly relies on the reversal method. The dip needle is made of magnetized steel, hanging like the beam of a precise balance on a thin axis through the center of gravity, allowing it to settle at the exact tilt in the magnetic meridian that Earth's magnetism causes. The tilt is read off a vertical divided circle, but to prevent errors from centering the needle and circle, both ends are measured and the average of the results is taken. The entire instrument is then carefully rotated 180°, causing the needle to take a new position relative to the circle and providing two new readings, where any error from the incorrect position of the division's zero will be reversed. Since the needle’s axis may not be perfectly horizontal, it is then reversed like a transit instrument, with the end that used to point east now pointing west, and a new set of four readings is taken.
Finally, error may arise from the axis not passing accurately through the centre of gravity of the bar, and this error can only be detected and eliminated on changing the magnetic poles of the bar by the application of a strong magnet. The error is thus made to act in opposite directions. To ensure all possible accuracy each reversal356 ought to be combined with each other reversal, so that the needle will be observed in eight different positions by sixteen readings, the mean of the whole of which will give the required inclination free from all eliminable errors.260
Finally, errors can occur if the axis doesn't pass precisely through the center of gravity of the bar, and the only way to detect and fix this error is by changing the magnetic poles of the bar with a strong magnet. This process makes the error act in opposite directions. To ensure maximum accuracy, each reversal should be paired with every other reversal, allowing the needle to be observed in eight different positions through sixteen readings. The average of all these readings will provide the needed inclination without any correctable errors.260
There are certain cases in which a disturbing cause can with ease be made to act in opposite directions, in alternate observations, so that the mean of the results will be free from disturbance. Thus in direct experiments upon the velocity of sound in passing through the air between stations two or three miles apart, the wind is a cause of error. It will be well, in the first place, to choose a time for the experiment when the air is very nearly at rest, and the disturbance slight, but if at the same moment signal sounds be made at each station and observed at the other, two sounds will be passing in opposite directions through the same body of air and the wind will accelerate one sound almost exactly as it retards the other. Again, in trigonometrical surveys the apparent height of a point will be affected by atmospheric refraction and the curvature of the earth. But if in the case of two points the apparent elevation of each as seen from the other be observed, the corrections will be the same in amount, but reversed in direction, and the mean between the two apparent differences of altitude will give the true difference of level.
There are certain situations where a disruptive factor can easily act in opposite directions in alternate observations, so the average of the results will be undisturbed. For example, in direct experiments measuring the speed of sound traveling through the air between locations two or three miles apart, wind introduces error. It's best to conduct the experiment when the air is nearly still and the disturbance is minimal. However, if sound signals are produced at each station and observed at the other station simultaneously, two sounds will travel in opposite directions through the same air mass, with the wind speeding up one sound while slowing down the other. Similarly, in trigonometrical surveys, the apparent height of a point is influenced by atmospheric refraction and the curvature of the Earth. But if the apparent elevation of two points is noted from each other's perspective, the corrections will be equal in magnitude but opposite in direction, and the average of the two apparent differences in altitude will provide the true difference in level.
In the next two chapters we really pursue the Method of Reversal into more complicated applications.
In the next two chapters, we will dive deeper into the Method of Reversal and explore more complex applications.
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CHAPTER XVI.
THE METHOD OF APPROACH.
All results of the measurement of continuous quantity can be only approximately true. Were this assertion doubted, it could readily be proved by direct experience. If any person, using an instrument of the greatest precision, makes and registers successive observations in an unbiassed manner, it will almost invariably be found that the results differ from each other. When we operate with sufficient care we cannot perform so simple an experiment as weighing an object in a good balance without getting discrepant numbers. Only the rough and careless experimenter will think that his observations agree, but in reality he will be found to overlook the differences. The most elaborate researches, such as those undertaken in connection with standard weights and measures, always render it apparent that complete coincidence is out of the question, and that the more accurate our modes of observation are rendered, the more numerous are the sources of minute error which become apparent. We may look upon the existence of error in all measurements as the normal state of things. It is absolutely impossible to eliminate separately the multitude of small disturbing influences, except by balancing them off against each other. Even in drawing a mean it is to be expected that we shall come near the truth rather than exactly to it. In the measurement of continuous quantity, absolute coincidence, if it seems to occur, must be only apparent, and is no indication of precision. It is one of the most embarrassing things we can meet when experimental358 results agree too closely. Such coincidences should raise our suspicion that the apparatus in use is in some way restricted in its operation, so as not really to give the true result at all, or that the actual results have not been faithfully recorded by the assistant in charge of the apparatus.
All measurements of continuous quantities can only be approximately true. If anyone doubts this, it can easily be proven through direct experience. When someone uses a highly precise instrument and makes successive observations impartially, they will almost always find that the results differ from one another. Even when we take great care, we can't perform something as simple as weighing an object on a good balance without getting different numbers. Only a rough and careless experimenter thinks their observations match up, but in reality, they overlook the differences. The most detailed studies, like those involving standard weights and measures, always show that complete agreement is impossible, and the more accurate our methods become, the more sources of tiny errors we uncover. It's normal to expect some error in all measurements. It's completely impossible to eliminate all the small disturbing influences separately, except by balancing them out against one another. Even when calculating an average, we should expect to get close to the truth rather than exactly to it. In measuring continuous quantities, any absolute agreement that seems to happen must only appear to be true and doesn’t indicate precision. It can be quite concerning when experimental results align too closely. Such coincidences should alert us that the equipment being used might be limited in some way and isn’t delivering the true result, or that the actual results haven't been accurately recorded by the person overseeing the equipment.
If then we cannot get twice over exactly the same result, the question arises, How can we ever attain the truth or select the result which may be supposed to approach most nearly to it? The quantity of a certain phenomenon is expressed in several numbers which differ from each other; no more than one of them at the most can be true, and it is more probable that they are all false. It may be suggested, perhaps, that the observer should select the one observation which he judged to be the best made, and there will often doubtless be a feeling that one or more results were satisfactory, and the others less trustworthy. This seems to have been the course adopted by the early astronomers. Flamsteed, when he had made several observations of a star, probably chose in an arbitrary manner that which seemed to him nearest to the truth.261
If we can't get the same result twice, the question comes up: how can we ever find the truth or choose the result that might come closest to it? The amount of a certain phenomenon is shown in several numbers that differ from each other; at most, only one of them can be true, and it's more likely that all of them are false. It might be suggested that the observer should pick the observation they believe is the best, and there will often be a sense that one or more results are solid while the others are less reliable. This seems to be the approach taken by early astronomers. Flamsteed, after making several observations of a star, probably picked the one that seemed closest to the truth in a somewhat arbitrary way.261
When Horrocks selected for his estimate of the sun’s semi-diameter a mean between the results of Kepler and Tycho, he professed not to do it from any regard to the idle adage, “Medio tutissimus ibis,” but because he thought it from his own observations to be correct.262 But this method will not apply at all when the observer has made a number of measurements which are equally good in his opinion, and it is quite apparent that in using an instrument or apparatus of considerable complication the observer will not necessarily be able to judge whether slight causes have affected its operation or not.
When Horrocks chose a mean value for the sun’s semi-diameter, combining the results of Kepler and Tycho, he claimed it wasn’t out of respect for the old saying, “Medio tutissimus ibis,” but because he believed it was correct based on his own observations.262 However, this approach won’t work when the observer has made several measurements that they consider equally valid. It’s clear that when using a complex instrument or setup, the observer might not be able to determine if minor factors have influenced its functioning.
In this question, as indeed throughout inductive logic, we deal only with probabilities. There is no infallible mode of arriving at the absolute truth, which lies beyond the reach of human intellect, and can only be the distant object of our long-continued and painful approximations. Nevertheless there is a mode pointed out alike by common sense and the highest mathematical reasoning, which is359 more likely than any other, as a general rule, to bring us near the truth. The ἄριστον μέτρον, or the aurea mediocritas, was highly esteemed in the ancient philosophy of Greece and Rome; but it is not probable that any of the ancients should have been able clearly to analyse and express the reasons why they advocated the mean as the safest course. But in the last two centuries this apparently simple question of the mean has been found to afford a field for the exercise of the utmost mathematical skill. Roger Cotes, the editor of the Principia, appears to have had some insight into the value of the mean; but profound mathematicians such as De Moivre, Daniel Bernoulli, Laplace, Lagrange, Gauss, Quetelet, De Morgan, Airy, Leslie Ellis, Boole, Glaisher, and others, have hardly exhausted the subject.
In this question, as throughout inductive logic, we focus only on probabilities. There is no foolproof way to reach absolute truth, which is beyond the limits of human understanding and can only be a distant goal of our long and difficult attempts to get closer. Still, there's a method identified by both common sense and advanced mathematical reasoning that is generally more likely than any other to bring us closer to the truth. The ἄριστον μέτρον, or the aurea mediocritas, was highly valued in ancient Greek and Roman philosophy; however, it’s unlikely that any of the ancients could clearly analyze and explain the reasons they supported the mean as the safest approach. In the past two centuries, this seemingly simple question of the mean has proven to be a complex area for applying advanced mathematical skills. Roger Cotes, the editor of the Principia, seemed to recognize the importance of the mean; however, great mathematicians like De Moivre, Daniel Bernoulli, Laplace, Lagrange, Gauss, Quetelet, De Morgan, Airy, Leslie Ellis, Boole, Glaisher, and others have barely scratched the surface of the topic.
Several uses of the Mean Result.
The elimination of errors of unknown sources, is almost always accomplished by the simple arithmetical process of taking the mean, or, as it is often called, the average of several discrepant numbers. To take an average is to add the several quantities together, and divide by the number of quantities thus added, which gives a quotient lying among, or in the middle of, the several quantities. Before however inquiring fully into the grounds of this procedure, it is essential to observe that this one arithmetical process is really applied in at least three different cases, for different purposes, and upon different principles, and we must take great care not to confuse one application of the process with another. A mean result, then, may have any one of the following significations.
The elimination of errors from unknown sources is usually achieved through the straightforward mathematical method of calculating the mean, or what is often referred to as the average, of several inconsistent numbers. To find an average, you add all the quantities together and then divide by the number of quantities you've added, resulting in a value that falls within, or in the middle of, those quantities. However, before we fully explore the rationale behind this method, it's important to note that this one arithmetic process is actually used in at least three different scenarios, each with distinct purposes and principles. We need to be careful not to mix up one use of the process with another. A mean result can therefore have any of the following meanings.
(1) It may give a merely representative number, expressing the general magnitude of a series of quantities, and serving as a convenient mode of comparing them with other series of quantities. Such a number is properly called The fictitious mean or The average result.
(1) It can provide a typical number, showing the overall scale of a group of amounts, and acting as an easy way to compare them with other groups of amounts. This type of number is correctly referred to as The fictitious mean or The average result.
(2) It may give a result approximately free from disturbing quantities, which are known to affect some results in one direction, and other results equally in the opposite direction. We may say that in this case we get a Precise mean result.
(2) It might provide a result that's mostly free from disruptive factors, which are known to impact some outcomes in one direction and other outcomes equally in the opposite direction. In this case, we can say we achieve a Precise mean result.
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(3) It may give a result more or less free from unknown and uncertain errors; this we may call the Probable mean result.
(3) It may yield a result that's mostly free from unknown and uncertain errors; we can refer to this as the Probable mean result.
Of these three uses of the mean the first is entirely different in nature from the two last, since it does not yield an approximation to any natural quantity, but furnishes us with an arithmetic result comparing the aggregate of certain quantities with their number. The third use of the mean rests entirely upon the theory of probability, and will be more fully considered in a later part of this chapter. The second use is closely connected, or even identical with, the Method of Reversal already described, but it will be desirable to enter somewhat fully into all the three employments of the same arithmetical process.
Of these three uses of the mean, the first is completely different from the last two since it doesn’t provide an approximation of any natural quantity but gives us an arithmetic result that compares the total of certain quantities with their count. The third use of the mean is based entirely on probability theory and will be discussed more in-depth later in this chapter. The second use is closely related to, or even the same as, the Method of Reversal that was described earlier, but it’s worth taking a closer look at all three applications of this arithmetic process.
The Mean and the Average.
Much confusion exists in the popular, or even the scientific employment of the terms mean and average, and they are commonly taken as synonymous. It is necessary to ascertain carefully what significations we ought to attach to them. The English word mean is equivalent to medium, being derived, perhaps through the French moyen, from the Latin medius, which again is undoubtedly kindred with the Greek μεσος. Etymologists believe, too, that this Greek word is connected with the preposition μετα, the German mitte, and the true English mid or middle; so that after all the mean is a technical term identical in its root with the more popular equivalent middle.
There’s a lot of confusion in how people, and even scientists, use the terms mean and average, and they are often seen as the same thing. It’s important to clarify what meanings we should assign to them. The English word mean is similar to medium, likely coming from the French moyen, which is derived from the Latin medius, a word that is definitely related to the Greek μεσος. Etymologists also think that this Greek word is linked to the preposition μετα, the German mitte, and the true English mid or middle; so ultimately, the mean is a technical term that shares the same root as the more common term middle.
If we inquire what is the mean in a mathematical point of view, the true answer is that there are several or many kinds of means. The old arithmeticians recognised ten kinds, which are stated by Boethius, and an eleventh was added by Jordanus.263
If we ask what "mean" means in mathematical terms, the accurate answer is that there are several different types of means. The early mathematicians identified ten types, which Boethius listed, and Jordanus added an eleventh.263
The arithmetic mean is the one by far the most commonly denoted by the term, and that which we may understand it to signify in the absence of any qualification. It is the sum of a series of quantities divided by their number, and may be represented by the formula 12(a + b).361 But there is also the geometric mean, which is the square root of the product, √a × b, or that quantity the logarithm of which is the arithmetic mean of the logarithms of the quantities. There is also the harmonic mean, which is the reciprocal of the arithmetic mean of the reciprocals of the quantities. Thus if a and b be the quantities, as before, their reciprocals are 1a and 1b, the mean of which is 12 (1a + 1b), and the reciprocal again is 2aba + b, which is the harmonic mean. Other kinds of means might no doubt be invented for particular purposes, and we might apply the term, as De Morgan pointed out,264 to any quantity a function of which is equal to a function of two or more other quantities, and is such that the interchange of these latter quantities among themselves will make no alteration in the value of the function. Symbolically, if Φ (y, y, y ....) = Φ (x1, x2, x3 ....), then y is a kind of mean of the quantities, x1, x2, &c.
The arithmetic mean is by far the most commonly referred to by this term, and it’s what we generally understand it to mean unless stated otherwise. It’s the sum of a set of values divided by the number of values, represented by the formula 12(a + b).361 But there’s also the geometric mean, which is the square root of the product, √a × b, or that value whose logarithm is the arithmetic mean of the logarithms of the quantities. Then there’s the harmonic mean, which is the reciprocal of the arithmetic mean of the reciprocals of the quantities. So if a and b are the values, their reciprocals are 1a and 1b, the mean of which is 12 (1a + 1bI'm sorry, but there is no text provided for me to modernize. Please provide a phrase., and the reciprocal of that is 2aba + b, which is the harmonic mean. Other types of means could certainly be created for specific purposes, and we could use the term, as De Morgan pointed out,264 to refer to any quantity that is a function of which is equal to a function of two or more other quantities, and such that swapping these latter quantities around won’t change the value of the function. Symbolically, if Φ (y, y, y ....) = Φ (x1, x2, x3 ....), then y is a kind of mean of the quantities, x1, x2, &c.
The geometric mean is necessarily adopted in certain cases. When we estimate the work done against a force which varies inversely as the square of the distance from a fixed point, the mean force is the geometric mean between the forces at the beginning and end of the path. When in an imperfect balance, we reverse the weights to eliminate error, the true weight will be the geometric mean of the two apparent weights. In almost all the calculations of statistics and commerce the geometric mean ought, strictly speaking, to be used. If a commodity rises in price 100 per cent. and another remains unaltered, the mean rise of a price is not 50 per cent. because the ratio 150 : 200 is not the same as 100 : 150. The mean ratio is as unity to √1·00 × 2·00 or 1 to 1·41. The difference between the three kinds of means in such a case265 is very considerable; while the rise of price estimated by the Arithmetic mean would be 50 per cent. it would be only 41 and 33 per cent. respectively according to the Geometric and Harmonic means.
The geometric mean is necessary in certain situations. When we estimate the work done against a force that decreases with the square of the distance from a fixed point, the average force is the geometric mean of the forces at the start and end of the path. When we have an imbalanced situation and switch the weights to correct for errors, the true weight will be the geometric mean of the two apparent weights. In almost all calculations in statistics and commerce, the geometric mean should be used. If the price of a commodity increases by 100 percent and another remains the same, the average price increase isn't 50 percent because the ratio of 150 to 200 is not the same as 100 to 150. The average ratio is one to the square root of 1.00 times 2.00, or 1 to 1.41. The difference between the three types of means in this case265 is significant; while the price increase calculated using the Arithmetic mean would be 50 percent, it would only be 41 and 33 percent, respectively, according to the Geometric and Harmonic means.
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In all calculations concerning the average rate of progress of a community, or any of its operations, the geometric mean should be employed. For if a quantity increases 100 per cent. in 100 years, it would not on the average increase 10 per cent. in each ten years, as the 10 per cent. would at the end of each decade be calculated upon larger and larger quantities, and give at the end of 100 years much more than 100 per cent., in fact as much as 159 per cent. The true mean rate in each decade would be 10√2 or about 1·07, that is, the increase would be about 7 per cent. in each ten years. But when the quantities differ very little, the arithmetic and geometric means are approximately the same. Thus the arithmetic mean of 1·000 and 1·001 is 1·0005, and the geometric mean is about 1·0004998, the difference being of an order inappreciable in almost all scientific and practical matters. Even in the comparison of standard weights by Gauss’ method of reversal, the arithmetic mean may usually be substituted for the geometric mean which is the true result.
In all calculations regarding the average rate of progress of a community or any of its operations, the geometric mean should be used. If a quantity increases by 100 percent over 100 years, it wouldn’t average a 10 percent increase every ten years, because the 10 percent would be based on increasingly larger amounts at the end of each decade, resulting in more than a 100 percent increase after 100 years—specifically about 159 percent. The true average rate for each decade would be 10√2, or about 1.07, meaning the increase would be roughly 7 percent every ten years. However, when the quantities are very close, the arithmetic and geometric means are pretty much the same. For example, the arithmetic mean of 1.000 and 1.001 is 1.0005, while the geometric mean is about 1.0004998, with the difference being negligible in almost all scientific and practical contexts. Even in comparing standard weights using Gauss’ method of reversal, the arithmetic mean can usually replace the geometric mean that represents the true result.
Regarding the mean in the absence of express qualification to the contrary as the common arithmetic mean, we must still distinguish between its two uses where it gives with more or less accuracy and probability a really existing quantity, and where it acts as a mere representative of other quantities. If I make many experiments to determine the atomic weight of an element, there is a certain number which I wish to approximate to, and the mean of my separate results will, in the absence of any reasons to the contrary, be the most probable approximate result. When we determine the mean density of the earth, it is not because any part of the earth is of that exact density; there may be no part exactly corresponding to the mean density, and as the crust of the earth has only about half the mean density, the internal matter of the globe must of course be above the mean. Even the density of a homogeneous substance like carbon or gold must be regarded as a mean between the real density of its atoms, and the zero density of the intervening vacuous space.
Regarding the mean, unless stated otherwise, we consider it as the common arithmetic mean. We need to differentiate between its two uses: one where it gives a fairly accurate representation of an actual quantity, and the other where it simply serves as a representation of other quantities. For example, if I conduct several experiments to find the atomic weight of an element, I aim to get close to a specific number, and the average of my results will, unless proven otherwise, be the most likely accurate estimate. When we calculate the mean density of the Earth, it’s not because any part of the Earth has that exact density; it’s possible that no part matches the mean density at all. Since the Earth's crust has roughly half the mean density, the internal materials must be above the mean. Even the density of a uniform substance like carbon or gold should be seen as an average between the actual density of its atoms and the zero density of the empty space in between.
The very different signification of the word “mean” in these two uses was fully explained by Quetelet,266 and the363 importance of the distinction was pointed out by Sir John Herschel in reviewing his work.267 It is much to be desired that scientific men would mark the difference by using the word mean only in the former sense when it denotes approximation to a definite existing quantity; and average, when the mean is only a fictitious quantity, used for convenience of thought and expression. The etymology of this word “average” is somewhat obscure; but according to De Morgan268 it comes from averia, “havings or possessions,” especially applied to farm stock. By the accidents of language averagium came to mean the labour of farm horses to which the lord was entitled, and it probably acquired in this manner the notion of distributing a whole into parts, a sense in which it was early applied to maritime averages or contributions of the other owners of cargo to those whose goods have been thrown overboard or used for the safety of the vessel.
The very different meanings of the word “mean” in these two contexts were clearly explained by Quetelet,266 and the importance of this distinction was highlighted by Sir John Herschel when he reviewed Quetelet's work.267 It would be very helpful if scientists would differentiate by using the word mean only in the first sense when it refers to an approximation of a specific existing quantity, and average when the mean is merely a fictional quantity that is used for convenience in thought and expression. The origin of the word “average” is somewhat unclear; however, according to De Morgan268, it comes from averia, meaning “havings or possessions,” particularly related to farm stock. Due to language evolution, averagium came to refer to the labor of farm horses that the lord was entitled to, and it likely gained the meaning of distributing a whole into parts. This sense was early applied to maritime averages, or the contributions of other cargo owners for those whose goods had been thrown overboard or used for the safety of the ship.
On the Average or Fictitious Mean.
Although the average when employed in its proper sense of a fictitious mean, represents no really existing quantity, it is yet of the highest scientific importance, as enabling us to conceive in a single result a multitude of details. It enables us to make a hypothetical simplification of a problem, and avoid complexity without committing error. The weight of a body is the sum of the weights of infinitely small particles, each acting at a different place, so that a mechanical problem resolves itself, strictly speaking, into an infinite number of distinct problems. We owe to Archimedes the first introduction of the beautiful idea that one point may be discovered in a gravitating body such that the weight of all the particles may be regarded as concentrated in that point, and yet the behaviour of the whole body will be exactly represented by the behaviour of this heavy point. This Centre of Gravity may be within the body, as in the case of a sphere, or it may be in empty space, as in the case of a ring. Any two bodies, whether connected or separate, may be conceived364 as having a centre of gravity, that of the sun and earth lying within the sun and only 267 miles from its centre.
Although the average, when used correctly as a hypothetical mean, does not represent any actual quantity, it is incredibly important scientifically because it allows us to combine a lot of details into a single result. It helps us simplify a problem hypothetically and avoid complexity without making mistakes. The weight of an object is the total weight of countless tiny particles, each acting in different locations, meaning a mechanical problem essentially breaks down into an infinite number of separate problems. We owe Archimedes for introducing the elegant idea that there is one point in a gravitating body where the weight of all the particles can be thought of as concentrated, and the behavior of the entire body will be accurately represented by the behavior of this heavy point. This Center of Gravity can be inside the body, like in a sphere, or in empty space, like in a ring. Any two bodies, whether connected or apart, can be thought of as having a center of gravity, with that of the sun and earth located within the sun, just 267 miles from its center.
Although we most commonly use the notion of a centre or average point with regard to gravity, the same notion is applicable to other cases. Terrestrial gravity is a case of approximately parallel forces, and the centre of gravity is but a special case of the more general Centre of Parallel Forces. Wherever a number of forces of whatever amount act in parallel lines, it is possible to discover a point at which the algebraic sum of the forces may be imagined to act with exactly the same effect. Water in a cistern presses against the side with a pressure varying according to the depth, but always in a direction perpendicular to the side. We may then conceive the whole pressure as exerted on one point, which will be one-third from the bottom of the cistern, and may be called the Centre of Pressure. The Centre of Oscillation of a pendulum, discovered by Huyghens, is that point at which the whole weight of the pendulum may be considered as concentrated, without altering the time of oscillation (p. 315). When one body strikes another the Centre of Percussion is that point in the striking body at which all its mass might be concentrated without altering the effect of the stroke. In position the Centre of Percussion does not differ from the Centre of Oscillation. Mathematicians have also described the Centre of Gyration, the Centre of Conversion, the Centre of Friction, &c.
Although we usually think of a center or average point in relation to gravity, this concept applies to other situations as well. Terrestrial gravity is an example of nearly parallel forces, and the center of gravity is simply a specific instance of the broader Center of Parallel Forces. Whenever multiple forces, regardless of their magnitude, act along parallel lines, we can identify a point where the combined effect of those forces can be imagined to act equivalently. Water in a tank exerts pressure on the side that changes with depth, but always pushes perpendicular to the wall. We can visualize the total pressure as being applied to a single point, which will be one-third from the bottom of the tank, and we can refer to it as the Center of Pressure. The Center of Oscillation of a pendulum, found by Huyghens, is the point where the entire weight of the pendulum can be considered to be concentrated without affecting the oscillation period (p. 315). When one object hits another, the Center of Percussion is the spot on the striking object where all its mass could be concentrated without changing the impact's effect. In terms of position, the Center of Percussion is the same as the Center of Oscillation. Mathematicians have also defined the Center of Gyration, the Center of Conversion, the Center of Friction, etc.
We ought carefully to distinguish between those cases in which an invariable centre can be assigned, and those in which it cannot. In perfect strictness, there is no such thing as a true invariable centre of gravity. As a general rule a body is capable of possessing an invariable centre only for perfectly parallel forces, and gravity never does act in absolutely parallel lines. Thus, as usual, we find that our conceptions are only hypothetically correct, and only approximately applicable to real circumstances. There are indeed certain geometrical forms called Centrobaric,269 such that a body of that shape would attract another exactly as if the mass were concentrated at the centre of gravity, whether the forces act in a parallel manner or not.365 Newton showed that uniform spheres of matter have this property, and this truth proved of the greatest importance in simplifying his calculations. But it is after all a purely hypothetical truth, because we can nowhere meet with, nor can we construct, a perfectly spherical and homogeneous body. The slightest irregularity or protrusion from the surface will destroy the rigorous correctness of the assumption. The spheroid, on the other hand, has no invariable centre at which its mass may always be regarded as concentrated. The point from which its resultant attraction acts will move about according to the distance and position of the other attracting body, and it will only coincide with the centre as regards an infinitely distant body whose attractive forces may be considered as acting in parallel lines.
We should carefully distinguish between cases where an invariable center can be identified and those where it can't. Strictly speaking, there's no true invariable center of gravity. Generally, a body can only have an invariable center for perfectly parallel forces, and gravity never acts in absolutely parallel lines. Thus, we see that our concepts are only hypothetically correct and only roughly applicable to real situations. There are certain geometric shapes called Centrobaric,269 such that a body of that shape would attract another just like if the mass was concentrated at the center of gravity, regardless of whether the forces act in parallel or not.365 Newton demonstrated that uniform spheres of matter have this property, and this fact proved crucial in simplifying his calculations. But ultimately, it's a purely hypothetical truth, as we can’t find or create a perfectly spherical and homogeneous body. Even the slightest irregularity or bump on the surface will undermine the exactness of this assumption. Meanwhile, the spheroid doesn’t have an invariable center where its mass can always be seen as concentrated. The point from which its resultant attraction acts will shift depending on the distance and position of the other attracting body, only coinciding with the center in relation to an infinitely distant body whose attractive forces can be considered parallel.
Physicists speak familiarly of the poles of a magnet, and the term may be used with convenience. But, if we attach any definite meaning to the word, the poles are not the ends of the magnet, nor any fixed points within, but the variable points from which the resultants of all the forces exerted by the particles in the bar upon exterior magnetic particles may be considered as acting. The poles are, in short, Centres of Magnetic Forces; but as those forces are never really parallel, these centres will vary in position according to the relative place of the object attracted. Only when we regard the magnet as attracting a very distant, or, strictly speaking, infinitely distant particle, do its centres become fixed points, situated in short magnets approximately at one-sixth of the whole length from each end of the bar. We have in the above instances of centres or poles of force sufficient examples of the mode in which the Fictitious Mean or Average is employed in physical science.
Physicists often casually refer to the poles of a magnet, and it's a convenient term. However, if we give the word a specific meaning, the poles aren't the ends of the magnet or fixed points inside it, but rather the variable points from which the effects of all the forces exerted by the particles in the bar on external magnetic particles can be considered as acting. In short, the poles are Centers of Magnetic Forces; but since those forces are never truly parallel, these centers will shift in position based on the location of the object being attracted. Only when we think of the magnet attracting a very distant, or more precisely, infinitely distant particle do its centers become fixed points, located in short magnets about one-sixth of the total length from each end of the bar. The examples of centers or poles of force mentioned above show how the Fictitious Mean or Average is used in physical science.
The Precise Mean Result.
We now turn to that mode of employing the mean result which is analogous to the method of reversal, but which is brought into practice in a most extensive manner throughout many branches of physical science. We find the simplest possible case in the determination of the latitude of a place by observations of the Pole-star. Tycho366 Brahe suggested that if the elevation of any circumpolar star were observed at its higher and lower passages across the meridian, half the sum of the elevations would be the latitude of the place, which is equal to the height of the pole. Such a star is as much above the pole at its highest passage, as it is below at its lowest, so that the mean must necessarily give the height of the pole itself free from doubt, except as regards incidental errors. The Pole-star is usually selected for the purpose of such observations because it describes the smallest circle, and is thus on the whole least affected by atmospheric refraction.
We now turn to a way of using the average result that is similar to the method of reversal, but is applied extensively across many fields of physical science. We find the simplest case in determining the latitude of a location by observing the North Star. Tycho Brahe suggested that if you measure the height of any circumpolar star at its highest and lowest points as it crosses the meridian, half of the total of these measurements would equal the latitude of the location, which matches the height of the pole. A star is as far above the pole at its highest point as it is below it at its lowest, so the average of these measurements will accurately provide the height of the pole itself, aside from any minor errors. The North Star is typically chosen for these observations because it travels in the smallest circle, making it less affected by the atmosphere.
Whenever several causes are in action, each of which at one time increases and at another time decreases the joint effect by equal quantities, we may apply this method and disentangle the effects. Thus the solar and lunar tides roll on in almost complete independence of each other. When the moon is new or full the solar tide coincides, or nearly so, with that caused by the moon, and the joint effect is the sum of the separate effects. When the moon is in quadrature, or half full, the two tides are acting in opposition, one raising and the other depressing the water, so that we observe only the difference of the effects. We have in fact—
Whenever multiple causes are at play, each of which simultaneously increases and decreases the overall effect by equal amounts, we can use this approach to separate the effects. The solar and lunar tides move almost completely independently of one another. When the moon is new or full, the solar tide coincides, or nearly so, with the tide caused by the moon, and the overall effect is the sum of the individual effects. When the moon is at a right angle, or half full, the two tides are working against each other, with one raising and the other lowering the water, so we only notice the difference in effects. What we have, in fact—
Neap tide = lunar tide - solar tide.
We have only then to add together the heights of the maximum spring tide and the minimum neap tide, and half the sum is the true height of the lunar tide. Half the difference of the spring and neap tides on the other hand gives the solar tide.
We just need to add the heights of the highest spring tide and the lowest neap tide, and then divide that sum by two to get the actual height of the lunar tide. On the other hand, the difference between the spring and neap tides divided by two gives us the solar tide.
Effects of very small amount may be detected with great approach to certainty among much greater fluctuations, provided that we have a series of observations sufficiently numerous and long continued to enable us to balance all the larger effects against each other. For this purpose the observations should be continued over at least one complete cycle, in which the effects run through all their variations, and return exactly to the same relative positions as at the commencement. If casual or irregular disturbing causes exist, we should probably require many such cycles of results to render their effect inappreciable. We obtain the desired result by taking the mean of all the367 observations in which a cause acts positively, and the mean of all in which it acts negatively. Half the difference of these means will give the effect of the cause in question, provided that no other effect happens to vary in the same period or nearly so.
The effects of very small amounts can be detected with a high degree of certainty amid much larger fluctuations, as long as we have a series of observations that are sufficiently numerous and ongoing to allow us to balance all the larger effects against one another. To achieve this, the observations should span at least one complete cycle, during which the effects undergo all their variations and return to the same relative positions as at the start. If there are random or irregular disturbances, we would likely need many such cycles of results to make their impact negligible. We achieve the desired result by calculating the average of all observations where a cause acts positively and the average of all where it acts negatively. Half the difference between these averages will provide the effect of the cause in question, assuming no other effect varies in the same period or close to it.
Since the moon causes a movement of the ocean, it is evident that its attraction must have some effect upon the atmosphere. The laws of atmospheric tides were investigated by Laplace, but as it would be impracticable by theory to calculate their amounts we can only determine them by observation, as Laplace predicted that they would one day be determined.270 But the oscillations of the barometer thus caused are far smaller than the oscillations due to several other causes. Storms, hurricanes, or changes of weather produce movements of the barometer sometimes as much as a thousand times as great as the tides in question. There are also regular daily, yearly, or other fluctuations, all greater than the desired quantity. To detect and measure the atmospheric tide it was desirable that observations should be made in a place as free as possible from irregular disturbances. On this account several long series of observations were made at St. Helena, where the barometer is far more regular in its movements than in a continental climate. The effect of the moon’s attraction was then detected by taking the mean of all the readings when the moon was on the meridian and the similar mean when she was on the horizon. The difference of these means was found to be only ·00365, yet it was possible to discover even the variation of this tide according as the moon was nearer to or further from the earth, though this difference was only ·00056 inch.271 It is quite evident that such minute effects could never be discovered in a purely empirical manner. Having no information but the series of observations before us, we could have no clue as to the mode of grouping them which would give so small a difference. In applying this method of means in an extensive manner we must generally then have à priori knowledge as to the periods at which a cause will act in one direction or the other.
Since the moon causes the ocean to move, it's clear that its pull must also affect the atmosphere. Laplace studied the laws of atmospheric tides, but since it's impractical to calculate their measurements theoretically, we can only determine them through observation, just as Laplace predicted we would one day be able to do.270 However, the changes in barometric pressure caused by this are much smaller than those caused by other factors. Storms, hurricanes, and weather changes can cause barometer movements that are sometimes up to a thousand times greater than the tides in question. There are also regular daily, yearly, or other fluctuations, all larger than the tides we're interested in. To detect and measure atmospheric tides, it was important to make observations in a location as free as possible from irregular disturbances. For this reason, multiple long series of observations were conducted at St. Helena, where the barometer is much more consistent in its readings than in continental climates. The moon's gravitational effect was detected by averaging all the readings when the moon was on the meridian and doing the same when it was on the horizon. The difference between these averages was found to be only 0.00365, yet it was still possible to identify the variation of this tide depending on whether the moon was closer or farther from the earth, even though this difference was only 0.00056 inches.271 It's evident that such tiny effects could never be discovered through purely empirical means. Without any information other than the series of observations we have, we wouldn’t have any idea how to group them to yield such a small difference. When applying this method of averages extensively, we generally need to have à priori knowledge about the periods when a cause will have an effect in one direction or another.
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We are sometimes able to eliminate fluctuations and take a mean result by purely mechanical arrangements. The daily variations of temperature, for instance, become imperceptible one or two feet below the surface of the earth, so that a thermometer placed with its bulb at that depth gives very nearly the true daily mean temperature. At a depth of twenty feet even the yearly fluctuations are nearly effaced, and the thermometer stands a little above the true mean temperature of the locality. In registering the rise and fall of the tide by a tide-gauge, it is desirable to avoid the oscillations arising from surface waves, which is very readily accomplished by placing the float in a cistern communicating by a small hole with the sea. Only a general rise or fall of the level is then perceptible, just as in the marine barometer the narrow tube prevents any casual fluctuations and allows only a continued change of pressure to manifest itself.
We can sometimes smooth out variations and achieve an average result through mechanical means. For example, the daily temperature changes become negligible just one or two feet below the ground, so a thermometer placed with its bulb at that depth provides a reading almost equal to the true daily average temperature. At a depth of twenty feet, even yearly temperature fluctuations are mostly eliminated, and the thermometer shows slightly above the true average temperature of the area. When measuring the rise and fall of the tide with a tide gauge, it's important to minimize the effects of surface waves, which can easily be done by placing the float in a cistern that connects to the sea through a small hole. This way, only the overall rise or fall in sea level is noticeable, similar to how a marine barometer's narrow tube prevents random fluctuations and only registers sustained changes in pressure.
Determination of the Zero point.
In many important observations the chief difficulty consists in defining exactly the zero point from which we are to measure. We can point a telescope with great precision to a star and can measure to a second of arc the angle through which the telescope is raised or lowered; but all this precision will be useless unless we know exactly the centre point of the heavens from which we measure, or, what comes to the same thing, the horizontal line 90° distant from it. Since the true horizon has reference to the figure of the earth at the place of observation, we can only determine it by the direction of gravity, as marked either by the plumb-line or the surface of a liquid. The question resolves itself then into the most accurate mode of observing the direction of gravity, and as the plumb-line has long been found hopelessly inaccurate, astronomers generally employ the surface of mercury in repose as the criterion of horizontality. They ingeniously observe the direction of the surface by making a star the index. From the laws of reflection it follows that the angle between the direct ray from a star and that reflected from a surface of mercury will be exactly double the angle between the369 surface and the direct ray from the star. Hence the horizontal or zero point is the mean between the apparent place of any star or other very distant object and its reflection in mercury.
In many key observations, the main challenge is accurately defining the zero point from which we measure. We can point a telescope very precisely at a star and measure the angle to a second of arc with the telescope raised or lowered; however, this precision is meaningless unless we know exactly the center point of the heavens from which we measure, or, in other words, the horizontal line that's 90° away from it. Since the true horizon depends on the shape of the Earth at the observation location, we can only determine it by the direction of gravity, indicated either by a plumb line or the surface of a liquid. The question then becomes about the most accurate method for observing the direction of gravity. As the plumb line has proven to be quite inaccurate, astronomers typically use the surface of mercury at rest as the standard for horizontality. They cleverly observe the direction of the surface by using a star as a reference. According to the laws of reflection, the angle between the direct ray from a star and that reflected from a mercury surface will be exactly double the angle between the surface and the direct ray from the star. Therefore, the horizontal or zero point is the average between the apparent position of any star or another very distant object and its reflection in mercury.
A plumb-line is perpendicular, or a liquid surface is horizontal only in an approximate sense; for any irregularity of the surface of the earth, a mountain, or even a house must cause some deviation by its attracting power. To detect such deviation might seem very difficult, because every other plumb-line or liquid surface would be equally affected by gravity. Nevertheless it can be detected; for if we place one plumb-line to the north of a mountain, and another to the south, they will be about equally deflected in opposite directions, and if by observations of the same star we can measure the angle between the plumb-lines, half the inclination will be the deviation of either, after allowance has been made for the inclination due to the difference of latitude of the two places of observation. By this mode of observation applied to the mountain Schiehallion the deviation of the plumb-line was accurately measured by Maskelyne, and thus a comparison instituted between the attractive forces of the mountain and the whole globe, which led to a probable estimate of the earth’s density.
A plumb line is vertical, or a liquid surface is horizontal only in an approximate way; any unevenness in the Earth's surface, like a mountain or even a house, will cause some deviation due to its gravitational pull. Detecting this deviation might seem really challenging since every other plumb line or liquid surface would be similarly influenced by gravity. However, it can be detected; if we place one plumb line to the north of a mountain and another to the south, they'll be deflected in opposite directions. By observing the same star, we can measure the angle between the plumb lines, and half of that angle will indicate the deviation of either line—after accounting for the tilt caused by the difference in latitude between the two observation points. Using this method of observation on Mount Schiehallion, Maskelyne accurately measured the deviation of the plumb line, allowing for a comparison between the mountain's gravitational pull and that of the entire Earth, which led to a reasonable estimate of the Earth’s density.
In some cases it is actually better to determine the zero point by the average of equally diverging quantities than by direct observation. In delicate weighings by a chemical balance it is requisite to ascertain exactly the point at which the beam comes to rest, and when standard weights are being compared the position of the beam is ascertained by a carefully divided scale viewed through a microscope. But when the beam is just coming to rest, friction, small impediments or other accidental causes may readily obstruct it, because it is near the point at which the force of stability becomes infinitely small. Hence it is found better to let the beam vibrate and observe the terminal points of the vibrations. The mean between two extreme points will nearly indicate the position of rest. Friction and the resistance of air tend to reduce the vibrations, so that this mean will be erroneous by half the amount of this effect during a half vibration. But by taking several observations we may determine this retardation and allow for it. Thus if a, b, c be the readings of the terminal370 points of three excursions of the beam from the zero of the scale, then 12 (a + b) will be about as much erroneous in one direction as 12 (b + c) in the other, so that the mean of these two means, or 14 (a + 2b + c), will be exceedingly near to the point of rest.272 A still closer approximation may be made by taking four readings and reducing them by the formula 16 (a + 2b + 2c + d).
In some situations, it's actually better to find the zero point by averaging equally diverging quantities rather than relying on direct observation. In precise weighings with a chemical balance, it's important to pinpoint exactly where the beam comes to a stop. When comparing standard weights, the beam's position is measured with a carefully marked scale looked at through a microscope. However, when the beam is just about to stabilize, friction, slight obstacles, or other unexpected factors can easily interfere with it since it’s close to the point where stability is very weak. Therefore, it’s more effective to let the beam oscillate and observe the endpoints of the vibrations. The average of the two extreme points will closely indicate the point of rest. Friction and air resistance tend to dampen the vibrations, so this average will be off by half the amount of this effect during a complete vibration. But by taking several measurements, we can determine this delay and adjust for it. So if a, b, and c are the readings of the endpoints of three oscillations of the beam from the zero of the scale, then 12 (a + b) will be about as incorrect in one direction as 12 (b + c) in the other, meaning that the average of these two averages, or 14 (a + 2b + c), will be very close to the point of rest. A still closer estimate can be obtained by taking four readings and adjusting them using the formula 16 (a + 2b + 2c + d).
The accuracy of Baily’s experiments, directed to determine the density of the earth, entirely depended upon this mode of observing oscillations. The balls whose gravitation was measured were so delicately suspended by a torsion balance that they never came to rest. The extreme points of the oscillations were observed both when the heavy leaden attracting ball was on one side and on the other. The difference of the mean points when the leaden ball was on the right hand and that when it was on the left hand gave double the amount of the deflection.
The precision of Baily's experiments, aimed at determining the Earth's density, relied entirely on this method of observing oscillations. The balls, whose gravitational pull was measured, were suspended so delicately by a torsion balance that they never came to a complete stop. The extreme points of the oscillations were recorded both when the heavy lead ball was on one side and then on the other. The difference between the average points when the lead ball was on the right side versus when it was on the left side provided double the amount of the deflection.
A beautiful instance of avoiding the use of a zero point is found in Mr. E. J. Stone’s observations on the radiant heat of the fixed stars. The difficulty of these observations arose from the comparatively great amounts of heat which were sent into the telescope from the atmosphere, and which were sufficient to disguise almost entirely the feeble heat rays of a star. But Mr. Stone fixed at the focus of his telescope a double thermo-electric pile of which the two parts were reversed in order. Now any disturbance of temperature which acted uniformly upon both piles produced no effect upon the galvanometer needle, and when the rays of the star were made to fall alternately upon one pile and the other, the total amount of the deflection represented double the heating power of the star. Thus Mr. Stone was able to detect with much certainty a heating effect of the star Arcturus, which even when concentrated by the telescope amounted only to 0°·02 Fahr., and which represents a heating effect of the direct ray of only about 0°·00000137 Fahr., equivalent to the heat which would be received from a three-inch cubic vessel full of boiling water at the distance of 400 yards.273 It is probable that371 Mr. Stone’s arrangement of the pile might be usefully employed in other delicate thermometric experiments subject to considerable disturbing influences.
A great example of avoiding the use of a zero point is found in Mr. E. J. Stone’s observations on the radiant heat of fixed stars. The challenge with these observations came from the relatively large amounts of heat coming from the atmosphere, which were enough to completely mask the faint heat rays of a star. However, Mr. Stone placed a double thermo-electric pile at the focus of his telescope, reversing the order of the two parts. This way, any temperature disturbance that affected both piles equally had no impact on the galvanometer needle. When the star's rays alternately hit one pile and then the other, the total amount of deflection reflected double the heating power of the star. Thus, Mr. Stone was able to reliably detect the heating effect of the star Arcturus, which, even when focused through the telescope, was only 0°·02 Fahr., representing a heating effect of the direct ray of around 0°·00000137 Fahr., equivalent to the heat received from a three-inch cubic vessel of boiling water at a distance of 400 yards.273 It seems likely that Mr. Stone’s setup might be effectively used in other sensitive thermometric experiments facing significant disturbances.
Determination of Maximum Points.
We employ the method of means in a certain number of observations directed to determine the moment at which a phenomenon reaches its highest point in quantity. In noting the place of a fixed star at a given time there is no difficulty in ascertaining the point to be observed, for a star in a good telescope presents an exceedingly small disc. In observing a nebulous body which from a bright centre fades gradually away on all sides, it will not be possible to select with certainty the middle point. In many such cases the best method is not to select arbitrarily the supposed middle point, but points of equal brightness on either side, and then take the mean of the observations of these two points for the centre. As a general rule, a variable quantity in reaching its maximum increases at a less and less rate, and after passing the highest point begins to decrease by insensible degrees. The maximum may indeed be defined as that point at which the increase or decrease is null. Hence it will usually be the most indefinite point, and if we can accurately measure the phenomenon we shall best determine the place of the maximum by determining points on either side at which the ordinates are equal. There is moreover this advantage in the method that several points may be determined with the corresponding ones on the other side, and the mean of the whole taken as the true place of the maximum. But this method entirely depends upon the existence of symmetry in the curve, so that of two equal ordinates one shall be as far on one side of the maximum as the other is on the other side. The method fails when other laws of variation prevail.
We use the averaging method in a certain number of observations to determine the moment when a phenomenon reaches its peak quantity. When noting the position of a fixed star at a specific time, it's easy to pinpoint the observation point, as a star in a good telescope appears as an extremely small dot. However, when observing a nebulous object that gradually fades from a bright center, it's difficult to accurately choose the middle point. In many such cases, instead of arbitrarily picking a center point, the best approach is to choose points of equal brightness on either side and then take the average of the observations of these two points to find the center. Generally, a variable quantity, upon reaching its maximum, increases at a slower rate, and after surpassing the highest point, it begins to decrease gradually. The maximum can indeed be defined as the point where the increase or decrease becomes zero. Therefore, it is usually the most unclear point, and if we can accurately measure the phenomenon, we'll determine the maximum most effectively by identifying points on either side where the values are equal. Additionally, this method allows for multiple points to be determined with their corresponding counterparts on the other side, and the average of all these can be taken as the true location of the maximum. However, this method relies entirely on the existence of symmetry in the curve, so that for two equal values, one is as far on one side of the maximum as the other is on the opposite side. The method fails when other variation laws are in effect.
In tidal observations great difficulty is encountered in fixing the moment of high water, because the rate at which the water is then rising or falling, is almost imperceptible. Whewell proposed, therefore, to note the time at which the water passes a fixed point somewhat below the maximum both in rising and falling, and take the mean372 time as that of high water. But this mode of proceeding unfortunately does not give a correct result, because the tide follows different laws in rising and in falling. There is a difficulty again in selecting the highest spring tide, another object of much importance in tidology. Laplace discovered that the tide of the second day preceding the conjunction of the sun and moon is nearly equal to that of the fifth day following; and, believing that the increase and decrease of the tides proceeded in a nearly symmetrical manner, he decided that the highest tide would occur about thirty-six hours after the conjunction, that is half-way between the second day before and the fifth day after.274
In tidal observations, it's really challenging to pinpoint the exact time of high water because the water rises or falls so slowly that it's hard to notice. Whewell suggested recording the time when the water passes a fixed point just below the peak, both while rising and falling, and then averaging those times to determine when high water occurs. However, this approach doesn't yield accurate results since the tide behaves differently when it rises compared to when it falls. There's also a challenge in identifying the highest spring tide, which is another crucial aspect of tide studies. Laplace found that the tide on the second day before the sun and moon align is about the same as the tide five days after that alignment. He believed that the rise and fall of the tides happened in a fairly symmetrical way, so he concluded that the highest tide would occur approximately thirty-six hours after the alignment, which is halfway between the second day before and the fifth day after. 372
This method is also employed in determining the time of passage of the middle or densest point of a stream of meteors. The earth takes two or three days in passing completely through the November stream; but astronomers need for their calculations to have some definite point fixed within a few minutes if possible. When near to the middle they observe the numbers of meteors which come within the sphere of vision in each half hour, or quarter hour, and then, assuming that the law of variation is symmetrical, they select a moment for the passage of the centre equidistant between times of equal frequency.
This method is also used to figure out when the middle or densest part of a meteor shower passes. Earth takes two or three days to fully move through the November meteor stream, but astronomers need a specific point that’s fixed to within a few minutes if possible. When they’re close to the middle, they count the number of meteors visible every half hour or quarter hour, and then, assuming the variation follows a symmetrical pattern, they choose a moment for the center’s passage that’s equidistant between times of equal frequency.
The eclipses of Jupiter’s satellites are not only of great interest as regards the motions of the satellites themselves, but were, and perhaps still are, of use in determining longitudes, because they are events occurring at fixed moments of absolute time, and visible in all parts of the planetary system at the same time, allowance being made for the interval occupied by the light in travelling. But, as is explained by Herschel,275 the moment of the event is wanting in definiteness, partly because the long cone of Jupiter’s shadow is surrounded by a penumbra, and partly because the satellite has itself a sensible disc, and takes time in entering the shadow. Different observers using different telescopes would usually select different moments for that of the eclipse. But the increase of light in the emersion will proceed according to a law the reverse of that observed in the immersion, so that if an observer notes373 the time of both events with the same telescope, he will be as much too soon in one observation as he is too late in the other, and the mean moment of the two observations will represent with considerable accuracy the time when the satellite is in the middle of the shadow. Error of judgment of the observer is thus eliminated, provided that he takes care to act at the emersion as he did at the immersion.
The eclipses of Jupiter’s moons are not just fascinating for studying the moons' movements, but they also were, and maybe still are, helpful for calculating longitudes. This is because they're events that happen at specific points in time and can be seen simultaneously from anywhere in the solar system, accounting for the time it takes light to travel. However, as Herschel points out, the timing of these events is not very precise. This is partly due to the long cone of Jupiter’s shadow having a penumbra around it, and partly because the moon itself has a noticeable disk and takes time to move into the shadow. Different observers with different telescopes often pick different moments for the eclipse. However, the increase of light during the reappearance happens in a way that's opposite to what is seen during the disappearance. So, if one observer records the times for both events using the same telescope, they will be too early for one and too late for the other, meaning the average of both will give a fairly accurate time for when the moon is in the center of the shadow. This helps eliminate errors in judgment by the observer, as long as they use the same approach during the reappearance as they did during the disappearance.
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CHAPTER XVII.
The Law of Error.
To bring error itself under law might seem beyond human power. He who errs surely diverges from law, and it might be deemed hopeless out of error to draw truth. One of the most remarkable achievements of the human intellect is the establishment of a general theory which not only enables us among discrepant results to approximate to the truth, but to assign the degree of probability which fairly attaches to this conclusion. It would be a mistake indeed to suppose that this law is necessarily the best guide under all circumstances. Every measuring instrument and every form of experiment may have its own special law of error; there may in one instrument be a tendency in one direction and in another in the opposite direction. Every process has its peculiar liabilities to disturbance, and we are never relieved from the necessity of providing against special difficulties. The general Law of Error is the best guide only when we have exhausted all other means of approximation, and still find discrepancies, which are due to unknown causes. We must treat such residual differences in some way or other, since they will occur in all accurate experiments, and as their origin is assumed to be unknown, there is no reason why we should treat them differently in different cases. Accordingly the ultimate Law of Error must be a uniform and general one.
Bringing error under law might seem impossible for humans. When someone makes a mistake, they clearly go off track from the law, and it can feel hopeless to find the truth from error. One of the most incredible achievements of human thinking is the creation of a general theory that helps us get close to the truth amidst different results, allowing us to determine the level of probability that accurately relates to our conclusions. It would be incorrect to think that this law is always the best guide in every situation. Each measuring tool and every type of experiment may have its own unique law of error; one tool might lean in one direction while another leans the opposite way. Every process has its own risks for disturbance, and we can never escape the need to address specific challenges. The general Law of Error is the best guide only after we've tried all other methods of approximation and still see differences that can be attributed to unknown causes. We need to handle these remaining discrepancies somehow since they will appear in all precise experiments, and because their origins are unknown, there's no reason to treat them differently in different situations. Therefore, the ultimate Law of Error must be consistent and general.
It is perfectly recognised by mathematicians that in each case a special Law of Error may exist, and should be discovered if possible. “Nothing can be more unlikely than that the errors committed in all classes of observations375 should follow the same law,”276 and the special Laws of Error which will apply to certain instruments, as for instance the repeating circle, have been investigated by Bravais.277 He concludes that every distinct cause of error gives rise to a curve of possibility of errors, which may have any form,—a curve which we may either be able or unable to discover, and which in the first case may be determined by à priori considerations on the peculiar nature of this cause, or which may be determined à posteriori by observation. Whenever it is practicable and worth the labour, we ought to investigate these special conditions of error; nevertheless, when there are a great number of different sources of minute error, the general resultant will always tend to obey that general law which we are about to consider.
It's widely accepted by mathematicians that in each situation, a specific Law of Error may exist and should be identified if possible. “Nothing is more unlikely than that the errors made in all types of observations375 should follow the same law,”276 and the specific Laws of Error that apply to certain instruments, such as the repeating circle, have been explored by Bravais.277 He concludes that every distinct cause of error leads to a curve of possible errors, which can take any shape—a curve that we may or may not be able to identify, and in the first case, it can be determined by à priori considerations on the unique nature of this cause, or it can be figured out à posteriori through observation. Whenever it makes sense and is worth the effort, we should look into these specific conditions of error; however, when there are many different sources of minor errors, the overall result will always tend to follow that general law which we are about to discuss.
Establishment of the Law of Error.
Mathematicians agree far better as to the form of the Law of Error than they do as to the manner in which it can be deduced and proved. They agree that among a number of discrepant results of observation, that mean quantity is probably the best approximation to the truth which makes the sum of the squares of the errors as small as possible. But there are three principal ways in which this law has been arrived at respectively by Gauss, by Laplace and Quetelet, and by Sir John Herschel. Gauss proceeds much upon assumption; Herschel rests upon geometrical considerations; while Laplace and Quetelet regard the Law of Error as a development of the doctrine of combinations. A number of other mathematicians, such as Adrain of New Brunswick, Bessel, Ivory, Donkin, Leslie Ellis, Tait, and Crofton have either attempted independent proofs or have modified or commented on those here to be described. For full accounts of the literature of the subject the reader should refer either to Mr. Todhunter’s History of the Theory of Probability or to the able memoir of Mr. J. W. L. Glaisher.278
Mathematicians are much more in agreement about the form of the Law of Error than they are about how it can be deduced and proven. They agree that when faced with several differing observation results, the mean value is likely the best approximation to the truth that minimizes the sum of the squares of the errors. However, there are three main approaches to this law: Gauss relies heavily on assumptions; Herschel bases his work on geometric principles; while Laplace and Quetelet view the Law of Error as an extension of the theory of combinations. Several other mathematicians, including Adrain from New Brunswick, Bessel, Ivory, Donkin, Leslie Ellis, Tait, and Crofton, have either attempted independent proofs or have modified or commented on the descriptions provided here. For comprehensive accounts of the relevant literature, readers should consult Mr. Todhunter’s History of the Theory of Probability or the insightful memoir by Mr. J. W. L. Glaisher.278
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According to Gauss the Law of Error expresses the comparative probability of errors of various magnitude, and partly from experience, partly from à priori considerations, we may readily lay down certain conditions to which the law will certainly conform. It may fairly be assumed as a first principle to guide us in the selection of the law, that large errors will be far less frequent and probable than small ones. We know that very large errors are almost impossible, so that the probability must rapidly decrease as the amount of the error increases. A second principle is that positive and negative errors shall be equally probable, which may certainly be assumed, because we are supposed to be devoid of any knowledge as to the causes of the residual errors. It follows that the probability of the error must be a function of an even power of the magnitude, that is of the square, or the fourth power, or the sixth power, otherwise the probability of the same amount of error would vary according as the error was positive or negative. The even powers x2, x4, x6, &c., are always intrinsically positive, whether x be positive or negative. There is no à priori reason why one rather than another of these even powers should be selected. Gauss himself allows that the fourth or sixth power would fulfil the conditions as well as the second;279 but in the absence of any theoretical reasons we should prefer the second power, because it leads to formulæ of great comparative simplicity. Did the Law of Error necessitate the use of the higher powers of the error, the complexity of the necessary calculations would much reduce the utility of the theory.
According to Gauss, the Law of Error describes the likelihood of different-sized errors, and based partly on experience and partly on prior knowledge, we can set certain conditions that the law will definitely meet. One basic assumption is that large errors are much less common and less likely than small ones. We know that extremely large errors are nearly impossible, so the likelihood must decrease quickly as the error size increases. Another principle is that positive and negative errors are equally likely, which we can assume because we don’t know the causes of the remaining errors. This means that the probability of the error has to be a function of an even power of the magnitude, such as the square, fourth power, or sixth power; otherwise, the probability of a given error would change depending on whether the error was positive or negative. The even powers, x2, x4, x6, etc., are always inherently positive, regardless of whether x is positive or negative. There’s no prior reason to choose one even power over another. Gauss himself notes that the fourth or sixth power would meet the conditions just as well as the second;279 but without any theoretical reasons, we should prefer the second power because it leads to formulas that are much simpler. If the Law of Error required the use of higher powers, the complexity of the necessary calculations would significantly reduce the usefulness of the theory.
By mathematical reasoning which it would be undesirable to attempt to follow in this book, it is shown that under these conditions, the facility of occurrence, or in other, words, the probability of error is expressed by a function of the general form ε–h2 x2, in which x represents the variable amount of errors. From this law, to be more fully described in the following sections, it at once follows that the most probable result of any observations377 is that which makes the sum of the squares of the consequent errors the least possible. Let a, b, c, &c., be the results of observation, and x the quantity selected as the most probable, that is the most free from unknown errors: then we must determine x so that (a - x)2 + (b - x)2 + (c - x)2 + . . . shall be the least possible quantity. Thus we arrive at the celebrated Method of Least Squares, as it is usually called, which appears to have been first distinctly put in practice by Gauss in 1795, while Legendre first published in 1806 an account of the process in his work, entitled, Nouvelles Méthodes pour la Détermination des Orbites des Comètes. It is worthy of notice, however, that Roger Cotes had long previously recommended a method of equivalent nature in his tract, “Estimatio Erroris in Mixta Mathesi.”280
By using mathematical reasoning that wouldn't be practical to explain in this book, it's shown that under these conditions, the likelihood of errors can be expressed by a function of the general form ε–h2 x2, where x represents the variable amount of errors. From this principle, which will be detailed in the following sections, it follows that the most likely outcome of any observations377 is the one that minimizes the sum of the squares of the resulting errors. Let a, b, c, etc., be the observed results, and x the value chosen as the most likely, meaning it has the least unknown errors: we need to determine x so that the total of (a - x)2 + (b - x)2 + (c - x)2 + . . . is minimized. This leads us to the well-known Method of Least Squares, as it is commonly referred to, which was first clearly implemented by Gauss in 1795, while Legendre later published a description of the process in 1806 in his work titled Nouvelles Méthodes pour la Détermination des Orbites des Comètes. It's interesting to note, however, that Roger Cotes had previously suggested a similar method in his treatise, “Estimatio Erroris in Mixta Mathesi.”280
Herschel’s Geometrical Proof.
A second way of arriving at the Law of Error was proposed by Herschel, and although only applicable to geometrical cases, it is remarkable as showing that from whatever point of view we regard the subject, the same principle will be detected. After assuming that some general law must exist, and that it is subject to the principles of probability, he supposes that a ball is dropped from a high point with the intention that it shall strike a given mark on a horizontal plane. In the absence of any known causes of deviation it will either strike that mark, or, as is infinitely more probable, diverge from it by an amount which we must regard as error of unknown origin. Now, to quote the words of Herschel,281 “the probability of that error is the unknown function of its square, i.e. of the sum of the squares of its deviations in any two rectangular directions. Now, the probability of any deviation depending solely on its magnitude, and not on its direction, it follows that the probability of each of these rectangular deviations must be the same function of its square. And since the observed oblique deviation is378 equivalent to the two rectangular ones, supposed concurrent, and which are essentially independent of one another, and is, therefore, a compound event of which they are the simple independent constituents, therefore its probability will be the product of their separate probabilities. Thus the form of our unknown function comes to be determined from this condition, viz., that the product of such functions of two independent elements is equal to the same function of their sum. But it is shown in every work on algebra that this property is the peculiar characteristic of, and belongs only to, the exponential or antilogarithmic function. This, then, is the function of the square of the error, which expresses the probability of committing that error. That probability decreases, therefore, in geometrical progression, as the square of the error increases in arithmetical.”
A second way to understand the Law of Error was suggested by Herschel, and although it's only applicable to geometrical cases, it’s noteworthy for demonstrating that the same principle can be seen from various perspectives. After assuming that a general law must exist and that it follows the principles of probability, he imagines a ball being dropped from a great height, aimed at hitting a specific mark on a horizontal surface. In the absence of any known factors causing deviation, it will either hit the mark or, as is far more likely, veer away from it by an amount we must consider as an error of unknown origin. Now, to quote Herschel,281 “the probability of that error is the unknown function of its square, i.e. the sum of the squares of its deviations in any two perpendicular directions. Since the probability of any deviation depends only on its size and not its direction, it follows that the probability of each of these perpendicular deviations must be the same function of its square. And because the observed diagonal deviation is378 equivalent to the two perpendicular ones, which are assumed to be concurrent and essentially independent of each other, it is a compound event made up of these independent components, so its probability will be the product of their individual probabilities. Thus, the form of our unknown function is determined by the condition that the product of such functions of two independent elements equals the same function of their sum. But it has been shown in every algebra text that this property is unique to and belongs only to the exponential or antilogarithmic function. Therefore, this is the function of the square of the error, which indicates the probability of making that error. This probability decreases in a geometric progression as the square of the error increases arithmetically.”
Laplace’s and Quetelet’s Proof of the Law.
However much presumption the modes of determining the Law of Error, already described, may give in favour of the law usually adopted, it is difficult to feel that the arguments are satisfactory. The law adopted is chosen rather on the grounds of convenience and plausibility, than because it can be seen to be the necessary law. We can however approach the subject from an entirely different point of view, and yet get to the same result.
No matter how much confidence the methods for determining the Law of Error we've discussed may lend to the commonly accepted law, it's hard to believe the arguments are completely convincing. The law we choose tends to be based more on convenience and what seems reasonable than because it’s clearly the required law. However, we can look at the subject from a completely different perspective and still reach the same conclusion.
Let us assume that a particular observation is subject to four chances of error, each of which will increase the result one inch if it occurs. Each of these errors is to be regarded as an event independent of the rest and we can therefore assign, by the theory of probability, the comparative probability and frequency of each conjunction of errors. From the Arithmetical Triangle (pp. 182–188) we learn that no error at all can happen only in one way; an error of one inch can happen in 4 ways; and the ways of happening of errors of 2, 3 and 4 inches respectively, will be 6, 4 and 1 in number.
Let's assume that a certain observation has four chances of error, each of which will increase the result by one inch if it happens. Each of these errors is considered an independent event, so we can use probability theory to determine the likelihood and frequency of each combination of errors. From the Arithmetical Triangle (pp. 182–188), we learn that no error can occur in only one way; an error of one inch can occur in 4 ways; and the ways for errors of 2, 3, and 4 inches will be 6, 4, and 1, respectively.
We may infer that the error of two inches is the most likely to occur, and will occur in the long run in six cases out of sixteen. Errors of one and three inches will be equally likely, but will occur less frequently; while no error at all, or one of four inches will be a comparatively379 rare occurrence. If we now suppose the errors to act as often in one direction as the other, the effect will be to alter the average error by the amount of two inches, and we shall have the following results:—
We can conclude that an error of two inches is the most likely to happen, occurring in the long run in six out of sixteen cases. Errors of one and three inches will be equally probable but will happen less often, while no error at all or an error of four inches will be relatively rare. If we assume the errors occur as frequently in one direction as in the other, the average error will shift by two inches, leading to the following results:—
Negative error of 2 inches | 1 |
way. |
Negative error of 1 inch | 4 |
ways. |
No error at all | 6 |
ways. |
Positive error of 1 inch | 4 |
ways. |
Positive error of 2 inches | 1 |
way. |
We may now imagine the number of causes of error increased and the amount of each error decreased, and the arithmetical triangle will give us the frequency of the resulting errors. Thus if there be five positive causes of error and five negative causes, the following table shows the numbers of errors of various amount which will be the result:—
We can now think about the number of causes of error increasing and the size of each error decreasing, and the arithmetic triangle will show us how often the resulting errors occur. So, if there are five positive causes of error and five negative causes, the table below displays the various amounts of errors that will result:—
Direction of Error. | Positive Error. |
Negative Error. |
|
Amount of Error. | 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 |
0 |
1, 2, 3, 4, 5 |
Number of such Errors. | 1, 10, 45, 120, 210 |
252 |
210 120, 45, 10, 1 |
It is plain that from such numbers I can ascertain the probability of any particular amount of error under the conditions supposed. The probability of a positive error of exactly one inch is 2101024, in which fraction the numerator is the number of combinations giving one inch positive error, and the denominator the whole number of possible errors of all magnitudes. I can also, by adding together the appropriate numbers get the probability of an error not exceeding a certain amount. Thus the probability of an error of three inches or less, positive or negative, is a fraction whose numerator is the sum of 45 + 120 + 210 + 252 + 210 + 120 + 45, and the denominator, as before, giving the result 10021024. We may see at once that, according to these principles, the probability of small errors is far greater than of large ones: the odds are 1002 to 22, or more than 45 to 1, that the error will not380 exceed three inches; and the odds are 1022 to 2 against the occurrence of the greatest possible error of five inches.
It's clear that from these numbers I can figure out the likelihood of any specific amount of error under the given conditions. The chance of a positive error of exactly one inch is 2101024, where the numerator represents the number of combinations that lead to a one-inch positive error, and the denominator is the total number of possible errors of all sizes. I can also, by adding the relevant numbers, calculate the probability of an error not exceeding a certain amount. So, the probability of an error of three inches or less, whether positive or negative, is represented by a fraction whose numerator is the sum of 45 + 120 + 210 + 252 + 210 + 120 + 45, and the denominator, as before, results in 10021024. It's clear from this that, according to these principles, the chance of small errors is much higher than that of large ones: the odds are 1002 to 22, or more than 45 to 1, that the error will not exceed three inches; and the odds are 1022 to 2 against the occurrence of the largest possible error of five inches.
If any case should arise in which the observer knows the number and magnitude of the chief errors which may occur, he ought certainly to calculate from the Arithmetical Triangle the special Law of Error which would apply. But the general law, of which we are in search, is to be used in the dark, when we have no knowledge whatever of the sources of error. To assume any special number of causes of error is then an arbitrary proceeding, and mathematicians have chosen the least arbitrary course of imagining the existence of an infinite number of infinitely small errors, just as, in the inverse method of probabilities, an infinite number of infinitely improbable hypotheses were submitted to calculation (p. 255).
If a situation comes up where the observer knows the number and size of the main errors that might happen, they should definitely calculate the specific Law of Error using the Arithmetical Triangle. However, the general law we’re looking for is used in situations where we have no idea about the sources of error. Assuming a particular number of error causes is therefore arbitrary. Mathematicians have taken the less arbitrary approach of considering the existence of an infinite number of infinitely small errors, similar to how, in the reverse method of probabilities, an infinite number of highly unlikely hypotheses were analyzed (p. 255).
The reasons in favour of this choice are of several different kinds.
The reasons for this choice fall into several different categories.
1. It cannot be denied that there may exist infinitely numerous causes of error in any act of observation.
1. It's undeniable that there can be countless sources of error in any observation.
2. The law resulting from the hypothesis of a moderate number of causes of error, does not appreciably differ from that given by the hypothesis of an infinite number of causes of error.
2. The law that comes from the assumption of a moderate number of causes of error doesn’t significantly differ from the one based on the assumption of an infinite number of causes of error.
3. We gain by the hypothesis of infinity a general law capable of ready calculation, and applicable by uniform rules to all problems.
3. By assuming infinity, we establish a general law that can be easily calculated and applied uniformly to all problems.
4. This law, when tested by comparison with extensive series of observations, is strikingly verified, as will be shown in a later section.
4. This law is clearly confirmed when compared to extensive sets of observations, as will be demonstrated in a later section.
When we imagine the existence of any large number of causes of error, for instance one hundred, the numbers of combinations become impracticably large, as may be seen to be the case from a glance at the Arithmetical Triangle, which proceeds only up to the seventeenth line. Quetelet, by suitable abbreviating processes, calculated out a table of probability of errors on the hypothesis of one thousand distinct causes;282 but mathematicians have generally proceeded on the hypothesis of infinity, and then, by the devices of analysis, have substituted a general law of easy381 treatment. In mathematical works upon the subject, it is shown that the standard Law of Error is expressed in the formula
When we think about the existence of a large number of error causes, like one hundred, the number of possible combinations becomes unmanageably huge, as you can see from just looking at the Arithmetical Triangle, which only goes up to the seventeenth line. Quetelet, using some clever shortcuts, created a probability table for errors based on the idea of one thousand separate causes;282 however, mathematicians have usually worked on the assumption of infinity, and then used analysis techniques to replace it with a general law that’s easier to handle. In mathematical discussions on the topic, it's shown that the standard Law of Error is represented by the formula
in which x is the amount of the error, Y the maximum ordinate of the curve of error, and c a number constant for each series of observations, and expressing the amount of the tendency to error, varying between one series of observations and another. The letter ε is the mathematical constant, the sum of ratios between the numbers of permutations and combinations, previously referred to (p. 330).
in which x represents the amount of the error, Y is the maximum height of the error curve, and c is a constant number specific to each series of observations, indicating the degree of tendency toward error, which varies from one series of observations to another. The letter ε is the mathematical constant, the sum of the ratios between the numbers of permutations and combinations, mentioned earlier (p. 330).

To show the close correspondence of this general law with the special law which might be derived from the supposition of a moderate number of causes of error, I have in the accompanying figure drawn a curved line representing accurately the variation of y when x in the above formula is taken equal 0, 12, 1, 32, 2, &c., positive or negative, the arbitrary quantities Y and c being each assumed equal to unity, in order to simplify the calculations. In the same figure are inserted eleven dots, whose heights above the base line are proportional to the numbers in the eleventh line of the Arithmetical Triangle, thus representing the comparative probabilities of errors of various amounts arising from ten equal causes382 of error. The correspondence of the general and the special Law of Error is almost as close as can be exhibited in the figure, and the assumption of a greater number of equal causes of error would render the correspondence far more close.
To demonstrate the strong connection between this general law and the specific law that can be derived from the assumption of a moderate number of error causes, I've drawn a curved line in the accompanying figure that accurately shows how y changes when x in the formula above is set to 0, 12, 1, 32, 2, etc., whether positive or negative, with the arbitrary values of Y and c each assumed to be 1 to make the calculations easier. The same figure also includes eleven dots, with their heights above the baseline corresponding to the numbers in the eleventh row of the Arithmetical Triangle, representing the comparative probabilities of errors of different magnitudes originating from ten equal error causes382. The alignment between the general and specific Law of Error is nearly as close as what can be shown in the figure, and assuming a larger number of equal error causes would make this alignment even tighter.
It may be explained that the ordinates NM, nm, n′m′, represent values of y in the equation expressing the Law of Error. The occurrence of any one definite amount of error is infinitely improbable, because an infinite number of such ordinates might be drawn. But the probability of an error occurring between certain limits is finite, and is represented by a portion of the area of the curve. Thus the probability that an error, positive or negative, not exceeding unity will occur, is represented by the area Mmnn′m′, in short, by the area standing upon the line nn′. Since every observation must either have some definite error or none at all, it follows that the whole area of the curve should be considered as the unit expressing certainty, and the probability of an error falling between particular limits will then be expressed by the ratio which the area of the curve between those limits bears to the whole area of the curve.
The values NM, nm, n′m′ represent the values of y in the equation that describes the Law of Error. The chance of a specific amount of error occurring is extremely unlikely because there are an infinite number of such values possible. However, the probability of an error happening within a certain range is finite and is represented by a part of the area of the curve. For example, the probability that an error, whether positive or negative, does not exceed one is indicated by the area Mmnn′m′, specifically by the area above the line nn′. Since every observation must have either a specific error or none at all, the entire area of the curve should be seen as representing certainty, and the probability of an error falling within specific limits can then be calculated by the ratio of the area of the curve between those limits to the total area of the curve.
The mere fact that the Law of Error allows of the possible existence of errors of every assignable amount shows that it is only approximately true. We may fairly say that in measuring a mile it would be impossible to commit an error of a hundred miles, and the length of life would never allow of our committing an error of one million miles. Nevertheless the general Law of Error would assign a probability for an error of that amount or more, but so small a probability as to be utterly inconsiderable and almost inconceivable. All that can, or in fact need, be said in defence of the law is, that it may be made to represent the errors in any special case to a very close approximation, and that the probability of large and practically impossible errors, as given by the law, will be so small as to be entirely inconsiderable. And as we are dealing with error itself, and our results pretend to nothing more than approximation and probability, an indefinitely small error in our process of approximation is of no importance whatever.
The fact that the Law of Error allows for the possibility of errors of any assignable amount shows that it is only approximately true. We can reasonably say that when measuring a mile, it would be impossible to make an error of a hundred miles, and the span of a lifetime would never let us make a mistake of one million miles. However, the general Law of Error would still assign a probability for an error of that magnitude or greater, but the chance would be so tiny that it is entirely negligible and almost unimaginable. All that can be said in defense of the law is that it can accurately represent the errors in any specific case to a very close approximation, and that the probability of large, practically impossible errors, as indicated by the law, will be so small as to be completely insignificant. Since we are dealing with error itself, and our results only aim for approximation and probability, a very small error in our process of approximation is of no importance at all.
383
383
Logical Origin of the Law of Error.
It is worthy of notice that this Law of Error, abstruse though the subject may seem, is really founded upon the simplest principles. It arises entirely out of the difference between permutations and combinations, a subject upon which I may seem to have dwelt with unnecessary prolixity in previous pages (pp. 170, 189). The order in which we add quantities together does not affect the amount of the sum, so that if there be three positive and five negative causes of error in operation, it does not matter in which order they are considered as acting. They may be intermixed in any arrangement, and yet the result will be the same. The reader should not fail to notice how laws or principles which appeared to be absurdly simple and evident when first noticed, reappear in the most complicated and mysterious processes of scientific method. The fundamental Laws of Identity and Difference gave rise to the Logical Alphabet which, after abstracting the character of the differences, led to the Arithmetical Triangle. The Law of Error is defined by an infinitely high line of that triangle, and the law proves that the mean is the most probable result, and that divergencies from the mean become much less probable as they increase in amount. Now the comparative greatness of the numbers towards the middle of each line of the Arithmetical Triangle is entirely due to the indifference of order in space or time, which was first prominently pointed out as a condition of logical relations, and the symbols indicating them (pp. 32–35), and which was afterwards shown to attach equally to numerical symbols, the derivatives of logical terms (p. 160).
It’s worth noting that this Law of Error, even if the topic seems complex, is actually based on very simple principles. It completely stems from the difference between permutations and combinations, a subject I may have elaborated on more than necessary in previous pages (pp. 170, 189). The order in which we add quantities doesn’t change the total sum, so if there are three positive and five negative causes of error in operation, it doesn’t matter what order they are applied. They can be mixed in any arrangement, and the result will still be the same. The reader should pay attention to how principles that seemed absurdly simple and obvious at first reappear in the most complicated and mysterious processes of scientific method. The basic Laws of Identity and Difference led to the Logical Alphabet, which, after removing the characteristics of the differences, resulted in the Arithmetical Triangle. The Law of Error is represented by a line at the top of that triangle, proving that the mean is the most probable outcome, and that deviations from the mean become much less likely as they increase. Now, the relative size of the numbers towards the center of each line in the Arithmetical Triangle is entirely due to the indifference of order in space or time, which was initially highlighted as a condition of logical relationships and the symbols representing them (pp. 32–35), and which was later shown to apply equally to numerical symbols, the derivatives of logical terms (p. 160).
Verification of the Law of Error.
The theory of error which we have been considering rests entirely upon an assumption, namely that when known sources of disturbances are allowed for, there yet remain an indefinite, possibly an infinite number of other minute sources of error, which will as often produce excess as deficiency. Granting this assumption, the Law of Error must be as it is usually taken to be, and there is no more need to verify it empirically than to test the truth384 of one of Euclid’s propositions mechanically. Nevertheless, it is an interesting occupation to verify even the propositions of geometry, and it is still more instructive to try whether a large number of observations will justify our assumption of the Law of Error.
The theory of error we’ve been discussing is based entirely on an assumption: that once we account for known sources of disturbances, there still remain countless, possibly infinite, other tiny sources of error that can cause either excess or deficiency. If we accept this assumption, the Law of Error must be as it is typically understood, and there's no more need to verify it through empirical methods than there is to mechanically test one of Euclid’s propositions. However, it can be an interesting task to verify even the propositions of geometry, and it’s even more enlightening to see if a large number of observations will support our assumption of the Law of Error.
Encke has given an excellent instance of the correspondence of theory with experience, in the case of observations of the differences of Right Ascension of the sun and two stars, namely α Aquilæ and α Canis minoris. The observations were 470 in number, and were made by Bradley and reduced by Bessel, who found the probable error of the final result to be only about one-fourth part of a second (0·2637). He then compared the numbers of errors of each magnitude from 0·1 second upwards, as actually given by the observations, with what should occur according to the Law of Error.
Encke provided a great example of how theory matches up with real-life observations, specifically regarding the differences in Right Ascension of the sun and two stars, namely α Aquilæ and α Canis minoris. There were 470 observations made by Bradley and processed by Bessel, who determined that the possible error in the final result was only about a quarter of a second (0.2637). He then compared the frequency of errors of each size starting from 0.1 seconds, as shown by the observations, with what would be expected based on the Law of Error.
The results were as follow:—283
The results were as follows: __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Magnitude of the errors in parts of a second. |
Number of errors of each magnitude according to |
|||
Observation. |
Theory. |
|||
0·0 |
to |
0·1 | 94 |
95 |
·1 |
" |
·2 | 88 |
89 |
·2 |
" |
·3 | 78 |
78 |
·3 |
" |
·4 | 58 |
64 |
·4 |
" |
·5 | 51 |
50 |
·5 |
" |
·6 | 36 |
36 |
·6 |
" |
·7 | 26 |
24 |
·7 |
" |
·8 | 14 |
15 |
·8 |
" |
·9 | 10 |
9 |
·9 |
" |
1·0 | 7 |
5 |
above |
1·0 | 8 |
5 |
The reader will remark that the correspondence is very close, except as regards larger errors, which are excessive in practice. It is one objection, indeed, to the theory of error, that, being expressed in a continuous mathematical function, it contemplates the existence of errors of every magnitude, such as could not practically occur; yet in this case the theory seems to under-estimate the number of large errors.
The reader will notice that the correspondence is very close, except for larger errors, which are quite common in practice. One criticism of the theory of error is that, being represented as a continuous mathematical function, it assumes the existence of errors of every size, which wouldn’t actually happen in real life; however, in this case, the theory appears to underestimate the frequency of large errors.
385
385
Another comparison of the law with observation was made by Quetelet, who investigated the errors of 487 determinations in time of the Right Ascension of the Pole-Star made at Greenwich during the four years 1836–39. These observations, although carefully corrected for all known causes of error, as well as for nutation, precession, &c., are yet of course found to differ, and being classified as regards intervals of one-half second of time, and then proportionately increased in number, so that their sum may be one thousand, give the following results as compared with what Quetelet’s theory would lead us to expect:—284
Another comparison of the law with observation was made by Quetelet, who looked into the errors of 487 measurements of the Right Ascension of the Pole Star taken at Greenwich during the four years 1836–39. These observations, despite being carefully corrected for all known sources of error, including nutation, precession, etc., still showed discrepancies. When classified by intervals of half a second of time and then proportionately increased in number to total one thousand, the results compared to what Quetelet’s theory would predict are as follows:—284
Magnitude of error in tenths of a second. |
Number of Errors |
Magnitude of error in tenths of a second. |
Number of Errors |
||
by Observation. |
by Theory. |
by Observation. |
by Theory. |
||
0·0 |
168 |
163 |
– |
– |
– |
+0·5 |
148 |
147 |
–0·5 |
150 |
152 |
+1·0 |
129 |
112 |
–1·0 |
126 |
121 |
+1·5 |
78 |
72 |
–1·5 |
74 |
82 |
+2·0 |
33 |
40 |
–2·0 |
43 |
46 |
+2·5 |
10 |
19 |
–2·5 |
25 |
22 |
+3·0 |
2 |
10 |
–3·0 |
12 |
10 |
– |
– |
– |
–3·5 |
2 |
4 |
In this instance also the correspondence is satisfactory, but the divergence between theory and fact is in the opposite direction to that discovered in the former comparison, the larger errors being less frequent than theory would indicate. It will be noticed that Quetelet’s theoretical results are not symmetrical.
In this case, the correspondence is acceptable, but the gap between theory and reality is the opposite of what we found in the previous comparison, with the larger errors being less common than theory suggests. It's worth noting that Quetelet’s theoretical results are not symmetrical.
The Probable Mean Result.
One immediate result of the Law of Error, as thus stated, is that the mean result is the most probable one; and when there is only a single variable this mean is found by the familiar arithmetical process. An unfortunate error has crept into several works which allude to this subject. Mill, in treating of the “Elimination of Chance,” remarks in a note285 that “the mean is spoken of386 as if it were exactly the same thing as the average. But the mean, for purposes of inductive inquiry, is not the average, or arithmetical mean, though in a familiar illustration of the theory the difference may be disregarded.” He goes on to say that, according to mathematical principles, the most probable result is that for which the sums of the squares of the deviations is the least possible. It seems probable that Mill and other writers were misled by Whewell, who says286 that “The method of least squares is in fact a method of means, but with some peculiar characters.... The method proceeds upon this supposition: that all errors are not equally probable, but that small errors are more probable than large ones.” He adds that this method “removes much that is arbitrary in the method of means.” It is strange to find a mathematician like Whewell making such remarks, when there is no doubt whatever that the Method of Means is only an application of the Method of Least Squares. They are, in fact, the same method, except that the latter method may be applied to cases where two or more quantities have to be determined at the same time. Lubbock and Drinkwater say,287 “If only one quantity has to be determined, this method evidently resolves itself into taking the mean of all the values given by observation.” Encke says,288 that the expression for the probability of an error “not only contains in itself the principle of the arithmetical mean, but depends so immediately upon it, that for all those magnitudes for which the arithmetical mean holds good in the simple cases in which it is principally applied, no other law of probability can be assumed than that which is expressed by this formula.”
One immediate outcome of the Law of Error, as stated, is that the mean result is the most likely one; and when there is only one variable, this mean is found using the familiar arithmetic process. An unfortunate mistake has appeared in several works that mention this topic. Mill, when discussing the “Elimination of Chance,” notes in a footnote285 that “the mean is mentioned as if it were exactly the same as the average. But the mean, for the purposes of inductive inquiry, is not the average, or arithmetic mean, even though in a common example of the theory the difference can be overlooked.” He continues by saying that, according to mathematical principles, the most probable result is the one for which the sums of the squares of the deviations are minimized. It seems likely that Mill and other authors were confused by Whewell, who states286 that “The method of least squares is, in fact, a method of means, but with some unique characteristics.... The method assumes that all errors are not equally probable, but that smaller errors are more likely than larger ones.” He adds that this method “eliminates much of the arbitrary nature of the method of means.” It is odd to see a mathematician like Whewell making such claims, when there is no doubt that the Method of Means is merely an application of the Method of Least Squares. They are, in reality, the same method, except that the latter can be used in situations where two or more quantities need to be determined simultaneously. Lubbock and Drinkwater say287 “If only one quantity needs to be determined, this method clearly simplifies to taking the mean of all the values obtained from observation.” Encke states288 that the expression for the probability of an error “not only incorporates the principle of the arithmetic mean, but is so directly dependent on it that for all those quantities for which the arithmetic mean is valid in the simple cases in which it is primarily applied, no other probability law can be assumed than that which is expressed by this formula.”
The Probable Error of Results.
When we draw a conclusion from the numerical results of observations we ought not to consider it sufficient, in cases of importance, to content ourselves with finding the simple mean and treating it as true. We ought also to ascertain what is the degree of confidence387 we may place in this mean, and our confidence should be measured by the degree of concurrence of the observations from which it is derived. In some cases the mean may be approximately certain and accurate. In other cases it may really be worth little or nothing. The Law of Error enables us to give exact expression to the degree of confidence proper in any case; for it shows how to calculate the probability of a divergence of any amount from the mean, and we can thence ascertain the probability that the mean in question is within a certain distance from the true number. The probable error is taken by mathematicians to mean the limits within which it is as likely as not that the truth will fall. Thus if 5·45 be the mean of all the determinations of the density of the earth, and ·20 be approximately the probable error, the meaning is that the probability of the real density of the earth falling between 5·25 and 5·65 is 12. Any other limits might have been selected at will. We might calculate the limits within which it was one hundred or one thousand to one that the truth would fall; but there is a convention to take the even odds one to one, as the quantity of probability of which the limits are to be estimated.
When we draw a conclusion from numerical results of observations, we shouldn’t just settle for finding the simple mean and thinking it's accurate, especially in important cases. We also need to determine how much confidence we can place in this mean, which should be measured by how much the observations agree with each other. Sometimes the mean can be nearly certain and accurate. Other times, it might not be very reliable at all. The Law of Error helps us accurately quantify the appropriate level of confidence in any situation, as it shows how to calculate the likelihood of any deviation from the mean, allowing us to find the probability that the mean is within a certain range of the true value. The probable error is understood by mathematicians as the range within which it's just as likely for the truth to fall. So, if 5.45 is the mean of all measurements for the density of the earth, and 0.20 is the approximate probable error, it means there's a probability that the actual density of the earth falls between 5.25 and 5.65 is 12. Other limits could have been chosen, but we typically use the even odds of one to one as the probability range for which the limits are estimated.
Many books on probability give rules for making the calculations, but as, in the progress of science, persons ought to become more familiar with these processes, I propose to repeat the rules here and illustrate their use. The calculations, when made in accordance with the directions, involve none but arithmetic or logarithmic operations.
Many books on probability provide guidelines for the calculations, but as science progresses, people should become more familiar with these processes. Therefore, I will restate the rules here and show how to use them. The calculations, when done following the instructions, only require basic arithmetic or logarithmic operations.
The following are the rules for treating a mean result, so as thoroughly to ascertain its trustworthiness.
The following are the guidelines for evaluating a negative outcome, in order to fully determine its reliability.
1. Draw the mean of all the observed results.
1. Calculate the average of all the observed results.
2. Find the excess or defect, that is, the error of each result from the mean.
2. Identify the excess or deficiency, which means the error of each result compared to the average.
3. Square each of these reputed errors.
3. Square each of these supposed errors.
4. Add together all these squares of the errors, which are of course all positive.
4. Add up all these squares of the errors, which are all positive, of course.
5. Divide by one less than the number of observations. This gives the square of the mean error.
5. Divide by one less than the number of observations. This gives the square of the mean error.
6. Take the square root of the last result; it is the mean error of a single observation.
6. Take the square root of the last result; it is the mean error of a single observation.
7. Divide now by the square root of the number of388 observations, and we get the mean error of the mean result.
7. Now, divide by the square root of the number of388 observations, and we get the mean error of the mean result.
8. Lastly, multiply by the natural constant 0·6745 (or approximately by 0·674, or even by 23), and we arrive at the probable error of the mean result.
8. Lastly, multiply by the natural constant 0.6745 (or roughly by 0.674, or even by 23), and we get the probable error of the mean result.
Suppose, for instance, that five measurements of the height of a hill, by the barometer or otherwise, have given the numbers of feet as 293, 301, 306, 307, 313; we want to know the probable error of the mean, namely 304. Now the differences between this mean and the above numbers, paying no regard to direction, are 11, 3, 2, 3, 9; their squares are 121, 9, 4, 9, 81, and the sum of the squares of the errors consequently 224. The number of observations being 5, we divide by 1 less, or 4, getting 56. This is the square of the mean error, and taking its square root we have 7·48 (say 7 12), the mean error of a single observation. Dividing by 2·236, the square root of 5, the number of observations, we find the mean error of the mean result to be 3·35, or say 3 13, and lastly, multiplying by ·6745, we arrive at the probable error of the mean result, which is found to be 2·259, or say 2 14. The meaning of this is that the probability is one half, or the odds are even that the true height of the mountain lies between 301 34 and 306 14 feet. We have thus an exact measure of the degree of credibility of our mean result, which mean indicates the most likely point for the truth to fall upon.
Suppose, for example, that five measurements of the height of a hill, taken with a barometer or other methods, are 293, 301, 306, 307, and 313 feet; we want to find the probable error of the mean, which is 304. The differences between this mean and the numbers above, without considering direction, are 11, 3, 2, 3, and 9; their squares are 121, 9, 4, 9, and 81, making the total sum of the squares of the errors 224. With 5 observations, we divide by 4 (which is one less), resulting in 56. This is the square of the mean error, and taking the square root gives us 7.48 (about 7 1/2), the mean error of a single observation. Dividing by 2.236, the square root of 5, the number of observations, we find the mean error of the mean result to be 3.35, or roughly 3 ⅓, and finally, multiplying by 0.6745, we find the probable error of the mean result to be 2.259, or about 2 1/4. This means that there's a 50% probability, or even odds, that the true height of the mountain is between 301 34 and 306 14 feet. Thus, we have a precise measure of how credible our mean result is, which indicates the most likely point for the truth to be.
The reader should observe that as the object in these calculations is only to gain a notion of the degree of confidence with which we view the mean, there is no real use in carrying the calculations to any great degree of precision; and whenever the neglect of decimal fractions, or even the slight alteration of a number, will much abbreviate the computations, it may be fearlessly done, except in cases of high importance and precision. Brodie has shown how the law of error may be usefully applied in chemical investigations, and some illustrations of its employment may be found in his paper.289
The reader should note that since the goal of these calculations is simply to understand the level of confidence we have in the mean, there’s really no benefit in making the calculations overly precise. Whenever ignoring decimal fractions or making even minor adjustments to a number can significantly simplify the calculations, it’s perfectly fine to do so, except in situations where accuracy is crucial. Brodie has demonstrated how the law of error can be effectively used in chemical research, and you can find some examples of its application in his paper.289
The experiments of Benzenberg to detect the revolution of the earth, by the deviation of a ball from the perpendicular389 line in falling down a deep pit, have been cited by Encke290 as an interesting illustration of the Law of Error. The mean deviation was 5·086 lines, and its probable error was calculated by Encke to be not more than ·950 line, that is, the odds were even that the true result lay between 4·136 and 6·036. As the deviation, according to astronomical theory, should be 4·6 lines, which lies well within the limits, we may consider that the experiments are consistent with the Copernican system of the universe.
The experiments conducted by Benzenberg to detect the Earth's rotation, by observing the deviation of a ball from the vertical line as it falls into a deep pit, have been referenced by Encke as an intriguing example of the Law of Error. The average deviation was 5.086 lines, and Encke calculated that its probable error was no more than 0.950 line, meaning there was a 50/50 chance that the true result was between 4.136 and 6.036. Since the theoretical deviation according to astronomy should be 4.6 lines, which falls comfortably within those limits, we can conclude that the experiments support the Copernican model of the universe.389
It will of course be understood that the probable error has regard only to those causes of errors which in the long run act as much in one direction as another; it takes no account of constant errors. The true result accordingly will often fall far beyond the limits of probable error, owing to some considerable constant error or errors, of the existence of which we are unaware.
It should be clear that the probable error only considers those causes of errors that, over time, affect the outcome in both directions; it does not account for constant errors. As a result, the actual outcome can often fall well outside the range of probable error due to significant constant errors that we may not be aware of.
Rejection of the Mean Result.
We ought always to bear in mind that the mean of any series of observations is the best, that is, the most probable approximation to the truth, only in the absence of knowledge to the contrary. The selection of the mean rests entirely upon the probability that unknown causes of error will in the long run fall as often in one direction as the opposite, so that in drawing the mean they will balance each other. If we have any reason to suppose that there exists a tendency to error in one direction rather than the other, then to choose the mean would be to ignore that tendency. We may certainly approximate to the length of the circumference of a circle, by taking the mean of the perimeters of inscribed and circumscribed polygons of an equal and large number of sides. The length of the circular line undoubtedly lies between the lengths of the two perimeters, but it does not follow that the mean is the best approximation. It may in fact be shown that the circumference of the circle is very nearly equal to the perimeter of the inscribed polygon, together with one-third part of the difference between the inscribed and circumscribed polygons of the same number of sides. Having390 this knowledge, we ought of course to act upon it, instead of trusting to probability.
We should always remember that the average of any set of observations is the best, meaning the most likely approximation to the truth, only if we don’t have any contrary knowledge. Choosing the average relies entirely on the idea that unknown sources of error will eventually occur equally in both directions, so when we calculate the average, they will balance out. If we have any reason to believe that there’s a tendency for error in one direction over another, then choosing the average would be ignoring that tendency. We can definitely get a close estimate of the circumference of a circle by averaging the perimeters of inscribed and circumscribed polygons with a large and equal number of sides. The length of the circular line definitely falls between the lengths of the two perimeters, but that doesn’t mean that the average is the best estimate. In fact, it can be shown that the circumference of the circle is very nearly equal to the perimeter of the inscribed polygon plus one-third of the difference between the perimeters of the inscribed and circumscribed polygons with the same number of sides. With this knowledge, we should act on it instead of relying on probability.
We may often perceive that a series of measurements tends towards an extreme limit rather than towards a mean. In endeavouring to obtain a correct estimate of the apparent diameter of the brightest fixed stars, we find a continuous diminution in estimates as the powers of observation increased. Kepler assigned to Sirius an apparent diameter of 240 seconds; Tycho Brahe made it 126; Gassendi 10 seconds; Galileo, Hevelius, and J. Cassini, 5 or 6 seconds. Halley, Michell, and subsequently Sir W. Herschel came to the conclusion that the brightest stars in the heavens could not have real discs of a second, and were probably much less in diameter. It would of course be absurd to take the mean of quantities which differ more than 240 times; and as the tendency has always been to smaller estimates, there is a considerable presumption in favour of the smallest.291
We often see that a series of measurements tends to move toward an extreme limit rather than settling around an average. In trying to get an accurate estimate of the apparent diameter of the brightest fixed stars, we consistently find that the estimates drop as our observational power increases. Kepler assigned Sirius an apparent diameter of 240 seconds; Tycho Brahe measured it at 126 seconds; Gassendi at 10 seconds; and Galileo, Hevelius, and J. Cassini at 5 or 6 seconds. Halley, Michell, and later Sir W. Herschel concluded that the brightest stars in the sky likely don't have real discs measuring even a second and are probably much smaller in diameter. Of course, it would be ridiculous to average out numbers that differ by more than 240 times, and since the trend has consistently been toward smaller estimates, there’s a strong case to be made for the smallest values.291
In many experiments and measurements we know that there is a preponderating tendency to error in one direction. The readings of a thermometer tend to rise as the age of the instrument increases, and no drawing of means will correct this result. Barometers, on the other hand, are likely to read too low instead of too high, owing to the imperfection of the vacuum and the action of capillary attraction. If the mercury be perfectly pure and no appreciable error be due to the measuring apparatus, the best barometer will be that which gives the highest result. In determining the specific gravity of a solid body the chief danger of error arises from bubbles of air adhering to the body, which would tend to make the specific gravity too small. Much attention must always be given to one-sided errors of this kind, since the multiplication of experiments does not remove the error. In such cases one very careful experiment is better than any number of careless ones.
In many experiments and measurements, we often notice a consistent tendency for errors to lean in one direction. For instance, the readings of a thermometer usually increase as the instrument ages, and averaging those readings won't fix the issue. On the flip side, barometers tend to read too low rather than too high, due to imperfections in the vacuum and the effects of capillary attraction. If the mercury is completely pure and there are no significant errors from the measuring equipment, the best barometer will be the one that shows the highest reading. When determining the specific gravity of a solid object, the main risk for error comes from air bubbles sticking to the object, which would cause the specific gravity to appear smaller than it is. It's crucial to pay close attention to these types of one-sided errors, as simply increasing the number of experiments won't eliminate them. In these situations, one careful experiment is worth more than a bunch of careless ones.
When we have reasonable grounds for supposing that certain experimental results are liable to grave errors, we should exclude them in drawing a mean. If we want to find the most probable approximation to the velocity of391 sound in air, it would be absurd to go back to the old experiments which made the velocity from 1200 to 1474 feet per second; for we know that the old observers did not guard against errors arising from wind and other causes. Old chemical experiments are valueless as regards quantitative results. The old chemists found the atmosphere in different places to differ in composition nearly ten per cent., whereas modern accurate experimenters find very slight variations. Any method of measurement which we know to avoid a source of error is far to be preferred to others which trust to probabilities for the elimination of the error. As Flamsteed says,292 “One good instrument is of as much worth as a hundred indifferent ones.” But an instrument is good or bad only in a comparative sense, and no instrument gives invariable and truthful results. Hence we must always ultimately fall back upon probabilities for the selection of the final mean, when other precautions are exhausted.
When we have good reason to believe that some experimental results might have major errors, we should leave them out when calculating an average. If we want to get the closest estimate of the speed of sound in air, it would be ridiculous to refer back to old experiments that reported speeds between 1200 and 1474 feet per second; we know that previous researchers didn’t account for errors from wind and other factors. Old chemical experiments aren't reliable for quantitative results. Early chemists found that the atmosphere varied in composition by nearly ten percent in different locations, while modern precise experiments show only minor variations. Any measurement method that we know avoids a source of error is much better than others that rely on chance to eliminate errors. As Flamsteed says, “One good instrument is as valuable as a hundred average ones.” However, an instrument is only good or bad in a relative sense, and no instrument provides consistent and accurate results. Therefore, we must always eventually rely on probabilities to determine the final average when other precautions have been exhausted.
Legendre, the discoverer of the method of Least Squares, recommended that observations differing very much from the results of his method should be rejected. The subject has been carefully investigated by Professor Pierce, who has proposed a criterion for the rejection of doubtful observations based on the following principle:293′“—observations should be rejected when the probability of the system of errors obtained by retaining them is less than that of the system of errors obtained by their rejection multiplied by the probability of making so many and no more abnormal observations.” Professor Pierce’s investigation is given nearly in his own words in Professor W. Chauvenet’s “Manual of Spherical and Practical Astronomy,” which contains a full and excellent discussion of the methods of treating numerical observations.294
Legendre, the pioneer of the Least Squares method, suggested that observations that significantly deviate from the results of his method should be disregarded. Professor Pierce has thoroughly explored this topic and proposed a criterion for discarding questionable observations based on the following principle:293′“—observations should be rejected when the likelihood of the error system obtained by keeping them is less than that of the error system obtained by rejecting them, multiplied by the likelihood of observing such and no more abnormal results.” Professor Pierce’s research is presented almost exactly in Professor W. Chauvenet’s “Manual of Spherical and Practical Astronomy,” which includes a comprehensive and insightful discussion on how to handle numerical observations.294
Very difficult questions sometimes arise when one or more results of a method of experiment diverge widely from the mean of the rest. Are we or are we not to exclude them in adopting the supposed true mean result of the method? The drawing of a mean result rests, as I392 have frequently explained, upon the assumption that every error acting in one direction will probably be balanced by other errors acting in an opposite direction. If then we know or can possibly discover any causes of error not agreeing with this assumption, we shall be justified in excluding results which seem to be affected by this cause.
Very challenging questions can come up when one or more results from a method of experimentation vary significantly from the average of the others. Should we exclude them when determining the supposed true average result of the method? The calculation of an average result relies, as I392 have often mentioned, on the idea that every error in one direction will likely be counterbalanced by other errors in the opposite direction. If we know or can identify any sources of error that don’t align with this idea, we are justified in excluding results that appear to be influenced by this source.
In reducing large series of astronomical observations, it is not uncommon to meet with numbers differing from others by a whole degree or half a degree, or some considerable integral quantity. These are errors which could hardly arise in the act of observation or in instrumental irregularity; but they might readily be accounted for by misreading of figures or mistaking of division marks. It would be absurd to trust to chance that such mistakes would balance each other in the long run, and it is therefore better to correct arbitrarily the supposed mistake, or better still, if new observations can be made, to strike out the divergent numbers altogether. When results come sometimes too great or too small in a regular manner, we should suspect that some part of the instrument slips through a definite space, or that a definite cause of error enters at times, and not at others. We should then make it a point of prime importance to discover the exact nature and amount of such an error, and either prevent its occurrence for the future or else introduce a corresponding correction. In many researches the whole difficulty will consist in this detection and avoidance of sources of error. Professor Roscoe found that the presence of phosphorus caused serious and almost unavoidable errors in the determination of the atomic weight of vanadium.295 Herschel, in reducing his observations of double stars at the Cape of Good Hope, was perplexed by an unaccountable difference of the angles of position as measured by the seven-feet equatorial and the twenty-feet reflector telescopes, and after a careful investigation was obliged to be contented with introducing a correction experimentally determined.296
When analyzing large sets of astronomical observations, it's common to encounter numbers that differ by a full degree, half a degree, or other significant whole numbers. These are errors that are unlikely to stem from the observation process or instrument irregularities; they could easily be due to misreading figures or confusing division marks. It would be unreasonable to rely on chance for such mistakes to cancel each other out over time, so it's better to arbitrarily correct the suspected mistakes, or even better, if new observations can be made, to discard the outlier numbers entirely. When results consistently appear too high or too low, we should suspect that some part of the instrument is slipping through a specific range, or that a particular source of error happens occasionally but not consistently. We should prioritize identifying the exact nature and extent of such errors, and either prevent them in the future or apply a corresponding correction. In many research endeavors, the main challenge will be detecting and avoiding these sources of error. Professor Roscoe discovered that phosphorus's presence led to significant and almost unavoidable errors in determining the atomic weight of vanadium.295 Herschel, while analyzing his observations of double stars at the Cape of Good Hope, was puzzled by an inexplicable difference in the position angles measured by the seven-foot equatorial and the twenty-foot reflector telescopes, and after a thorough investigation, he had to settle for introducing a correction that was determined experimentally.296
When observations are sufficiently numerous it seems desirable to project the apparent errors into a curve, and then to observe whether this curve exhibits the symmetrical393 and characteristic form of the curve of error. If so, it may be inferred that the errors arise from many minute independent sources, and probably compensate each other in the mean result. Any considerable irregularity will indicate the existence of one-sided or large causes of error, which should be made the subject of investigation.
When there are enough observations, it seems beneficial to map the apparent errors into a curve and check if this curve displays the symmetrical and typical shape of a normal error curve. If it does, we can conclude that the errors come from many small, independent sources, likely balancing each other out in the overall result. Any significant irregularity will suggest the presence of one-sided or major sources of error, which should be investigated.
Even the most patient and exhaustive investigations will sometimes fail to disclose any reason why some results diverge from others. The question again recurs—Are we arbitrarily to exclude them? The answer should be in the negative as a general rule. The mere fact of divergence ought not to be taken as conclusive against a result, and the exertion of arbitrary choice would open the way to the fatal influence of bias, and what is commonly known as the “cooking” of figures. It would amount to judging fact by theory instead of theory by fact. The apparently divergent number may prove in time to be the true one. It may be an exception of that valuable kind which upsets our false theories, a real exception, exploding apparent coincidences, and opening a way to a new view of the subject. To establish this position for the divergent fact will require additional research; but in the meantime we should give it some weight in our mean conclusions, and should bear in mind the discrepancy as one demanding attention. To neglect a divergent result is to neglect the possible clue to a great discovery.
Even the most thorough and patient investigations can sometimes fail to explain why some results differ from others. The question comes up again—should we just ignore them? Generally, the answer should be no. Just because results diverge doesn’t mean we should dismiss them. Randomly choosing to exclude them could lead to bias and what's often called "cooking" the numbers. It would be like judging facts by theory instead of judging theory by facts. What seems like a divergent number might actually turn out to be the right one. It might be an important exception that challenges our incorrect theories, exposing false coincidences and paving the way for a new understanding of the topic. Proving this point about the divergent fact will require further research; however, in the meantime, we should give it some consideration in our average conclusions and keep in mind that the discrepancy warrants attention. Ignoring a divergent result means overlooking a potential hint toward a major discovery.
Method of Least Squares.
When two or more unknown quantities are so involved that they cannot be separately determined by the Simple Method of Means, we can yet obtain their most probable values by the Method of Least Squares, without more difficulty than arises from the length of the arithmetical computations. If the result of each observation gives an equation between two unknown quantities of the form
When two or more unknown quantities are intertwined in such a way that they can't be determined separately by the Simple Method of Means, we can still find their most likely values using the Method of Least Squares, without any more trouble than what comes from the lengthy arithmetic calculations. If the result of each observation creates an equation between two unknown quantities of the form
then, if the observations were free from error, we should need only two observations giving two equations; but for the attainment of greater accuracy, we may take many observations, and reduce the equations so as to give only a pair with mean coefficients. This reduction is effected by394 (1.), multiplying the coefficients of each equation by the first coefficient, and adding together all the similar coefficients thus resulting for the coefficients of a new equation; and (2.), by repeating this process, and multiplying the coefficients of each equation by the coefficient of the second term. Meaning by (sum of a2) the sum of all quantities of the same kind, and having the same place in the equations as a2, we may briefly describe the two resulting mean equations as follows:—
Then, if the observations were free from error, we would only need two observations to create two equations. However, to achieve greater accuracy, we can take multiple observations and simplify the equations to provide just a pair with average coefficients. This simplification is done by394 (1.) multiplying the coefficients of each equation by the first coefficient and adding all the similar coefficients together to create a new equation; and (2.) by repeating this process and multiplying the coefficients of each equation by the coefficient of the second term. Denoting (sum of a2) as the total of all quantities of the same type that occupy the same position in the equations as a2, we can concisely describe the two resulting mean equations as follows:—
(sum of ab) . x + (sum of b2) . y = (sum of bc).
When there are three or more unknown quantities the process is exactly the same in nature, and we get additional mean equations by multiplying by the third, fourth, &c., coefficients. As the numbers are in any case approximate, it is usually unnecessary to make the computations with accuracy, and places of decimals may be freely cut off to save arithmetical work. The mean equations having been computed, their solution by the ordinary methods of algebra gives the most probable values of the unknown quantities.
When there are three or more unknown quantities, the process is basically the same, and we get more average equations by multiplying the coefficients of the third, fourth, etc. Since the numbers are usually approximate anyway, it's often not necessary to do the calculations with complete accuracy, and we can drop decimal places to make the math easier. Once the average equations are calculated, solving them using standard algebraic methods gives us the most likely values for the unknown quantities.
Works upon the Theory of Probability.
Regarding the Theory of Probability and the Law of Error as most important subjects of study for any one who desires to obtain a complete comprehension of scientific method as actually applied in physical investigations, I will briefly indicate the works in one or other of which the reader will best pursue the study.
Regarding the Theory of Probability and the Law of Error as crucial topics for anyone who wants to fully understand the scientific method used in physical research, I'll briefly highlight the works in which the reader can best explore these subjects.
The best popular, and at the same time profound English work on the subject is De Morgan’s “Essay on Probabilities and on their Application to Life Contingencies and Insurance Offices,” published in the Cabinet Cyclopædia, and to be obtained (in print) from Messrs. Longman. Mr. Venn’s work on The Logic of Chance can now be procured in a greatly enlarged second edition;297 it contains a most interesting and able discussion of the metaphysical395 basis of probability and of related questions concerning causation, belief, design, testimony, &c.; but I cannot always agree with Mr. Venn’s opinions. No mathematical knowledge beyond that of common arithmetic is required in reading these works. Quetelet’s Letters form a good introduction to the subject, and the mathematical notes are of value. Sir George Airy’s brief treatise On the Algebraical and Numerical Theory of Errors of Observations and the Combination of Observations, contains a complete explanation of the Law of Error and its practical applications. De Morgan’s treatise “On the Theory of Probabilities” in the Encyclopædia Metropolitana, presents an abstract of the more abstruse investigations of Laplace, together with a multitude of profound and original remarks concerning the theory generally. In Lubbock and Drinkwater’s work on Probability, in the Library of Useful Knowledge, we have a concise but good statement of a number of important problems. The Rev. W. A. Whitworth has given, in a work entitled Choice and Chance, a number of good illustrations of calculations both in combinations and probabilities. In Mr. Todhunter’s admirable History we have an exhaustive critical account of almost all writings upon the subject of probability down to the culmination of the theory in Laplace’s works. The Memoir of Mr. J. W. L. Glaisher has already been mentioned (p. 375). In spite of the existence of these and some other good English works, there seems to be a want of an easy and yet pretty complete mathematical introduction to the study of the theory.
The best popular yet insightful English work on the topic is De Morgan’s “Essay on Probabilities and their Application to Life Contingencies and Insurance Offices,” published in the Cabinet Cyclopædia, and can be obtained (in print) from Messrs. Longman. Mr. Venn’s work on The Logic of Chance is now available in a significantly expanded second edition;297 it features a fascinating and skilled discussion on the metaphysical foundation of probability and related issues concerning causation, belief, design, testimony, etc.; however, I don’t always agree with Mr. Venn’s views. No mathematical knowledge beyond basic arithmetic is needed to read these works. Quetelet’s Letters serve as a solid introduction to the subject, and the mathematical notes are helpful. Sir George Airy’s brief treatise On the Algebraical and Numerical Theory of Errors of Observations and the Combination of Observations offers a complete explanation of the Law of Error and its practical uses. De Morgan’s treatise “On the Theory of Probabilities” in the Encyclopædia Metropolitana presents a summary of the more complex investigations of Laplace, along with numerous insightful and original comments regarding the theory as a whole. In Lubbock and Drinkwater’s work on Probability, included in the Library of Useful Knowledge, we find a concise yet effective overview of several key problems. The Rev. W. A. Whitworth provides a range of excellent illustrations of calculations involving both combinations and probabilities in his work titled Choice and Chance. In Mr. Todhunter’s outstanding History, we have a thorough critical account of nearly all writings on the subject of probability up until the peak of the theory in Laplace’s works. The Memoir of Mr. J. W. L. Glaisher has already been referenced (p. 375). Despite the presence of these and some other good English works, there still seems to be a need for a straightforward yet fairly comprehensive mathematical introduction to the study of the theory.
Among French works the Traité Élémentaire du Calcul des Probabilités, by S. E. Lacroix, of which several editions have been published, and which is not difficult to obtain, forms probably the best elementary treatise. Poisson’s Recherches sur la Probabilité des Jugements (Paris 1837), commence with an admirable investigation of the grounds and methods of the theory. While Laplace’s great Théorie Analytique des Probabilités is of course the “Principia” of the subject; his Essai Philosophique sur les Probabilités is a popular discourse, and is one of the most profound and interesting essays ever published. It should be familiar to every student of logical method, and has lost little or none of its importance by lapse of time.
Among French works, the book Élémentaire du Calcul des Probabilités by S. E. Lacroix, which has numerous editions available and is quite easy to find, is probably the best introductory treatise. Poisson’s Recherches sur la Probabilité des Jugements (Paris 1837) begins with an excellent examination of the foundations and methods of the theory. Laplace’s major work, Théorie Analytique des Probabilités, is certainly the “Principia” of the subject; his Essai Philosophique sur les Probabilités offers a popular perspective and is one of the most insightful and fascinating essays ever published. It should be well-known to every student of logical methods and has retained its significance over time.
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Detection of Constant Errors.
The Method of Means is absolutely incapable of eliminating any error which is always the same, or which always lies in one direction. We sometimes require to be roused from a false feeling of security, and to be urged to take suitable precautions against such occult errors. “It is to the observer,” says Gauss,298 “that belongs the task of carefully removing the causes of constant errors,” and this is quite true when the error is absolutely constant. When we have made a number of determinations with a certain apparatus or method of measurement, there is a great advantage in altering the arrangement, or even devising some entirely different method of getting estimates of the same quantity. The reason obviously consists in the improbability that the same error will affect two or more different methods of experiment. If a discrepancy is found to exist, we shall at least be aware of the existence of error, and can take measures for finding in which way it lies. If we can try a considerable number of methods, the probability becomes great that errors constant in one method will be balanced or nearly so by errors of an opposite effect in the others. Suppose that there be three different methods each affected by an error of equal amount. The probability that this error will in all fall in the same direction is only 14; and with four methods similarly 18. If each method be affected, as is always the case, by several independent sources of error, the probability becomes much greater that in the mean result of all the methods some of the errors will partially compensate the others. In this case as in all others, when human vigilance has exhausted itself, we must trust the theory of probability.
The Method of Means cannot eliminate any error that is always the same or always goes in one direction. Sometimes we need to shake off a false sense of security and be encouraged to take the right precautions against hidden errors. “It is up to the observer,” says Gauss,298 “to carefully remove the causes of constant errors,” and this is true when the error is completely constant. After taking multiple measurements with a certain device or method, it’s very beneficial to change the setup or even come up with a completely different way to measure the same thing. The reason for this is simple: the same error is unlikely to impact two or more different experimental methods. If we find a discrepancy, at least we’ll know there’s an error and can figure out how it’s occurring. If we can test several methods, the likelihood increases that errors specific to one method will be balanced out by errors with the opposite effect in the others. For example, if there are three different methods, each affected by an error of the same amount, the chance that this error will all go in the same direction is only 14; and with four methods, it’s similarly 18. If each method is affected, as is usually the case, by several independent sources of error, the chance becomes much greater that some of the errors will offset others in the overall result from all methods. In this situation, as in others, when human vigilance has reached its limit, we have to rely on the theory of probability.
In the determination of a zero point, of the magnitude of the fundamental standards of time and space, in the personal equation of an astronomical observer, we have instances of fixed errors; but as a general rule a change of procedure is likely to reverse the character of the error, and many instances may be given of the value of this precaution. If we measure over and over again the same397 angular magnitude by the same divided circle, maintained in exactly the same position, it is evident that the same mark in the circle will be the criterion in each case, and any error in the position of that mark will equally affect all our results. But if in each measurement we use a different part of the circle, a new mark will come into use, and as the error of each mark cannot be in the same direction, the average result will be nearly free from errors of division. It will be better still to use more than one divided circle.
In determining a zero point for the core standards of time and space, as well as the personal bias of an astronomical observer, we find some consistent errors. Generally, though, changing the method we use can alter the nature of the error, and there are many examples that show the value of this approach. If we repeatedly measure the same angular value using the same divided circle kept in exactly the same position, it's clear that the same mark on the circle will serve as the reference each time, so any error in that mark will impact all our results. However, if we use a different part of the circle for each measurement, a new mark will be established. Since the error of each mark can't all be in the same direction, the average result will be nearly free from divisor errors. It's even better to use more than one divided circle.
Even when we have no perception of the points at which error is likely to enter, we may with advantage vary the construction of our apparatus in the hope that we shall accidentally detect some latent cause of error. Baily’s purpose in repeating the experiments of Michell and Cavendish on the density of the earth was not merely to follow the same course and verify the previous numbers, but to try whether variations in the size and substance of the attracting balls, the mode of suspension, the temperature of the surrounding air, &c., would yield different results. He performed no less than 62 distinct series, comprising 2153 experiments, and he carefully classified and discussed the results so as to disclose the utmost differences. Again, in experimenting upon the resistance of the air to the motion of a pendulum, Baily employed no less than 80 pendulums of various forms and materials, in order to ascertain exactly upon what conditions the resistance depends. Regnault, in his exact researches upon the dilatation of gases, made arbitrary changes in the magnitude of parts of his apparatus. He thinks that if, in spite of such modification, the results are unchanged, the errors are probably of inconsiderable amount;299 but in reality it is always possible, and usually likely, that we overlook sources of error which a future generation will detect. Thus the pendulum experiments of Baily and Sabine were directed to ascertain the nature and amount of a correction for air resistance, which had been entirely misunderstood in the experiments by means of the seconds pendulum, upon which was founded the definition of the standard yard, in the Act of 5th George IV. c. 74. It has already398 been mentioned that a considerable error was discovered in the determination of the standard metre as the ten-millionth part of the distance from the pole to the equator (p. 314).
Even when we can’t pinpoint where mistakes might occur, it can be beneficial to change how we set up our equipment in hopes of accidentally uncovering some hidden source of error. Baily’s goal in repeating Michell and Cavendish's experiments on Earth's density wasn’t just to replicate and confirm the earlier results but also to see if changes in the size and material of the attracting balls, the way they were suspended, the temperature of the air around them, and other factors would produce different outcomes. He conducted 62 different series, totaling 2153 experiments, and meticulously organized and discussed the results to reveal any significant differences. When studying how air resists a pendulum’s motion, Baily used 80 pendulums of different shapes and materials to determine the specific conditions affecting that resistance. Regnault, in his precise studies on the expansion of gases, made intentional adjustments to some parts of his apparatus. He believed that if the results remained consistent despite these changes, then the errors were likely minor; however, it’s always possible—and often likely—that we miss error sources that future researchers will find. Thus, Baily and Sabine’s pendulum experiments aimed to understand the nature and extent of a correction for air resistance, which had been completely misunderstood in previous experiments using the seconds pendulum, the basis for defining the standard yard in the Act of 5th George IV. c. 74. It's already been noted that a significant error was found in determining the standard meter as one ten-millionth of the distance from the pole to the equator (p. 314).
We shall return in Chapter XXV. to the further consideration of the methods by which we may as far as possible secure ourselves against permanent and undetected sources of error. In the meantime, having completed the consideration of the special methods requisite for treating quantitative phenomena, we must pursue our principal subject, and endeavour to trace out the course by which the physicist, from observation and experiment, collects the materials of knowledge, and then proceeds by hypothesis and inverse calculation to induce from them the laws of nature.
We will return in Chapter XXV to further explore the ways we can protect ourselves against lasting and unnoticed sources of error. In the meantime, having finished discussing the specific methods needed for analyzing quantitative phenomena, we need to continue with our main topic and try to outline how a physicist gathers knowledge through observation and experimentation, and then uses hypothesis and reverse calculation to derive the laws of nature from that information.
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BOOK IV.
INDUCTIVE INVESTIGATION.
BOOK IV.
Inductive Research.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Observation.
All knowledge proceeds originally from experience. Using the name in a wide sense, we may say that experience comprehends all that we feel, externally or internally—the aggregate of the impressions which we receive through the various apertures of perception—the aggregate consequently of what is in the mind, except so far as some portions of knowledge may be the reasoned equivalents of other portions. As the word experience expresses, we go through much in life, and the impressions gathered intentionally or unintentionally afford the materials from which the active powers of the mind evolve science.
All knowledge comes originally from experience. Broadly speaking, we can say that experience includes everything we feel, whether from the outside world or from within ourselves—the total of the impressions we receive through our various senses—which is essentially everything contained in our minds, except for some parts of knowledge that might be reasoned equivalents of other parts. As the term experience suggests, we go through a lot in life, and the impressions we collect, whether on purpose or by accident, provide the building blocks from which our mental abilities develop into science.
No small part of the experience actually employed in science is acquired without any distinct purpose. We cannot use the eyes without gathering some facts which may prove useful. A great science has in many cases risen from an accidental observation. Erasmus Bartholinus thus first discovered double refraction in Iceland spar; Galvani noticed the twitching of a frog’s leg; Oken was struck by the form of a vertebra; Malus accidentally examined light reflected from distant windows with a400 double refracting substance; and Sir John Herschel’s attention was drawn to the peculiar appearance of a solution of quinine sulphate. In earlier times there must have been some one who first noticed the strange behaviour of a loadstone, or the unaccountable motions produced by amber. As a general rule we shall not know in what direction to look for a great body of phenomena widely different from those familiar to us. Chance then must give us the starting point; but one accidental observation well used may lead us to make thousands of observations in an intentional and organised manner, and thus a science may be gradually worked out from the smallest opening.
A lot of the experience we gain in science is actually obtained without a specific goal in mind. We can’t use our eyes without collecting some information that could be useful. Often, major scientific advancements have come from unexpected discoveries. Erasmus Bartholinus discovered double refraction in Iceland spar; Galvani noticed a frog’s leg twitching; Oken was amazed by the shape of a vertebra; Malus accidentally looked at light reflected from distant windows through a double-refracting material; and Sir John Herschel was intrigued by the unique appearance of a quinine sulfate solution. Long ago, someone must have first observed the odd behavior of a lodestone or the mysterious movements caused by amber. Generally, we won’t know where to look for a large set of phenomena that are very different from what we already understand. So, chance must give us the initial insight; however, a single accidental observation, if explored well, can lead us to make thousands of observations in a deliberate and organized way, allowing a whole science to slowly develop from a small starting point.
Distinction of Observation and Experiment.
It is usual to say that the two sources of experience are Observation and Experiment. When we merely note and record the phenomena which occur around us in the ordinary course of nature we are said to observe. When we change the course of nature by the intervention of our muscular powers, and thus produce unusual combinations and conditions of phenomena, we are said to experiment. Herschel justly remarked300 that we might properly call these two modes of experience passive and active observation. In both cases we must certainly employ our senses to observe, and an experiment differs from a mere observation in the fact that we more or less influence the character of the events which we observe. Experiment is thus observation plus alteration of conditions.
It's common to say that the two sources of experience are Observation and Experiment. When we simply notice and record the phenomena happening around us in the normal course of nature, we are said to observe. When we change the course of nature through our physical actions, creating unusual combinations and conditions, we are said to experiment. Herschel rightly noted that we could accurately refer to these two ways of experiencing the world as passive and active observation. In both instances, we certainly use our senses to observe, and an experiment is different from mere observation because we influence the nature of the events we observe to some extent. Experiment is, therefore, observation plus alteration of conditions.
It may readily be seen that we pass upwards by insensible gradations from pure observation to determinate experiment. When the earliest astronomers simply noticed the ordinary motions of the sun, moon, and planets upon the face of the starry heavens, they were pure observers. But astronomers now select precise times and places for important observations of stellar parallax, or the transits of planets. They make the earth’s orbit the basis of a well arranged natural experiment, as it were, and take well considered advantage of motions which they cannot control. Meteorology might seem to be a science of pure401 observation, because we cannot possibly govern the changes of weather which we record. Nevertheless we may ascend mountains or rise in balloons, like Gay-Lussac and Glaisher, and may thus so vary the points of observation as to render our procedure experimental. We are wholly unable either to produce or prevent earth-currents of electricity, but when we construct long lines of telegraph, we gather such strong currents during periods of disturbance as to render them capable of easy observation.
It’s clear that we progress gradually from simple observation to precise experimentation. When the earliest astronomers merely observed the regular movements of the sun, moon, and planets in the night sky, they were just observers. Nowadays, astronomers choose specific times and locations for crucial observations of stellar parallax or planetary transits. They utilize the Earth's orbit as a sort of carefully organized natural experiment and take advantage of movements they can’t control. Meteorology might appear to be purely observational since we can’t control the weather changes we track. However, we can climb mountains or rise in balloons, like Gay-Lussac and Glaisher, allowing us to change our observation points and make our approach experimental. We're completely unable to create or stop electrical currents in the Earth, but when we build long telegraph lines, we collect such strong currents during disturbances that they become easily observable.
The best arranged systems of observation, however, would fail to give us a large part of the facts which we now possess. Many processes continually going on in nature are so slow and gentle as to escape our powers of observation. Lavoisier remarked that the decomposition of water must have been constantly proceeding in nature, although its possibility was unknown till his time.301 No substance is wholly destitute of magnetic or diamagnetic powers; but it required all the experimental skill of Faraday to prove that iron and a few other metals had no monopoly of these powers. Accidental observation long ago impressed upon men’s minds the phenomena of lightning, and the attractive properties of amber. Experiment only could have shown that phenomena so diverse in magnitude and character were manifestations of the same agent. To observe with accuracy and convenience we must have agents under our control, so as to raise or lower their intensity, to stop or set them in action at will. Just as Smeaton found it requisite to create an artificial and governable supply of wind for his investigation of windmills, so we must have governable supplies of light, heat, electricity, muscular force, or whatever other agents we are examining.
The best-designed observation systems, however, would still miss a large portion of the facts we have today. Many natural processes happen so slowly and gently that they escape our ability to notice. Lavoisier pointed out that the breakdown of water must have always been happening in nature, even though it wasn't recognized until his time.301 No substance is completely devoid of magnetic or diamagnetic properties; it took all of Faraday's experimental skill to demonstrate that iron and a few other metals didn't have a monopoly on these properties. Chance observations in the past led people to notice phenomena like lightning and the attractive qualities of amber. Only experimentation could reveal that such different phenomena in size and nature were expressions of the same force. To observe accurately and conveniently, we need to have agents we can control, so we can increase or decrease their intensity or activate or deactivate them at will. Just as Smeaton found it necessary to create an artificial and manageable supply of wind for his studies on windmills, we also need controllable sources of light, heat, electricity, muscular force, or any other agents we are investigating.
It is hardly needful to point out too that on the earth’s surface we live under nearly constant conditions of gravity, temperature, and atmospheric pressure, so that if we are to extend our inferences to other parts of the universe where conditions are widely different, we must be prepared to imitate those conditions on a small scale here. We must have intensely high and low temperatures; we must vary402 the density of gases from approximate vacuum upwards; we must subject liquids and solids to pressures or strains of almost unlimited amount.
It's hardly necessary to point out that on the Earth's surface, we live under nearly constant conditions of gravity, temperature, and atmospheric pressure. So, if we want to extend our conclusions to other parts of the universe where conditions are very different, we need to be ready to replicate those conditions on a small scale here. We need to have extremely high and low temperatures; we need to adjust the density of gases from near vacuum upwards; we must subject liquids and solids to pressures or strains of almost unlimited amounts. 402
Mental Conditions of Correct Observation.
Every observation must in a certain sense be true, for the observing and recording of an event is in itself an event. But before we proceed to deal with the supposed meaning of the record, and draw inferences concerning the course of nature, we must take care to ascertain that the character and feelings of the observer are not to a great extent the phenomena recorded. The mind of man, as Francis Bacon said, is like an uneven mirror, and does not reflect the events of nature without distortion. We need hardly take notice of intentionally false observations, nor of mistakes arising from defective memory, deficient light, and so forth. Even where the utmost fidelity and care are used in observing and recording, tendencies to error exist, and fallacious opinions arise in consequence.
Every observation must be somewhat true because observing and recording an event is itself an event. But before we dive into the assumed meaning of the record and draw conclusions about the natural world, we need to ensure that the observer's character and feelings don’t significantly influence what is recorded. As Francis Bacon said, the human mind is like an uneven mirror and doesn’t reflect natural events without some distortion. We don’t really need to consider deliberately false observations or mistakes from poor memory or inadequate lighting, and so on. Even when we put in our best effort and care while observing and recording, there are still chances for error, and misleading opinions can arise as a result.
It is difficult to find persons who can with perfect fairness register facts for and against their own peculiar views. Among uncultivated observers the tendency to remark favourable and forget unfavourable events is so great, that no reliance can be placed upon their supposed observations. Thus arises the enduring fallacy that the changes of the weather coincide in some way with the changes of the moon, although exact and impartial registers give no countenance to the fact. The whole race of prophets and quacks live on the overwhelming effect of one success, compared with hundreds of failures which are unmentioned and forgotten. As Bacon says, “Men mark when they hit, and never mark when they miss.” And we should do well to bear in mind the ancient story, quoted by Bacon, of one who in Pagan times was shown a temple with a picture of all the persons who had been saved from shipwreck, after paying their vows. When asked whether he did not now acknowledge the power of the gods, “Ay,” he answered; “but where are they painted that were drowned after their vows?”
It’s hard to find people who can fairly present facts for and against their own unique views. Among uneducated observers, the tendency to highlight good events while ignoring bad ones is so strong that their supposed observations can’t be trusted. This leads to the persistent misconception that weather changes somehow correlate with lunar phases, even though accurate and unbiased records show no evidence of this. A whole class of prophets and frauds thrives on one success, while countless failures go unnoticed and forgotten. As Bacon said, “People remember when they succeed and forget when they fail.” We should also remember the ancient story, which Bacon quoted, about someone in ancient times who was shown a temple with a painting of everyone who survived shipwrecks after making their vows. When asked if he now recognized the power of the gods, he replied, “Yes, but where are the ones painted who drowned after their vows?”
If indeed we could estimate the amount of bias existing in any particular observations, it might be treated like403 one of the forces of the problem, and the true course of external nature might still be rendered apparent. But the feelings of an observer are usually too indeterminate, so that when there is reason to suspect considerable bias, rejection is the only safe course. As regards facts casually registered in past times, the capacity and impartiality of the observer are so little known that we should spare no pains to replace these statements by a new appeal to nature. An indiscriminate medley of truth and absurdity, such as Francis Bacon collected in his Natural History, is wholly unsuited to the purposes of science. But of course when records relate to past events like eclipses, conjunctions, meteoric phenomena, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, changes of sea margins, the existence of now extinct animals, the migrations of tribes, remarkable customs, &c., we must make use of statements however unsatisfactory, and must endeavour to verify them by the comparison of independent records or traditions.
If we could really estimate the amount of bias in any particular observations, we could treat it like one of the forces in the problem, and the true state of external nature might still become clear. However, the feelings of an observer are usually too vague, so when there’s a reason to suspect significant bias, the only safe option is to reject it. Regarding facts recorded casually in the past, we know so little about the observer's capabilities and impartiality that we should make every effort to replace these statements with a fresh appeal to nature. A mixed collection of truth and nonsense, like what Francis Bacon gathered in his Natural History, is entirely unsuitable for scientific purposes. But of course, when records relate to past events like eclipses, conjunctions, meteoric phenomena, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, changes in sea levels, the existence of now-extinct animals, migrations of tribes, remarkable customs, etc., we must use these statements, no matter how unsatisfactory, and we need to try to verify them by comparing independent records or traditions.
When extensive series of observations have to be made, as in astronomical, meteorological, or magnetical observatories, trigonometrical surveys, and extensive chemical or physical researches, it is an advantage that the numerical work should be executed by assistants who are not interested in, and are perhaps unaware of, the expected results. The record is thus rendered perfectly impartial. It may even be desirable that those who perform the purely routine work of measurement and computation should be unacquainted with the principles of the subject. The great table of logarithms of the French Revolutionary Government was worked out by a staff of sixty or eighty computers, most of whom were acquainted only with the rules of arithmetic, and worked under the direction of skilled mathematicians; yet their calculations were usually found more correct than those of persons more deeply versed in mathematics.302 In the Indian Ordnance Survey the actual measurers were selected so that they should not have sufficient skill to falsify their results without detection.
When extensive observations need to be made, like in astronomy, meteorology, or magnetic observatories, trigonometrical surveys, and extensive chemical or physical research, it’s beneficial for the numerical work to be done by assistants who aren’t influenced by or even aware of the expected results. This keeps the record completely unbiased. It may even be preferable for those who handle the routine measurement and calculation tasks to not understand the underlying principles of the subject. The massive table of logarithms created by the French Revolutionary Government was produced by a team of sixty to eighty calculators, most of whom only knew basic arithmetic. They worked under the guidance of skilled mathematicians, yet their calculations were often found to be more accurate than those of people with a deeper understanding of mathematics.302 In the Indian Ordnance Survey, the actual measurers were chosen so that they didn’t have enough skill to falsify their results without being caught.
Both passive observation and experimentation must, however, be generally conducted by persons who know for404 what they are to look. It is only when excited and guided by the hope of verifying a theory that the observer will notice many of the most important points; and, where the work is not of a routine character, no assistant can supersede the mind-directed observations of the philosopher. Thus the successful investigator must combine diverse qualities; he must have clear notions of the result he expects and confidence in the truth of his theories, and yet he must have that candour and flexibility of mind which enable him to accept unfavourable results and abandon mistaken views.
Both passive observation and experimentation must, however, generally be carried out by people who know what they’re looking for. It's only when they’re excited and driven by the hope of confirming a theory that the observer will notice many of the most important details; and, when the work isn’t routine, no assistant can replace the focused observations of the researcher. Therefore, a successful investigator needs to combine various qualities: they must have a clear understanding of the results they expect and confidence in their theories, while also possessing the openness and adaptability to accept unfavorable outcomes and let go of incorrect beliefs.
Instrumental and Sensual Conditions of Observation.
In every observation one or more of the senses must be employed, and we should ever bear in mind that the extent of our knowledge may be limited by the power of the sense concerned. What we learn of the world only forms the lower limit of what is to be learned, and, for all that we can tell, the processes of nature may infinitely surpass in variety and complexity those which are capable of coming within our means of observation. In some cases inference from observed phenomena may make us indirectly aware of what cannot be directly felt, but we can never be sure that we thus acquire any appreciable fraction of the knowledge that might be acquired.
In every observation, we must use one or more of our senses, and we should always remember that our understanding might be limited by the abilities of the sense we're using. What we learn about the world only represents the bare minimum of what could be learned, and for all we know, the processes of nature may be vastly more varied and complex than what we are able to observe. In some cases, we can infer from what we see to become indirectly aware of things we can't directly experience, but we can never be certain that we are capturing even a significant part of the knowledge that's possible to gain.
It is a strange reflection that space may be filled with dark wandering stars, whose existence could not have yet become in any way known to us. The planets have already cooled so far as to be no longer luminous, and it may well be that other stellar bodies of various size have fallen into the same condition. From the consideration, indeed, of variable and extinguished stars, Laplace inferred that there probably exist opaque bodies as great and perhaps as numerous as those we see.303 Some of these dark stars might ultimately become known to us, either by reflecting light, or more probably by their gravitating effects upon luminous stars. Thus if one member of a double star were dark, we could readily detect its existence, and even estimate its size, position, and motions,405 by observing those of its visible companion. It was a favourite notion of Huyghens that there may exist stars and vast universes so distant that their light has never yet had time to reach our eyes; and we must also bear in mind that light may possibly suffer slow extinction in space, so that there is more than one way in which an absolute limit to the powers of telescopic discovery may exist.
It’s a strange thought that space could be filled with dark, wandering stars whose existence we might not know about yet. The planets have already cooled down enough that they no longer shine, and it’s quite possible that other celestial bodies of various sizes have reached the same state. Actually, from studying variable and extinct stars, Laplace suggested that there are likely opaque bodies as large and possibly as numerous as those we can see.303 Some of these dark stars might eventually be discovered by reflecting light or, more likely, by their gravitational effects on visible stars. For instance, if one star in a binary system were dark, we could easily identify its presence and even estimate its size, position, and movement by observing its visible partner.405 Huyghens often considered the possibility that there are stars and massive universes so far away that their light has never had enough time to reach us; plus, we should keep in mind that light might gradually fade in space, meaning there could be multiple reasons for an absolute limit on what telescopes can discover.
There are natural limits again to the power of our senses in detecting undulations of various kinds. It is commonly said that vibrations of more than 38,000 strokes per second are not audible as sound; and as some ears actually do hear sounds of much higher pitch, even two octaves higher than what other ears can detect, it is exceedingly probable that there are incessant vibrations which we cannot call sound because they are never heard. Insects may communicate by such acute sounds, constituting a language inaudible to us; and the remarkable agreement apparent among bodies of ants or bees might thus perhaps be explained. Nay, as Fontenelle long ago suggested in his scientific romance, there may exist unlimited numbers of senses or modes of perception which we can never feel, though Darwin’s theory would render it probable that any useful means of knowledge in an ancestor would be developed and improved in the descendants. We might doubtless have been endowed with a sense capable of feeling electric phenomena with acuteness, so that the positive or negative state of charge of a body could be at once estimated. The absence of such a sense is probably due to its comparative uselessness.
There are natural limits to our senses when it comes to detecting various kinds of vibrations. It's often said that vibrations over 38,000 strokes per second aren't heard as sound; however, since some people can perceive sounds at much higher pitches, even two octaves above what others can hear, it's very likely that there are constant vibrations we can't classify as sound because we never hear them. Insects might communicate using these high-pitched sounds, forming a language that's inaudible to us, which could explain the remarkable coordination seen among groups of ants or bees. Moreover, as Fontenelle suggested long ago in his scientific fiction, there could be countless senses or ways of perceiving things that we can't experience, even though Darwin's theory would suggest that any beneficial way of gaining knowledge in ancestors would evolve and improve in their descendants. It's possible that we could have had a sense that allowed us to perceive electric phenomena with precision, enabling us to instantly gauge whether a body is positively or negatively charged. The lack of such a sense is likely due to its relative uselessness.
Heat undulations are subject to the same considerations. It is now apparent that what we call light is the affection of the eye by certain vibrations, the less rapid of which are invisible and constitute the dark rays of radiant heat, in detecting which we must substitute the thermometer or the thermopile for the eye. At the other end of the spectrum, again, the ultra-violet rays are invisible, and only indirectly brought to our knowledge in the phenomena of fluorescence or photo-chemical action. There is no reason to believe that at either end of the spectrum an absolute limit has yet been reached.
Heat fluctuations follow the same principles. It's clear now that what we refer to as light affects the eye through certain vibrations, some of which are slower and invisible, making up the dark rays of radiant heat that we can only detect with a thermometer or thermopile instead of our eyes. On the opposite end of the spectrum, the ultra-violet rays are also invisible and are only revealed to us through phenomena like fluorescence or photo-chemical reactions. There's no reason to think that we have hit an absolute limit at either end of the spectrum.
Just as our knowledge of the stellar universe is limited406 by the power of the telescope and other conditions, so our knowledge of the minute world has its limit in the powers and optical conditions of the microscope. There was a time when it would have been a reasonable induction that vegetables are motionless, and animals alone endowed with power of locomotion. We are astonished to discover by the microscope that minute plants are if anything more active than minute animals. We even find that mineral substances seem to lose their inactive character and dance about with incessant motion when reduced to sufficiently minute particles, at least when suspended in a non-conducting medium.304 Microscopists will meet a natural limit to observation when the minuteness of the objects examined becomes comparable to the length of light undulations, and the extreme difficulty already encountered in determining the forms of minute marks on Diatoms appears to be due to this cause. According to Helmholtz the smallest distance which can be accurately defined depends upon the interference of light passing through the centres of the bright spaces. With a theoretically perfect microscope and a dry lense the smallest visible object would not be less than one 80,000th part of an inch in red light.
Just like our understanding of the starry universe is limited by the power of telescopes and other factors, our grasp of the microscopic world is restricted by the capabilities and optical conditions of microscopes. There was a time when it seemed reasonable to conclude that plants are stationary, while only animals have the ability to move. We are surprised to find through the microscope that tiny plants are, if anything, more active than tiny animals. We even observe that minerals appear to lose their inactive nature and move around continually when broken down into very small particles, especially when suspended in a non-conductive medium. Microscopists will encounter a natural limit to observation when the size of the objects being studied approaches the wavelength of light, and the significant challenges faced in identifying the shapes of tiny markings on Diatoms seem to stem from this issue. According to Helmholtz, the smallest distance that can be accurately measured depends on the interference of light passing through the centers of the bright areas. With a theoretically perfect microscope and a dry lens, the smallest visible object would be no less than one 80,000th of an inch in red light.406
Of the errors likely to arise in estimating quantities by the senses I have already spoken, but there are some cases in which we actually see things differently from what they are. A jet of water appears to be a continuous thread, when it is really a wonderfully organised succession of small and large drops, oscillating in form. The drops fall so rapidly that their impressions upon the eye run into each other, and in order to see the separate drops we require some device for giving an instantaneous view.
I've already mentioned the mistakes that can happen when we estimate quantities with our senses, but there are some situations where we actually perceive things differently from reality. A stream of water looks like a continuous line, when in fact it's a brilliantly organized series of small and large drops, changing shape. The drops fall so quickly that they blur together in our vision, and to see the individual drops, we need some method to capture an instant view.
One insuperable limit to our powers of observation arises from the impossibility of following and identifying the ultimate atoms of matter. One atom of oxygen is probably undistinguishable from another atom; only by407 keeping a certain volume of oxygen safely inclosed in a bottle can we assure ourselves of its identity; allow it to mix with other oxygen, and we lose all power of identification. Accordingly we seem to have no means of directly proving that every gas is in a constant state of diffusion of every part into every part. We can only infer this to be the case from observing the behaviour of distinct gases which we can distinguish in their course, and by reasoning on the grounds of molecular theory.305
One major limit to our ability to observe comes from the fact that we can't track and identify the smallest particles of matter. One atom of oxygen probably looks exactly like another; we can only be sure of its identity by keeping a specific volume of oxygen safely stored in a bottle. If we let it mix with other oxygen, we lose the ability to tell them apart. Therefore, we don’t seem to have a way to directly show that every gas is constantly mixing at every level. We can only conclude this from watching how different gases behave when we can identify them and by using reasoning based on molecular theory.305
External Conditions of Correct Observation.
Before we proceed to draw inferences from any series of recorded facts, we must take care to ascertain perfectly, if possible, the external conditions under which the facts are brought to our notice. Not only may the observing mind be prejudiced and the senses defective, but there may be circumstances which cause one kind of event to come more frequently to our notice than another. The comparative numbers of objects of different kinds existing may in any degree differ from the numbers which come to our notice. This difference must if possible be taken into account before we make any inferences.
Before we start drawing conclusions from any set of recorded facts, we need to make sure we fully understand, if we can, the external conditions surrounding the facts presented to us. Not only can the observing mind be biased and the senses flawed, but there may also be factors that cause one type of event to be more noticeable than another. The relative numbers of different types of objects that exist may not match the numbers that we perceive. We should consider this difference as much as possible before making any conclusions.
There long appeared to be a strong presumption that all comets moved in elliptic orbits, because no comet had been proved to move in any other kind of path. The theory of gravitation admitted of the existence of comets moving in hyperbolic orbits, and the question arose whether they were really non-existent or were only beyond the bounds of easy observation. From reasonable suppositions Laplace calculated that the probability was at least 6000 to 1 against a comet which comes within the planetary system sufficiently to be visible at the earth’s surface, presenting an orbit which could be discriminated from a very elongated ellipse or parabola in the part of its orbit within the reach of our telescopes.306 In short, the chances are very much in favour of our seeing elliptic rather than hyperbolic comets. Laplace’s views have been confirmed by the discovery of six408 hyperbolic comets, which appeared in the years 1729, 1771, 1774, 1818, 1840, and 1843,307 and as only about 800 comets altogether have been recorded, the proportion of hyperbolic ones is quite as large as should be expected.
There has long been a strong assumption that all comets move in elliptical orbits because no comet has been proven to follow any other type of path. The theory of gravitation allows for comets moving in hyperbolic orbits, raising the question of whether they truly don’t exist or are just hard to observe. Based on reasonable assumptions, Laplace calculated that the odds were at least 6000 to 1 against a comet coming close enough to the planetary system to be seen from the Earth, showing an orbit that could be distinguished from a very elongated ellipse or parabola in the part we can observe with our telescopes.306 In short, we are much more likely to see elliptical comets rather than hyperbolic ones. Laplace’s ideas have been supported by the discovery of six408 hyperbolic comets, which appeared in 1729, 1771, 1774, 1818, 1840, and 1843,307 and since only about 800 comets have been recorded in total, the proportion of hyperbolic ones is about what we would expect.
When we attempt to estimate the numbers of objects which may have existed, we must make large allowances for the limited sphere of our observations. Probably not more than 4000 or 5000 comets have been seen in historical times, but making allowance for the absence of observers in the southern hemisphere, and for the small probability that we see any considerable fraction of those which are in the neighbourhood of our system, we must accept Kepler’s opinion, that there are more comets in the regions of space than fishes in the depths of the ocean. When like calculations are made concerning the numbers of meteors visible to us, it is astonishing to find that the number of meteors entering the earth’s atmosphere in every twenty-four hours is probably not less than 400,000,000, of which 13,000 exist in every portion of space equal to that filled by the earth.
When we try to estimate how many objects may have existed, we have to consider the limited scope of our observations. Probably no more than 4,000 or 5,000 comets have been seen throughout history, but when we take into account the lack of observers in the southern hemisphere and the low chance that we observe a significant fraction of those near our solar system, we must agree with Kepler’s view that there are more comets in space than there are fish in the ocean's depths. When similar calculations are done about the number of meteors we can see, it's surprising to find that the number of meteors entering Earth’s atmosphere every day is likely not less than 400 million, with 13,000 present in every part of space that is as large as the area occupied by Earth.
Serious fallacies may arise from overlooking the inevitable conditions under which the records of past events are brought to our notice. Thus it is only the durable objects manufactured by former races of men, such as flint implements, which can have come to our notice as a general rule. The comparative abundance of iron and bronze articles used by an ancient nation must not be supposed to be coincident with their comparative abundance in our museums, because bronze is far the more durable. There is a prevailing fallacy that our ancestors built more strongly than we do, arising from the fact that the more fragile structures have long since crumbled away. We have few or no relics of the habitations of the poorer classes among the Greeks or Romans, or in fact of any past race; for the temples, tombs, public buildings, and mansions of the wealthier classes alone endure. There is an immense expanse of past events necessarily lost to us for ever, and we must generally look upon records or relics as exceptional in their character.
Serious mistakes can happen when we ignore the inevitable conditions under which records of past events come to our attention. Typically, it’s only the durable items made by earlier humans, like flint tools, that we notice. The relative abundance of iron and bronze artifacts from an ancient civilization shouldn't be assumed to match how many we find in our museums, because bronze lasts much longer. There’s a common misconception that our ancestors built more sturdily than we do, stemming from the fact that the more fragile structures have long since fallen apart. We have few or no remains of the homes of the poorer classes among the Greeks or Romans, or any other past civilization; only the temples, tombs, public buildings, and mansions of the wealthy have survived. There is a vast amount of historical information that is permanently lost to us, and we should generally consider records or relics as exceptions rather than the rule.
The same considerations apply to geological relics. We could not generally expect that animals would be409 preserved unless as regards the bones, shells, strong integuments, or other hard and durable parts. All the infusoria and animals devoid of mineral framework have probably perished entirely, distilled perhaps into oils. It has been pointed out that the peculiar character of some extinct floras may be due to the unequal preservation of different families of plants. By various accidents, however, we gain glimpses of a world that is usually lost to us—as by insects embedded in amber, the great mammoth preserved in ice, mummies, casts in solid material like that of the Roman soldier at Pompeii, and so forth.
The same ideas apply to geological remains. We generally shouldn’t expect that animals would be preserved, except for their bones, shells, tough skins, or other hard and long-lasting parts. All the microscopic organisms and those without a mineral structure have probably completely disappeared, perhaps transformed into oils. It has been noted that the unique characteristics of some extinct plant species might be due to the unequal preservation of different plant families. However, through various accidents, we get glimpses of a world that is usually lost to us—like insects trapped in amber, the great mammoth frozen in ice, mummies, and casts in solid material such as that of the Roman soldier at Pompeii, and so on.
We should also remember, that just as there may be conjunctions of the heavenly bodies that can have happened only once or twice in the period of history, so remarkable terrestrial conjunctions may take place. Great storms, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, landslips, floods, irruptions of the sea, may, or rather must, have occurred, events of such unusual magnitude and such extreme rarity that we can neither expect to witness them nor readily to comprehend their effects. It is a great advantage of the study of probabilities, as Laplace himself remarked, to make us mistrust the extent of our knowledge, and pay proper regard to the probability that events would come within the sphere of our observations.
We should also keep in mind that just like there are alignments of heavenly bodies that might have happened only once or twice in history, significant events on Earth can also occur. Major storms, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, landslides, floods, and sea invasions may, or rather must, have taken place—events of such unusual size and extreme rarity that we can’t expect to see them or easily understand their impacts. One of the great benefits of studying probabilities, as Laplace himself noted, is that it makes us doubt the limits of our knowledge and gives us a realistic view of how events might fit into what we can observe.
Apparent Sequence of Events.
De Morgan has excellently pointed out308 that there are no less than four modes in which one event may seem to follow or be connected with another, without being really so. These involve mental, sensual, and external causes of error, and I will briefly state and illustrate them.
De Morgan has pointed out308 that there are at least four ways in which one event might appear to follow or be linked to another, even though they aren't actually connected. These include mental, sensory, and external causes of misunderstanding, and I will briefly explain and illustrate them.
Instead of A causing B, it may be our perception of A that causes B. Thus it is that prophecies, presentiments, and the devices of sorcery and witchcraft often work their own ends. A man dies on the day which he has always regarded as his last, from his own fears of the day. An incantation effects its purpose, because care is taken to frighten the intended victim, by letting him know his fate. In all such cases the mental condition is the cause of apparent coincidence.
Instead of A causing B, it might be our perception of A that causes B. This is why prophecies, premonitions, and the tricks of magic and witchcraft often achieve their goals. A man dies on the day he has always believed to be his last, due to his own fears about that day. A spell works because effort is made to scare the intended victim by revealing his fate. In all these instances, the mental state is the reason behind the seeming coincidence.
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In a second class of cases, the event A may make our perception of B follow, which would otherwise happen without being perceived. Thus it was believed to be the result of investigation that more comets appeared in hot than cold summers. No account was taken of the fact that hot summers would be comparatively cloudless, and afford better opportunities for the discovery of comets. Here the disturbing condition is of a purely external character. Certain ancient philosophers held that the moon’s rays were cold-producing, mistaking the cold caused by radiation into space for an effect of the moon, which is more likely to be visible at a time when the absence of clouds permits radiation to proceed.
In a second class of cases, event A may lead us to notice B, which would otherwise occur without us seeing it. For example, it was believed that more comets appeared in hot summers than in cold ones. People didn’t consider that hot summers would be generally clearer, providing better chances to spot comets. In this case, the influencing factor is entirely external. Some ancient philosophers thought that the moon's rays caused cold, confusing the chill from radiation into space with an effect of the moon, which is more likely to be noticeable when there's no cloud cover to block the radiation.
In a third class of cases, our perception of A may make our perception of B follow. The event B may be constantly happening, but our attention may not be drawn to it except by our observing A. This case seems to be illustrated by the fallacy of the moon’s influence on clouds. The origin of this fallacy is somewhat complicated. In the first place, when the sky is densely clouded the moon would not be visible at all; it would be necessary for us to see the full moon in order that our attention should be strongly drawn to the fact, and this would happen most often on those nights when the sky is cloudless. Mr. W. Ellis,309 moreover, has ingeniously pointed out that there is a general tendency for clouds to disperse at the commencement of night, which is the time when the full moon rises. Thus the change of the sky and the rise of the full moon are likely to attract attention mutually, and the coincidence in time suggests the relation of cause and effect. Mr. Ellis proves from the results of observations at the Greenwich Observatory that the moon possesses no appreciable power of the kind supposed, and yet it is remarkable that so sound an observer as Sir John Herschel was convinced of the connection. In his “Results of Observations at the Cape of Good Hope,”310 he mentions many evenings when a full moon occurred with a peculiarly clear sky.
In a third group of cases, our perception of A may lead to our perception of B. Event B might be happening all the time, but we may only notice it when we see A. This situation seems to be illustrated by the misconception that the moon influences clouds. The origins of this misconception are a bit complex. First, when the sky is heavily clouded, the moon isn’t visible at all; we need to see the full moon for our attention to be strongly drawn to it, which mostly happens on nights when the sky is clear. Mr. W. Ellis,309 also cleverly pointed out that clouds often clear at dusk, which is when the full moon rises. So, the change in the sky and the rise of the full moon are likely to draw attention to each other, and the timing suggests a cause-and-effect relationship. Mr. Ellis has shown through observations at the Greenwich Observatory that the moon has no significant influence of the kind people think it does, yet it’s notable that a sharp observer like Sir John Herschel was convinced of this connection. In his “Results of Observations at the Cape of Good Hope,”310 he notes many evenings when a full moon coincided with particularly clear skies.
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There is yet a fourth class of cases, in which B is really the antecedent event, but our perception of A, which is a consequence of B, may be necessary to bring about our perception of B. There can be no doubt, for instance, that upward and downward currents are continually circulating in the lowest stratum of the atmosphere during the day-time; but owing to the transparency of the atmosphere we have no evidence of their existence until we perceive cumulous clouds, which are the consequence of such currents. In like manner an interfiltration of bodies of air in the higher parts of the atmosphere is probably in nearly constant progress, but unless threads of cirrous cloud indicate these motions we remain ignorant of their occurrence.311 The highest strata of the atmosphere are wholly imperceptible to us, except when rendered luminous by auroral currents of electricity, or by the passage of meteoric stones. Most of the visible phenomena of comets probably arise from some substance which, existing previously invisible, becomes condensed or electrified suddenly into a visible form. Sir John Herschel attempted to explain the production of comet tails in this manner by evaporation and condensation.312
There is also a fourth type of situation where B is actually the event that came first, but our awareness of A, which results from B, might be needed for us to recognize B. There's no doubt, for example, that upward and downward air currents are constantly moving in the lowest layer of the atmosphere during the day; however, because the atmosphere is clear, we have no proof of their presence until we see cumulus clouds, which are a result of these currents. Similarly, air mixing in the higher parts of the atmosphere is likely happening all the time, but unless wisps of cirrus clouds show these movements, we remain unaware of them.311 The highest layers of the atmosphere are completely invisible to us, except when they're lit up by auroral electrical currents or by falling meteors. Most of the visible effects of comets probably come from some material that, previously unseen, suddenly becomes dense or electrically charged into a visible state. Sir John Herschel tried to explain how comet tails are formed this way through evaporation and condensation.312
Negative Arguments from Non-observation.
From what has been suggested in preceding sections, it will plainly appear that the non-observation of a phenomenon is not generally to be taken as proving its non-occurrence. As there are sounds which we cannot hear, rays of heat which we cannot feel, multitudes of worlds which we cannot see, and myriads of minute organisms of which not the most powerful microscope can give us a view, we must as a general rule interpret our experience in an affirmative sense only. Accordingly when inferences have been drawn from the non-occurrence of particular facts or objects, more extended and careful examination has often proved their falsity. Not many years since it was quite a well credited conclusion in geology that no remains of man were found in connection with those of412 extinct animals, or in any deposit not actually at present in course of formation. Even Babbage accepted this conclusion as strongly confirmatory of the Mosaic accounts.313 While the opinion was yet universally held, flint implements had been found disproving such a conclusion, and overwhelming evidence of man’s long-continued existence has since been forthcoming. At the end of the last century, when Herschel had searched the heavens with his powerful telescopes, there seemed little probability that planets yet remained unseen within the orbit of Jupiter. But on the first day of this century such an opinion was overturned by the discovery of Ceres, and more than a hundred other small planets have since been added to the lists of the planetary system.
From what has been suggested in the previous sections, it is clear that the failure to observe a phenomenon doesn’t necessarily prove it hasn’t happened. Just like there are sounds we can’t hear, heat rays we can’t feel, countless worlds we can’t see, and numerous tiny organisms that even the most powerful microscope can’t reveal, we generally need to interpret our experiences positively. Therefore, when conclusions are drawn from the non-occurrence of specific facts or objects, more thorough and careful investigation has often shown those conclusions to be false. Not too long ago, it was widely accepted in geology that no human remains were found alongside those of extinct animals or in any sediment not currently being formed. Even Babbage strongly endorsed this view as support for the Mosaic account. While this opinion was still universally accepted, flint tools were discovered, contradicting that conclusion, and overwhelming evidence of humanity's long existence has emerged since then. At the end of the last century, when Herschel examined the skies with his powerful telescopes, it seemed unlikely that there were still unseen planets within Jupiter's orbit. However, on the first day of this century, that belief was overturned with the discovery of Ceres, and since then, more than a hundred other small planets have been added to the list of the planetary system.
The discovery of the Eozoön Canadense in strata of much greater age than any previously known to contain organic remains, has given a shock to groundless opinions concerning the origin of organic forms; and the oceanic dredging expeditions under Dr. Carpenter and Sir Wyville Thomson have modified some opinions of geologists by disclosing the continued existence of forms long supposed to be extinct. These and many other cases which might be quoted show the extremely unsafe character of negative inductions.
The discovery of the Eozoön Canadense in layers much older than any previously known to hold organic remains has challenged unfounded beliefs about the origin of living forms. The oceanic dredging expeditions led by Dr. Carpenter and Sir Wyville Thomson have changed some geologists' views by revealing the ongoing existence of species long thought to be extinct. These examples, among many others that could be mentioned, demonstrate how unreliable negative conclusions can be.
But it must not be supposed that negative arguments are of no force and value. The earth’s surface has been sufficiently searched to render it highly improbable that any terrestrial animals of the size of a camel remain to be discovered. It is believed that no new large animal has been encountered in the last eighteen or twenty centuries,314 and the probability that if existent they would have been seen, increases the probability that they do not exist. We may with somewhat less confidence discredit the existence of any large unrecognised fish, or sea animals, such as the alleged sea-serpent. But, as we descend to forms of smaller size negative evidence loses weight from the less probability of our seeing smaller objects. Even the strong induction in favour of the four-fold division of the animal kingdom into Vertebrata, Annulosa, Mollusca,413 and Cœlenterata, may break down by the discovery of intermediate or anomalous forms. As civilisation spreads over the surface of the earth, and unexplored tracts are gradually diminished, negative conclusions will increase in force; but we have much to learn yet concerning the depths of the ocean, almost wholly unexamined as they are, and covering three-fourths of the earth’s surface.
But we shouldn't assume that negative arguments lack strength and value. The earth's surface has been thoroughly searched, making it highly unlikely that any terrestrial animals the size of a camel are left to be discovered. It's believed that no new large animals have been found in the last eighteen or twenty centuries, and the chance that if they did exist they would have been seen strengthens the argument that they don’t exist. With slightly less confidence, we can question the existence of any large unidentified fish or sea creatures, like the claimed sea serpent. However, as we move to smaller forms, negative evidence becomes less convincing because there's a lower chance of spotting smaller objects. Even the strong argument supporting the classification of the animal kingdom into Vertebrates, Annulosa, Mollusca, 413 and Cœlenterata could fall apart with the discovery of intermediate or unusual forms. As civilization spreads across the earth, and unexplored areas gradually shrink, negative conclusions will gain strength; but there's still a lot we need to learn about the depths of the ocean, which are mostly unexamined and cover three-fourths of the earth's surface.
In geology there are many statements to which considerable probability attaches on account of the large extent of the investigations already made, as, for instance, that true coal is found only in rocks of a particular geological epoch; that gold occurs in secondary and tertiary strata only in exceedingly small quantities,315 probably derived from the disintegration of earlier rocks. In natural history negative conclusions are exceedingly treacherous and unsatisfactory. The utmost patience will not enable a microscopist or the observer of any living thing to watch the behaviour of the organism under all circumstances continuously for a great length of time. There is always a chance therefore that the critical act or change may take place when the observer’s eyes are withdrawn. This certainly happens in some cases; for though the fertilisation of orchids by agency of insects is proved as well as any fact in natural history, Mr. Darwin has never been able by the closest watching to detect an insect in the performance of the operation. Mr. Darwin has himself adopted one conclusion on negative evidence, namely, that the Orchis pyramidalis and certain other orchidaceous flowers secrete no nectar. But his caution and unwearying patience in verifying the conclusion give an impressive lesson to the observer. For twenty-three consecutive days, as he tells us, he examined flowers in all states of the weather, at all hours, in various localities. As the secretion in other flowers sometimes takes place rapidly and might happen at early dawn, that inconvenient hour of observation was specially adopted. Flowers of different ages were subjected to irritating vapours, to moisture, and to every condition likely to bring on the secretion; and only after invariable failure of this exhaustive inquiry was the barrenness of the nectaries assumed to be proved.316
In geology, there are many statements that have a high likelihood of being true due to the extensive investigations that have already been conducted. For example, true coal is found only in rocks from a specific geological era, and gold is found only in small quantities in secondary and tertiary layers, likely coming from the breakdown of older rocks. In natural history, negative conclusions can be quite misleading and unsatisfactory. No matter how patient a microscopist or an observer of any living organism is, they cannot continuously watch the behavior of the organism under all circumstances for a long time. There's always a chance that the critical event or change might occur when the observer isn't looking. This certainly happens in some instances; although the fertilization of orchids by insects is as well-established as any fact in natural history, Mr. Darwin has never managed to spot an insect performing the task despite closely observing. Mr. Darwin has drawn one conclusion based on negative evidence, which is that the Orchis pyramidalis and certain other orchid flowers do not produce nectar. However, his careful and persistent efforts to confirm this conclusion provide a valuable lesson for observers. For twenty-three consecutive days, he examined flowers in all kinds of weather, at all hours, in various locations. Since the secretion in other flowers can sometimes happen quickly and might occur at dawn, he specifically chose that inconvenient hour for observation. Flowers of different ages were exposed to irritating vapors, moisture, and any conditions likely to trigger the secretion, and only after consistently failing to find any evidence during this thorough investigation did he conclude that the nectaries were indeed barren.
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In order that a negative argument founded on the non-observation of an object shall have any considerable force, it must be shown to be probable that the object if existent would have been observed, and it is this probability which defines the value of the negative conclusion. The failure of astronomers to see the planet Vulcan, supposed by some to exist within Mercury’s orbit, is no sufficient disproof of its existence. Similarly it would be very difficult, or even impossible, to disprove the existence of a second satellite of small size revolving round the earth. But if any person make a particular assertion, assigning place and time, then observation will either prove or disprove the alleged fact. If it is true that when a French observer professed to have seen a planet on the sun’s face, an observer in Brazil was carefully scrutinising the sun and failed to see it, we have a negative proof. False facts in science, it has been well said, are more mischievous than false theories. A false theory is open to every person’s criticism, and is ever liable to be judged by its accordance with facts. But a false or grossly erroneous assertion of a fact often stands in the way of science for a long time, because it may be extremely difficult or even impossible to prove the falsity of what has been once recorded.
To have a strong negative argument based on the lack of observation of an object, it must be shown that it was likely the object would have been seen if it existed, and this likelihood determines the strength of the negative conclusion. The inability of astronomers to observe the planet Vulcan, which some believe exists within Mercury’s orbit, is not enough to disprove its existence. Similarly, disproving the existence of a small second satellite orbiting the Earth would be very challenging, if not impossible. However, if someone makes a specific claim about the location and time of an event, then observation can confirm or deny that claim. If it’s true that when a French observer claimed to have seen a planet on the sun’s surface, a Brazilian observer was closely examining the sun and did not see it, we have a form of negative proof. It has been rightly said that false facts in science can be more damaging than false theories. A false theory can be critiqued by anyone and is always subject to validation against real facts. But a false or seriously incorrect assertion of a fact can hinder scientific progress for a long time, because it may be extremely difficult or even impossible to disprove something that has already been documented.
In other sciences the force of a negative argument will often depend upon the number of possible alternatives which may exist. It was long believed that the quality of a musical sound as distinguished from its pitch, must depend upon the form of the undulation, because no other cause of it had ever been suggested or was apparently possible. The truth of the conclusion was proved by Helmholtz, who applied a microscope to luminous points attached to the strings of various instruments, and thus actually observed the different modes of undulation. In mathematics negative inductive arguments have seldom much force, because the possible forms of expression, or the possible combinations of lines and circles in geometry, are quite unlimited in number. An enormous number of attempts were made to trisect the angle by the ordinary methods of Euclid’s geometry, but their invariable failure did not establish the impossibility of the task. This was shown in a totally different manner, by proving that the problem involves an irreducible cubic415 equation to which there could be no corresponding plane geometrical solution.317 This is a case of reductio ad absurdum, a form of argument of a totally different character. Similarly no number of failures to obtain a general solution of equations of the fifth degree would establish the impossibility of the task, but in an indirect mode, equivalent to a reductio ad absurdum, the impossibility is considered to be proved.318
In other sciences, the strength of a negative argument often relies on the number of possible alternatives that may exist. For a long time, it was believed that the quality of a musical sound, as distinct from its pitch, must depend on the shape of the wave, since no other explanation had ever been suggested or seemed possible. Helmholtz confirmed this conclusion by using a microscope to look at glowing points attached to the strings of various instruments, allowing him to actually see the different wave patterns. In mathematics, negative inductive arguments usually don’t carry much weight because the possible ways of expressing things or the combinations of lines and circles in geometry are virtually limitless. Many attempts were made to trisect an angle using standard methods of Euclid’s geometry, but the fact that they always failed didn’t prove the task was impossible. This was actually demonstrated in a completely different way by showing that the problem involves an irreducible cubic equation that cannot be solved using standard geometric methods. This is an example of reductio ad absurdum, a form of argument that is quite different in nature. Similarly, no number of failures to find a general solution for fifth-degree equations would prove that it’s impossible, but through an indirect method, akin to reductio ad absurdum, it’s viewed as proven that it cannot be done.
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CHAPTER XIX.
Test.
We may now consider the great advantages which we enjoy in examining the combinations of phenomena when things are within our reach and capable of being experimented on. We are said to experiment when we bring substances together under various conditions of temperature, pressure, electric disturbance, chemical action, &c., and then record the changes observed. Our object in inductive investigation is to ascertain exactly the group of circumstances or conditions which being present, a certain other group of phenomena will follow. If we denote by A the antecedent group, and by X subsequent phenomena, our object will usually be to discover a law of the form A = AX, the meaning of which is that where A is X will happen.
We can now look at the great advantages we have when examining combinations of phenomena that are within our reach and can be tested. We are said to experiment when we bring substances together under different conditions of temperature, pressure, electric disturbance, chemical action, etc., and then record the changes we observe. Our goal in inductive investigation is to precisely identify the group of circumstances or conditions that, when present, will lead to a specific group of phenomena. If we denote the first group as A and the subsequent phenomena as X, our goal will usually be to discover a law of the form A = AX, which means that when A is present, X will occur.
The circumstances which might be enumerated as present in the simplest experiment are very numerous, in fact almost infinite. Rub two sticks together and consider what would be an exhaustive statement of the conditions. There are the form, hardness, organic structure, and all the chemical qualities of the wood; the pressure and velocity of the rubbing; the temperature, pressure, and all the chemical qualities of the surrounding air; the proximity of the earth with its attractive and electric powers; the temperature and other properties of the persons producing motion; the radiation from the sun, and to and from the sky; the electric excitement possibly existing in any overhanging cloud; even the positions of the heavenly bodies must be mentioned. On à priori grounds it is417 unsafe to assume that any one of these circumstances is without effect, and it is only by experience that we can single out those precise conditions from which the observed heat of friction proceeds.
The factors that could be listed as part of the simplest experiment are very numerous, almost infinite, in fact. If you rub two sticks together, think about what would be a complete account of the conditions. There are the shape, hardness, organic structure, and all the chemical properties of the wood; the force and speed of the rubbing; the temperature, pressure, and all the chemical properties of the surrounding air; the closeness of the earth with its gravitational and electric forces; the temperature and other characteristics of the people creating the motion; the radiation from the sun, and from the sky; any electrical activity that might be present in clouds nearby; even the positions of celestial bodies need to be considered. On à priori grounds, it’s not safe to assume that any of these factors are without effect, and we can only identify the specific conditions that lead to the observed heat of friction through experience.
The great method of experiment consists in removing, one at a time, each of those conditions which may be imagined to have an influence on the result. Our object in the experiment of rubbing sticks is to discover the exact circumstances under which heat appears. Now the presence of air may be requisite; therefore prepare a vacuum, and rub the sticks in every respect as before, except that it is done in vacuo. If heat still appears we may say that air is not, in the presence of the other circumstances, a requisite condition. The conduction of heat from neighbouring bodies may be a condition. Prevent this by making all the surrounding bodies ice cold, which is what Davy aimed at in rubbing two pieces of ice together. If heat still appears we have eliminated another condition, and so we may go on until it becomes apparent that the expenditure of energy in the friction of two bodies is the sole condition of the production of heat.
The great method of experimentation involves removing, one at a time, each condition that might affect the outcome. Our goal in the experiment of rubbing sticks is to find out the specific circumstances under which heat is generated. Since air may be necessary, we should create a vacuum and rub the sticks just like before, except this time it's done in vacuo. If heat still occurs, we can conclude that air is not a necessary condition when combined with other factors. The transfer of heat from nearby objects could also be a condition. Prevent this by cooling all surrounding objects to ice cold, which is what Davy aimed for when he rubbed two pieces of ice together. If heat still appears, we have ruled out another condition, and we can continue this process until it becomes clear that the energy expenditure from the friction of two bodies is the only condition required for heat production.
The great difficulty of experiment arises from the fact that we must not assume the conditions to be independent. Previous to experiment we have no right to say that the rubbing of two sticks will produce heat in the same way when air is absent as before. We may have heat produced in one way when air is present, and in another when air is absent. The inquiry branches out into two lines, and we ought to try in both cases whether cutting off a supply of heat by conduction prevents its evolution in friction. The same branching out of the inquiry occurs with regard to every circumstance which enters into the experiment.
The main challenge of conducting experiments comes from the fact that we can't assume the conditions are independent. Before we conduct an experiment, we can't just assume that rubbing two sticks will create heat in the same way with and without air. We might generate heat differently depending on whether air is present or not. This leads to two different paths for inquiry, so we need to investigate both scenarios to see if cutting off heat transfer through conduction stops heat from being generated through friction. This branching of the inquiry happens with every factor involved in the experiment.
Regarding only four circumstances, say A, B, C, D, we ought to test not only the combinations ABCD, ABCd, ABcD, AbCD, aBCD, but we ought really to go through the whole of the combinations given in the fifth column of the Logical Alphabet. The effect of the absence of each condition should be tried both in the presence and absence of every other condition, and every selection of those conditions. Perfect and exhaustive experimentation would, in short, consist in examining natural phenomena in all their possible combinations and registering all418 relations between conditions and results which are found capable of existence. It would thus resemble the exclusion of contradictory combinations carried out in the Indirect Method of Inference, except that the exclusion of combinations is grounded not on prior logical premises, but on à posteriori results of actual trial.
Considering just four circumstances, let’s say A, B, C, and D, we should explore not just the combinations ABCD, ABCd, ABcD, AbCD, and aBCD, but we should really examine all the combinations listed in the fifth column of the Logical Alphabet. We need to test the effect of the absence of each condition both when every other condition is present and absent, along with every combination of those conditions. Ultimately, thorough and complete experimentation would involve analyzing natural phenomena in all their potential combinations and documenting all418 relationships between conditions and outcomes that are found to be viable. This would resemble the elimination of contradictory combinations used in the Indirect Method of Inference, except that the exclusion of combinations is based on à posteriori results from actual trials, rather than on earlier logical premises.
The reader will perceive, however, that such exhaustive investigation is practically impossible, because the number of requisite experiments would be immensely great. Four antecedents only would require sixteen experiments; twelve antecedents would require 4096, and the number increases as the powers of two. The result is that the experimenter has to fall back upon his own tact and experience in selecting those experiments which are most likely to yield him significant facts. It is at this point that logical rules and forms begin to fail in giving aid. The logical rule is—Try all possible combinations; but this being impracticable, the experimentalist necessarily abandons strict logical method, and trusts to his own insight. Analogy, as we shall see, gives some assistance, and attention should be concentrated on those kinds of conditions which have been found important in like cases. But we are now entirely in the region of probability, and the experimenter, while he is confidently pursuing what he thinks the right clue, may be overlooking the one condition of importance. It is an impressive lesson, for instance, that Newton pursued all his exquisite researches on the spectrum unsuspicious of the fact that if he reduced the hole in the shutter to a narrow slit, all the mysteries of the bright and dark lines were within his grasp, provided of course that his prisms were sufficiently good to define the rays. In like manner we know not what slight alteration in the most familiar experiments may not open the way to realms of new discovery.
The reader will notice, however, that such thorough investigation is practically impossible because the number of necessary experiments would be tremendously large. Just four factors would need sixteen experiments; twelve factors would need 4,096, and the number continues to grow exponentially. As a result, the experimenter has to rely on their own intuition and experience to choose the experiments that are most likely to reveal significant facts. At this point, logical rules and forms start to fall short in providing help. The logical rule is—Try all possible combinations; but since this is impractical, the experimentalist has to abandon strict logical methods and trust their own insight. As we will see, analogy provides some support, and attention should be focused on conditions that have proven important in similar cases. However, we are now entirely in the realm of probability, and while the experimenter is confidently chasing what they believe is the right lead, they might be missing the one crucial condition. It’s a striking lesson, for instance, that Newton conducted all his remarkable research on the spectrum without realizing that if he made the hole in the shutter into a narrow slit, all the mysteries of the bright and dark lines would be within his reach, assuming, of course, that his prisms were good enough to differentiate the rays. Similarly, we do not know what small change in the most familiar experiments might open up entirely new areas of discovery.
Practical difficulties, also, encumber the progress of the physicist. It is often impossible to alter one condition without altering others at the same time; and thus we may not get the pure effect of the condition in question. Some conditions may be absolutely incapable of alteration; others may be with great difficulty, or only in a certain degree, removable. A very treacherous source of error is the existence of unknown conditions, which of course we419 cannot remove except by accident. These difficulties we will shortly consider in succession.
Practical challenges also hinder the physicist's progress. It's often impossible to change one factor without simultaneously affecting others, so we might not observe the true effect of the specific condition we're examining. Some conditions may be completely unchangeable; others might be only slightly adjustable with great effort. A particularly deceptive source of error is the presence of unknown conditions, which we obviously can't eliminate unless by chance. We'll discuss these challenges one by one shortly.
It is beautiful to observe how the alteration of a single circumstance sometimes conclusively explains a phenomenon. An instance is found in Faraday’s investigation of the behaviour of Lycopodium spores scattered on a vibrating plate. It was observed that these minute spores collected together at the points of greatest motion, whereas sand and all heavy particles collected at the nodes, where the motion was least. It happily occurred to Faraday to try the experiment in the exhausted receiver of an air-pump, and it was then found that the light powder behaved exactly like heavy powder. A conclusive proof was thus obtained that the presence of air was the condition of importance, doubtless because it was thrown into eddies by the motion of the plate, and carried the Lycopodium to the points of greatest agitation. Sand was too heavy to be carried by the air.
It's fascinating to see how just one change in circumstances can clearly explain a phenomenon. A prime example is Faraday's study of how Lycopodium spores act when spread on a vibrating plate. It was noted that these tiny spores gathered at the points of most motion, while sand and other heavier particles collected at the nodes, where motion was minimal. Faraday cleverly decided to conduct the experiment in a vacuum created by an air pump, and it was discovered that the light powder acted just like the heavy powder. This provided solid evidence that the presence of air was the key factor, likely because the air was stirred up into eddies by the plate's movement, transporting the Lycopodium to the spots of greatest turbulence. Sand, being too heavy, couldn't be moved by the air.
Exclusion of Indifferent Circumstances.
From what has been already said it will be apparent that the detection and exclusion of indifferent circumstances is a work of importance, because it allows the concentration of attention upon circumstances which contain the principal condition. Many beautiful instances may be given where all the most obvious antecedents have been shown to have no part in the production of a phenomenon. A person might suppose that the peculiar colours of mother-of-pearl were due to the chemical qualities of the substance. Much trouble might have been spent in following out that notion by comparing the chemical qualities of various iridescent substances. But Brewster accidentally took an impression from a piece of mother-of-pearl in a cement of resin and bees’-wax, and finding the colours repeated upon the surface of the wax, he proceeded to take other impressions in balsam, fusible metal, lead, gum arabic, isinglass, &c., and always found the iridescent colours the same. He thus proved that the chemical nature of the substance is a matter of indifference, and that the form of the surface is the real condition of such colours.319 Nearly the same may420 be said of the colours exhibited by thin plates and films. The rings and lines of colour will be nearly the same in character whatever may be the nature of the substance; nay, a void space, such as a crack in glass, would produce them even though the air were withdrawn by an air-pump. The conditions are simply the existence of two reflecting surfaces separated by a very small space, though it should be added that the refractive index of the intervening substance has some influence on the exact nature of the colour produced.
From what has already been said, it’s clear that identifying and eliminating irrelevant factors is important because it allows us to focus on the elements that contain the main condition. Many impressive examples can be given where all the most obvious causes have been shown to play no role in the occurrence of a phenomenon. One might think that the unique colors of mother-of-pearl come from the chemical properties of the material. A lot of effort could be spent trying to explore that idea by comparing the chemical properties of different iridescent materials. However, Brewster accidentally made an impression from a piece of mother-of-pearl in a combination of resin and beeswax, and upon discovering the colors repeated on the wax surface, he went on to take other impressions in balsam, fusible metal, lead, gum arabic, isinglass, etc., and consistently found the iridescent colors to be the same. This demonstrated that the chemical nature of the material doesn't matter, and that the surface's shape is the real factor for such colors. Nearly the same can be said for the colors shown by thin plates and films. The rings and lines of color will be nearly identical regardless of the substance's nature; in fact, even a void, like a crack in glass, would produce them even if the air was removed using a vacuum pump. The conditions simply require two reflecting surfaces separated by a very small space, although it’s worth mentioning that the refractive index of the material in between does influence the precise nature of the color produced.319 Nearly the same may420
When a ray of light passes close to the edge of an opaque body, a portion of the light appears to be bent towards it, and produces coloured fringes within the shadow of the body. Newton attributed this inflexion of light to the attraction of the opaque body for the supposed particles of light, although he was aware that the nature of the surrounding medium, whether air or other pellucid substance, exercised no apparent influence on the phenomena. Gravesande proved, however, that the character of the fringes is exactly the same, whether the body be dense or rare, compound or elementary. A wire produces exactly the same fringes as a hair of the same thickness. Even the form of the obstructing edge was subsequently shown to be a matter of indifference by Fresnel, and the interference spectrum, or the spectrum seen when light passes through a fine grating, is absolutely the same whatever be the form or chemical nature of the bars making the grating. Thus it appears that the stoppage of a portion of a beam of light is the sole necessary condition for the diffraction or inflexion of light, and the phenomenon is shown to bear no analogy the refraction of light, in which the form and nature of the substance are all important.
When a ray of light passes close to the edge of an opaque object, some of the light seems to bend toward it, creating colorful fringes within the shadow of the object. Newton believed this bending of light was due to the attraction of the opaque object for the assumed particles of light, even though he knew that the surrounding medium, whether air or another transparent substance, had no noticeable effect on the phenomena. However, Gravesande demonstrated that the nature of the fringes is exactly the same, regardless of whether the object is dense or light, complex or simple. A wire produces precisely the same fringes as a hair of the same thickness. Fresnel later showed that the shape of the edge blocking the light doesn’t matter either, and the interference spectrum, or the spectrum seen when light passes through a thin grating, is completely the same no matter the shape or chemical makeup of the bars in the grating. Thus, it seems that blocking part of a light beam is the only necessary condition for the diffraction or bending of light, and this phenomenon is shown to have no similarity to the refraction of light, where the shape and nature of the substance are crucial.
It is interesting to observe how carefully Newton, in his researches on the spectrum, ascertained the indifference of many circumstances by actual trial. He says:320 “Now the different magnitude of the hole in the window-shut, and different thickness of the prism where the rays passed through it, and different inclinations of the prism to the horizon, made no sensible changes in the length of the421 image. Neither did the different matter of the prisms make any: for in a vessel made of polished plates of glass cemented together in the shape of a prism, and filled with water, there is the like success of the experiment according to the quantity of the refraction.” But in the latter statement, as I shall afterwards remark (p. 432), Newton assumed an indifference which does not exist, and fell into an unfortunate mistake.
It’s interesting to see how carefully Newton, in his studies on the spectrum, tested various factors through actual experimentation. He states:320 “Now the different sizes of the hole in the window shutter, the varying thickness of the prism through which the rays passed, and the different angles of the prism relative to the horizon did not noticeably change the length of the421 image. The different materials of the prisms also had no effect; for a vessel made of polished glass plates glued together in the shape of a prism, filled with water, yielded the same results based on the amount of refraction.” However, in the latter statement, as I will point out later (p. 432), Newton assumed a neutrality that isn’t actually present and made an unfortunate error.
In the science of sound it is shown that the pitch of a sound depends solely upon the number of impulses in a second, and the material exciting those impulses is a matter of indifference. Whatever fluid, air or water, gas or liquid, be forced into the Siren, the sound produced is the same; and the material of which an organ-pipe is constructed does not at all affect the pitch of its sound. In the science of statical electricity it is an important principle that the nature of the interior of a conducting body is a matter of no importance. The electrical charge is confined to the conducting surface, and the interior remains in a neutral state. A hollow copper sphere takes exactly the same charge as a solid sphere of the same metal.
In the study of sound, it’s clear that the pitch of a sound is determined only by the number of vibrations per second, and the substance creating those vibrations doesn’t matter. Whether air, water, gas, or liquid is used in the Siren, the sound produced is the same; and the material used to make an organ pipe doesn’t influence its pitch at all. In the field of static electricity, a key principle is that what’s inside a conducting body doesn’t matter. The electrical charge only exists on the surface of the conductor, while the inside stays neutral. A hollow copper sphere has the exact same charge as a solid sphere made of the same metal.
Some of Faraday’s most elegant and successful researches were devoted to the exclusion of conditions which previous experimenters had thought essential for the production of electrical phenomena. Davy asserted that no known fluids, except such as contain water, could be made the medium of connexion between the poles of a battery; and some chemists believed that water was an essential agent in electro-chemical decomposition. Faraday gave abundant experiments to show that other fluids allowed of electrolysis, and he attributed the erroneous opinion to the very general use of water as a solvent, and its presence in most natural bodies.321 It was, in fact, upon the weakest kind of negative evidence that the opinion had been founded.
Some of Faraday’s most elegant and successful research focused on eliminating conditions that earlier experimenters thought were essential for producing electrical phenomena. Davy claimed that no known fluids, other than those containing water, could connect the poles of a battery; and some chemists believed that water was a crucial agent in electro-chemical decomposition. Faraday conducted numerous experiments to demonstrate that other fluids could also undergo electrolysis, and he attributed the mistaken belief to the widespread use of water as a solvent and its presence in most natural substances.321 In fact, this opinion was based on the weakest form of negative evidence.
Many experimenters attributed peculiar powers to the poles of a battery, likening them to magnets, which, by their attractive powers, tear apart the elements of a substance. By a beautiful series of experiments,322 Faraday proved conclusively that, on the contrary, the substance of422 the poles is of no importance, being merely the path through which the electric force reaches the liquid acted upon. Poles of water, charcoal, and many diverse substances, even air itself, produced similar results; if the chemical nature of the pole entered at all into the question, it was as a disturbing agent.
Many experimenters assigned unusual powers to the ends of a battery, comparing them to magnets that, through their attractive forces, break apart the elements of a substance. Through a compelling series of experiments,322 Faraday definitively demonstrated that, in fact, the material of the ends is not significant, serving merely as the pathway for the electric force to reach the liquid being affected. The ends of water, charcoal, and many different substances, even air itself, yielded similar outcomes; if the chemical nature of the end mattered at all, it was only as a disruptive factor.
It is an essential part of the theory of gravitation that the proximity of other attracting particles is without effect upon the attraction existing between any two molecules. Two pound weights weigh as much together as they do separately. Every pair of molecules in the world have, as it were, a private communication, apart from their relations to all other molecules. Another undoubted result of experience pointed out by Newton323 is that the weight of a body does not in the least depend upon its form or texture. It may be added that the temperature, electric condition, pressure, state of motion, chemical qualities, and all other circumstances concerning matter, except its mass, are indifferent as regards its gravitating power.
It is a key part of the theory of gravitation that the closeness of other attracting particles doesn't affect the attraction between any two molecules. Two-pound weights weigh as much together as they do separately. Every pair of molecules in the universe has, in a sense, a private connection that doesn't depend on their relationships with other molecules. Another clear conclusion from experience pointed out by Newton323 is that the weight of an object doesn't depend on its shape or texture at all. It's worth noting that temperature, electrical condition, pressure, motion state, chemical properties, and all other factors related to matter, except for its mass, are irrelevant to its gravitational power.
As natural science progresses, physicists gain a kind of insight and tact in judging what qualities of a substance are likely to be concerned in any class of phenomena. The physical astronomer treats matter in one point of view, the chemist in another, and the students of physical optics, sound, mechanics, electricity, &c., make a fair division of the qualities among them. But errors will arise if too much confidence be placed in this independence of various kinds of phenomena, so that it is desirable from time to time, especially when any unexplained discrepancies come into notice, to question the indifference which is assumed to exist, and to test its real existence by appropriate experiments.
As natural science advances, physicists develop a sense of understanding and intuition about which qualities of a substance are likely to play a role in different types of phenomena. The physical astronomer views matter in one way, the chemist in another, and the fields of physical optics, sound, mechanics, electricity, etc., fairly divide the qualities among themselves. However, errors can occur if too much faith is placed in the independence of these various phenomena, making it important to occasionally reevaluate the assumption of their independence, especially when unexplained discrepancies arise, and to verify its actual existence through appropriate experiments.
Simplification of Experiments.
One of the most requisite precautions in experimentation is to vary only one circumstance at a time, and to maintain all other circumstances rigidly unchanged. There are two distinct reasons for this rule, the first and most obvious being that if we vary two conditions at a time, and423 find some effect, we cannot tell whether the effect is due to one or the other condition, or to both jointly. A second reason is that if no effect ensues we cannot safely conclude that either of them is indifferent; for the one may have neutralised the effect of the other. In our symbolic logic AB ꖌ Ab was shown to be identical with A (p. 97), so that B denotes a circumstance which is indifferently present or absent. But if B always goes together with another antecedent C, we cannot show the same independence, for ABC ꖌ Abc is not identical with A and none of our logical processes enables us to reduce it to A.
One of the most important precautions in experimentation is to change only one factor at a time while keeping all other factors completely the same. There are two clear reasons for this rule. The first and most obvious is that if we change two conditions at the same time and see some effect, we can't determine whether the effect is due to one or the other condition, or both together. The second reason is that if we see no effect, we can't safely conclude that either condition is unimportant; one may have canceled out the effect of the other. In our symbolic logic, AB ꖌ Ab was shown to be the same as A (p. 97), so B represents a condition that can be present or absent without affecting the outcome. However, if B always accompanies another condition C, we can't demonstrate the same independence because ABC ꖌ Abc is not the same as A, and none of our logical methods allows us to simplify it to A.
If we want to prove that oxygen is necessary to life, we must not put a rabbit into a vessel from which the oxygen has been exhausted by a burning candle. We should then have not only an absence of oxygen, but an addition of carbonic acid, which may have been the destructive agent. For a similar reason Lavoisier avoided the use of atmospheric air in experiments on combustion, because air was not a simple substance, and the presence of nitrogen might impede or even alter the effect of oxygen. As Lavoisier remarks,324 “In performing experiments, it is a necessary principle, which ought never to be deviated from, that they be simplified as much as possible, and that every circumstance capable of rendering their results complicated be carefully removed.” It has also been well said by Cuvier325 that the method of physical inquiry consists in isolating bodies, reducing them to their utmost simplicity, and bringing each of their properties separately into action, either mentally or by experiment.
If we want to prove that oxygen is essential for life, we shouldn't put a rabbit in a container where the oxygen has been removed by a burning candle. Not only will there be no oxygen, but there will also be an increase in carbon dioxide, which could be the harmful factor. Similarly, Lavoisier avoided using air in his combustion experiments because air isn’t a simple substance, and the presence of nitrogen could interfere with or change the effect of oxygen. As Lavoisier states,324 “When conducting experiments, it’s a crucial principle that should never be ignored to simplify them as much as possible, and to eliminate any factors that might complicate the results.” Cuvier325 also wisely noted that the method of physical inquiry involves isolating objects, breaking them down to their simplest forms, and testing each of their properties individually, either in thought or via experimentation.
The electro-magnet has been of the utmost service in the investigation of the magnetic properties of matter, by allowing of the production or removal of a most powerful magnetic force without disturbing any of the other arrangements of the experiment. Many of Faraday’s most valuable experiments would have been impossible had it been necessary to introduce a heavy permanent magnet, which could not be suddenly moved without shaking the whole apparatus, disturbing the air, producing currents by changes of temperature, &c. The electro-magnet is424 perfectly under control, and its influence can be brought into action, reversed, or stopped by merely touching a button. Thus Faraday was enabled to prove the rotation of the plane of circularly polarised light by the fact that certain light ceased to be visible when the electric current of the magnet was cut off, and re-appeared when the current was made. “These phenomena,” he says, “could be reversed at pleasure, and at any instant of time, and upon any occasion, showing a perfect dependence of cause and effect.”326
The electro-magnet has been incredibly useful in studying the magnetic properties of materials by enabling the creation or removal of a powerful magnetic force without disrupting the rest of the experiment setup. Many of Faraday’s most important experiments wouldn't have been possible if a heavy permanent magnet had to be used, as it couldn’t be moved suddenly without shaking the entire apparatus, disturbing the air, or creating currents from changes in temperature, etc. The electro-magnet is424completely controllable, and its effect can be activated, reversed, or stopped just by pressing a button. This allowed Faraday to demonstrate the rotation of the plane of circularly polarized light by observing that certain light became invisible when the magnet's electric current was cut off, and reappeared when the current was restored. “These phenomena,” he says, “could be reversed at will, and at any moment, demonstrating a perfect relationship between cause and effect.”326
It was Newton’s omission to obtain the solar spectrum under the simplest conditions which prevented him from discovering the dark lines. Using a broad beam of light which had passed through a round hole or a triangular slit, he obtained a brilliant spectrum, but one in which many different coloured rays overlapped each other. In the recent history of the science of the spectrum, one main difficulty has consisted in the mixture of the lines of several different substances, which are usually to be found in the light of any flame or spark. It is seldom possible to obtain the light of any element in a perfectly simple manner. Angström greatly advanced this branch of science by examining the light of the electric spark when formed between poles of various metals, and in the presence of various gases. By varying the pole alone, or the gaseous medium alone, he was able to discriminate correctly between the lines due to the metal and those due to the surrounding gas.327
It was Newton’s mistake not to get the solar spectrum under the simplest conditions that kept him from discovering the dark lines. Using a broad beam of light that passed through a round hole or a triangular slit, he got a brilliant spectrum, but one where many different colored rays overlapped. In the recent history of spectrum science, a major challenge has been the mixing of lines from several different substances, which are typically found in the light of any flame or spark. It’s rarely possible to capture the light of any element in a perfectly simple way. Angström made significant progress in this field by examining the light of the electric spark created between various metal poles and in the presence of different gases. By changing either the pole or the gaseous medium alone, he could accurately differentiate between the lines from the metal and those from the surrounding gas.327
Failure in the Simplification of Experiments.
In some cases it seems to be impossible to carry out the rule of varying one circumstance at a time. When we attempt to obtain two instances or two forms of experiment in which a single circumstance shall be present in one case and absent in another, it may be found that this single circumstance entails others. Benjamin Franklin’s experiment concerning the comparative absorbing powers of different colours is well known. “I took,” he says, “a425 number of little square pieces of broadcloth from a tailor’s pattern card, of various colours. They were black, deep blue, lighter blue, green, purple, red, yellow, white, and other colours and shades of colour. I laid them all out upon the snow on a bright sunshiny morning. In a few hours the black, being most warmed by the sun, was sunk so low as to be below the stroke of the sun’s rays; the dark blue was almost as low; the lighter blue not quite so much as the dark; the other colours less as they were lighter. The white remained on the surface of the snow, not having entered it at all.” This is a very elegant and apparently simple experiment; but when Leslie had completed his series of researches upon the nature of heat, he came to the conclusion that the colour of a surface has very little effect upon the radiating power, the mechanical nature of the surface appearing to be more influential. He remarks328 that “the question is incapable of being positively resolved, since no substance can be made to assume different colours without at the same time changing its internal structure.” Recent investigation has shown that the subject is one of considerable complication, because the absorptive power of a surface may be different according to the character of the rays which fall upon it; but there can be no doubt as to the acuteness with which Leslie points out the difficulty. In Well’s investigations concerning the nature of dew, we have, again, very complicated conditions. If we expose plates of various material, such as rough iron, glass, polished metal, to the midnight sky, they will be dewed in various degrees; but since these plates differ both in the nature of the surface and the conducting power of the material, it would not be plain whether one or both circumstances were of importance. We avoid this difficulty by exposing the same material polished or varnished, so as to present different conditions of surface;329 and again by exposing different substances with the same kind of surface.
In some cases, it seems impossible to follow the rule of changing only one factor at a time. When we try to get two examples or two types of experiments where one factor is present in one case and absent in another, we may find that this single factor brings along others. Benjamin Franklin’s experiment on the comparative heat-absorbing abilities of different colors is well known. “I took,” he states, “a425 number of small square pieces of broadcloth from a tailor’s pattern card, in various colors. They were black, dark blue, light blue, green, purple, red, yellow, white, and other colors and shades. I spread them all out on the snow one bright sunny morning. After a few hours, the black cloth, being warmed most by the sun, sank the lowest below the surface of the snow; the dark blue was almost as low; the light blue not quite as much as the dark; the other colors sank less as they got lighter. The white stayed on top of the snow, not sinking at all.” This is a very elegant and seemingly simple experiment; however, when Leslie concluded his extensive research on the nature of heat, he decided that the color of a surface has little effect on its ability to radiate heat, suggesting that the physical nature of the surface is more significant. He notes328 that “the question cannot be definitively answered, since no material can change colors without also altering its internal structure.” Recent studies have shown that the topic is quite complex because the heat-absorbing ability of a surface might vary depending on the type of rays hitting it; however, there’s no doubt about the sharpness with which Leslie identifies the challenge. In Well’s studies on dew formation, we again face very complicated conditions. If we expose plates made from various materials, such as rough iron, glass, and polished metal, to the midnight sky, they will collect dew to different extents; but since these plates vary in surface type and thermal conductivity, it would be unclear whether one or both factors matter. We get around this issue by polishing or varnishing the same material to create different surface conditions;329 and additionally, by exposing different substances with the same type of surface.
When we are quite unable to isolate circumstances we must resort to the procedure described by Mill under the name of the Joint Method of Agreement and Difference.426 We must collect as many instances as possible in which a given circumstance produces a given result, and as many as possible in which the absence of the circumstance is followed by the absence of the result. To adduce his example, we cannot experiment upon the cause of double refraction in Iceland spar, because we cannot alter its crystalline condition without altering it altogether, nor can we find substances exactly like calc spar in every circumstance except one. We resort therefore to the method of comparing together all known substances which have the property of doubly-refracting light, and we find that they agree in being crystalline.330 This indeed is nothing but an ordinary process of perfect or probable induction, already partially described, and to be further discussed under Classification. It may be added that the subject does admit of perfect experimental treatment, since glass, when compressed in one direction, becomes capable of doubly-refracting light, and as there is probably no alteration in the glass but change of elasticity, we learn that the power of double refraction is probably due to a difference of elasticity in different directions.
When we can't pinpoint specific circumstances, we should use the process described by Mill known as the Joint Method of Agreement and Difference.426 We need to gather as many cases as possible where a certain circumstance leads to a specific result, and as many cases where the absence of that circumstance results in the absence of the outcome. For example, we can't experiment on the cause of double refraction in Iceland spar because changing its crystalline state would transform it completely, and we can't find substances exactly like calc spar in every aspect except for one. Therefore, we compare all known substances that can double-refract light and see that they all share the characteristic of being crystalline.330 This is really just a standard process of perfect or probable induction, which is already partially explained and will be discussed further under Classification. It’s worth noting that this subject can be perfectly tested experimentally, as glass, when compressed in one direction, becomes capable of doubly-refracting light. Since the only change in the glass is likely a change in elasticity, we learn that the ability for double refraction probably stems from differing elasticity in different directions.
Removal of Usual Conditions.
One of the great objects of experiment is to enable us to judge of the behaviour of substances under conditions widely different from those which prevail upon the surface of the earth. We live in an atmosphere which does not vary beyond certain narrow limits in temperature or pressure. Many of the powers of nature, such as gravity, which constantly act upon us, are of almost fixed amount. Now it will afterwards be shown that we cannot apply a quantitative law to circumstances much differing from those in which it was observed. In the other planets, the sun, the stars, or remote parts of the Universe, the conditions of existence must often be widely different from what we commonly experience here. Hence our knowledge of nature must remain restricted and hypothetical, unless we can subject substances to unusual conditions by suitable experiments.
One of the main goals of experimentation is to help us understand how substances behave under conditions that are very different from those we experience on Earth. We live in an atmosphere that maintains a pretty stable range of temperature and pressure. Many natural forces, like gravity, constantly affect us and remain fairly consistent. It will be shown later that we can't apply a quantitative law to situations that differ greatly from the conditions in which it was originally observed. On other planets, in the sun, the stars, or far-off parts of the universe, the living conditions are often vastly different from what we usually encounter here. Therefore, our understanding of nature will remain limited and theoretical unless we can expose substances to unusual conditions through carefully designed experiments.
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The electric arc is an invaluable means of exposing metals or other conducting substances to the highest known temperature. By its aid we learn not only that all the metals can be vaporised, but that they all give off distinctive rays of light. At the other extremity of the scale, the intensely powerful freezing mixture devised by Faraday, consisting of solid carbonic acid and ether mixed in vacuo, enables us to observe the nature of substances at temperatures immensely below any we meet with naturally on the earth’s surface.
The electric arc is an essential way to expose metals or other conductive materials to the highest temperatures known. With its help, we discover that all metals can be vaporized and that they emit unique rays of light. On the other end of the scale, the extremely powerful freezing mixture created by Faraday, which is made of solid carbonic acid and ether mixed in vacuo, allows us to study the properties of substances at temperatures far below anything we encounter naturally on the Earth’s surface.
We can hardly realise now the importance of the invention of the air-pump, previous to which invention it was exceedingly difficult to experiment except under the ordinary pressure of the atmosphere. The Torricellian vacuum had been employed by the philosophers of the Accademia del Cimento to show the behaviour of water, smoke, sound, magnets, electric substances, &c., in vacuo, but their experiments were often unsuccessful from the difficulty of excluding air.331
We can hardly grasp now how important the invention of the air pump was. Before it was invented, it was really tough to conduct experiments without the regular pressure of the atmosphere. The Torricellian vacuum had been used by the philosophers of the Accademia del Cimento to demonstrate how water, smoke, sound, magnets, electric materials, etc., behaved in vacuo, but their experiments often failed because it was hard to eliminate air.331
Among the most constant circumstances under which we live is the force of gravity, which does not vary, except by a slight fraction of its amount, in any part of the earth’s crust or atmosphere to which we can attain. This force is sufficient to overbear and disguise various actions, for instance, the mutual gravitation of small bodies. It was an interesting experiment of Plateau to neutralise the action of gravity by placing substances in liquids of exactly the same specific gravity. Thus a quantity of oil poured into the middle of a suitable mixture of alcohol and water assumes a spherical shape; on being made to rotate it becomes spheroidal, and then successively separates into a ring and a group of spherules. Thus we have an illustration of the mode in which the planetary system may have been produced,332 though the extreme difference of scale prevents our arguing with confidence from the experiment to the conditions of the nebular theory.
Among the most consistent factors in our lives is the force of gravity, which remains largely unchanged, except for a minor variation, in any part of the earth’s crust or atmosphere that we can reach. This force is strong enough to overshadow and obscure various actions, such as the mutual attraction between small objects. Plateau conducted an interesting experiment by neutralizing the effect of gravity by placing substances in liquids that have the exact same specific gravity. For instance, when you pour oil into the center of a suitable mixture of alcohol and water, it takes on a spherical shape; when it starts to rotate, it becomes spheroidal, then gradually separates into a ring and a collection of small spheres. This provides an illustration of how the planetary system might have formed, though the vast difference in scale makes it difficult to confidently interpret the experiment in relation to the conditions of the nebular theory.
It is possible that the so-called elements are elementary only to us, because we are restricted to temperatures at which they are fixed. Lavoisier carefully defined an428 element as a substance which cannot be decomposed by any known means; but it seems almost certain that some series of elements, for instance Iodine, Bromine, and Chlorine, are really compounds of a simpler substance. We must look to the production of intensely high temperatures, yet quite beyond our means, for the decomposition of these so-called elements. Possibly in this age and part of the universe the dissipation of energy has so far proceeded that there are no sources of heat sufficiently intense to effect the decomposition.
It’s possible that the so-called elements are only basic to us because we are limited to the temperatures at which they exist. Lavoisier clearly defined an428 element as a substance that cannot be broken down by any known means; however, it seems quite likely that some groups of elements, like Iodine, Bromine, and Chlorine, are actually compounds made of simpler substances. We need to find ways to produce extremely high temperatures, but these are beyond our current capabilities, to break down these so-called elements. Perhaps in this era and part of the universe, the dissipation of energy has progressed to the point where there are no sources of heat intense enough to cause the decomposition.
Interference of Unsuspected Conditions.
It may happen that we are not aware of all the conditions under which our researches are made. Some substance may be present or some power may be in action, which escapes the most vigilant examination. Not being aware of its existence, we are unable to take proper measures to exclude it, and thus determine the share which it has in the results of our experiments. There can be no doubt that the alchemists were misled and encouraged in their vain attempts by the unsuspected presence of traces of gold and silver in the substances they proposed to transmute. Lead, as drawn from the smelting furnace, almost always contains some silver, and gold is associated with many other metals. Thus small quantities of noble metal would often appear as the result of experiment and raise delusive hopes.
It may happen that we aren’t aware of all the conditions under which our research is conducted. Some substance may be present or some power may be at work that escapes even the closest inspection. Not knowing about its existence, we can't take the right steps to eliminate it, making it impossible to determine its influence on the results of our experiments. There’s no doubt that the alchemists were misled and encouraged in their futile attempts by the unexpected presence of traces of gold and silver in the substances they tried to transform. Lead, as extracted from the smelting furnace, almost always contains some silver, and gold is often found alongside many other metals. As a result, small amounts of noble metal would frequently show up in experiments, creating false hopes.
In more than one case the unsuspected presence of common salt in the air has caused great trouble. In the early experiments on electrolysis it was found that when water was decomposed, an acid and an alkali were produced at the poles, together with oxygen and hydrogen. In the absence of any other explanation, some chemists rushed to the conclusion that electricity must have the power of generating acids and alkalies, and one chemist thought he had discovered a new substance called electric acid. But Davy proceeded to a systematic investigation of the circumstances, by varying the conditions. Changing the glass vessel for one of agate or gold, he found that far less alkali was produced; excluding impurities by the use of carefully distilled water, he found that the quantities of429 acid and alkali were still further diminished; and having thus obtained a clue to the cause, he completed the exclusion of impurities by avoiding contact with his fingers, and by placing the apparatus under an exhausted receiver, no acid or alkali being then detected. It would be difficult to meet with a more elegant case of the detection of a condition previously unsuspected.333
In several instances, the unexpected presence of common salt in the air has caused significant problems. In the early experiments on electrolysis, it was discovered that when water was broken down, both an acid and an alkali were generated at the poles, along with oxygen and hydrogen. Without any other explanation, some chemists quickly concluded that electricity must have the ability to generate acids and alkalies, and one chemist even believed he had identified a new substance called electric acid. However, Davy took a systematic approach to investigate the circumstances by altering the conditions. By switching the glass container for one made of agate or gold, he observed that far less alkali was produced; when he eliminated impurities by using carefully distilled water, the amounts of 429 acid and alkali were further reduced; and after obtaining a clue to the cause, he completely excluded impurities by avoiding contact with his fingers and placing the apparatus under a vacuum, which resulted in no acid or alkali being detected. It would be hard to find a more elegant example of uncovering a previously unrecognized condition.333
It is remarkable that the presence of common salt in the air, proved to exist by Davy, nevertheless continued a stumbling-block in the science of spectrum analysis, and probably prevented men, such as Brewster, Herschel, and Talbot, from anticipating by thirty years the discoveries of Bunsen and Kirchhoff. As I pointed out,334 the utility of the spectrum was known in the middle of the last century to Thomas Melvill, a talented Scotch physicist, who died at the early age of 27 years.335 But Melvill was struck in his examination of coloured flames by the extraordinary predominance of homogeneous yellow light, which was due to some circumstance escaping his attention. Wollaston and Fraunhofer were equally struck by the prominence of the yellow line in the spectrum of nearly every kind of light. Talbot expressly recommended the use of the prism for detecting the presence of substances by what we now call spectrum analysis, but he found that all substances, however different the light they yielded in other respects, were identical as regards the production of yellow light. Talbot knew that the salts of soda gave this coloured light, but in spite of Davy’s previous difficulties with salt in electrolysis, it did not occur to him to assert that where the light is, there sodium must be. He suggested water as the most likely source of the yellow light, because of its frequent presence; but even substances which were apparently devoid of water gave the same yellow light.336 Brewster and Herschel both experimented430 upon flames almost at the same time as Talbot, and Herschel unequivocally enounced the principle of spectrum analysis.337 Nevertheless Brewster, after numerous experiments attended with great trouble and disappointment, found that yellow light might be obtained from the combustion of almost any substance. It was not until 1856 that Swan discovered that an almost infinitesimal quantity of sodium chloride, say a millionth part of a grain, was sufficient to tinge a flame of a bright yellow colour. The universal diffusion of the salts of sodium, joined to this unique light-producing power, was thus shown to be the unsuspected condition which had destroyed the confidence of all previous experimenters in the use of the prism. Some references concerning the history of this curious point are given below.338
It’s remarkable that the presence of common salt in the air, confirmed by Davy, continued to be a challenge in the field of spectrum analysis, likely preventing scientists like Brewster, Herschel, and Talbot from predicting Bunsen and Kirchhoff's discoveries by thirty years. As I mentioned,334 the usefulness of the spectrum was recognized in the mid-19th century by Thomas Melvill, a talented Scottish physicist who died at the young age of 27.335 However, Melvill noticed during his study of colored flames that the homogeneous yellow light was unusually dominant, which was due to some overlooked factor. Wollaston and Fraunhofer were also struck by the strong yellow line in the spectrum of nearly every type of light. Talbot specifically recommended using a prism to detect substances through what we now refer to as spectrum analysis, but he found that all substances, no matter how different their light appeared otherwise, produced yellow light uniformly. Talbot was aware that sodium salts created this colored light, but despite Davy’s prior challenges with salt in electrolysis, he didn’t consider that where there was light, sodium must be present. He proposed water as the most likely source of the yellow light due to its frequent presence; however, even substances that seemed completely dry produced the same yellow light.336 Brewster and Herschel conducted experiments on flames almost simultaneously with Talbot, and Herschel clearly stated the principle of spectrum analysis.337 Nevertheless, Brewster, after many difficult and disappointing experiments, discovered that yellow light could be produced from the combustion of nearly any material. It wasn’t until 1856 that Swan found out an almost minuscule amount of sodium chloride, about a millionth of a grain, was enough to color a flame bright yellow. The widespread presence of sodium salts, combined with this unique light-producing ability, proved to be the unexpected factor that undermined the confidence of earlier researchers in using the prism. Some references regarding the history of this fascinating point are provided below.338
In the science of radiant heat, early inquirers were led to the conclusion that radiation proceeded only from the surface of a solid, or from a very small depth below it. But they happened to experiment upon surfaces covered by coats of varnish, which is highly athermanous or opaque to heat. Had they properly varied the character of the surface, using a highly diathermanous substance like rock salt, they would have obtained very different results.339
In the study of radiant heat, early researchers concluded that radiation came only from the surface of a solid or from just a little below it. However, they conducted experiments on surfaces covered with varnish, which is very non-transparent or opaque to heat. If they had used a highly transparent material like rock salt on the surface, they would have achieved very different results.339
One of the most extraordinary instances of an erroneous opinion due to overlooking interfering agents is that concerning the increase of rainfall near to the earth’s surface. More than a century ago it was observed that rain-gauges placed upon church steeples, house tops, and other elevated places, gave considerably less rain than if they were on the ground, and it has been recently shown that the variation is most rapid in the close neighbourhood of the ground.340 All kinds of theories have been started to explain this phenomenon; but I have shown341 that it is simply due to431 the interference of wind, which deflects more or less rain from all the gauges which are exposed to it.
One of the most remarkable examples of a mistaken belief caused by ignoring interfering factors is the idea about increased rainfall close to the earth's surface. Over a century ago, it was noticed that rain gauges placed on church steeples, rooftops, and other high locations recorded significantly less rain than those on the ground, and it's been recently demonstrated that the difference is most pronounced near the ground.340 Numerous theories have been proposed to explain this phenomenon; however, I have indicated341 that it is simply due to431 the interference of wind, which diverts various amounts of rain away from all the gauges that are exposed to it.
The great magnetic power of iron renders it a source of disturbance in magnetic experiments. In building a magnetic observatory great care must therefore be taken that no iron is employed in the construction, and that no masses of iron are near at hand. In some cases magnetic observations have been seriously disturbed by the existence of masses of iron ore in the neighbourhood. In Faraday’s experiments upon feebly magnetic or diamagnetic substances he took the greatest precautions against the presence of disturbing substances in the copper wire, wax, paper, and other articles used in suspending the test objects. It was his custom to try the effect of the magnet upon the apparatus in the absence of the object of experiment, and without this preliminary trial no confidence could be placed in the results.342 Tyndall has also employed the same mode for testing the freedom of electro-magnetic coils from iron, and was thus enabled to obtain them devoid of any cause of disturbance.343 It is worthy of notice that in the very infancy of the science of magnetism, the acute experimentalist Gilbert correctly accounted for the opinion existing in his day that magnets would attract silver, by pointing out that the silver contained iron.
The strong magnetic properties of iron make it a source of interference in magnetic experiments. When building a magnetic observatory, it's crucial to ensure that no iron is used in the construction and that there are no iron masses nearby. In some cases, magnetic observations have been seriously disrupted by the presence of iron ore in the area. In Faraday's experiments on weakly magnetic or diamagnetic materials, he took extensive precautions against any disruptive substances in the copper wire, wax, paper, and other materials used for suspending the test objects. He routinely tested the impact of the magnet on the setup without the actual subject of the experiment present; without this preliminary test, the results wouldn't be trusted.342 Tyndall also used this method to check that electro-magnetic coils were free from iron, allowing him to create them without any sources of interference.343 It's worth noting that in the early days of magnetism, the insightful experimentalist Gilbert correctly explained the belief at the time that magnets could attract silver by pointing out that silver contains iron.
Even when we are not aware by previous experience of the probable presence of a special disturbing agent, we ought not to assume the absence of unsuspected interference. If an experiment is of really high importance, so that any considerable branch of science rests upon it, we ought to try it again and again, in as varied conditions as possible. We should intentionally disturb the apparatus in various ways, so as if possible to hit by accident upon any weak point. Especially when our results are more regular than we have fair grounds for anticipating, ought we to suspect some peculiarity in the apparatus which causes it to measure some other phenomenon than that in question, just as Foucault’s pendulum almost always indicates the movement of the axes of its own elliptic path instead of the rotation of the globe.
Even when we're not aware from past experience of a possible special disturbing factor, we shouldn't assume there's no unexpected interference. If an experiment is truly important, such that a significant area of science relies on it, we should conduct it repeatedly, under as many different conditions as possible. We should deliberately disrupt the apparatus in various ways to hopefully uncover any weaknesses. Especially when our results are more consistent than we reasonably expect, we should suspect some oddity in the apparatus that makes it measure something different than what we're investigating, just like Foucault’s pendulum usually indicates the movement of the axes of its own elliptical path instead of the Earth's rotation.
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It was in this cautious spirit that Baily acted in his experiments on the density of the earth. The accuracy of his results depended upon the elimination of all disturbing influences, so that the oscillation of his torsion balance should measure gravity alone. Hence he varied the apparatus in many ways, changing the small balls subject to attraction, changing the connecting rod, and the means of suspension. He observed the effect of disturbances, such as the presence of visitors, the occurrence of violent storms, &c., and as no real alteration was produced in the results, he confidently attributed them to gravity.344
It was with this cautious mindset that Baily conducted his experiments on the density of the Earth. The accuracy of his results relied on removing all interfering influences, so that the oscillation of his torsion balance would measure gravity alone. Therefore, he modified the apparatus in various ways, changing the small balls being attracted, the connecting rod, and the suspension method. He noted the impact of disturbances, like having visitors or experiencing severe storms, and since there was no significant change in the results, he confidently linked them to gravity.344
Newton would probably have discovered the mode of constructing achromatic lenses, but for the unsuspected effect of some sugar of lead which he is supposed to have dissolved in the water of a prism. He tried, by means of a glass prism combined with a water prism, to produce dispersion of light without refraction, and if he had succeeded there would have been an obvious mode of producing refraction without dispersion. His failure is attributed to his adding lead acetate to the water for the purpose of increasing its refractive power, the lead having a high dispersive power which frustrated his purpose.345 Judging from Newton’s remarks, in the Philosophical Transactions, it would appear as if he had not, without many unsuccessful trials, despaired of the construction of achromatic glasses.346
Newton probably would have figured out how to make achromatic lenses if it weren't for the unexpected effect of some lead acetate he supposedly dissolved in the prism's water. He tried to create light dispersion without refraction using a glass prism combined with a water prism, and if he had been successful, there would have been a clear way to create refraction without dispersion. His failure is attributed to adding lead acetate to the water to enhance its refractive power, as the lead's high dispersive power hindered his goal. Judging from Newton’s comments in the Philosophical Transactions, it seems he didn’t give up on making achromatic glasses without many unsuccessful attempts.
The Academicians of Cimento, in their early and ingenious experiments upon the vacuum, were often misled by the mechanical imperfections of their apparatus. They concluded that the air had nothing to do with the production of sounds, evidently because their vacuum was not sufficiently perfect. Otto von Guericke fell into a like mistake in the use of his newly-constructed air-pump, doubtless from the unsuspected presence of air sufficiently dense to convey the sound of the bell.
The Academicians of Cimento, in their early and clever experiments on vacuum, were often misled by the mechanical flaws of their equipment. They concluded that air had nothing to do with making sounds, clearly because their vacuum wasn't perfect enough. Otto von Guericke made a similar error with his newly-built air pump, likely due to the unseen presence of air that was dense enough to carry the sound of the bell.
It is hardly requisite to point out that the doctrine of spontaneous generation is due to the unsuspected presence433 of germs, even after the most careful efforts to exclude them, and in the case of many diseases, both of animals and plants, germs which we have no means as yet of detecting are doubtless the active cause. It has long been a subject of dispute, again, whether the plants which spring from newly turned land grow from seeds long buried in that land, or from seeds brought by the wind. Argument is unphilosophical when direct trial can readily be applied; for by turning up some old ground, and covering a portion of it with a glass case, the conveyance of seeds by the wind can be entirely prevented, and if the same plants appear within and without the case, it will become clear that the seeds are in the earth. By gross oversight some experimenters have thought before now that crops of rye had sprung up where oats had been sown.
It’s not necessary to point out that the idea of spontaneous generation comes from the unnoticed presence433 of germs, even after the most careful efforts to keep them out. In many diseases affecting both animals and plants, germs that we still can’t detect are likely the main cause. There's also been a long-standing debate about whether the plants that grow from newly disturbed soil come from seeds that have been buried there for a long time or from seeds carried by the wind. It’s unscientific to argue about this when a straightforward experiment can be done; by turning over some old soil and covering part of it with a glass case, you can completely stop the wind from carrying in seeds. If the same plants grow inside and outside the case, it will be clear that the seeds are in the soil. Some researchers have mistakenly thought that crops of rye have appeared where oats were planted, due to a serious oversight.
Blind or Test Experiments.
Every conclusive experiment necessarily consists in the comparison of results between two different combinations of circumstances. To give a fair probability that A is the cause of X, we must maintain invariable all surrounding objects and conditions, and we must then show that where A is X is, and where A is not X is not. This cannot really be accomplished in a single trial. If, for instance, a chemist places a certain suspected substance in Marsh’s test apparatus, and finds that it gives a small deposit of metallic arsenic, he cannot be sure that the arsenic really proceeds from the suspected substance; the impurity of the zinc or sulphuric acid may have been the cause of its appearance. It is therefore the practice of chemists to make what they call a blind experiment, that is to try whether arsenic appears in the absence of the suspected substance. The same precaution ought to be taken in all important analytical operations. Indeed, it is not merely a precaution, it is an essential part of any experiment. If the blind trial be not made, the chemist merely assumes that he knows what would happen. Whenever we assert that because A and X are found together A is the cause of X, we assume that if A were absent X would be absent. But wherever it is possible, we ought not to take this as a mere assumption, or even as a matter of inference.434 Experience is ultimately the basis of all our inferences, but if we can bring immediate experience to bear upon the point in question we should not trust to anything more remote and liable to error. When Faraday examined the magnetic properties of the bearing apparatus, in the absence of the substance to be experimented on, he really made a blind experiment (p. 431).
Every conclusive experiment essentially involves comparing results from two different sets of circumstances. To reasonably consider that A causes X, we must keep all surrounding factors and conditions the same, and then demonstrate that when A is present, X is also present, and when A is not present, X isn’t either. This can’t truly be achieved in a single trial. For example, if a chemist puts a suspected substance into Marsh’s test apparatus and discovers it results in a small amount of metallic arsenic, they cannot be certain that the arsenic comes from the suspected substance; the impurity of the zinc or sulfuric acid might have caused its appearance. Therefore, chemists often conduct what they call a blind experiment, which tests whether arsenic appears without the suspected substance. This same precaution should be practiced in all critical analytical operations. In fact, it’s not just a precaution; it’s a vital part of any experiment. If a blind trial isn’t conducted, the chemist simply assumes they know what would happen. When we claim that because A and X appear together, A is the cause of X, we assume that if A were absent, X would also be absent. But wherever possible, we shouldn’t take this as just an assumption or even a matter of inference.434 Experience is ultimately the foundation of all our inferences, but if we can apply immediate experience to the issue at hand, we should not rely on anything more distant and prone to error. When Faraday investigated the magnetic properties of the bearing apparatus without the substance being tested, he was essentially conducting a blind experiment (p. 431).
We ought, also, to test the accuracy of a method of experiment whenever we can, by introducing known amounts of the substance or force to be detected. A new analytical process for the quantitative estimation of an element should be tested by performing it upon a mixture compounded so as to contain a known quantity of that element. The accuracy of the gold assay process greatly depends upon the precaution of assaying alloys of gold of exactly known composition.347 Gabriel Plattes’ works give evidence of much scientific spirit, and when discussing the supposed merits of the divining rod for the discovery of subterranean treasure, he sensibly suggests that the rod should be tried in places where veins of metal are known to exist.348
We should also check the accuracy of an experimental method whenever possible by introducing known amounts of the substance or force to be measured. A new analytical process for estimating the quantity of an element should be tested on a mixture specifically made to contain a known amount of that element. The accuracy of the gold assay process relies heavily on the precaution of testing alloys of gold with precisely known composition.347 Gabriel Plattes’ works demonstrate a strong scientific spirit, and when discussing the supposed benefits of the divining rod for finding hidden treasure, he wisely suggests that the rod should be tested in areas where metal veins are already known to exist.348
Negative Results of Experiment.
When we pay proper regard to the imperfection of all measuring instruments and the possible minuteness of effects, we shall see much reason for interpreting with caution the negative results of experiments. We may fail to discover the existence of an expected effect, not because that effect is really non-existent, but because it is of a magnitude inappreciable to our senses, or confounded with other effects of much greater amount. As there is no limit on à priori grounds to the smallness of a phenomenon, we can never, by a single experiment, prove the non-existence of a supposed effect. We are always at liberty to assume that a certain amount of effect might have been detected by greater delicacy of measurement. We cannot safely affirm that the moon has no atmosphere at all. We may doubtless show that the atmosphere, if present, is less dense than the air in the so-called vacuum435 of an air-pump, as did Du Sejour. It is equally impossible to prove that gravity occupies no time in transmission. Laplace indeed ascertained that the velocity of propagation of the influence was at least fifty million times greater than that of light;349 but it does not really follow that it is instantaneous; and were there any means of detecting the action of one star upon another exceedingly distant star, we might possibly find an appreciable interval occupied in the transmission of the gravitating impulse. Newton could not demonstrate the absence of all resistance to matter moving through empty space; but he ascertained by an experiment with the pendulum (p. 443), that if such resistance existed, it was in amount less than one five-thousandth part of the external resistance of the air.350
When we properly consider the limitations of all measuring tools and the potential insignificance of effects, we should interpret the negative results of experiments with caution. We might fail to see the expected effect, not because it isn't there, but because it's too small for us to notice or is mixed up with other much larger effects. Since there’s no theoretical limit to how small a phenomenon can be, we can never definitively prove the non-existence of an expected effect with a single experiment. We can always assume that a finer measurement might have detected some degree of effect. We can't confidently claim that the moon has no atmosphere at all. We can certainly demonstrate that if an atmosphere is present, it’s less dense than the air in what we call a vacuum from an air pump, as Du Sejour showed. It's equally impossible to prove that gravity takes up no time to transmit. Laplace found that the speed at which gravitational influence travels is at least fifty million times faster than light;349 but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s instantaneous. If there were a way to measure the influence of one star on another very distant star, we might find a noticeable delay in the transmission of the gravitational pull. Newton couldn't prove that there's no resistance to matter moving through empty space; however, he showed through his pendulum experiment (p. 443) that if such resistance exists, it's less than one five-thousandth of the external resistance of air.350
A curious instance of false negative inference is furnished by experiments on light. Euler rejected the corpuscular theory on the ground that particles of matter moving with the immense velocity of light would possess momentum, of which there was no evidence. Bennet had attempted to detect the momentum of light by concentrating the rays of the sun upon a delicately balanced body. Observing no result, it was considered to be proved that light had no momentum. Mr. Crookes, however, having suspended thin vanes, blacked on one side, in a nearly vacuous globe, found that they move under the influence of light. It is now allowed that this effect can be explained in accordance with the undulatory theory of light, and the molecular theory of gases. It comes to this—that Bennet failed to detect an effect which he might have detected with a better method of experimenting; but if he had found it, the phenomenon would have confirmed, not the corpuscular theory of light, as was expected, but the rival undulatory theory. The conclusion drawn from Bennet’s experiment was falsely drawn, but it was nevertheless true in matter.
A curious example of a false negative inference comes from experiments on light. Euler dismissed the particle theory because he believed that particles moving at the incredible speed of light would have momentum, which there was no evidence for. Bennet tried to detect the momentum of light by focusing the rays of the sun on a delicately balanced object. When he saw no results, it was taken as proof that light had no momentum. However, Mr. Crookes suspended thin vanes, painted black on one side, in a nearly empty globe and found that they moved under the influence of light. It is now accepted that this effect can be explained by the wave theory of light and the molecular theory of gases. In short, Bennet didn’t detect an effect that he could have found with a better experimental method; but if he had, it would have supported the wave theory of light instead of the particle theory, as he had expected. The conclusion drawn from Bennet’s experiment was incorrect, but the reality of the matter remained true.
Many incidents in the history of science tend to show that phenomena, which one generation has failed to discover, may become accurately known to a succeeding generation. The compressibility of water which the436 Academicians of Florence could not detect, because at a low pressure the effect was too small to perceive, and at a high pressure the water oozed through their silver vessel,351 has now become the subject of exact measurement and precise calculation. Independently of Newton, Hooke entertained very remarkable notions concerning the nature of gravitation. In this and other subjects he showed, indeed, a genius for experimental investigation which would have placed him in the first rank in any other age than that of Newton. He correctly conceived that the force of gravity would decrease as we recede from the centre of the earth, and he boldly attempted to prove it by experiment. Having exactly counterpoised two weights in the scales of a balance, or rather one weight against another weight and a long piece of fine cord, he removed his balance to the top of the dome of St. Paul’s, and tried whether the balance remained in equilibrium after one weight was allowed to hang down to a depth of 240 feet. No difference could be perceived when the weights were at the same and at different levels, but Hooke rightly held that the failure arose from the insufficient elevation. He says, “Yet I am apt to think some difference might be discovered in greater heights.”352 The radius of the earth being about 20,922,000 feet, we can now readily calculate from the law of gravity that a height of 240 would not make a greater difference than one part in 40,000 of the weight. Such a difference would doubtless be inappreciable in the balances of that day, though it could readily be detected by balances now frequently constructed. Again, the mutual gravitation of bodies at the earth’s surface is so small that Newton appears to have made no attempt to demonstrate its existence experimentally, merely remarking that it was too small to fall under the observation of our senses.353 It has since been successfully detected and measured by Cavendish, Baily, and others.
Many events in the history of science show that things one generation couldn’t discover can be accurately understood by the next. For example, the compressibility of water that the Academicians of Florence couldn't detect—because the effect was too small to notice at low pressure, and at high pressure the water leaked through their silver container—has now become something we can measure and calculate precisely. Independently of Newton, Hooke had some remarkable ideas about gravitation. In this and other areas, he demonstrated a talent for experimental investigation that would have placed him among the top scientists in any other era besides Newton's. He correctly thought that the force of gravity would decrease as we move away from the center of the Earth, and he boldly tried to prove it through experiments. After balancing two weights, or rather one weight against another and a long piece of fine cord, he took his balance to the top of St. Paul’s dome to see if the balance stayed even when one weight was dropped 240 feet. He couldn't see any difference when the weights were at the same or different levels, but Hooke correctly believed the issue was due to the height not being sufficient. He said, “Yet I am apt to think some difference might be discovered in greater heights.” The Earth's radius being about 20,922,000 feet, we can now easily calculate from the law of gravity that a height of 240 feet wouldn’t cause a difference greater than one part in 40,000 of the weight. Such a difference would have been too small to notice with the balances of that time, though it can easily be detected with modern balances. Also, the mutual gravitation of bodies at the Earth's surface is so slight that Newton didn't seem to try to demonstrate its existence through experiments; he only noted that it was too small for our senses to detect. It has since been successfully identified and measured by Cavendish, Baily, and others.
The smallness of the quantities which we can sometimes observe is astonishing. A balance will weigh to one millionth part of the load. Whitworth can measure to the millionth part of an inch. A rise of temperature of437 the 8800th part of a degree centigrade has been detected by Dr. Joule. The spectroscope has revealed the presence of the 10,000,000th part of a gram. It is said that the eye can observe the colour produced in a drop of water by the 50,000,000th part of a gram of fuschine, and about the same quantity of cyanine. By the sense of smell we can probably feel still smaller quantities of odorous matter.354 We must nevertheless remember that quantitative effects of far less amount than these must exist, and we should state our negative results with corresponding caution. We can only disprove the existence of a quantitative phenomenon by showing deductively from the laws of nature, that if present it would amount to a perceptible quantity. As in the case of other negative arguments (p. 414), we must demonstrate that the effect would appear, where it is by experiment found not to appear.
The small amounts we can sometimes observe are amazing. A balance can weigh down to one-millionth of a load. Whitworth can measure down to one-millionth of an inch. Dr. Joule has detected a temperature increase of 1/8800 of a degree Celsius. The spectroscope can reveal the presence of 1/10,000,000 of a gram. It's said that the human eye can detect the color created in a drop of water by just 1/50,000,000 of a gram of fuschine, and about the same amount of cyanine. Through our sense of smell, we can probably detect even smaller amounts of odorous substances.354 However, we must keep in mind that there are likely quantitative effects that are much smaller than these, and we should report our negative findings with appropriate caution. We can only disprove the existence of a quantitative phenomenon by showing, based on the laws of nature, that if it were present, it would produce a noticeable amount. As with other negative arguments (p. 414), we must demonstrate that the effect would occur in places where experiments show it does not appear.
Limits of Experiment.
It will be obvious that there are many operations of nature which we are quite incapable of imitating in our experiments. Our object is to study the conditions under which a certain effect is produced; but one of those conditions may involve a great length of time. There are instances on record of experiments extending over five or ten years, and even over a large part of a lifetime; but such intervals of time are almost nothing to the time during which nature may have been at work. The contents of a mineral vein in Cornwall may have been undergoing gradual change for a hundred million years. All metamorphic rocks have doubtless endured high temperature and enormous, pressure for inconceivable periods of time, so that chemical geology is generally beyond the scope of experiment.
It’s clear that there are many natural processes that we just can’t replicate in our experiments. Our goal is to understand the conditions that lead to a specific effect, but one of those conditions might require a really long time. There are documented cases of experiments lasting five to ten years, and even some extending over much of a lifetime; yet, those timeframes are practically nothing compared to how long nature has been at work. The materials in a mineral vein in Cornwall may have been slowly changing for a hundred million years. All metamorphic rocks have likely been exposed to high temperatures and immense pressure for unimaginable lengths of time, which means that studying chemical geology usually goes beyond what we can experimentally achieve.
Arguments have been brought against Darwin’s theory, founded upon the absence of any clear instance of the production of a new species. During an historical interval of perhaps four thousand years, no animal, it is said, has been so much domesticated as to become different in438 species. It might as well be argued that no geological changes are taking place, because no new mountain has risen in Great Britain within the memory of man. Our actual experience of geological changes is like a point in the infinite progression of time. When we know that rain water falling on limestone will carry away a minute portion of the rock in solution, we do not hesitate to multiply that quantity by millions, and infer that in course of time a mountain may be dissolved away. We have actual experience concerning the rise of land in some parts of the globe and its fall in others to the extent of some feet. Do we hesitate to infer what may thus be done in course of geological ages? As Gabriel Plattes long ago remarked, “The sea never resting, but perpetually winning land in one place and losing in another, doth show what may be done in length of time by a continual operation, not subject unto ceasing or intermission.”355 The action of physical circumstances upon the forms and characters of animals by natural selection is subject to exactly the same remarks. As regards animals living in a state of nature, the change of circumstances which can be ascertained to have occurred is so slight, that we could not expect to observe any change in those animals whatever. Nature has made no experiment at all for us within historical times. Man, however, by taming and domesticating dogs, horses, oxen, pigeons, &c., has made considerable change in their circumstances, and we find considerable change also in their forms and characters. Supposing the state of domestication to continue unchanged, these new forms would continue permanent so far as we know, and in this sense they are permanent. Thus the arguments against Darwin’s theory, founded on the non-observation of natural changes within the historical period, are of the weakest character, being purely negative.
Arguments have been made against Darwin’s theory based on the lack of any clear examples of new species being produced. It’s claimed that over a historical span of about four thousand years, no animal has been domesticated enough to become a different species. It could also be argued that no geological changes are happening because no new mountain has appeared in Great Britain during human history. Our actual experiences of geological changes represent just a tiny moment in the vast timeline of earth’s history. When we understand that rainwater on limestone can dissolve a small portion of the rock, we don’t hesitate to imagine that over millions of years, a mountain could eventually be worn away. We have real evidence of land rising in some regions of the world and sinking in others by a few feet. Should we hesitate to predict what might happen over geological ages? As Gabriel Plattes pointed out long ago, “The sea never rests, perpetually gaining land in one place and losing it in another, showing what might be accomplished over time through constant, uninterrupted processes.” The influence of physical conditions on the forms and characteristics of animals through natural selection applies equally. In terms of animals in the wild, the changes in their environment that we can observe are so minimal that we wouldn't expect to see any significant changes in those animals. Nature hasn’t conducted any experiments for us during historical times. However, humans have significantly altered the circumstances of domesticated animals like dogs, horses, oxen, and pigeons, leading to noticeable changes in their forms and characteristics. If the state of domestication remains the same, these new forms would likely remain stable, and in this way, they are considered permanent. Therefore, the arguments against Darwin's theory, based on the lack of observed natural changes in historical times, are quite weak, as they are merely negative.
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CHAPTER XX. Method of variations.
Experiments may be of two kinds, experiments of simple fact, and experiments of quantity. In the first class of experiments we combine certain conditions, and wish to ascertain whether or not a certain effect of any quantity exists. Hooke wished to ascertain whether or not there was any difference in the force of gravity at the top and bottom of St. Paul’s Cathedral. The chemist continually performs analyses for the purpose of ascertaining whether or not a given element exists in a particular mineral or mixture; all such experiments and analyses are qualitative rather than quantitative, because though the result may be more or less, the particular amount of the result is not the object of the inquiry.
Experiments can be categorized into two types: experiments of simple fact and experiments of quantity. In the first type, we combine certain conditions to find out if a specific effect of any quantity exists. Hooke wanted to determine whether there was any difference in the force of gravity at the top and bottom of St. Paul’s Cathedral. Chemists constantly conduct analyses to check if a specific element is present in a certain mineral or mixture; all these experiments and analyses are qualitative rather than quantitative because, while the result may vary in magnitude, the exact amount is not the goal of the investigation.
So soon, however, as a result is known to be discoverable, the scientific man ought to proceed to the quantitative inquiry, how great a result follows from a certain amount of the conditions which are supposed to constitute the cause? The possible numbers of experiments are now infinitely great, for every variation in a quantitative condition will usually produce a variation in the amount of the effect. The method of variation which thus arises is no narrow or special method, but it is the general application of experiment to phenomena capable of continuous variation. As Mr. Fowler has well remarked,356 the observation of variations is really an integration of a supposed infinite number of applications of the so-called method of difference, that is of experiment in its perfect form.
As soon as a result can be identified, the scientist should move on to the quantitative investigation, determining how significant a result comes from a specific amount of the conditions believed to cause it. The possible number of experiments is now limitless, as any change in a quantitative condition will typically lead to a change in the effect produced. This method of variation is not a limited or specialized approach, but a broad application of experimentation to phenomena that can change continuously. As Mr. Fowler has rightly pointed out, the observation of variations essentially integrates what could be an infinite number of applications of the so-called method of difference, which represents experimentation in its ideal form.
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In induction we aim at establishing a general law, and if we deal with quantities that law must really be expressed more or less obviously in the form of an equation, or equations. We treat as before of conditions, and of what happens under those conditions. But the conditions will now vary, not in quality, but quantity, and the effect will also vary in quantity, so that the result of quantitative induction is always to arrive at some mathematical expression involving the quantity of each condition, and expressing the quantity of the result. In other words, we wish to know what function the effect is of its conditions. We shall find that it is one thing to obtain the numerical results, and quite another thing to detect the law obeyed by those results, the latter being an operation of an inverse and tentative character.
In induction, we aim to establish a general principle, and when dealing with quantities, that principle usually needs to be expressed as an equation or set of equations. We continue to discuss conditions and what happens under those conditions. However, the conditions will now change in quantity rather than quality, and the resulting effects will also vary in quantity. Thus, the outcome of quantitative induction is to arrive at some mathematical expression that involves the quantity of each condition and represents the quantity of the result. In other words, we want to determine how the effect relates to its conditions. We will find that obtaining the numerical results is one thing, while identifying the underlying principle that those results follow is entirely different; the latter requires a reverse and exploratory process.
The Variable and the Variant.
Almost every series of quantitative experiments is directed to obtain the relation between the different values of one quantity which is varied at will, and another quantity which is caused thereby to vary. We may conveniently distinguish these as respectively the variable and the variant. When we are examining the effect of heat in expanding bodies, heat, or one of its dimensions, temperature, is the variable, length the variant. If we compress a body to observe how much it is thereby heated, pressure, or it may be the dimensions of the body, forms the variable, heat the variant. In the thermo-electric pile we make heat the variable and measure electricity as the variant. That one of the two measured quantities which is an antecedent condition of the other will be the variable.
Almost every series of quantitative experiments is aimed at determining the relationship between different values of one quantity that we can change freely and another quantity that changes as a result. We can easily refer to these as the variable and the variant. For instance, when we look at how heat affects the expansion of materials, heat, or one of its aspects like temperature, is the variable, while length is the variant. If we compress an object to see how much it heats up, then pressure, or potentially the object's dimensions, is the variable, and heat is the variant. In the thermo-electric pile, we treat heat as the variable and measure electricity as the variant. The one of the two measured quantities that is a prior condition for the other will be the variable.
It is always convenient to have the variable entirely under our command. Experiments may indeed be made with accuracy, provided we can exactly measure the variable at the moment when the quantity of the effect is determined. But if we have to trust to the action of some capricious force, there may be great difficulty in making exact measurements, and those results may not be disposed over the whole range of quantity in a convenient manner. It is one prime object of the experimenter,441 therefore, to obtain a regular and governable supply of the force which he is investigating. To determine correctly the efficiency of windmills, when the natural winds were constantly varying in force, would be exceedingly difficult. Smeaton, therefore, in his experiments on the subject, created a uniform wind of the required force by moving his models against the air on the extremity of a revolving arm.357 The velocity of the wind could thus be rendered greater or less, it could be maintained uniform for any length of time, and its amount could be exactly ascertained. In determining the laws of the chemical action of light it would be out of the question to employ the rays of the sun, which vary in intensity with the clearness of the atmosphere, and with every passing cloud. One great difficulty in photometry and the investigation of the chemical action of light consists in obtaining a uniform and governable source of light rays.358
It’s always handy to have the variable completely under our control. We can indeed conduct experiments accurately if we can precisely measure the variable at the moment when we determine the quantity of the effect. But if we have to rely on the whims of some unpredictable force, it can be really challenging to make exact measurements, and those results might not be distributed conveniently across the entire range of quantity. Therefore, one main goal of the experimenter is to secure a consistent and controllable supply of the force being investigated. It would be extremely difficult to accurately determine the efficiency of windmills when the natural winds are constantly changing in strength. Smeaton, therefore, in his experiments on the topic, created a steady wind of the required force by moving his models through the air on the end of a rotating arm. This way, the wind speed could be controlled to be higher or lower, could be kept consistent for any length of time, and its amount could be precisely measured. When figuring out the laws of the chemical action of light, using sunlight—which varies in intensity with atmospheric clarity and each passing cloud—would be out of the question. One major challenge in photometry and studying the chemical action of light is obtaining a consistent and controllable source of light rays.
Fizeau’s method of measuring the velocity of light enabled him to appreciate the time occupied by light in travelling through a distance of eight or nine thousand metres. But the revolving mirror of Wheatstone subsequently enabled Foucault and Fizeau to measure the velocity in a space of four metres. In this latter method there was the advantage that various media could be substituted for air, and the temperature, density, and other conditions of the experiment could be accurately governed and measured.
Fizeau’s method of measuring the speed of light allowed him to understand how long it took for light to travel a distance of eight or nine thousand meters. However, Wheatstone's rotating mirror then allowed Foucault and Fizeau to measure the speed over a distance of four meters. This latter method had the advantage of being able to substitute different mediums for air, and the temperature, density, and other experimental conditions could be precisely controlled and measured.
Measurement of the Variable.
There is little use in obtaining exact measurements of an effect unless we can also exactly measure its conditions.
There’s not much point in getting precise measurements of an effect unless we can also accurately measure its conditions.
It is absurd to measure the electrical resistance of a piece of metal, its elasticity, tenacity, density, or other physical qualities, if these vary, not only with the minute impurities of the metal, but also with its physical condition. If the same bar changes its properties by being442 heated and cooled, and we cannot exactly define the state in which it is at any moment, our care in measuring will be wasted, because it can lead to no law. It is of little use to determine very exactly the electric conductibility of carbon, which as graphite or gas carbon conducts like a metal, as diamond is almost a non-conductor, and in several other forms possesses variable and intermediate powers of conduction. It will be of use only for immediate practical applications. Before measuring these we ought to have something to measure of which the conditions are capable of exact definition, and to which at a future time we can recur. Similarly the accuracy of our measurement need not much surpass the accuracy with which we can define the conditions of the object treated.
It's pointless to measure the electrical resistance of a piece of metal, its elasticity, strength, density, or other physical properties if these change not only with tiny impurities in the metal but also with its physical state. If the same bar alters its properties when heated and cooled, and we can't define its state at any given moment, our careful measurements will be useless because they won’t lead to any consistent rules. There's little benefit in precisely determining the electrical conductivity of carbon, which behaves like a metal as graphite or gas carbon but is nearly a non-conductor as diamond, and in various other forms, it has varying and intermediate conductivity. This will only be useful for immediate practical applications. Before we can measure these, we need to have something to measure that can be clearly defined under set conditions, to which we can refer later. Likewise, the accuracy of our measurements doesn’t need to exceed the accuracy with which we can define the conditions of the object being studied.
The speed of electricity in passing through a conductor mainly depends upon the inductive capacity of the surrounding substances, and, except for technical or special purposes, there is little use in measuring velocities which in some cases are one hundred times as great as in other cases. But the maximum speed of electric conduction is probably a constant quantity of great scientific importance, and according to Prof. Clerk Maxwell’s determination in 1868 is 174,800 miles per second, or little less than that of light. The true boiling point of water is a point on which practical thermometry depends, and it is highly important to determine that point in relation to the absolute thermometric scale. But when water free from air and impurity is heated there seems to be no definite limit to the temperature it may reach, a temperature of 180° Cent. having been actually observed. Such temperatures, therefore, do not require accurate measurement. All meteorological measurements depending on the accidental condition of the sky are of far less importance than physical measurements in which such accidental conditions do not intervene. Many profound investigations depend upon our knowledge of the radiant energy continually poured upon the earth by the sun; but this must be measured when the sky is perfectly clear, and the absorption of the atmosphere at its minimum. The slightest interference of cloud destroys the value of such a measurement, except for meteorological purposes, which are of vastly less generality and importance. It is seldom443 useful, again, to measure the height of a snow-covered mountain within a foot, when the thickness of the snow alone may cause it to vary 25 feet or more, when in short the height itself is indefinite to that extent.359
The speed of electricity flowing through a conductor mainly depends on the inductive capacity of the surrounding materials. Besides specific technical uses, there’s little benefit in measuring speeds that can vary dramatically, sometimes being a hundred times faster in some instances than in others. However, the maximum speed of electric conduction is likely a constant value of significant scientific relevance, and according to Prof. Clerk Maxwell's findings in 1868, it is 174,800 miles per second, which is just shy of the speed of light. The true boiling point of water is crucial for practical thermometry, and it’s very important to determine that point concerning the absolute thermometric scale. When pure water (free from air and impurities) is heated, there seems to be no definite limit to the temperature it can reach, with temperatures of 180° Centigrade actually observed. Therefore, such high temperatures don’t need precise measurement. All meteorological measurements that depend on arbitrary sky conditions are far less significant than physical measurements that are unaffected by those conditions. Many extensive studies rely on our understanding of the radiant energy that the sun constantly delivers to Earth; however, this needs to be measured when the sky is completely clear and the atmosphere's absorption is at a minimum. Even the slightest cloud interference can compromise such measurements, except for meteorological purposes, which are much less universally significant. It's also rarely useful to measure the height of a snow-covered mountain to within a foot when the snow thickness alone can cause the height to vary by 25 feet or more, making the actual height quite uncertain to that extent.359
Maintenance of Similar Conditions.
Our ultimate object in induction must be to obtain the complete relation between the conditions and the effect, but this relation will generally be so complex that we can only attack it in detail. We must, as far as possible, confine the variation to one condition at a time, and establish a separate relation between each condition and the effect. This is at any rate the first step in approximating to the complete law, and it will be a subsequent question how far the simultaneous variation of several conditions modifies their separate actions. In many experiments, indeed, it is only one condition which we wish to study, and the others are interfering forces which we would avoid if possible. One of the conditions of the motion of a pendulum is the resistance of the air, or other medium in which it swings; but when Newton was desirous of proving the equal gravitation of all substances, he had no interest in the air. His object was to observe a single force only, and so it is in a great many other experiments. Accordingly, one of the most important precautions in investigation consists in maintaining all conditions constant except that which is to be studied. As that admirable experimental philosopher, Gilbert, expressed it,360 “There is always need of similar preparation, of similar figure, and of equal magnitude, for in dissimilar and unequal circumstances the experiment is doubtful.”
Our main goal in induction should be to understand the complete relationship between the conditions and the effect, but this relationship is usually so complex that we can only tackle it in detail. We should, as much as possible, limit the variation to one condition at a time and establish a distinct relation between each condition and the effect. This is at least the first step toward getting closer to the complete law, and it will be a later question how much the simultaneous variation of several conditions changes their individual effects. In many experiments, we really only want to study one condition, and the others are interfering factors we would like to minimize if we can. One of the conditions affecting a pendulum's motion is the resistance of the air or any other medium in which it swings; however, when Newton wanted to demonstrate that all substances fall at the same rate, he wasn't concerned about the air. His focus was on observing just one force, and this is true for many other experiments as well. Therefore, one of the most crucial precautions in research is keeping all conditions constant except for the one being studied. As the great experimental philosopher, Gilbert, stated, "There is always need of similar preparation, of similar figure, and of equal magnitude, for in dissimilar and unequal circumstances the experiment is doubtful."
In Newton’s decisive experiment similar conditions were provided for, with the simplicity which characterises the highest art. The pendulums of which the oscillations were compared consisted of equal boxes of wood, hanging by equal threads, and filled with different substances, so that the total weights should be equal and the centres of oscillation at the same distance from the points of suspension.444 Hence the resistance of the air became approximately a matter of indifference; for the outward size and shape of the pendulums being the same, the absolute force of resistance would be the same, so long as the pendulums vibrated with equal velocity; and the weights being equal the resistance would diminish the velocity equally. Hence if any inequality were observed in the vibrations of the two pendulums, it must arise from the only circumstance which was different, namely the chemical nature of the matter within the boxes. No inequality being observed, the chemical nature of substances can have no appreciable influence upon the force of gravitation.361
In Newton’s key experiment, conditions were set up with the simplicity that defines the highest level of craftsmanship. The pendulums being compared were made of equal wooden boxes, hung by equal threads, and filled with different materials, ensuring their total weights were the same and the centers of oscillation were at the same distance from the suspension points.444 This made the resistance of the air practically negligible; since the size and shape of the pendulums were identical, the absolute force of air resistance would also be the same, as long as the pendulums swung at the same speed. Since the weights were equal, the resistance would slow them down equally. Therefore, if any difference in the vibrations of the two pendulums was noticed, it must come from the only differing factor, which was the chemical nature of the materials inside the boxes. Since no difference was observed, it suggests that the chemical nature of substances has no significant impact on the force of gravity.361
A beautiful experiment was devised by Dr. Joule for the purpose of showing that the gain or loss of heat by a gas is connected, not with the mere change of its volume and density, but with the energy received or given out by the gas. Two strong vessels, connected by a tube and stopcock, were placed in water after the air had been exhausted from one vessel and condensed in the other to the extent of twenty atmospheres. The whole apparatus having been brought to a uniform temperature by agitating the water, and the temperature having been exactly observed, the stopcock was opened, so that the air at once expanded and filled the two vessels uniformly. The temperature of the water being again noted was found to be almost unchanged. The experiment was then repeated in an exactly similar manner, except that the strong vessels were placed in separate portions of the water. Now cold was produced in the vessel from which the air rushed, and an almost exactly equal quantity of heat appeared in that to which it was conducted. Thus Dr. Joule clearly proved that rarefaction produces as much heat as cold, and that only when there is disappearance of mechanical energy will there be production of heat.362 What we have to notice, however, is not so much the result of the experiment, as the simple manner in which a single change in the apparatus, the separation of the portions of water surrounding the air vessels, is made to give indications of the utmost significance.
A fascinating experiment was designed by Dr. Joule to show that the gain or loss of heat in a gas is linked, not just to changes in its volume and density, but also to the energy it absorbs or releases. Two strong containers, connected by a tube and stopcock, were placed in water after the air was removed from one container and compressed in the other to twenty atmospheres. Once the entire setup was brought to a uniform temperature by stirring the water, and the temperature was accurately measured, the stopcock was opened, allowing the air to expand and fill both containers evenly. When the water temperature was checked again, it was nearly unchanged. The experiment was repeated in the same way, but this time the containers were in separate parts of the water. Cold formed in the container from which the air came rushing out, and an almost identical amount of heat appeared in the one receiving it. This allowed Dr. Joule to clearly demonstrate that rarefaction creates as much heat as cold, and that heat is produced only when mechanical energy disappears. What we should pay attention to, however, is not just the results of the experiment, but the straightforward way in which a single change in the setup—the separation of the water surrounding the gas containers—provides highly significant insights.362
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Collective Experiments.
There is an interesting class of experiments which enable us to observe a number of quantitative results in one act. Generally speaking, each experiment yields us but one number, and before we can approach the real processes of reasoning we must laboriously repeat measurement after measurement, until we can lay out a curve of the variation of one quantity as depending on another. We can sometimes abbreviate this labour, by making a quantity vary in different parts of the same apparatus through every required amount. In observing the height to which water rises by the capillary attraction of a glass vessel, we may take a series of glass tubes of different bore, and measure the height through which it rises in each. But if we take two glass plates, and place them vertically in water, so as to be in contact at one vertical side, and slightly separated at the other side, the interval between the plates varies through every intermediate width, and the water rises to a corresponding height, producing at its upper surface a hyperbolic curve.
There is an interesting category of experiments that allows us to see several quantitative results in a single action. Generally speaking, each experiment gives us only one number, and before we can properly reason through the results, we have to repeat measurements over and over until we can create a curve showing how one quantity depends on another. Sometimes, we can simplify this process by varying a quantity in different parts of the same setup across all necessary amounts. For example, when we observe how high water rises due to capillary action in a glass container, we can use a series of glass tubes with different diameters and measure how high the water rises in each one. However, if we take two glass plates and place them vertically in water, so they touch at one vertical edge and are slightly apart at the other, the space between the plates varies through every possible width, and the water rises to a corresponding height, creating a hyperbolic curve at its upper surface.
The absorption of light in passing through a coloured liquid may be beautifully shown by enclosing the liquid in a wedge-shaped glass, so that we have at a single glance an infinite variety of thicknesses in view. As Newton himself remarked, a red liquid viewed in this manner is found to have a pale yellow colour at the thinnest part, and it passes through orange into red, which gradually becomes of a deeper and darker tint.363 The effect may be noticed in a conical wine-glass. The prismatic analysis of light from such a wedge-shaped vessel discloses the reason, by exhibiting the progressive absorption of different rays of the spectrum as investigated by Dr. J. H. Gladstone.364
The way light is absorbed when it passes through a colored liquid can be beautifully demonstrated by placing the liquid in a wedge-shaped glass, allowing us to see a range of thicknesses at once. As Newton noted, when a red liquid is observed this way, it appears pale yellow at the thinnest part, transitioning through orange into red, which gradually deepens into a darker shade.363 You can notice this effect in a conical wine glass. The prismatic analysis of light from such a wedge-shaped vessel reveals the reason for this, showing how different rays of the spectrum are progressively absorbed, as explored by Dr. J. H. Gladstone.364
A moving body may sometimes be made to mark out its own course, like a shooting star which leaves a tail behind it. Thus an inclined jet of water exhibits in the clearest manner the parabolic path of a projectile. In Wheatstone’s Kaleidophone the curves produced by the combination of vibrations of different ratios are shown by446 placing bright reflective buttons on the tops of wires of various forms. The motions are performed so quickly that the eye receives the impression of the path as a complete whole, just as a burning stick whirled round produces a continuous circle. The laws of electric induction are beautifully shown when iron filings are brought under the influence of a magnet, and fall into curves corresponding to what Faraday called the Lines of Magnetic Force. When Faraday tried to define what he meant by his lines of force, he was obliged to refer to the filings. “By magnetic curves,” he says,365 “I mean lines of magnetic forces which would be depicted by iron filings.” Robison had previously produced similar curves by the action of frictional electricity, and from a mathematical investigation of the forms of such curves we may infer that magnetic and electric attractions obey the general law of emanation, that of the inverse square of the distance. In the electric brush we have a similar exhibition of the laws of electric attraction.
A moving object can sometimes trace its own path, like a shooting star leaving a trail behind it. For example, a tilted stream of water clearly demonstrates the parabolic trajectory of a projectile. In Wheatstone’s Kaleidophone, the curves created by combining vibrations at different ratios are displayed by placing bright reflective buttons on the tops of wires of various shapes. The movements happen so quickly that the eye perceives the path as a complete whole, just like a burning stick spun around creates a continuous circle. The laws of electric induction are elegantly illustrated when iron filings are subjected to a magnet, arranging themselves into curves that correspond to what Faraday referred to as the Lines of Magnetic Force. When Faraday attempted to explain what he meant by these lines of force, he had to reference the filings. “By magnetic curves,” he says,365 “I mean lines of magnetic forces which would be depicted by iron filings.” Robison had previously created similar curves using static electricity, and through a mathematical analysis of these curve shapes, we can conclude that magnetic and electric attractions follow the general law of emanation, specifically the inverse square of the distance. The electric brush also provides a similar demonstration of the principles of electric attraction.
There are several branches of science in which collective experiments have been used with great advantage. Lichtenberg’s electric figures, produced by scattering electrified powder on an electrified resin cake, so as to show the condition of the latter, suggested to Chladni the notion of discovering the state of vibration of plates by strewing sand upon them. The sand collects at the points where the motion is least, and we gain at a glance a comprehension of the undulations of the plate. To this method of experiment we owe the beautiful observations of Savart. The exquisite coloured figures exhibited by plates of crystal, when examined by polarised light, afford a more complicated example of the same kind of investigation. They led Brewster and Fresnel to an explanation of the properties of the optic axes of crystals. The unequal conduction of heat in crystalline substances has also been shown in a similar manner, by spreading a thin layer of wax over the plate of crystal, and applying heat to a single point. The wax then melts in a circular or elliptic area according as the rate of conduction is uniform or not. Nor should we forget that Newton’s rings were an early and most important447 instance of investigations of the same kind, showing the effects of interference of light undulations of all magnitudes at a single view. Herschel gave to all such opportunities of observing directly the results of a general law, the name of Collective Instances,366 and I propose to adopt the name Collective Experiments.
There are several branches of science where collective experiments have been used very effectively. Lichtenberg’s electric patterns, created by scattering charged powder on a charged resin cake to reveal its condition, inspired Chladni to come up with the idea of discovering the vibration state of plates by sprinkling sand on them. The sand collects at the points where the motion is least, giving us a quick understanding of the plate's undulations. We owe the beautiful observations of Savart to this experimental method. The stunning colored patterns seen on crystal plates when examined under polarized light provide a more complex example of the same type of investigation. These observations led Brewster and Fresnel to explain the properties of the optical axes of crystals. The uneven conduction of heat in crystalline substances has also been demonstrated similarly by spreading a thin layer of wax over the crystal plate and applying heat to a single point. The wax then melts in a circular or elliptical shape depending on whether the rate of conduction is uniform or not. We should also remember that Newton’s rings were an early and very important example of this kind of investigation, showing the interference effects of light waves of all magnitudes in one view. Herschel referred to all these opportunities to directly observe the results of a general law as Collective Instances, and I suggest we use the term Collective Experiments.
Such experiments will in many subjects only give the first hint of the nature of the law in question, but will not admit of any exact measurements. The parabolic form of a jet of water may well have suggested to Galileo his views concerning the path of a projectile; but it would not serve now for the exact investigation of the laws of gravity. It is unlikely that capillary attraction could be exactly measured by the use of inclined plates of glass, and tubes would probably be better for precise investigation. As a general rule, these collective experiments would be most useful for popular illustration. But when the curves are of a precise and permanent character, as in the coloured figures produced by crystalline plates, they may admit of exact measurement. Newton’s rings and diffraction fringes allow of very accurate measurements.
Such experiments will often only provide the first clue about the nature of the law in question, but they won't allow for any precise measurements. The parabolic shape of a water jet might have inspired Galileo's ideas about the path of a projectile, but it wouldn't be useful now for accurately investigating the laws of gravity. It's unlikely that capillary attraction could be precisely measured using tilted glass plates; tubes would probably be better for accurate studies. As a general rule, these collective experiments are most useful for popular illustrations. However, when the curves have a precise and permanent quality, like the colored patterns created by crystalline plates, they can allow for exact measurements. Newton’s rings and diffraction patterns enable very accurate measurements.
Under collective experiments we may perhaps place those in which we render visible the motions of gas or liquid by diffusing some opaque substance in it. The behaviour of a body of air may often be studied in a beautiful way by the use of smoke, as in the production of smoke rings and jets. In the case of liquids lycopodium powder is sometimes employed. To detect the mixture of currents or strata of liquid, I employed very dilute solutions of common salt and silver nitrate, which produce a visible cloud wherever they come into contact.367 Atmospheric clouds often reveal to us the movements of great volumes of air which would otherwise be quite unapparent.
Under collective experiments, we might include those where we make the movements of gas or liquid visible by adding an opaque substance to it. The behavior of air can often be observed beautifully using smoke, like in the creation of smoke rings and jets. For liquids, lycopodium powder is sometimes used. To detect the mixing of currents or layers in a liquid, I used very dilute solutions of table salt and silver nitrate, which create a visible cloud wherever they touch.367 Atmospheric clouds often show us the movements of large amounts of air that would otherwise be completely invisible.
Periodic Variations.
A large class of investigations is concerned with Periodic Variations. We may define a periodic phenomenon as one which, with the uniform change of the variable, returns448 time after time to the same value. If we strike a pendulum it presently returns to the point from which we disturbed it, and while time, the variable, progresses uniformly, it goes on making excursions and returning, until stopped by the dissipation of its energy. If one body in space approaches by gravity towards another, they will revolve round each other in elliptic orbits, and return for an indefinite number of times to the same relative positions. On the other hand a single body projected into empty space, free from the action of any extraneous force, would go on moving for ever in a straight line, according to the first law of motion. In the latter case the variation is called secular, because it proceeds during ages in a similar manner, and suffers no περίοδος or going round. It may be doubted whether there really is any motion in the universe which is not periodic. Mr. Herbert Spencer long since adopted the doctrine that all motion is ultimately rhythmical,368 and abundance of evidence may be adduced in favour of his view.
A large number of studies focus on Periodic Variations. We can define a periodic phenomenon as one that, with the steady change of a variable, returns time after time to the same value. For example, when we pull a pendulum, it eventually returns to the position we moved it from, and while time, the variable, moves forward steadily, it continues to swing back and forth until its energy is used up. If one object in space is drawn towards another due to gravity, they will orbit each other in elliptical paths, coming back to the same relative positions an indefinite number of times. In contrast, a single object thrown into empty space, unaffected by any outside force, would continue moving in a straight line forever, according to the first law of motion. In this case, the variation is called secular, because it changes over ages in a consistent way, without periodicity or cycling. It's questionable whether there is actually any motion in the universe that isn't periodic. Mr. Herbert Spencer long ago embraced the idea that all motion is ultimately rhythmic, and there is plenty of evidence to support this viewpoint.
The so-called secular acceleration of the moon’s motion is certainly periodic, and as, so far as we can tell, no body is beyond the attractive power of other bodies, rectilinear motion becomes purely hypothetical, or at least infinitely improbable. All the motions of all the stars must tend to become periodic. Though certain disturbances in the planetary system seem to be uniformly progressive, Laplace is considered to have proved that they really have their limits, so that after an immense time, all the planetary bodies might return to the same places, and the stability of the system be established. Such a theory of periodic stability is really hypothetical, and does not take into account phenomena resulting in the dissipation of energy, which may be a really secular process. For our present purposes we need not attempt to form an opinion on such questions. Any change which does not present the appearance of a periodic character will be empirically regarded as a secular change, so that there will be plenty of non-periodic variations.
The so-called secular acceleration of the moon's motion is definitely periodic, and since, as far as we can tell, no object is free from the gravitational influence of others, straight-line motion becomes purely hypothetical, or at least extremely unlikely. All the movements of all the stars tend to be periodic. Although some disruptions in the planetary system seem to progress uniformly, Laplace is believed to have demonstrated that they actually have limits, meaning that after a long period, all the planets could return to their original positions, establishing stability in the system. This theory of periodic stability is largely hypothetical and does not account for phenomena that lead to energy dissipation, which could be a genuinely secular process. For our current purposes, we don’t need to form an opinion on these issues. Any change that doesn’t seem to have a periodic nature will be viewed empirically as a secular change, so there will be many non-periodic variations.
The variations which we produce experimentally will often be non-periodic. When we communicate heat to a449 gas it increases in bulk or pressure, and as far as we can go the higher the temperature the higher the pressure. Our experiments are of course restricted in temperature both above and below, but there is every reason to believe that the bulk being the same, the pressure would never return to the same point at any two different temperatures. We may of course repeatedly raise and lower the temperature at regular or irregular intervals entirely at our will, and the pressure of the gas will vary in like manner and exactly at the same intervals, but such an arbitrary series of changes would not constitute Periodic Variation. It would constitute a succession of distinct experiments, which would place beyond reasonable doubt the connexion of cause and effect.
The variations we create in experiments are often non-periodic. When we heat a gas, its volume or pressure increases, and generally, the hotter it gets, the higher the pressure is. Our experiments are limited in temperature, both high and low, but there's every reason to think that if the volume remains the same, the pressure would never return to the same level at two different temperatures. We can, of course, raise and lower the temperature at regular or irregular intervals entirely at our discretion, and the gas pressure will change similarly and at the same intervals. However, such a random set of changes wouldn't be considered Periodic Variation. It would be a series of separate experiments, clearly demonstrating the relationship between cause and effect.
Whenever a phenomenon recurs at equal or nearly equal intervals, there is, according to the theory of probability, considerable evidence of connexion, because if the recurrences were entirely casual it is unlikely that they would happen at equal intervals. The fact that a brilliant comet had appeared in the years 1301, 1378, 1456, 1531, 1607, and 1682 gave considerable presumption in favour of the identity of the body, apart from similarity of the orbit. There is nothing which so fascinates the attention of men as the recurrence time after time of some unusual event. Things and appearances which remain ever the same, like mountains and valleys, fail to excite the curiosity of a primitive people. It has been remarked by Laplace that even in his day the rising of Venus in its brightest phase never failed to excite surprise and interest. So there is little doubt that the first germ of science arose in the attention given by Eastern people to the changes of the moon and the motions of the planets. Perhaps the earliest astronomical discovery consisted in proving the identity of the morning and evening stars, on the grounds of their similarity of aspect and invariable alternation.369 Periodical changes of a somewhat complicated kind must have been understood by the Chaldeans, because they were aware of the cycle of 6585 days or 19 years which brings round the new and full moon upon the same days, hours, and even minutes of the year. The earliest efforts of450 scientific prophecy were founded upon this knowledge, and if at present we cannot help wondering at the precise anticipations of the nautical almanack, we may imagine the wonder excited by such predictions in early times.
Whenever an event happens again at equal or nearly equal intervals, there is, according to probability theory, significant evidence of a connection. If the events were completely random, it would be unlikely for them to occur at equal intervals. The appearance of a bright comet in the years 1301, 1378, 1456, 1531, 1607, and 1682 strongly suggests that it is the same object, aside from the similarity of its orbit. Nothing captures people's attention like the repeated occurrence of an unusual event. Regular things, like mountains and valleys, don't pique the curiosity of early societies. Laplace noted that even in his time, the rising of Venus at its brightest always sparked surprise and interest. So, it’s clear that the roots of science likely began with the focus Eastern cultures had on the moon's changes and the planets' movements. One of the earliest astronomical discoveries was identifying the morning and evening stars as the same, based on their similar appearance and consistent alternation. Periodic changes, which were somewhat complex, must have been recognized by the Chaldeans, as they understood the 19-year cycle of 6585 days that brings the new and full moons back to the same days, hours, and even minutes of the year. The initial attempts at scientific forecasting were based on this understanding, and while we may marvel at the accuracy of today's nautical almanac, we can only imagine the amazement such predictions inspired in ancient times.369 Periodical changes of a somewhat complicated kind must have been understood by the Chaldeans, because they were aware of the cycle of 6585 days or 19 years which brings round the new and full moon upon the same days, hours, and even minutes of the year. The earliest efforts of450 scientific prophecy were founded upon this knowledge, and if at present we cannot help wondering at the precise anticipations of the nautical almanack, we may imagine the wonder excited by such predictions in early times.
Combined Periodic Changes.
We shall seldom find a body subject to a single periodic variation, and free from other disturbances. We may expect the periodic variation itself to undergo variation, which may possibly be secular, but is more likely to prove periodic; nor is there any limit to the complication of periods beyond periods, or periods within periods, which may ultimately be disclosed. In studying a phenomenon of rhythmical character we have a succession of questions to ask. Is the periodic variation uniform? If not, is the change uniform? If not, is the change itself periodic? Is that new period uniform, or subject to any other change, or not? and so on ad infinitum.
We rarely find a body that only experiences one type of periodic change without any other disturbances. We can expect that the periodic change itself will also change, which might be long-term but is more likely to be periodic as well. There isn't a limit to how complicated the patterns can get, with periods overlapping other periods or nested within them, which may ultimately be revealed. When studying a rhythmical phenomenon, we have a series of questions to consider. Is the periodic change consistent? If not, is the change itself consistent? If not, is that change also periodic? Is this new period consistent, or is it subject to any other changes, or not? And so on ad infinitum.
In some cases there may be many distinct causes of periodic variations, and according to the principle of the superposition of small effects, to be afterwards considered, these periodic effects will be simply added together, or at least approximately so, and the joint result may present a very complicated subject of investigation. The tides of the ocean consist of a series of superimposed undulations. Not only are there the ordinary semi-diurnal tides caused by sun and moon, but a series of minor tides, such as the lunar diurnal, the solar diurnal, the lunar monthly, the lunar fortnightly, the solar annual and solar semi-annual are gradually being disentangled by the labours of Sir W. Thomson, Professor Haughton and others.
In some cases, there can be many different reasons for periodic changes, and based on the principle of superimposing small effects, which we’ll look at later, these periodic effects will be added together, or at least roughly so, and the combined result can turn into a very complex subject to explore. The ocean's tides are made up of a series of overlapping waves. There are not just the regular semi-daily tides caused by the sun and moon, but also a range of smaller tides, like the lunar daily, the solar daily, the lunar monthly, the lunar bi-weekly, the solar yearly, and the solar bi-yearly, which are gradually being figured out by Sir W. Thomson, Professor Haughton, and others.
Variable stars present interesting periodic phenomena; while some stars, δ Cephei for instance, are subject to very regular variations, others, like Mira Ceti, are less constant in the degrees of brilliancy which they attain or the rapidity of the changes, possibly on account of some longer periodic variation.370 The star β Lyræ presents a double maximum and minimum in each of its periods of nearly 13 days, and since the discovery of this variation the period451 in a period has probably been on the increase. “At first the variability was more rapid, then it became gradually slower; and this decrease in the length of time reached its limit between the years 1840 and 1844. During that time its period was nearly invariable; at present it is again decidedly on the decrease.”371 The tracing out of such complicated variations presents an unlimited field for interesting investigation. The number of such variable stars already known is considerable, and there is no reason to suppose that any appreciable fraction of the whole number has yet been detected.
Variable stars exhibit fascinating periodic behaviors; while some stars, like δ Cephei, show very regular changes, others, such as Mira Ceti, vary less consistently in brightness or the speed of their changes, possibly due to longer periodic variations.370 The star β Lyræ has a double maximum and minimum in each of its nearly 13-day cycles, and since this variation was discovered, its period451 has likely been increasing. “Initially, the variability was faster, but then it gradually slowed down; this reduction in time reached its limit between 1840 and 1844. During that period, its cycle was nearly stable; currently, it appears to be decreasing again.”371 Mapping out such complex variations offers an endless opportunity for intriguing research. The number of known variable stars is already significant, and there’s no reason to believe that we have detected a substantial portion of the total.
Principle of Forced Vibrations.
Investigations of the connection of periodic causes and effects rest upon a principle, which has been demonstrated by Sir John Herschel for some special cases, and clearly explained by him in several of his works.372 The principle may be formally stated in the following manner: “If one part of any system connected together either by material ties, or by the mutual attractions of its members, be continually maintained by any cause, whether inherent in the constitution of the system or external to it, in a state of regular periodic motion, that motion will be propagated throughout the whole system, and will give rise, in every member of it, and in every part of each member, to periodic movements executed in equal periods, with that to which they owe their origin, though not necessarily synchronous with them in their maxima and minima.” The meaning of the proposition is that the effect of a periodic cause will be periodic, and will recur at intervals equal to those of the cause. Accordingly when we find two phenomena which do proceed, time after time, through changes of the same period, there is much probability that they are connected. In this manner, doubtless, Pliny correctly inferred that the cause of the tides lies in the sun and the moon, the intervals between successive high tides being equal to the intervals between the moon’s452 passage across the meridian. Kepler and Descartes too admitted the connection previous to Newton’s demonstration of its precise nature. When Bradley discovered the apparent motion of the stars arising from the aberration of light, he was soon able to attribute it to the earth’s annual motion, because it went through its phases in a year.
Investigations into the relationship between periodic causes and effects are based on a principle that Sir John Herschel has demonstrated for certain specific cases and clearly explained in several of his works.372 This principle can be stated like this: “If one part of any system that is connected either by physical ties or by the mutual attraction of its members is consistently maintained by any cause, whether it comes from the system itself or externally, in a state of regular periodic motion, that motion will spread throughout the entire system, resulting in periodic movements in each member of the system and in every part of each member, occurring at equal intervals to the originating motion, though not necessarily synchronized with its peaks and troughs.” This proposition means that the effect of a periodic cause will also be periodic, repeating at intervals that match those of the cause. Therefore, when we observe two phenomena that repeatedly undergo changes over the same period, it's quite likely that they are interconnected. In this way, Pliny correctly concluded that the cause of the tides is linked to the sun and the moon, with the intervals between consecutive high tides corresponding to the intervals between the moon’s passage across the meridian. Kepler and Descartes also acknowledged this connection before Newton demonstrated its exact nature. When Bradley discovered the apparent motion of the stars due to the aberration of light, he quickly attributed it to the earth’s annual motion, as it followed its cycles over the course of a year.
The most beautiful instance of induction concerning periodic changes which can be cited, is the discovery of an eleven-year period in various meteorological phenomena. It would be difficult to mention any two things apparently more disconnected than the spots upon the sun and auroras. As long ago as 1826, Schwabe commenced a regular series of observations of the spots upon the sun, which has been continued to the present time, and he was able to show that at intervals of about eleven years the spots increased much in size and number. Hardly was this discovery made known, when Lamont pointed out a nearly equal period of variation in the declination of the magnetic needle. Magnetic storms or sudden disturbances of the needle were next shown to take place most frequently at the times when sun-spots were prevalent, and as auroras are generally coincident with magnetic storms, these phenomena were brought into the cycle. It has since been shown by Professor Piazzi Smyth and Mr. E. J. Stone, that the temperature of the earth’s surface as indicated by sunken thermometers gives some evidence of a like period. The existence of a periodic cause having once been established, it is quite to be expected, according to the principle of forced vibrations, that its influence will be detected in all meteorological phenomena.
The most striking example of induction regarding periodic changes is the discovery of an eleven-year cycle in various weather-related phenomena. It’s hard to find two things that seem more unrelated than sunspots and auroras. Back in 1826, Schwabe started a regular series of observations of sunspots, which continues to this day, and he demonstrated that every eleven years, the spots increased significantly in size and number. As soon as this discovery became known, Lamont identified a similar eleven-year cycle in the declination of the magnetic needle. It was then shown that magnetic storms or sudden disturbances of the needle tend to occur most frequently when sunspots are abundant, and since auroras usually coincide with magnetic storms, these events were included in the cycle. Later, Professor Piazzi Smyth and Mr. E. J. Stone showed that the temperature of the Earth’s surface, as measured by buried thermometers, also supports a similar cycle. Once the existence of a periodic cause is established, it’s reasonable to expect, based on the principle of forced vibrations, that its influence will be detected in all weather phenomena.
Integrated Variations.
In considering the various modes in which one effect may depend upon another, we must set in a distinct class those which arise from the accumulated effects of a constantly acting cause. When water runs out of a cistern, the velocity of motion depends, according to Torricelli’s theorem, on the height of the surface of the water above the vent; but the amount of water which453 leaves the cistern in a given time depends upon the aggregate result of that velocity, and is only to be ascertained by the mathematical process of integration. When one gravitating body falls towards another, the force of gravity varies according to the inverse square of the distance; to obtain the velocity produced we must integrate or sum the effects of that law; and to obtain the space passed over by the body in a given time, we must integrate again.
When we look at the different ways one effect can rely on another, we need to categorize those that come from the combined effects of a continuously acting cause. For example, when water drains from a tank, the speed of the water flow is determined, according to Torricelli’s theorem, by the height of the water level above the opening; however, the total amount of water that leaves the tank in a specific timeframe depends on the overall result of that speed and can only be calculated through the mathematical method of integration. Similarly, when one gravitational body falls toward another, the force of gravity changes based on the inverse square of the distance; to find the velocity generated, we must integrate or sum the effects of that law, and to determine the distance traveled by the body in a given time, we need to integrate once more.
In periodic variations the same distinction must be drawn. The heating power of the sun’s rays at any place on the earth varies every day with the height attained, and is greatest about noon; but the temperature of the air will not be greatest at the same time. This temperature is an integrated effect of the sun’s heating power, and as long as the sun is able to give more heat to the air than the air loses in other ways, the temperature continues to rise, so that the maximum is deferred until about 3 P.M. Similarly the hottest day of the year falls, on an average, about one month later than the summer solstice, and all the seasons lag about a month behind the motions of the sun. In the case of the tides, too, the effect of the moon’s attractive power is never greatest when the power is greatest; the effect always lags more or less behind the cause. Yet the intervals between successive tides are equal, in the absence of disturbance, to the intervals between the passages of the moon across the meridian. Thus the principle of forced vibrations holds true.
In periodic changes, we need to make the same distinction. The sun's heating power at any location on Earth varies daily with its height in the sky and peaks around noon; however, the air temperature isn't highest at the same time. This temperature is a combined result of the sun's heating effect, and as long as the sun provides more heat to the air than the air loses through other means, the temperature keeps rising, hitting its maximum around 3 P.M. Similarly, the hottest day of the year typically occurs about a month after the summer solstice, and all seasons lag about a month behind the sun's movements. The same goes for tides; the moon's attractive power is never at its peak when its effects are strongest; there’s always a delay between the cause and its effect. Yet, when there are no disturbances, the time between successive tides matches the intervals of the moon moving across the meridian. So, the principle of forced vibrations remains valid.
In periodic phenomena, however, curious results sometimes follow from the integration of effects. If we strike a pendulum, and then repeat the stroke time after time at the same part of the vibration, all the strokes concur in adding to the momentum, and we can thus increase the extent and violence of the vibrations to any degree. We can stop the pendulum again by strokes applied when it is moving in the opposite direction, and the effects being added together will soon bring it to rest. Now if we alter the intervals of the strokes so that each two successive strokes act in opposite manners they will neutralise each other, and the energy expended will be turned into heat or sound at the point of percussion. Similar effects454 occur in all cases of rhythmical motion. If a musical note is sounded in a room containing a piano, the string corresponding to it will be thrown into vibration, because every successive stroke of the air-waves upon the string finds it in like position as regards the vibration, and thus adds to its energy of motion. But the other strings being incapable of vibrating with the same rapidity are struck at various points of their vibrations, and one stroke will soon be opposed by one contrary in effect. All phenomena of resonance arise from this coincidence in time of undulation. The air in a pipe closed at one end, and about 12 inches in length, is capable of vibrating 512 times in a second. If, then, the note C is sounded in front of the open end of the pipe, every successive vibration of the air is treasured up as it were in the motion of the air. In a pipe of different length the pulses of air would strike each other, and the mechanical energy being transmuted into heat would become no longer perceptible as sound.
In periodic events, interesting results can sometimes arise from the combination of effects. When we strike a pendulum and repeatedly hit it at the same point of its swing, all the hits contribute to increasing its momentum, allowing us to amplify the size and intensity of the swings to any level. We can also stop the pendulum by striking it when it's moving in the opposite direction, and the cumulative effects will eventually bring it to a stop. If we change the timing of the strikes so that two consecutive hits oppose each other, they will cancel each other out, and the energy used will convert into heat or sound at the point of impact. Similar effects454 occur in all instances of rhythmic motion. When a musical note is played in a room with a piano, the corresponding string will vibrate, because each wave of air hitting the string reaches it in a similar position in its vibration cycle, thus boosting its motion. However, the other strings, unable to vibrate at the same speed, will be struck at different points in their cycles, and soon one stroke will counteract another. All resonance phenomena stem from this timing match in oscillation. The air in a pipe closed at one end and about 12 inches long can vibrate 512 times per second. If the note C is played in front of the open end of the pipe, each vibration of the air effectively builds up in the air's motion. In a pipe of different length, the air pulses would collide, and the mechanical energy would be transformed into heat, making it no longer detectable as sound.
Accumulated vibrations sometimes become so intense as to lead to unexpected results. A glass vessel if touched with a violin bow at a suitable point may be fractured with the violence of vibration. A suspension bridge may be broken down if a company of soldiers walk across it in steps the intervals of which agree with the vibrations of the bridge itself. But if they break the step or march in either quicker or slower pace, they may have no perceptible effect upon the bridge. In fact if the impulses communicated to any vibrating body are synchronous with its vibrations, the energy of those vibrations will be unlimited, and may fracture any body.
Accumulated vibrations can sometimes become so strong that they lead to unexpected outcomes. A glass container, if touched with a violin bow at the right spot, may break due to the force of the vibrations. A suspension bridge could collapse if a group of soldiers walks across it in a rhythm that matches the bridge's vibrations. However, if they change their step or march at a faster or slower pace, they might not affect the bridge at all. In fact, if the forces acting on any vibrating object sync up with its own vibrations, the energy from those vibrations can be limitless and may break any object.
Let us now consider what will happen if the strokes be not exactly at the same intervals as the vibrations of the body, but, say, a little slower. Then a succession of strokes will meet the body in nearly but not quite the same position, and their efforts will be accumulated. Afterwards the strokes will begin to fall when the body is in the opposite phase. Imagine that one pendulum moving from one extreme point to another in a second, should be struck by another pendulum which makes 61 beats in a minute; then, if the pendulums commence together, they will at the end of 30 12 beats be moving in opposite directions. Hence whatever energy was communicated in the first455 half minute will be neutralised by the opposite effect of that given in the second half. The effect of the strokes of the second pendulum will therefore be alternately to increase and decrease the vibrations of the first, so that a new kind of vibration will be produced running through its phases in 61 seconds. An effect of this kind was actually observed by Ellicott, a member of the Royal Society, in the case of two clocks.373 He found that through the wood-work by which the clocks were connected a slight impulse was transmitted, and each pendulum alternately lost and gained momentum. Each clock, in fact, tended to stop the other at regular intervals, and in the intermediate times to be stopped by the other.
Let’s now think about what occurs if the strokes don't match the body's vibrations perfectly but are, for example, a bit slower. In that case, a series of strokes will hit the body nearly, but not quite, in the same position, and their effects will build up. Eventually, the strokes will start falling when the body is in the opposite phase. Picture one pendulum moving from one extreme to another in one second, being struck by another pendulum that ticks at 61 beats per minute; if both pendulums start together, by the end of 30 1/2 beats, they will be moving in opposite directions. Therefore, any energy transferred in the first half minute will be canceled out by the opposite effect happening in the second half. The impact of the second pendulum’s strokes will alternately increase and decrease the first pendulum's vibrations, creating a new kind of vibration that completes its cycle in 61 seconds. This kind of effect was actually observed by Ellicott, a member of the Royal Society, with two clocks.373 He discovered that through the wooden connection between the clocks, a small impulse was transmitted, causing each pendulum to lose and gain momentum alternately. Each clock ended up trying to stop the other at regular intervals, and in the times in between, one clock was stopped by the other.
Many disturbances in the planetary system depend upon the same principle; for if one planet happens always to pull another in the same direction in similar parts of their orbits, the effects, however slight, will be accumulated, and a disturbance of large ultimate amount and of long period will be produced. The long inequality in the motions of Jupiter and Saturn is thus due to the fact that five times the mean motion of Saturn is very nearly equal to twice the mean motion of Jupiter, causing a coincidence in their relative positions and disturbing powers. The rolling of ships depends mainly upon the question whether the period of vibration of the ship corresponds or not with the intervals at which the waves strike her. Much which seems at first sight unaccountable in the behaviour of vessels is thus explained, and the loss of the Captain is a sad case in point.
Many disturbances in the planetary system are based on the same principle. If one planet consistently pulls another in the same direction during similar parts of their orbits, even small effects will add up, resulting in a significant disturbance over time. The long-term irregularities in the motions of Jupiter and Saturn are due to the fact that five times Saturn's average motion is very close to twice Jupiter's average motion, leading to a coincidence in their relative positions and gravitational influences. The stability of ships mainly relies on whether the ship's vibration period aligns with the intervals at which the waves hit it. Many behaviors that seem inexplicable at first in how vessels operate can be understood this way, and the loss of the Captain serves as a tragic example.
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CHAPTER XXI.
Approximation Theory.
In order that we may gain a true understanding of the kind, degree, and value of the knowledge which we acquire by experimental investigation, it is requisite that we should be fully conscious of its approximate character. We must learn to distinguish between what we can know and cannot know—between the questions which admit of solution, and those which only seem to be solved. Many persons may be misled by the expression exact science, and may think that the knowledge acquired by scientific methods admits of our reaching absolutely true laws, exact to the last degree. There is even a prevailing impression that when once mathematical formulæ have been successfully applied to a branch of science, this portion of knowledge assumes a new nature, and admits of reasoning of a higher character than those sciences which are still unmathematical.
To truly understand the kind, degree, and value of the knowledge we gain through experimental investigation, we need to be fully aware of its approximate nature. We must learn to differentiate between what we can know and what we can't know—between questions that can be answered and those that only seem to be resolved. Many people can be misled by the term exact science and may believe that knowledge gained through scientific methods allows us to discover absolutely true laws, precise in every detail. There’s even a common belief that once mathematical formulas are successfully applied to a scientific field, that area of knowledge takes on a new quality, allowing for reasoning that is superior to fields that remain unmathematical.
The very satisfactory degree of accuracy attained in the science of astronomy gives a certain plausibility to erroneous notions of this kind. Some persons no doubt consider it to be proved that planets move in ellipses, in such a manner that all Kepler’s laws hold exactly true; but there is a double error in any such notions. In the first place, Kepler’s laws are not proved, if by proof we mean certain demonstration of their exact truth. In the next place, even assuming Kepler’s laws to be exactly true in a theoretical point of view, the planets never move according to those laws. Even if we could observe the motions of a planet, of a perfect globular form, free from all perturbing457 or retarding forces, we could never prove that it moved in a perfect ellipse. To prove the elliptical form we should have to measure infinitely small angles, and infinitely small fractions of a second; we should have to perform impossibilities. All we can do is to show that the motion of an unperturbed planet approaches very nearly to the form of an ellipse, and more nearly the more accurately our observations are made. But if we go on to assert that the path is an ellipse we pass beyond our data, and make an assumption which cannot be verified by observation.
The good level of accuracy achieved in the field of astronomy lends some credibility to these mistaken ideas. Some people likely believe it is proven that planets move in elliptical orbits, such that all of Kepler’s laws are completely true; however, there are two mistakes in such beliefs. First, Kepler’s laws are not proven, if by proof we mean a definite demonstration of their absolute truth. Second, even if we assume Kepler’s laws are theoretically true, planets do not actually move according to those laws. Even if we could observe the motion of a perfect spherical planet, free from all disturbing 457 or slowing forces, we could never prove it moved in a perfect ellipse. To demonstrate the elliptical shape, we would need to measure infinitesimally small angles and fractions of a second; we’d have to achieve the impossible. All we can do is show that the motion of an undisturbed planet closely resembles an ellipse, and it resembles it more closely as our observations improve. But if we claim that the path is an ellipse, we go beyond what our data allow and make an assumption that cannot be validated by observation.
But, secondly, as a matter of fact no planet does move in a perfect ellipse, or manifest the truth of Kepler’s laws exactly. The law of gravity prevents its own results from being clearly exhibited, because the mutual perturbations of the planets distort the elliptical paths. Those laws, again, hold exactly true only of infinitely small bodies, and when two great globes, like the sun and Jupiter, attract each other, the law must be modified. The periodic time is then shortened in the ratio of the square root of the number expressing the sun’s mass, to that of the sum of the numbers expressing the masses of the sun and planet, as was shown by Newton.374 Even at the present day discrepancies exist between the observed dimensions of the planetary orbits and their theoretical magnitudes, after making allowance for all disturbing causes.375 Nothing is more certain in scientific method than that approximate coincidence alone can be expected. In the measurement of continuous quantity perfect correspondence must be accidental, and should give rise to suspicion rather than to satisfaction.
But, secondly, in reality, no planet moves in a perfect ellipse or perfectly follows Kepler’s laws. The law of gravity prevents its outcomes from being clearly shown because the mutual disturbances between the planets distort their elliptical paths. Those laws, furthermore, are only completely true for infinitely small bodies, and when two large bodies, like the sun and Jupiter, attract each other, the law has to be adjusted. The periodic time is then shortened in the ratio of the square root of the number representing the sun’s mass to the sum of the numbers representing the masses of the sun and planet, as Newton demonstrated.374 Even today, discrepancies remain between the observed sizes of planetary orbits and their theoretical values, even after accounting for all disturbing factors.375 In scientific methods, nothing is more certain than that we can only expect approximate agreement. In measuring continuous quantities, perfect alignment must be seen as coincidental and should lead to suspicion rather than satisfaction.
One remarkable result of the approximate character of our observations is that we could never prove the existence of perfectly circular or parabolic movement, even if it existed. The circle is a singular case of the ellipse, for which the eccentricity is zero; it is infinitely improbable that any planet, even if undisturbed by other bodies, would have a circle for its orbit; but if the orbit were a circle we could never prove the entire absence of eccentricity.458 All that we could do would be to declare the divergence from the circular form to be inappreciable. Delambre was unable to detect the slightest ellipticity in the orbit of Jupiter’s first satellite, but he could only infer that the orbit was nearly circular. The parabola is the singular limit between the ellipse and the hyperbola. As there are elliptic and hyperbolic comets, so we might conceive the existence of a parabolic comet. Indeed if an undisturbed comet fell towards the sun from an infinite distance it would move in a parabola; but we could never prove that it so moved.
One notable outcome of the approximate nature of our observations is that we could never prove the existence of perfectly circular or parabolic motion, even if it did exist. The circle is a special case of the ellipse, where the eccentricity is zero; it's extremely unlikely that any planet, even if unaffected by other bodies, would have a circular orbit. However, if an orbit were circular, we could never prove the complete absence of eccentricity. All we could do would be to state that the deviation from a circular shape is negligible. Delambre was unable to detect any ellipticity in the orbit of Jupiter’s first moon, but he could only suggest that the orbit was *nearly* circular. The parabola serves as the unique boundary between the ellipse and the hyperbola. Just as there are elliptical and hyperbolic comets, we could also theorize the existence of a parabolic comet. In fact, if an unperturbed comet were to fall towards the sun from an infinite distance, it would follow a parabolic trajectory; but we could never prove that it actually did. 458
Substitution of Simple Hypotheses.
In truth men never can solve problems fulfilling the complex circumstances of nature. All laws and explanations are in a certain sense hypothetical, and apply exactly to nothing which we can know to exist. In place of the actual objects which we see and feel, the mathematician substitutes imaginary objects, only partially resembling those represented, but so devised that the discrepancies are not of an amount to alter seriously the character of the solution. When we probe the matter to the bottom physical astronomy is as hypothetical as Euclid’s elements. There may exist in nature perfect straight lines, triangles, circles, and other regular geometrical figures; to our science it is a matter of indifference whether they do or do not exist, because in any case they must be beyond our powers of perception. If we submitted a perfect circle to the most rigorous scrutiny, it is impossible that we should discover whether it were perfect or not. Nevertheless in geometry we argue concerning perfect curves, and rectilinear figures, and the conclusions apply to existing objects so far as we can assure ourselves that they agree with the hypothetical conditions of our reasoning. This is in reality all that we can do in the most perfect of the sciences.
In reality, people can never fully address the complicated situations found in nature. All laws and explanations are, in some sense, theoretical and don’t accurately apply to anything we know exists. Instead of the real objects we see and touch, mathematicians replace them with imagined objects that only somewhat resemble what they represent, but are crafted in a way that the differences don’t significantly change the validity of the solution. When we delve deeper, physical astronomy is just as theoretical as Euclid’s elements. Perfect straight lines, triangles, circles, and other regular geometric shapes might exist in nature; for our science, it doesn’t matter whether they exist or not because, in any case, they must be beyond our ability to perceive. If we examined a perfect circle with the utmost scrutiny, there’s no way to determine if it’s truly perfect. Nonetheless, in geometry, we discuss perfect curves and straight figures, and the conclusions relate to existing objects as far as we can ensure they match the theoretical conditions of our reasoning. This is essentially all we can achieve in the most advanced of the sciences.
Doubtless in astronomy we meet with the nearest approximation to actual conditions. The law of gravity is not a complex one in itself, and we believe it with much probability to be exactly true; but we cannot calculate out in any real case its accurate results. The law asserts459 that every particle of matter in the universe attracts every other particle, with a force depending on the masses of the particles and their distances. We cannot know the force acting on any particle unless we know the masses and distances and positions of all other particles in the universe. The physical astronomer has made a sweeping assumption, namely, that all the millions of existing systems exert no perturbing effects on our planetary system, that is to say, no effects in the least appreciable. The problem at once becomes hypothetical, because there is little doubt that gravitation between our sun and planets and other systems does exist. Even when they consider the relations of our planetary bodies inter se, all their processes are only approximate. In the first place they assume that each of the planets is a perfect ellipsoid, with a smooth surface and a homogeneous interior. That this assumption is untrue every mountain and valley, every sea, every mine affords conclusive evidence. If astronomers are to make their calculations perfect, they must not only take account of the Himalayas and the Andes, but must calculate separately the attraction of every hill, nay, of every ant-hill. So far are they from having considered any local inequality of the surface, that they have not yet decided upon the general form of the earth; it is still a matter of speculation whether or not the earth is an ellipsoid with three unequal axes. If, as is probable, the globe is irregularly compressed in some directions, the calculations of astronomers will have to be repeated and refined, in order that they may approximate to the attractive power of such a body. If we cannot accurately learn the form of our own earth, how can we expect to ascertain that of the moon, the sun, and other planets, in some of which probably are irregularities of greater proportional amount?
Without a doubt, in astronomy, we encounter the closest approximation to actual conditions. The law of gravity isn't inherently complex, and we have good reason to believe it is precisely true; however, we cannot accurately calculate its results in any real situation. The law states that every particle of matter in the universe attracts every other particle with a force that depends on the masses of the particles and their distances. We can't determine the force acting on any particle unless we know the masses, distances, and positions of all other particles in the universe. The physical astronomer operates under the broad assumption that all the millions of existing systems have no significant impact on our planetary system, meaning their effects are virtually negligible. The problem quickly becomes hypothetical because it's undeniable that gravitational interactions between our sun, its planets, and other systems do exist. Even when analyzing the relationships among our planetary bodies themselves, their methods are merely approximate. First, they assume each planet is a perfect ellipsoid with a smooth surface and a uniform interior. This assumption is clearly false, as every mountain, valley, sea, and mine provides undeniable proof. For astronomers to achieve precise calculations, they must account not only for the Himalayas and the Andes but also calculate the gravitational pull of every hill, even every ant hill. They are so far from considering any local surface irregularity that they haven't even agreed on the earth's overall shape; it's still up for debate whether the earth is an ellipsoid with three unequal axes. If, as seems likely, the globe is unevenly compressed in some directions, astronomers will need to redo and refine their calculations to get closer to understanding the gravitational force of such a body. If we can't accurately determine the shape of our own earth, how can we expect to figure out that of the moon, the sun, and other planets, some of which likely have even greater irregularities?
In a further way the science of physical astronomy is merely approximate and hypothetical. Given homogeneous ellipsoids acting upon each other according to the law of gravity, the best mathematicians have never and perhaps never will determine exactly the resulting movements. Even when three bodies simultaneously attract each other the complication of effects is so great that only approximate calculations can be made. Astronomers have not460 even attempted the general problem of the simultaneous attractions of four, five, six, or more bodies; they resolve the general problem into so many different problems of three bodies. The principle upon which the calculations of physical astronomy proceed, is to neglect every quantity which does not seem likely to lead to an effect appreciable in observation, and the quantities rejected are far more numerous and complex than the few larger terms which are retained. All then is merely approximate.
In another way, the science of physical astronomy is just approximate and hypothetical. Even though we consider uniform ellipsoids interacting with each other according to the law of gravity, the best mathematicians have never been able to definitively determine the resulting movements, and they probably never will. When three bodies attract each other at the same time, the complexity of the effects is so high that only rough calculations can be made. Astronomers haven’t even tackled the general problem of simultaneous attractions of four, five, six, or more bodies; instead, they break the general problem down into multiple individual three-body problems. The approach taken in physical astronomy calculations is to ignore any quantity that doesn’t seem likely to result in a noticeable effect in observation, and the quantities that are discarded are far more numerous and complex than the few larger terms that are kept. So everything remains just approximate.
Concerning other branches of physical science the same statements are even more evidently true. We speak and calculate about inflexible bars, inextensible lines, heavy points, homogeneous substances, uniform spheres, perfect fluids and gases, and we deduce a great number of beautiful theorems; but all is hypothetical. There is no such thing as an inflexible bar, an inextensible line, nor any one of the other perfect objects of mechanical science; they are to be classed with those mythical existences, the straight line, triangle, circle, &c., about which Euclid so freely reasoned. Take the simplest operation considered in statics—the use of a crowbar in raising a heavy stone, and we shall find, as Thomson and Tait have pointed out, that we neglect far more than we observe.376 If we suppose the bar to be quite rigid, the fulcrum and stone perfectly hard, and the points of contact real points, we may give the true relation of the forces. But in reality the bar must bend, and the extension and compression of different parts involve us in difficulties. Even if the bar be homogeneous in all its parts, there is no mathematical theory capable of determining with accuracy all that goes on; if, as is infinitely more probable, the bar is not homogeneous, the complete solution will be immensely more complicated, but hardly more hopeless. No sooner had we determined the change of form according to simple mechanical principles, than we should discover the interference of thermodynamic principles. Compression produces heat and extension cold, and thus the conditions of the problem are modified throughout. In attempting a fourth approximation we should have to allow for the conduction of heat from one part of the bar to another. All these effects are461 utterly inappreciable in a practical point of view, if the bar be a good stout one; but in a theoretical point of view they entirely prevent our saying that we have solved a natural problem. The faculties of the human mind, even when aided by the wonderful powers of abbreviation conferred by analytical methods, are utterly unable to cope with the complications of any real problem. And had we exhausted all the known phenomena of a mechanical problem, how can we tell that hidden phenomena, as yet undetected, do not intervene in the commonest actions? It is plain that no phenomenon comes within the sphere of our senses unless it possesses a momentum capable of irritating the appropriate nerves. There may then be worlds of phenomena too slight to rise within the scope of our consciousness.
Regarding other branches of physical science, the same statements are even more obviously true. We talk about and calculate inflexible bars, unextendable lines, heavy points, uniform substances, uniform spheres, and ideal fluids and gases, and we derive a bunch of beautiful theories; but everything is hypothetical. There’s no such thing as an inflexible bar, an unextendable line, or any of the other perfect objects of mechanical science; they belong alongside mythical concepts like the straight line, triangle, circle, etc., that Euclid reasoned about so freely. Take the simplest operation in statics—the use of a crowbar to lift a heavy stone, and we’ll find, as Thomson and Tait pointed out, that we ignore far more than we actually consider. If we assume the bar is completely rigid, the fulcrum and stone are perfectly hard, and the points of contact are real points, we can establish the true relationship between the forces. But in reality, the bar must bend, and the stretching and compressing of different parts complicate things. Even if the bar is the same throughout, there is no mathematical theory that can accurately determine everything that happens; if, as is far more likely, the bar isn’t uniform, finding a complete solution becomes significantly more complicated, yet hardly any more promising. As soon as we figure out the change of shape using simple mechanical principles, we’ll discover that thermodynamic principles interfere. Compression generates heat, and stretching creates cold, which alters the conditions of the problem. In trying a fourth approximation, we’d have to account for heat conduction from one part of the bar to another. All these effects are completely negligible from a practical perspective if the bar is a good thick one; however, theoretically, they entirely prevent us from claiming that we have solved a natural problem. The abilities of the human mind, even with the amazing powers of simplification provided by analytical methods, are completely unable to manage the complexities of any real problem. And even if we had explored all the known phenomena of a mechanical problem, how can we be sure that hidden phenomena, still undiscovered, don’t affect the simplest actions? It’s clear that no phenomenon comes within the range of our senses unless it has enough momentum to stimulate the appropriate nerves. There could be entire worlds of phenomena too subtle to enter our awareness.
All the instruments with which we perform our measurements are faulty. We assume that a plumb-line gives a vertical line; but this is never true in an absolute sense, owing to the attraction of mountains and other inequalities in the surface of the earth. In an accurate trigonometrical survey, the divergencies of the plumb-line must be approximately determined and allowed for. We assume a surface of mercury to be a perfect plane, but even in the breadth of 5 inches there is a calculable divergence from a true plane of about one ten-millionth part of an inch; and this surface further diverges from true horizontality as the plumb-line does from true verticality. That most perfect instrument, the pendulum, is not theoretically perfect, except for infinitely small arcs of vibration, and the delicate experiments performed with the torsion balance proceed on the assumption that the force of torsion of a wire is proportional to the angle of torsion, which again is only true for infinitely small angles.
All the tools we use to take measurements are flawed. We think a plumb line creates a vertical line, but that's never absolutely accurate due to the gravitational pull of mountains and other variations in the Earth's surface. In a precise trigonometric survey, we need to estimate and adjust for the plumb line's discrepancies. We consider a mercury surface to be a perfect plane, but even across just 5 inches, there's a measurable divergence from a true plane of about one ten-millionth of an inch; plus, this surface also diverges from true horizontal just like the plumb line diverges from true vertical. The pendulum, which is seen as the most precise instrument, isn't theoretically perfect except for infinitely small arcs of movement. Moreover, the delicate experiments done with the torsion balance rely on the idea that the twisting force of a wire is proportional to the angle it's twisted, which again is only true for infinitely small angles.
Such is the purely approximate character of all our operations that it is not uncommon to find the theoretically worse method giving truer results than the theoretically perfect method. The common pendulum which is not isochronous is better for practical purposes than the cycloidal pendulum, which is isochronous in theory but subject to mechanical difficulties. The spherical form is not the correct form for a speculum or lense, but it differs so slightly from the true form, and is so much more easily462 produced mechanically, that it is generally best to rest content with the spherical surface. Even in a six-feet mirror the difference between the parabola and the sphere is only about one ten-thousandth part of an inch, a thickness which would be taken off in a few rubs of the polisher. Watts’ ingenious parallel motion was intended to produce rectilinear movement of the piston-rod. In reality the motion was always curvilinear, but for his purposes a certain part of the curve approximated sufficiently to a straight line.
The nature of our operations is so approximate that it's not unusual to see a theoretically worse method yielding more accurate results than a theoretically perfect one. The common pendulum, which isn't isochronous, is more practical than the cycloidal pendulum, which is theoretically isochronous but has mechanical issues. The spherical shape isn't the ideal form for a speculum or lens, but it differs only slightly from the true shape and is much easier to produce mechanically, so it's usually better to stick with the spherical surface. Even in a six-foot mirror, the difference between the parabola and the sphere is just about one ten-thousandth of an inch, a thickness that could be removed with a few passes of the polisher. Watt's clever parallel motion was meant to create straight movement of the piston rod. In reality, the motion was always curvilinear, but for his needs, a certain part of the curve was close enough to a straight line.
Approximation to Exact Laws.
Though we can not prove numerical laws with perfect accuracy, it would be a great mistake to suppose that there is any inexactness in the laws of nature. We may even discover a law which we believe to represent the action of forces with perfect exactness. The mind may seem to pass in advance of its data, and choose out certain numerical results as absolutely true. We can never really pass beyond our data, and so far as assumption enters in, so far want of certainty will attach to our conclusions; nevertheless we may sometimes rightly prefer a probable assumption of a precise law to numerical results, which are at the best only approximate. We must accordingly draw a strong distinction between the laws of nature which we believe to be accurately stated in our formulas, and those to which our statements only make an approximation, so that at a future time the law will be differently stated.
Although we can't prove numerical laws with perfect accuracy, it would be a big mistake to think there's any inexactness in the laws of nature. We might even find a law that we believe represents the action of forces with complete precision. Our minds may seem to move ahead of the available data and pick out certain numerical results as absolutely true. We can never truly go beyond our data, and as far as assumptions are involved, a lack of certainty will attach to our conclusions. However, sometimes we may justifiably prefer a likely assumption of a precise law over numerical results, which are, at best, only approximate. Therefore, we need to make a clear distinction between the laws of nature that we believe are accurately represented in our formulas and those that our statements only approximate, knowing that in the future the law may be stated differently.
The law of gravitation is expressed in the form F = MmD2, meaning that gravity is proportional directly to the product of the gravitating masses, and indirectly to the square of their distance. The latent heat of steam is expressed by the equation log F = a + bαt + cβt, in which are five quantities a, b, c, α, β, to be determined by experiment. There is every reason to believe that in the progress of science the law of gravity will remain entirely unaltered, and the only effect of further inquiry will be to render it a more and more probable expression of the absolute truth. The law of the latent heat of steam on the other hand, will463 be modified by every new series of experiments, and it may not improbably be shown that the assumed law can never be made to agree exactly with the results of experiment.
The law of gravitation is expressed as F = MmD2, which means that gravity is directly proportional to the product of the masses and inversely proportional to the square of their distance. The latent heat of steam is represented by the equation log F = a + bαt + cβt, where five quantities a, b, c, α, and β need to be determined through experiments. There is good reason to believe that as science advances, the law of gravity will remain completely unchanged, and the only effect of further research will be to make it an increasingly credible expression of absolute truth. On the other hand, the law of the latent heat of steam will463 be modified with each new set of experiments, and it may be shown that the assumed law can never perfectly align with experimental results.
Philosophers have not always supposed that the law of gravity was exactly true. Newton, though he had the highest confidence in its truth, admitted that there were motions in the planetary system which he could not reconcile with the law. Euler and Clairaut who were, with D’Alembert, the first to apply the full powers of mathematical analysis to the theory of gravitation as explaining the perturbations of the planets, did not think the law sufficiently established to attribute all discrepancies to the errors of calculation and observation. They did not feel certain that the force of gravity exactly obeyed the well-known rule. The law might involve other powers of the distance. It might be expressed in the form
Philosophers haven't always believed that the law of gravity was completely accurate. Newton, despite having full confidence in its truth, acknowledged that there were movements in the planetary system he couldn't explain using the law. Euler and Clairaut, along with D'Alembert, were among the first to use the complete tools of mathematical analysis to explore gravitational theory in relation to planetary disturbances. They didn't think the law was solid enough to attribute all inconsistencies just to calculation or observation errors. They weren't sure that the force of gravity strictly followed the well-known rule. The law could involve other factors related to distance. It might be expressed in the form
and the coefficients a and c might be so small that those terms would become apparent only in very accurate comparisons with fact. Attempts have been made to account for difficulties, by attributing value to such neglected terms. Gauss at one time thought the even more fundamental principle of gravity, that the force is dependent only on mass and distance, might not be exactly true, and he undertook accurate pendulum experiments to test this opinion. Only as repeated doubts have time after time been resolved in favour of the law of Newton, has it been assumed as precisely correct. But this belief does not rest on experiment or observation only. The calculations of physical astronomy, however accurate, could never show that the other terms of the above expression were absolutely devoid of value. It could only be shown that they had such slight value as never to become apparent.
and the coefficients a and c might be so small that those terms would only become noticeable in very precise comparisons with reality. People have tried to address these challenges by giving significance to those overlooked terms. At one point, Gauss questioned whether the basic principle of gravity—that the force depends solely on mass and distance—was entirely accurate, and he conducted precise pendulum experiments to investigate this idea. Only after repeated uncertainties were consistently resolved in favor of Newton's law has it been accepted as completely accurate. However, this belief is not solely based on experimentation or observation. The calculations in physical astronomy, no matter how precise, could never definitively prove that the other terms in the expression are completely without value. It could only demonstrate that they are so insignificant that they never become apparent.
There are, however, other reasons why the law is probably complete and true as commonly stated. Whatever influence spreads from a point, and expands uniformly through space, will doubtless vary inversely in intensity as the square of the distance, because the area over which it is spread increases as the square of the radius. This part of the law of gravity may be considered as due to464 the properties of space, and there is a perfect analogy in this respect between gravity and all other emanating forces, as was pointed out by Keill.377 Thus the undulations of light, heat, and sound, and the attractions of electricity and magnetism obey the very same law so far as we can ascertain. If the molecules of a gas or the particles of matter constituting odour were to start from a point and spread uniformly, their distances would increase and their density decrease according to the same principle.
There are, however, other reasons why the law is probably complete and true as commonly stated. Whatever influence spreads from a point and expands evenly through space will definitely change inversely in intensity as the square of the distance because the area over which it is spread increases with the square of the radius. This aspect of the law of gravity can be seen as a result of the properties of space, and there's a clear analogy between gravity and all other emanating forces, as Keill pointed out.377 Thus, the waves of light, heat, and sound, along with the attractions of electricity and magnetism, follow the same law as far as we can tell. If the molecules of a gas or the particles of matter that make up odor were to start from a point and spread evenly, their distances would increase and their density would decrease according to the same principle.
Other laws of nature stand in a similar position. Dalton’s laws of definite combining proportions never have been, and never can be, exactly proved; but chemists having shown, to a considerable degree of approximation, that the elements combine together as if each element had atoms of an invariable mass, assume that this is exactly true. They go even further. Prout pointed out in 1815 that the equivalent weights of the elements appeared to be simple numbers; and the researches of Dumas, Pelouze, Marignac, Erdmann, Stas, and others have gradually rendered it likely that the atomic weights of hydrogen, carbon, oxygen, nitrogen, chlorine, and silver, are in the ratios of the numbers 1, 12, 16, 14, 35·5, and 108. Chemists then step beyond their data; they throw aside their actual experimental numbers, and assume that the true ratios are not those exactly indicated by any weighings, but the simple ratios of these numbers. They boldly assume that the discrepancies are due to experimental errors, and they are justified by the fact that the more elaborate and skilful the researches on the subject, the more nearly their assumption is verified. Potassium is the only element whose atomic weight has been determined with great care, but which has not shown an approach to a simple ratio with the other elements. This exception may be due to some unsuspected cause of error.378 A similar assumption is made in the law of definite combining volumes of gases, and Brodie has clearly pointed out the line of argument by which the chemist, observing that the discrepancies between the law and fact are within the limits of experimental error, assumes that they are due to error.379
Other natural laws are in a similar position. Dalton’s laws of definite proportions have never been, and never can be, exactly proven; however, chemists have shown, to a significant degree of accuracy, that elements combine as if each one had atoms of a fixed mass, and they assume that this is completely true. They go even further. Prout noted in 1815 that the equivalent weights of elements seemed to be simple numbers, and the research by Dumas, Pelouze, Marignac, Erdmann, Stas, and others has gradually made it likely that the atomic weights of hydrogen, carbon, oxygen, nitrogen, chlorine, and silver correspond to the numbers 1, 12, 16, 14, 35.5, and 108. Chemists then move beyond their data; they set aside their actual experimental numbers and assume that the true ratios aren’t exactly those indicated by any measurements, but rather the simple ratios of these numbers. They confidently assume that the differences are due to experimental errors, and they are supported by the fact that the more detailed and skilled the research on the topic, the closer their assumption is validated. Potassium is the only element whose atomic weight has been determined with great precision, yet it hasn’t shown a correlation to a simple ratio with the other elements. This exception might be due to some unknown source of error.378 A similar assumption is made in the law of definite combining volumes of gases, and Brodie has clearly outlined the reasoning by which chemists, noting that the discrepancies between the law and what occurs in reality fall within the boundaries of experimental error, conclude that they are due to error.379
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Faraday, in one of his researches, expressly makes an assumption of the same kind. Having shown, with some degree of experimental precision, that there exists a simple proportion between quantities of electrical energy and the quantities of chemical substances which it can decompose, so that for every atom dissolved in the battery cell an atom ought theoretically, that is without regard to dissipation of some of the energy, to be decomposed in the electrolytic cell, he does not stop at his numerical results. “I have not hesitated,” he says,380 “to apply the more strict results of chemical analysis to correct the numbers obtained as electrolytic results. This, it is evident, may be done in a great number of cases, without using too much liberty towards the due severity of scientific research.”
Faraday, in one of his studies, specifically makes a similar assumption. After demonstrating, with a fair amount of experimental accuracy, that there is a straightforward relationship between amounts of electrical energy and the amounts of chemical substances that it can break down, he argues that for every atom dissolved in the battery cell, an atom should theoretically, that is without considering the loss of some energy, be decomposed in the electrolytic cell. He doesn’t stop at his numerical findings. “I have not hesitated,” he says,380 “to apply more rigorous results from chemical analysis to refine the numbers obtained as electrolytic results. This can evidently be done in many cases, without being too lenient regarding the necessary rigor of scientific research.”
The law of the conservation of energy, one of the widest of all physical generalisations, rests upon the same footing. The most that we can do by experiment is to show that the energy entering into any experimental combination is almost equal to what comes out of it, and more nearly so the more accurately we perform the measurements. Absolute equality is always a matter of assumption. We cannot even prove the indestructibility of matter; for were an exceedingly minute fraction of existing matter to vanish in any experiment, say one part in ten millions, we could never detect the loss.
The law of conservation of energy, one of the broadest physical generalizations, is based on the same principle. The best we can do through experimentation is demonstrate that the energy going into any experimental setup is almost equal to what comes out, and it gets closer to equality the more precisely we take the measurements. Absolute equality is always assumed. We can't even prove that matter is indestructible; if an extremely tiny fraction of existing matter were to disappear in an experiment, say one part in ten million, we would never be able to detect the loss.
Successive Approximations to Natural Conditions.
When we examine the history of scientific problems, we find that one man or one generation is usually able to make but a single step at a time. A problem is solved for the first time by making some bold hypothetical simplification, upon which the next investigator makes hypothetical modifications approaching more nearly to the truth. Errors are successively pointed out in previous solutions, until at last there might seem little more to be desired. Careful examination, however, will show that a series of minor inaccuracies remain to be corrected and explained, were our powers of reasoning sufficiently great, and the purpose adequate in importance.
When we look at the history of scientific challenges, we see that usually, one person or one generation can only make a single step at a time. A problem is first solved by making some bold hypothetical simplification, which the next researcher then modifies to get closer to the truth. Errors in earlier solutions are gradually pointed out until it seems like there’s not much left to improve. However, a careful look will reveal that there are still a series of minor inaccuracies that need to be corrected and explained, if only our reasoning skills were more advanced and the goals significant enough.
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Newton’s successful solution of the problem of the planetary movements entirely depended at first upon a great simplification. The law of gravity only applies directly to two infinitely small particles, so that when we deal with vast globes like the earth, Jupiter, and the sun, we have an immense aggregate of separate attractions to deal with, and the law of the aggregate need not coincide with the law of the elementary particles. But Newton, by a great effort of mathematical reasoning, was able to show that two homogeneous spheres of matter act as if the whole of their masses were concentrated at the centres; in short, that such spheres are centrobaric bodies (p. 364). He was then able with comparative ease to calculate the motions of the planets on the hypothesis of their being spheres, and to show that the results roughly agreed with observation. Newton, indeed, was one of the few men who could make two great steps at once. He did not rest contented with the spherical hypothesis; having reason to believe that the earth was really a spheroid with a protuberance around the equator, he proceeded to a second approximation, and proved that the attraction of the protuberant matter upon the moon accounted for the precession of the equinoxes, and led to various complicated effects. But, (p. 459), even the spheroidal hypothesis is far from the truth. It takes no account of the irregularities of surface, the great protuberance of land in Central Asia and South America, and the deficiency in the bed of the Atlantic.
Newton’s successful solution to the problem of planetary movements initially relied on a major simplification. The law of gravity only directly applies to two infinitely small particles, so when we consider massive bodies like the Earth, Jupiter, and the Sun, we have a vast collection of separate gravitational attractions to account for, and the law governing the whole may not match the law for the individual particles. However, through a significant effort in mathematical reasoning, Newton demonstrated that two uniform spheres of matter behave as if their entire mass is concentrated at their centers; in other words, such spheres are centrobaric bodies (p. 364). He was then able to relatively easily calculate the motions of the planets by assuming they were spheres, and showed that the results roughly matched observations. Indeed, Newton was one of the few who could make two significant advances at once. He didn't settle for the spherical model; believing the Earth was actually shaped like a spheroid with a bulge around the equator, he moved to a second approximation and proved that the gravitational pull from the bulging matter on the Moon explained the precession of the equinoxes and caused various complex effects. But, (p. 459), even the spheroidal model is far from completely accurate. It overlooks surface irregularities, the significant land elevation in Central Asia and South America, and the low areas in the bed of the Atlantic.
To determine the law according to which a projectile, such as a cannon ball, moves through the atmosphere is a problem very imperfectly solved at the present day, but in which many successive advances have been made. So little was known concerning the subject three or four centuries ago that a cannon ball was supposed to move at first in a straight line, and after a time to be deflected into a curve. Tartaglia ventured to maintain that the path was curved throughout, as by the principle of continuity it should be; but the ingenuity of Galileo was required to prove this opinion, and to show that the curve was approximately a parabola. It is only, however, under forced hypotheses that we can assert the path of a projectile to be truly a parabola: the path must be through a467 perfect vacuum, where there is no resisting medium of any kind; the force of gravity must be uniform and act in parallel lines; or else the moving body must be either a mere point, or a perfect centrobaric body, that is a body possessing a definite centre of gravity. These conditions cannot be really fulfilled in practice. The next great step in the problem was made by Newton and Huyghens, the latter of whom asserted that the atmosphere would offer a resistance proportional to the velocity of the moving body, and concluded that the path would have in consequence a logarithmic character. Newton investigated in a general manner the subject of resisting media, and came to the conclusion that the resistance is more nearly proportional to the square of the velocity. The subject then fell into the hands of Daniel Bernoulli, who pointed out the enormous resistance of the air in cases of rapid movement, and calculated that a cannon ball, if fired vertically in a vacuum, would rise eight times as high as in the atmosphere. In recent times an immense amount both of theoretical and experimental investigation has been spent upon the subject, since it is one of importance in the art of war. Successive approximations to the true law have been made, but nothing like a complete and final solution has been achieved or even hoped for.381
Determining the law governing how a projectile, like a cannonball, moves through the atmosphere is still a problem that hasn't been fully solved today, though there have been many advancements over time. Three or four centuries ago, not much was understood about this topic; people believed a cannonball would initially travel in a straight line and then curve. Tartaglia proposed that the path was curved the entire time, as it logically should be according to the principle of continuity; however, it took Galileo's cleverness to prove this idea and show that the path was roughly a parabola. However, we can only say a projectile follows a true parabolic path under very specific conditions: it must go through a perfect vacuum, meaning there's no opposing medium at all; gravity has to act uniformly in parallel lines; or the moving object has to be either a point or a perfect centrobaric body, which is an object with a precise center of gravity. These conditions can't really be met in real-life situations. The next significant progress in the problem came from Newton and Huygens, with the latter claiming that the atmosphere offers resistance that varies with the speed of the moving object, suggesting that the path would therefore have a logarithmic shape. Newton explored the issue of resisting media more generally and concluded that resistance is more closely proportional to the square of the speed. The topic later came under the study of Daniel Bernoulli, who emphasized the substantial resistance of air during rapid motion and calculated that a cannonball shot straight up in a vacuum would reach a height eight times greater than one fired in the atmosphere. In recent times, a vast amount of theoretical and experimental research has been dedicated to this issue, as it's critically important in warfare. While there have been ongoing efforts to approximate the true law, a complete and final solution has not been achieved or even anticipated.381
It is quite to be expected that the earliest experimenters in any branch of science will overlook errors which afterwards become most apparent. The Arabian astronomers determined the meridian by taking the middle point between the places of the sun when at equal altitudes on the same day. They overlooked the fact that the sun has its own motion in the time between the observations. Newton thought that the mutual disturbances of the planets might be disregarded, excepting perhaps the effect of the mutual attraction of the greater planets, Jupiter and Saturn, near their conjunction.382 The expansion of quicksilver was long used as the measure of temperature, no clear idea being possessed of temperature apart from some of its more obvious effects. Rumford, in the first experiment leading to a determination of the mechanical468 equivalent of heat, disregarded the heat absorbed by the apparatus, otherwise he would, in Dr. Joule’s opinion, have come nearly to the correct result.
It’s pretty easy to expect that the first people experimenting in any science will miss mistakes that later seem obvious. The Arab astronomers figured out the meridian by finding the midpoint between the sun’s positions when it was at the same height on the same day. They didn’t take into account that the sun moves in the time between observations. Newton thought that the mutual effects of the planets could be ignored, except maybe for the gravitational pull of the larger planets, Jupiter and Saturn, when they were close together.382 For a long time, the expansion of mercury was used to measure temperature, with no clear understanding of temperature beyond some of its most noticeable effects. Rumford, in the first experiment that led to figuring out the mechanical equivalent of heat, ignored the heat absorbed by the equipment; otherwise, he would have gotten pretty close to the right answer, according to Dr. Joule.
It is surprising to learn the number of causes of error which enter into the simplest experiment, when we strive to attain rigid accuracy. We cannot accurately perform the simple experiment of compressing gas in a bent tube by a column of mercury, in order to test the truth of Boyle’s Law, without paying regard to—(1) the variations of atmospheric pressure, which are communicated to the gas through the mercury; (2) the compressibility of mercury, which causes the column of mercury to vary in density; (3) the temperature of the mercury throughout the column; (4) the temperature of the gas, which is with difficulty maintained invariable; (5) the expansion of the glass tube containing the gas. Although Regnault took all these circumstances into account in his examination of the law,383 there is no reason to suppose that he exhausted the sources of inaccuracy.
It’s surprising to realize how many factors can cause errors in even the simplest experiments when we try to achieve precise accuracy. We can’t accurately carry out the simple experiment of compressing gas in a bent tube using a column of mercury to test Boyle’s Law without considering—(1) the changes in atmospheric pressure that affect the gas through the mercury; (2) the compressibility of mercury, which causes variations in the density of the mercury column; (3) the temperature of the mercury along the column; (4) the temperature of the gas, which is hard to keep constant; (5) the expansion of the glass tube that holds the gas. Even though Regnault considered all these factors in his analysis of the law,383 there’s no reason to believe he accounted for every possible source of error.
The early investigations concerning the nature of waves in elastic media proceeded upon the assumption that waves of different lengths would travel with equal speed. Newton’s theory of sound led him to this conclusion, and observation (p. 295) had verified the inference. When the undulatory theory came to be applied at the commencement of this century to explain the phenomena of light, a great difficulty was encountered. The angle at which a ray of light is refracted in entering a denser medium depends, according to that theory, on the velocity with which the wave travels, so that if all waves of light were to travel with equal velocity in the same medium, the dispersion of mixed light by the prism and the production of the spectrum could not take place. Some most striking phenomena were thus in direct conflict with the theory. Cauchy first pointed out the explanation, namely, that all previous investigators had made an arbitrary assumption for the sake of simplifying the calculations. They had assumed that the particles of the vibrating medium are so close together that the intervals are inconsiderable compared with the length of the wave.469 This hypothesis happened to be approximately true in the case of air, so that no error was discovered in experiments on sound. Had it not been so, the earlier analysts would probably have failed to give any solution, and the progress of the subject might have been retarded. Cauchy was able to make a new approximation under the more difficult supposition, that the particles of the vibrating medium are situated at considerable distances, and act and react upon the neighbouring particles by attractive and repulsive forces. To calculate the rate of propagation of disturbance in such a medium is a work of excessive difficulty. The complete solution of the problem appears indeed to be beyond human power, so that we must be content, as in the case of the planetary motions, to look forward to successive approximations. All that Cauchy could do was to show that certain quantities, neglected in previous theories, became of considerable amount under the new conditions of the problem, so that there will exist a relation between the length of the wave, and the velocity at which it travels. To remove, then, the difficulties in the way of the undulatory theory of light, a new approach to probable conditions was needed.384
The early research on the nature of waves in elastic materials was based on the assumption that waves of different lengths would travel at the same speed. Newton's theory of sound led him to this conclusion, and observations (p. 295) confirmed it. When the wave theory was applied at the start of this century to explain light phenomena, significant challenges arose. According to that theory, the angle at which a light ray is refracted when entering a denser medium depends on the speed at which the wave travels. Therefore, if all light waves traveled at the same speed in the same medium, the dispersion of mixed light by a prism and the creation of a spectrum wouldn’t occur. Some remarkable phenomena clashed directly with this theory. Cauchy was the first to offer a solution, pointing out that previous researchers had made an arbitrary assumption to simplify their calculations. They assumed that the particles in the vibrating medium were so close together that the gaps between them were negligible compared to the length of the wave. This assumption was roughly true in the case of air, which is why no errors were found in sound experiments. If it hadn't been, earlier analysts probably wouldn't have been able to find any solutions, and progress might have stalled. Cauchy managed to create a new approximation under the more complex assumption that the particles in the vibrating medium are spaced far apart and interact with neighboring particles through attractive and repulsive forces. Calculating the speed of disturbance in such a medium is extremely challenging. The complete solution to this problem seems beyond human ability, so, like in the case of planetary motions, we have to settle for successive approximations. All Cauchy could do was demonstrate that specific quantities ignored in prior theories became significant under the new conditions of the problem, establishing a relationship between the wavelength and the speed at which it travels. Therefore, to overcome the challenges faced by the wave theory of light, a new approach to likely conditions was necessary.384
In a similar manner Fourier’s theory of the conduction and radiation of heat was based upon the hypothesis that the quantity of heat passing along any line is simply proportional to the rate of change of temperature. But it has since been shown by Forbes that the conductivity of a body diminishes as its temperature increases. All the details of Fourier’s solution therefore require modification, and the results are in the meantime to be regarded as only approximately true.385
In a similar way, Fourier's theory of heat conduction and radiation was based on the idea that the amount of heat moving along any line is directly proportional to the change in temperature. However, Forbes later demonstrated that a material's conductivity decreases as its temperature rises. Consequently, all the specifics of Fourier's solution need to be revised, and for now, the results should be considered only roughly accurate.385
We ought to distinguish between those problems which are physically and those which are merely mathematically incomplete. In the latter case the physical law is correctly seized, but the mathematician neglects, or is more often unable to follow out the law in all its results. The law of gravitation and the principles of harmonic or undulatory movement, even supposing the data to be correct,470 can never be followed into all their ultimate results. Young explained the production of Newton’s rings by supposing that the rays reflected from the upper and lower surfaces of a thin film of a certain thickness were in opposite phases, and thus neutralised each other. It was pointed out, however, that as the light reflected from the nearer surface must be undoubtedly a little brighter than that from the further surface, the two rays ought not to neutralise each other so completely as they are observed to do. It was finally shown by Poisson that the discrepancy arose only from incomplete solution of the problem; for the light which has once got into the film must be to a certain extent reflected backwards and forwards ad infinitum; and if we follow out this course of the light by perfect mathematical analysis, absolute darkness may be shown to result from the interference of the rays.386 In this case the natural laws concerned, those of reflection and refraction, are accurately known, and the only difficulty consists in developing their full consequences.
We need to distinguish between problems that are physically incomplete and those that are just mathematically incomplete. In the second case, the physical law is correctly understood, but the mathematician neglects, or often can't follow, the law in all its consequences. The law of gravitation and the principles of harmonic or wave movement, even if the data is correct, can never be fully explored in all their ultimate results.470 Young explained the creation of Newton’s rings by assuming that the rays reflected from the top and bottom surfaces of a thin film of a certain thickness were out of phase and thus canceled each other out. However, it was noted that since the light reflected from the nearer surface is definitely a bit brighter than that from the farther surface, the two rays shouldn't completely cancel out as observed. Poisson eventually showed that the issue arose from an incomplete solution of the problem; because the light that enters the film must be reflected back and forth ad infinitum; and by following this path of the light with perfect mathematical analysis, it can be shown that absolute darkness results from the interference of the rays.386 In this situation, the relevant natural laws, those of reflection and refraction, are well understood, and the only challenge is to work out their complete consequences.
Discovery of Hypothetically Simple Laws.
In some branches of science we meet with natural laws of a simple character which are in a certain point of view exactly true and yet can never be manifested as exactly true in natural phenomena. Such, for instance, are the laws concerning what is called a perfect gas. The gaseous state of matter is that in which the properties of matter are exhibited in the simplest manner. There is much advantage accordingly in approaching the question of molecular mechanics from this side. But when we ask the question—What is a gas? the answer must be a hypothetical one. Finding that gases nearly obey the law of Boyle and Mariotte; that they nearly expand by heat at the uniform rate of one part in 272·9 of their volume at 0° for each degree centigrade; and that they more nearly fulfil these conditions the more distant the point of temperature at which we examine them from the liquefying point, we pass by the principle of continuity471 to the conception of a perfect gas. Such a gas would probably consist of atoms of matter at so great a distance from each other as to exert no attractive forces upon each other; but for this condition to be fulfilled the distances must be infinite, so that an absolutely perfect gas cannot exist. But the perfect gas is not merely a limit to which we may approach, it is a limit passed by at least one real gas. It has been shown by Despretz, Pouillet, Dulong, Arago, and finally Regnault, that all gases diverge from the Boylean law, and in nearly all cases the density of the gas increases in a somewhat greater ratio than the pressure, indicating a tendency on the part of the molecules to approximate of their own accord. In the more condensable gases such as sulphurous acid, ammonia, and cyanogen, this tendency is strongly apparent near the liquefying point. Hydrogen, on the contrary, diverges from the law of a perfect gas in the opposite direction, that is, the density increases less than in the ratio of the pressure.387 This is a singular exception, the bearing of which I am unable to comprehend.
In some branches of science, we encounter natural laws that are simple and, from a certain perspective, completely accurate, yet they can never be fully realized in natural phenomena. For example, this includes the laws related to a perfect gas. The gaseous state of matter shows its properties in the simplest way. Thus, there’s considerable benefit in examining molecular mechanics starting from this aspect. However, when we ask, “What is a gas?” the answer has to be hypothetical. Observing that gases nearly follow the law of Boyle and Mariotte; that they nearly expand uniformly with heat at the rate of one part in 272.9 of their volume at 0° for each degree Celsius; and that they more nearly comply with these conditions the further away we are from the temperature at which they liquefy, we move from the principle of continuity to the idea of a perfect gas. Such a gas would likely consist of atoms spaced so far apart that they don’t exert attractive forces on one another; however, for this condition to be met, the distances would have to be infinite, which means an absolutely perfect gas cannot exist. Yet, the perfect gas isn’t just a limit we can approach; it’s a limit that has already been surpassed by at least one real gas. Despretz, Pouillet, Dulong, Arago, and finally Regnault proved that all gases stray from Boyle’s law, and in most cases, the density of the gas increases at a somewhat faster rate than the pressure, which indicates that the molecules tend to get closer together on their own. In more compressible gases like sulfuric acid, ammonia, and cyanogen, this tendency is very noticeable near the liquefaction point. In contrast, hydrogen deviates from the law of a perfect gas in the opposite direction, meaning its density increases less than in proportion to the pressure.387 This is an unusual exception, the significance of which I cannot grasp.
All gases diverge again from the law of uniform expansion by heat, but the divergence is less as the gas in question is less condensable, or examined at a temperature more removed from its liquefying point. Thus the perfect gas must have an infinitely high temperature. According to Dalton’s law each gas in a mixture retains its own properties unaffected by the presence of any other gas.388 This law is probably true only by approximation, but it is obvious that it would be true of the perfect gas with infinitely distant particles.389
All gases deviate from the law of uniform expansion due to heat, but the deviation is smaller when the gas is less compressible or when it's examined at a temperature further away from its liquefying point. Therefore, a perfect gas would need to have an infinitely high temperature. According to Dalton’s law, each gas in a mixture keeps its own characteristics, unaffected by any other gas.388 This law is likely only true as an approximation, but it’s clear that it would apply to a perfect gas with infinitely spaced particles.389
Mathematical Principles of Approximation.
The approximate character of physical science will be rendered more plain if we consider it from a mathematical point of view. Throughout quantitative investigations we deal with the relation of one quantity to other quantities,472 of which it is a function; but the subject is sufficiently complicated if we view one quantity as a function of one other. Now, as a general rule, a function can be developed or expressed as the sum of quantities, the values of which depend upon the successive powers of the variable quantity. If y be a function of x then we may say that
The nature of physical science becomes clearer when we look at it from a mathematical perspective. In quantitative research, we examine how one quantity relates to others it depends on; however, the topic gets complex even when we consider one quantity as a function of another. Generally, a function can be expressed as the sum of quantities, where the values rely on the successive powers of the variable quantity. If y is a function of x, then we can say that
In this equation, A, B, C, D, &c., are fixed quantities, of different values in different cases. The terms may be infinite in number or after a time may cease to have any value. Any of the coefficients A, B, C, &c., may be zero or negative; but whatever they be they are fixed. The quantity x on the other hand may be made what we like, being variable. Suppose, in the first place, that x and y are both lengths. Let us assume that 110,000 part of an inch is the least that we can take note of. Then when x is one hundredth of an inch, we have x2 = 110,000, and if C be less than unity, the term Cx2 will be inappreciable, being less than we can measure. Unless any of the quantities D, E, &c., should happen to be very great, it is evident that all the succeeding terms will also be inappreciable, because the powers of x become rapidly smaller in geometrical ratio. Thus when x is made small enough the quantity y seems to obey the equation
In this equation, A, B, C, D, etc., are fixed values that can differ in different situations. The number of terms can be infinite or may eventually have no value at all. Any of the coefficients A, B, C, etc., can be zero or negative; however, they remain constant. In contrast, the quantity x can be changed as we wish since it is variable. First, let's assume that x and y are both lengths. We'll consider that 110,000 part of an inch is the smallest measurement we can consider. So, when x is one hundredth of an inch, we find that x2 = 110,000, and if C is less than one, the term Cx2 will be negligible, being less than what we can measure. Unless any of the quantities D, E, etc., happen to be very large, it's clear that all the following terms will also be negligible because the powers of x decrease quickly in a geometric ratio. So, when x is made small enough, the quantity y appears to follow the equation.
If x should be still less, if it should become as small, for instance, as 11,000,000 of an inch, and B should not be very great, then y would appear to be the fixed quantity A, and would not seem to vary with x at all. On the other hand, were x to grow greater, say equal to 110 inch, and C not be very small, the term Cx2 would become appreciable, and the law would now be more complicated.
If x were to get even smaller, like, for example, 11,000,000 of an inch, and B isn’t too large, then y would seem to be a constant value A, and wouldn’t appear to change with x at all. However, if x were to increase, say to 110 inch, and C isn’t very small, then the term Cx2 would become significant, and the relationship would become more complex.
We can invert the mode of viewing this question, and suppose that while the quantity y undergoes variations depending on many powers of x, our power of detecting the changes of value is more or less acute. While our powers of observation remain very rude we may be unable to detect any change in the quantity at all, that is to say, Bx may always be too small to come within473 our notice, just as in former days the fixed stars were so called because they remained at apparently fixed distances from each other. With the use of telescopes and micrometers we become able to detect the existence of some motion, so that the distance of one star from another may be expressed by A + Bx, the term including x2 being still inappreciable. Under these circumstances the star will seem to move uniformly, or in simple proportion to the time x. With much improved means of measurement it will probably be found that this uniformity of motion is only apparent, and that there exists some acceleration or retardation. More careful investigation will show the law to be more and more complicated than was previously supposed.
We can change how we look at this question and assume that while the quantity y changes depending on many factors related to x, our ability to notice these changes is not very sharp. If our observational skills are still pretty basic, we might not notice any change in the quantity at all; that is, Bx might always be too small to catch our attention, just like in the past when the fixed stars were called that because they seemed to stay at constant distances from each other. With telescopes and micrometers, we can start to see that there is some movement, so the distance between two stars can be expressed as A + Bx, with the term including x2 still being too small to notice. In this case, the star will appear to move steadily, or in simple proportion to time x. With improved measurement tools, it will likely be discovered that this steady movement is just an illusion, and there is some acceleration or deceleration happening. Closer examination will reveal that the pattern is much more complex than we initially thought.
There is yet another way of explaining the apparent results of a complicated law. If we take any curve and regard a portion of it free from any kind of discontinuity, we may represent the character of such portion by an equation of the form
There is yet another way of explaining the apparent results of a complicated law. If we take any curve and regard a section of it without any kind of breaks, we can represent the nature of that section with an equation in the form
Restrict the attention to a very small portion of the curve, and the eye will be unable to distinguish its difference from a straight line, which amounts to saying that in the portion examined the term Cx2 has no value appreciable by the eye. Take a larger portion of the curve and it will be apparent that it possesses curvature, but it will be possible to draw a parabola or ellipse so that the curve shall apparently coincide with a portion of that parabola or ellipse. In the same way if we take larger and larger arcs of the curve it will assume the character successively of a curve of the third, fourth, and perhaps higher degrees; that is to say, it corresponds to equations involving the third, fourth, and higher powers of the variable quantity.
Focus on a very small segment of the curve, and your eye won’t be able to tell it apart from a straight line, meaning that in this small section, the term Cx2 is not noticeable. If you look at a larger segment of the curve, you’ll see that it has curvature, but you can also draw a parabola or an ellipse that appears to match up with part of that curve. Similarly, if you consider larger and larger arcs of the curve, it will progressively resemble curves of the third, fourth, and possibly even higher degrees; in other words, it relates to equations involving the third, fourth, and higher powers of the variable quantity.
We have arrived then at the conclusion that every phenomenon, when its amount can only be rudely measured, will either be of fixed amount, or will seem to vary uniformly like the distance between two inclined straight lines. More exact measurement may show the error of this first assumption, and the variation will then appear to be like that of the distance between a straight line and a parabola or ellipse. We may afterwards find that a curve of the third or higher degrees is really required474 to represent the variation. I propose to call the variation of a quantity linear, elliptic, cubic, quartic, quintic, &c., according as it is discovered to involve the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, or higher powers of the variable. It is a general rule in quantitative investigation that we commence by discovering linear, and afterwards proceed to elliptic or more complicated laws of variation. The approximate curves which we employ are all, according to De Morgan’s use of the name, parabolas of some order or other; and since the common parabola of the second order is approximately the same as a very elongated ellipse, and is in fact an infinitely elongated ellipse, it is convenient and proper to call variation of the second order elliptic. It might also be called quadric variation.
We have come to the conclusion that every phenomenon, when its quantity can only be roughly measured, will either have a fixed amount or will appear to change uniformly like the distance between two inclined straight lines. More precise measurements might reveal the flaw in this initial assumption, and the variation would then resemble the distance between a straight line and a parabola or ellipse. We may later find that a curve of the third degree or higher is actually needed to represent the variation. I suggest calling the variation of a quantity linear, elliptic, cubic, quartic, quintic, etc., depending on whether it involves the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, or higher powers of the variable. A general rule in quantitative research is to start by identifying linear variations and then move on to elliptic or more complex laws of variation. The approximate curves we use are all, as De Morgan defined, parabolas of some sort; and since the standard parabola of the second order is roughly the same as a very stretched ellipse, and is, in fact, an infinitely elongated ellipse, it makes sense to refer to second-order variation as elliptic. It could also be referred to as quadric variation.474
As regards many important phenomena we are yet only in the first stage of approximation. We know that the sun and many so-called fixed stars, especially 61 Cygni, have a proper motion through space, and the direction of this motion at the present time is known with some degree of accuracy. But it is hardly consistent with the theory of gravity that the path of any body should really be a straight line. Hence, we must regard a rectilinear path as only a provisional description of the motion, and look forward to the time when its curvature will be detected, though centuries perhaps must first elapse.
When it comes to many important phenomena, we are still only at the beginning of understanding. We know that the sun and many so-called fixed stars, especially 61 Cygni, have their own movement through space, and we have some accuracy about the direction of this motion right now. However, it's not really consistent with the theory of gravity for any object's path to actually be a straight line. Therefore, we should see a straight path as just a temporary description of the motion and anticipate a time when its curvature will be observed, even if it might take centuries first.
We are accustomed to assume that on the surface of the earth the force of gravity is uniform, because the variation is of so slight an amount that we are scarcely able to detect it. But supposing we could measure the variation, we should find it simply proportional to the height. Taking the earth’s radius to be unity, let h be the height at which we measure the force of gravity. Then by the well-known law of the inverse square, that force will be proportional to
We usually assume that the force of gravity on the surface of the Earth is uniform, because the variation is so minimal that we can barely notice it. But if we could measure the variation, we'd find it directly related to height. If we consider the Earth's radius as one unit, let h represent the height at which we measure the force of gravity. Then, according to the well-known law of the inverse square, that force will be proportional to
But at all heights to which we can attain h will be so small a fraction of the earth’s radius that 3h2 will be inappreciable, and the force of gravity will seem to follow the law of linear variation, being proportional to 1 - 2h.
But at any height we can reach h, it will be such a small fraction of the earth’s radius that 3h2 will be negligible, and the force of gravity will appear to follow a linear pattern, being proportional to 1 - 2h.
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When the circumstances of an experiment are much altered, different powers of the variable may become prominent. The resistance of a liquid to a body moving through it may be approximately expressed as the sum of two terms respectively involving the first and second powers of the velocity. At very low velocities the first power is of most importance, and the resistance, as Professor Stokes has shown, is nearly in simple proportion to the velocity. When the motion is rapid the resistance increases in a still greater degree, and is more nearly proportional to the square of the velocity.
When the conditions of an experiment change significantly, different effects of the variable may stand out. The resistance a liquid exerts on a moving object can be roughly described as the combination of two factors: one that relates to the first power of the velocity and another that relates to the second power. At very low speeds, the first power is the most important, and, as Professor Stokes has demonstrated, the resistance is almost directly proportional to the velocity. However, when the motion is fast, the resistance increases even more and is more closely related to the square of the velocity.
Approximate Independence of Small Effects.
One result of the theory of approximation possesses such importance in physical science, and is so often applied, that we may consider it separately. The investigation of causes and effects is immensely simplified when we may consider each cause as producing its own effect invariably, whether other causes are acting or not. Thus, if the body P produces x, and Q produces y, the question is whether P and Q acting together will produce the sum of the separate effects, x + y. It is under this supposition that we treated the methods of eliminating error (Chap. XV.), and errors of a less amount would still remain if the supposition was a forced one. There are probably some parts of science in which the supposition of independence of effects holds rigidly true. The mutual gravity of two bodies is entirely unaffected by the presence of other gravitating bodies. People do not usually consider that this important principle is involved in such a simple thing as putting two pound weights in the scale of a balance. How do we know that two pounds together will weigh twice as much as one? Do we know it to be exactly so? Like other results founded on induction we cannot prove it absolutely, but all the calculations of physical astronomy proceed upon the assumption, so that we may consider it proved to a very high degree of approximation. Had not this been true, the calculations of physical astronomy would have been infinitely more complex than they actually are, and the progress of knowledge would have been much slower.
One outcome of the theory of approximation is so significant in physical science and is applied so frequently that we can discuss it separately. Investigating causes and effects becomes much easier when we can treat each cause as consistently producing its own effect, regardless of whether other causes are at play. For example, if body P produces x and body Q produces y, the question arises: when P and Q act together, do they produce the combined effect, x + y? This is the premise under which we reviewed the methods for eliminating error (Chap. XV.), and even if this assumption is somewhat forced, smaller errors would still persist. There are likely areas in science where the assumption of independence of effects holds true without exception. The gravitational attraction between two bodies remains completely unaffected by the presence of other gravitational bodies. People often overlook that this essential principle is at play in something as straightforward as placing two-pound weights on a balance scale. How do we know that two pounds will weigh exactly twice as much as one? Can we say it's precisely so? Similar to other conclusions based on induction, we can't prove it absolutely, but all calculations in physical astronomy are based on this assumption, which allows us to consider it proven to a very high degree of approximation. If this weren't the case, the calculations of physical astronomy would be infinitely more complicated than they are, and the advancement of knowledge would have been significantly slower.
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It is a general principle of scientific method that if effects be of small amount, comparatively to our means of observation, all joint effects will be of a higher order of smallness, and may therefore be rejected in a first approximation. This principle was employed by Daniel Bernoulli in the theory of sound, under the title of The Principle of the Coexistence of Small Vibrations. He showed that if a string is affected by two kinds of vibrations, we may consider each to be going on as if the other did not exist. We cannot perceive that the sounding of one musical instrument prevents or even modifies the sound of another, so that all sounds would seem to travel through the air, and act upon the ear in independence of each other. A similar assumption is made in the theory of tides, which are great waves. One wave is produced by the attraction of the moon, and another by the attraction of the sun, and the question arises, whether when these waves coincide, as at the time of spring tides, the joint wave will be simply the sum of the separate waves. On the principle of Bernoulli this will be so, because the tides on the ocean are very small compared with the depth of the ocean.
It is a general principle of scientific method that if effects are small compared to our means of observation, all combined effects will be of a smaller degree and can therefore be ignored in a first approximation. This principle was used by Daniel Bernoulli in the theory of sound, under the title of The Principle of the Coexistence of Small Vibrations. He demonstrated that if a string is affected by two kinds of vibrations, we can treat each one as if the other didn't exist. We can't notice that the sound of one musical instrument interferes with or alters the sound of another, so all sounds seem to travel through the air and affect the ear independently of each other. A similar assumption is made in the theory of tides, which are large waves. One wave is caused by the moon's pull, and another by the sun's pull, raising the question of whether these waves, when they coincide, like during spring tides, will simply combine as the sum of the individual waves. According to Bernoulli's principle, this will be the case because the tides in the ocean are very small compared to the ocean's depth.
The principle of Bernoulli, however, is only approximately true. A wave never is exactly the same when another wave is interfering with it, but the less the displacement of particles due to each wave, the less in a still higher degree is the effect of one wave upon the other. In recent years Helmholtz was led to suspect that some of the phenomena of sound might after all be due to resultant effects overlooked by the assumption of previous physicists. He investigated the secondary waves which would arise from the interference of considerable disturbances, and was able to show that certain summation of resultant tones ought to be heard, and experiments subsequently devised for the purpose showed that they might be heard.
The principle of Bernoulli is only approximately accurate. A wave is never exactly the same when another wave interferes with it, but the less the movement of particles caused by each wave, the less significant the effect of one wave on the other becomes. Recently, Helmholtz began to suspect that some sound phenomena might actually be due to resultant effects that earlier physicists overlooked. He studied the secondary waves that would come from the interference of significant disturbances and demonstrated that certain combinations of resultant tones should be audible, which later experiments confirmed.

Throughout the mechanical sciences the Principle of the Superposition of Small Motions is of fundamental importance,390 and it may be thus explained. Suppose477 that two forces, acting from the points B and C, are simultaneously moving a body A. Let the force acting from B be such that in one second it would move A to p, and similarly let the second force, acting alone, move A to r. The question arises, then, whether their joint action will urge A to q along the diagonal of the parallelogram. May we say that A will move the distance Ap in the direction AB, and Ar in the direction AC, or, what is the same thing, along the parallel line pq? In strictness we cannot say so; for when A has moved towards p, the force from C will no longer act along the line AC, and similarly the motion of A towards r will modify the action of the force from B. This interference of one force with the line of action of the other will evidently be greater the larger is the extent of motion considered; on the other hand, as we reduce the parallelogram Apqr, compared with the distances AB and AC, the less will be the interference of the forces. Accordingly mathematicians avoid all error by considering the motions as infinitely small, so that the interference becomes of a still higher order of infinite smallness, and may be entirely neglected. By the resources of the differential calculus it is possible to calculate the motion of the particle A, as if it went through an infinite number of infinitely small diagonals of parallelograms. The great discoveries of Newton really arose from applying this method of calculation to the movements of the moon round the earth, which, while constantly tending to move onward in a straight line, is also deflected towards the earth by gravity, and moves through an elliptic curve, composed as it were of the infinitely small diagonals of infinitely numerous parallelograms. The mathematician, in his investigation of a curve, always treats it as made up of a great number of straight lines, and it may be doubted whether he could treat it in any other manner. There is no error in the final results, because having obtained the formulæ flowing from this supposition, each straight line is then regarded as becoming infinitely small,478 and the polygonal line becomes undistinguishable from a perfect curve.391
Throughout the mechanical sciences, the Principle of the Superposition of Small Motions is critically important,390 and can be explained as follows. Imagine that two forces, acting from points B and C, are simultaneously moving a body A. Let the force from B move A to p in one second, and let the second force, acting alone, move A to r. The question arises whether their combined action will push A to q along the diagonal of the parallelogram. Can we say that A will move the distance Ap in the direction of AB, and Ar in the direction of AC, or, to put it another way, along the parallel line pq? Strictly speaking, we can't say that; because once A has moved towards p, the force from C will no longer act along the line AC, and similarly, the motion of A towards r will change how the force from B acts. This overlap of forces in relation to each other's lines of action will clearly be greater when the extent of motion considered is larger; conversely, as we shrink the parallelogram Apqr in comparison to the distances AB and AC, the interference of the forces will be less. Accordingly, mathematicians avoid errors by treating the motions as infinitely small, so that the interference becomes of an even higher order of infinite smallness and can be completely ignored. With the tools of differential calculus, it becomes possible to calculate the motion of particle A as if it moved through an infinite number of infinitely small diagonals of parallelograms. Newton's major discoveries came from applying this calculation method to the moon's movements around the earth, which, while constantly trying to move in a straight line, is also pulled towards the earth by gravity, creating an elliptical path comprised of those infinitely small diagonals of countless parallelograms. In investigating a curve, a mathematician always treats it as made up of a large number of straight lines, and it might be questioned whether he could approach it in any other way. There’s no error in the final results because, after deriving the formulas based on this assumption, each straight line is then treated as becoming infinitely small,478 and the polygonal line becomes indistinguishable from a perfect curve.391
In abstract mathematical theorems the approximation to absolute truth is perfect, because we can treat of infinitesimals. In physical science, on the contrary, we treat of the least quantities which are perceptible. Nevertheless, while carefully distinguishing between these two different cases, we may fearlessly apply to both the principle of the superposition of small effects. In physical science we have only to take care that the effects really are so small that any joint effect will be unquestionably imperceptible. Suppose, for instance, that there is some cause which alters the dimensions of a body in the ratio of 1 to 1 + α, and another cause which produces an alteration in the ratio of 1 to 1 + β. If they both act at once the change will be in the ratio of 1 to (1 + α)(1 + β), or as 1 to 1 + α + β + αβ. But if α and β be both very small fractions of the total dimensions, αβ will be yet far smaller and may be disregarded; the ratio of change is then approximately that of 1 to 1 + α + β, or the joint effect is the sum of the separate effects. Thus if a body were subjected to three strains, at right angles to each other, the total change in the volume of the body would be approximately equal to the sum of the changes produced by the separate strains, provided that these are very small. In like manner not only is the expansion of every solid and liquid substance by heat approximately proportional to the change of temperature, when this change is very small in amount, but the cubic expansion may also be considered as being three times as great as the linear expansion. For if the increase of temperature expands a bar of metal in the ratio of 1 to 1 + α, and the expansion be equal in all directions, then a cube of the same metal would expand as 1 to (1 + α)3, or as 1 to 1 + 3α + 3α2 + α3. When α is a very small quantity the third term 3α2 will be imperceptible, and still more so the fourth term α3. The coefficients of expansion of solids are in fact so small, and so imperfectly determined, that physicists seldom take into account their second and higher powers.
In abstract mathematics, the approximation of absolute truth is perfect because we can work with infinitesimals. In contrast, physical science deals with the smallest quantities that are noticeable. However, while clearly distinguishing between these two cases, we can confidently apply the principle of superposition of small effects to both. In physical science, we just need to ensure that the effects are indeed so small that any combined effect is definitely unnoticeable. For example, if there's a cause that alters the dimensions of an object in the ratio of 1 to 1 + α, and another cause that changes it in the ratio of 1 to 1 + β, when both act simultaneously, the change will be in the ratio of 1 to (1 + α)(1 + β), or as 1 to 1 + α + β + αβ. But if α and β are both very small fractions of the total dimensions, αβ will be even smaller and can be ignored; thus, the ratio of change is approximately 1 to 1 + α + β, meaning the combined effect is the sum of the individual effects. Therefore, if a body is subjected to three strains that are at right angles to each other, the total change in the volume of the body will be roughly equal to the sum of the changes caused by each separate strain, as long as these are very small. Similarly, the expansion of any solid or liquid due to heat is approximately proportional to the change in temperature when the change is very small. Moreover, cubic expansion can also be considered to be three times greater than linear expansion. For instance, if the increase in temperature causes a metal bar to expand in the ratio of 1 to 1 + α, and the expansion occurs equally in all directions, then a cube of the same metal would expand in the ratio of 1 to (1 + α)3, or as 1 to 1 + 3α + 3α2 + α3. When α is very small, the third term 3α2 will be unnoticeable, and even more so the fourth term α3. The coefficients of expansion of solids are actually quite small and not very precisely determined, which is why physicists rarely take their second and higher powers into account.
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It is a result of these principles that all small errors may be assumed to vary in simple proportion to their causes—a new reason why, in eliminating errors, we should first of all make them as small as possible. Let us suppose that there is a right-angled triangle of which the two sides containing the right angle are really of the lengths 3 and 4, so that the hypothenuse is √32 + 42 or 5. Now, if in two measurements of the first side we commit slight errors, making it successively 4·001 and 4·002, then calculation will give the lengths of the hypothenuse as almost exactly 5·0008 and 5·0016, so that the error in the hypothenuse will seem to vary in simple proportion to that of the side, although it does not really do so with perfect exactness. The logarithm of a number does not vary in proportion to that number—nevertheless we find the difference between the logarithms of the numbers 100000 and 100001 to be almost exactly equal to that between the numbers 100001 and 100002. It is thus a general rule that very small differences between successive values of a function are approximately proportional to the small differences of the variable quantity.
As a result of these principles, we can assume that all small errors vary in simple proportion to their causes—this is another reason why, when eliminating errors, we should first make them as small as possible. Let's say there's a right-angled triangle where the two sides that meet at the right angle measure 3 and 4, so the hypotenuse is √3² + 4², which equals 5. Now, if we make slight errors in measuring the first side, recording it as 4.001 and 4.002, the calculations for the hypotenuse will give us lengths of almost exactly 5.0008 and 5.0016, indicating that the error in the hypotenuse seems to vary in simple proportion to the error in the side, even though it isn’t perfectly exact. The logarithm of a number doesn’t vary in proportion to that number—yet we find that the difference between the logarithms of 100000 and 100001 is almost exactly equal to the difference between 100001 and 100002. Therefore, it’s a general rule that very small differences between successive values of a function are approximately proportional to the small differences in the variable quantity.
On these principles it is easy to draw up a series of rules such as those given by Kohlrausch392 for performing calculations in an abbreviated form when the variable quantity is very small compared with unity. Thus for 1 ÷ (1 + α) we may substitute 1 – α; for 1 ÷ (1 – α) we may put 1 + α; 1 ÷ √1 + α becomes 1 – 12α, and so forth.
Based on these principles, it's straightforward to create a series of rules like those provided by Kohlrausch392 for carrying out calculations in a simplified way when the variable quantity is very small compared to one. For example, we can replace 1 ÷ (1 + α) with 1 – α; for 1 ÷ (1 – α), we can use 1 + α; and 1 ÷ √1 + α becomes 1 – 12α, and so on.
Four Meanings of Equality.
Although it might seem that there are few terms more free from ambiguity than the term equal, yet scientific men do employ it with at least four meanings, which it is desirable to distinguish. These meanings I may describe as
Although it may seem like there are few terms less ambiguous than the word equal, scientists actually use it with at least four different meanings, which is important to distinguish. I can describe these meanings as
(2) Sub-equality.
(3) Apparent Equality.
(4) Probable Equality.
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By absolute equality we signify that which is complete and perfect to the last degree; but it is obvious that we can only know such equality in a theoretical or hypothetical manner. The areas of two triangles standing upon the same base and between the same parallels are absolutely equal. Hippocrates beautifully proved that the area of a lunula or figure contained between two segments of circles was absolutely equal to that of a certain right-angled triangle. As a general rule all geometrical and other elementary mathematical theorems involve absolute equality.
By absolute equality, we mean something that is complete and perfect to the fullest extent; however, it’s clear that we can only understand such equality in a theoretical or hypothetical way. The areas of two triangles that share the same base and are between the same parallels are absolutely equal. Hippocrates elegantly demonstrated that the area of a lunula or the figure found between two segments of circles is absolutely equal to that of a specific right-angled triangle. Generally, all geometric and other basic mathematical theorems involve absolute equality.
De Morgan proposed to describe as sub-equal those quantities which are equal within an infinitely small quantity, so that x is sub-equal to x + dx. The differential calculus may be said to arise out of the neglect of infinitely small quantities, and in mathematical science other subtle distinctions may have to be drawn between kinds of equality, as De Morgan has shown in a remarkable memoir “On Infinity; and on the sign of Equality.”393
De Morgan suggested labeling as sub-equal those quantities that are equal within an infinitesimally small amount, meaning x is sub-equal to x + dx. Differential calculus can be viewed as emerging from the disregard for infinitely small quantities, and in mathematical science, other nuanced distinctions might also need to be made regarding types of equality, as De Morgan demonstrated in an impressive paper titled “On Infinity; and on the sign of Equality.”393
Apparent equality is that with which physical science deals. Those magnitudes are apparently equal which differ only by an imperceptible quantity. To the carpenter anything less than the hundredth part of an inch is non-existent; there are few arts or artists to which the hundred-thousandth of an inch is of any account. Since all coincidence between physical magnitudes is judged by one or other sense, we must be restricted to a knowledge of apparent equality.
Apparent equality is what physical science focuses on. Two measurements are considered apparently equal if they only differ by an unnoticeable amount. For a carpenter, anything smaller than a hundredth of an inch doesn’t really count; very few crafts or artists take a hundred-thousandth of an inch seriously. Since all comparisons of physical measurements are based on one sense or another, we are limited to understanding apparent equality.
In reality even apparent equality is rarely to be expected. More commonly experiments will give only probable equality, that is results will come so near to each other that the difference may be ascribed to unimportant disturbing causes. Physicists often assume quantities to be equal provided that they fall within the limits of probable error of the processes employed. We cannot expect observations to agree with theory more closely than they agree with each other, as Newton remarked of his investigations concerning Halley’s Comet.
In reality, even what looks like equality is unlikely to happen. More often, experiments will show only probable equality, meaning the results will be so similar that any differences can be attributed to minor disturbances. Physicists often treat quantities as equal if they fall within the range of probable error for the methods used. We can’t expect observations to match theory more closely than they match each other, as Newton pointed out in his studies of Halley’s Comet.
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Arithmetic of Approximate Quantities.
Considering that almost all the quantities which we treat in physical and social science are approximate only, it seems desirable that attention should be paid in the teaching of arithmetic to the correct interpretation and treatment of approximate numerical statements. We seem to need notation for expressing the approximateness or exactness of decimal numbers. The fraction ·025 may mean either precisely one 40th part, or it may mean anything between ·0245 and ·0255. I propose that when a decimal fraction is completely and exactly given, a small cipher or circle should be added to indicate that there is nothing more to come, as in ·025◦. When the first figure of the decimals rejected is 5 or more, the first figure retained should be raised by a unit, according to a rule approved by De Morgan, and now generally recognised. To indicate that the fraction thus retained is more than the truth, a point has been placed over the last figure in some tables of logarithms; but a similar point is used to denote the period of a repeating decimal, and I should therefore propose to employ a colon after the figure; thus ·025: would mean that the true quantity lies between ·0245° and ·025° inclusive of the lower but not the higher limit. When the fraction is less than the truth, two dots might be placed horizontally as in 025.. which would mean anything between ·025° and ·0255° not inclusive.
Since almost all the quantities we deal with in physical and social sciences are only approximate, it seems important that we focus on teaching arithmetic that correctly interprets and handles approximate numerical statements. We need a notation to express whether decimal numbers are approximate or exact. The fraction ·025 could mean either exactly one 40th or anything between ·0245 and ·0255. I suggest that when a decimal fraction is fully and precisely given, a small cipher or circle should be added to show that there’s nothing more to come, like in ·025◦. When the first digit of the discarded decimals is 5 or more, the first digit retained should be increased by one, based on a rule approved by De Morgan and now widely accepted. To show that the retained fraction is more than the actual value, a point has been placed over the last figure in some logarithm tables; however, the same point is also used to indicate the repeating part of a decimal. Therefore, I suggest using a colon after the figure; for example, ·025: would mean that the true quantity is between ·0245° and ·025° inclusive of the lower limit but not the upper one. When the fraction is less than the truth, two dots could be placed horizontally, like in 025.., which would indicate anything between ·025° and ·0255° not inclusive.
When approximate numbers are added, subtracted, multiplied, or divided, it becomes a matter of some complexity to determine the degree of accuracy of the result. There are few persons who could assert off-hand that the sum of the approximate numbers 34·70, 52·693, 80·1, is 167·5 within less than ·07. Mr. Sandeman has traced out the rules of approximate arithmetic in a very thorough manner, and his directions are worthy of careful attention.394 The third part of Sonnenschein and Nesbitt’s excellent book on arithmetic395 describes fully all kinds of approximate calculations, and shows both how to avoid needless labour482 and how to take proper account of inaccuracy in operating with approximate decimal fractions. A simple investigation of the subject is to be found in Sonnet’s Algèbre Elémentaire (Paris, 1848) chap. xiv., “Des Approximations Absolues et Relatives.” There is also an American work on the subject.396
When you add, subtract, multiply, or divide approximate numbers, figuring out how accurate the result is can get a bit complex. There are few people who could confidently say that the total of the approximate numbers 34.70, 52.693, and 80.1 is 167.5 within less than 0.07. Mr. Sandeman has outlined the rules of approximate arithmetic in great detail, and his instructions merit careful consideration.394 The third part of Sonnenschein and Nesbitt’s excellent book on arithmetic395 fully describes various types of approximate calculations, showing how to avoid unnecessary work482 and how to properly account for inaccuracy when dealing with approximate decimal fractions. A straightforward examination of the topic can be found in Sonnet’s Algèbre Élémentaire (Paris, 1848) chap. xiv., “Des Approximations Absolues et Relatives.” There is also an American work on the topic.396
Although the accuracy of measurement has so much advanced since the time of Leslie, it is not superfluous to repeat his protest against the unfairness of affecting by a display of decimal fractions a greater degree of accuracy than the nature of the case requires and admits.397 I have known a scientific man to register the barometer to a second of time when the nearest quarter of an hour would have been amply sufficient. Chemists often publish results of analysis to the ten-thousandth or even the millionth part of the whole, when in all probability the processes employed cannot be depended on beyond the hundredth part. It is seldom desirable to give more than one place of figures of uncertain amount; but it must be allowed that a nice perception of the degree of accuracy possible and desirable is requisite to save misapprehension and needless computation on the one hand, and to secure all attainable exactness on the other hand.
Although measurement accuracy has improved significantly since Leslie's time, it's still necessary to reiterate his point about the unfairness of implying a higher level of precision through the use of decimal fractions than what the situation actually requires and supports.397 I've seen a scientist record the barometer to the second when a simple quarter of an hour would have been more than enough. Chemists often report analysis results to the ten-thousandth or even millionth part of the whole, while the methods used likely can't be trusted beyond the hundredth part. It's rarely helpful to provide more than one digit of uncertain value; however, it's important to have a clear understanding of the level of accuracy that is both possible and necessary to avoid misunderstandings and unnecessary calculations while ensuring maximum precision.
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CHAPTER XXII.
Data-Driven Induction.
We have not yet formally considered any processes of reasoning which have for their object to disclose laws of nature expressed in quantitative equations. We have been inquiring into the modes by which a phenomenon may be measured, and, if it be a composite phenomenon, may be resolved, by the aid of several measurements, into its component parts. We have also considered the precautions to be taken in the performance of observations and experiments in order that we may know what phenomena we really do measure, but we must remember that, no number of facts and observations can by themselves constitute science. Numerical facts, like other facts, are but the raw materials of knowledge, upon which our reasoning faculties must be exerted in order to draw forth the principles of nature. It is by an inverse process of reasoning that we can alone discover the mathematical laws to which varying quantities conform. By well-conducted experiments we gain a series of values of a variable, and a corresponding series of values of a variant, and we now want to know what mathematical function the variant is as regards the variable. In the usual progress of a science three questions will have to be answered as regards every important quantitative phenomenon:—
We haven't formally analyzed any reasoning processes aimed at uncovering the laws of nature represented by quantitative equations yet. We’ve been looking into how to measure a phenomenon and, if it’s a composite one, how to break it down into its parts using multiple measurements. We’ve also discussed the precautions necessary for conducting observations and experiments to ensure we know what phenomena we're actually measuring. However, we must keep in mind that no amount of facts and observations can on their own make up science. Numerical facts, like other types of facts, are just the raw materials of knowledge, and we need to use our reasoning skills to extract the underlying principles of nature. We can only discover the mathematical laws that different quantities follow through an inverse reasoning process. Through well-conducted experiments, we collect a series of values for a variable and a corresponding series for a variant, and now we want to determine what mathematical function relates the variant to the variable. Typically, in the advancement of a science, three questions need to be answered regarding every significant quantitative phenomenon:—
(1) Is there any constant relation between a variable and a variant?
(1) Is there any consistent relationship between a variable and a variant?
(2) What is the empirical formula expressing this relation?
(2) What is the empirical formula that shows this relationship?
(3) What is the rational formula expressing the law of nature involved?
(3) What is the logical formula that describes the natural law in question?
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Probable Connection of Varying Quantities.
We find it stated by Mill,398 that “Whatever phenomenon varies in any manner whenever another phenomenon varies in some particular manner, is either a cause or an effect of that phenomenon, or is connected with it through some fact of causation.” This assertion may be considered true when it is interpreted with sufficient caution; but it might otherwise lead us into error. There is nothing whatever in the nature of things to prevent the existence of two variations which should apparently follow the same law, and yet have no connection with each other. One binary star might be going through a revolution which, so far as we could tell, was of equal period with that of another binary star, and according to the above rule the motion of one would be the cause of the motion of the other, which would not be really the case. Two astronomical clocks might conceivably be made so nearly perfect that, for several years, no difference could be detected, and we might then infer that the motion of one clock was the cause or effect of the motion of the other. This matter requires careful discrimination. We must bear in mind that the continuous quantities of space, time, force, &c., which we measure, are made up of an infinite number of infinitely small units. We may then meet with two variable phenomena which follow laws so nearly the same, that in no part of the variations open to our observation can any discrepancy be discovered. I grant that if two clocks could be shown to have kept exactly the same time during any finite interval, the probability would become infinitely high that there was a connection between their motions. But we can never absolutely prove such coincidences to exist. Allow that we may observe a difference of one-tenth of a second in their time, yet it is possible that they were independently regulated so as to go together within less than that quantity of time. In short, it would require either an infinitely long time of observation, or infinitely acute powers of measuring discrepancy, to decide positively whether two clocks were or were not in relation with each other.
We find it stated by Mill,398 that “Whatever phenomenon changes in any way whenever another phenomenon changes in some specific way, is either a cause or an effect of that phenomenon, or is related to it through some fact of causation.” This statement can be considered true when interpreted with enough caution; but it might lead us to make mistakes otherwise. There’s nothing in the nature of things to stop two variations from appearing to follow the same law while having no real connection to each other. One binary star could be revolving in a way that seems to have the same period as another binary star, and based on the above rule, we would think the motion of one causes the motion of the other, which wouldn’t actually be the case. Two astronomical clocks could potentially be so perfectly made that for several years, no difference could be seen, leading us to conclude that the motion of one clock was the cause or effect of the motion of the other. This situation needs careful distinction. We must remember that the continuous quantities of space, time, force, etc., that we measure consist of an infinite number of infinitely small units. We might then encounter two variable phenomena that follow laws so closely that we can find no discrepancies in any part of the variations we observe. I admit that if two clocks could be shown to have kept exactly the same time during any finite period, the likelihood would be extremely high that there was a connection between their motions. But we can never absolutely prove that such coincidences exist. Even if we observe a difference of one-tenth of a second in their time, it’s possible they could have been independently adjusted to run together within even less time than that. In short, it would take either an infinitely long time of observation or infinitely precise measuring abilities to definitively determine whether two clocks are or aren’t related to each other.
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A similar question actually occurs in the case of the moon’s motion. We have no record that any other portion of the moon was ever visible to men than such as we now see. This fact sufficiently proves that within the historical period the rotation of the moon on its own axis has coincided with its revolutions round the earth. Does this coincidence prove a relation of cause and effect to exist? The answer must be in the negative, because there might have been so slight a discrepancy between the motions that there has not yet been time to produce any appreciable effect. There may nevertheless be a high probability of connection.
A similar question comes up regarding the moon’s motion. We have no record of any part of the moon being visible to people other than what we see now. This fact suggests that throughout recorded history, the moon's rotation on its axis has aligned with its orbit around the Earth. Does this alignment imply a cause-and-effect relationship? The answer must be no, because there could have been such a small difference between the motions that there hasn’t been enough time to create any noticeable effect. However, there might still be a strong likelihood of a connection.
The whole question of the relation of quantities thus resolves itself into one of probability. When we can only rudely measure a quantitative result, we can assign but slight importance to any correspondence. Because the brightness of two stars seems to vary in the same manner, there is no considerable probability that they have any relation with each other. Could it be shown that their periods of variation were the same to infinitely small quantities it would be certain, that is infinitely probable, that they were connected, however unlikely this might be on other grounds. The general mode of estimating such probabilities is identical with that applied to other inductive problems. That any two periods of variation should by chance become absolutely equal is infinitely improbable; hence if, in the case of the moon or other moving bodies, we could prove absolute coincidence we should have certainty of connection.399 With approximate measurements, which alone are within our power, we must hope for approximate certainty at the most.
The whole question of the relationship between quantities comes down to probability. When we can only roughly measure a quantitative result, we can only give minimal importance to any correlation. Just because the brightness of two stars appears to change in a similar way, it doesn't mean there’s a significant chance they are related. If we could show that their periods of variation were the same to infinitely small amounts, it would be certain—that is, infinitely probable—that they are connected, even if this seems unlikely for other reasons. The general approach to estimating such probabilities is the same as what we use for other inductive problems. The chance that any two periods of variation would happen to be absolutely equal is incredibly unlikely; therefore, if we could demonstrate absolute coincidence in the case of the moon or other moving bodies, we would have certainty of a connection.399 With approximate measurements, which are all we can manage, we must settle for approximate certainty at best.
The principles of inference and probability, according to which we treat causes and effects varying in amount, are exactly the same as those by which we treated simple experiments. Continuous quantity, however, affords us an infinitely more extensive sphere of observation, because every different amount of cause, however little different, ought to be followed by a different amount of effect. If we can measure temperature to the one-hundredth part of a degree centigrade, then between 0° and 100° we have486 10,000 possible trials. If the precision of our measurements is increased, so that the one-thousandth part of a degree can be appreciated, our trials may be increased tenfold. The probability of connection will be proportional to the accuracy of our measurements.
The principles of inference and probability, which we use to analyze causes and effects that vary in degree, are the same as those we applied to simple experiments. Continuous quantities, however, provide us with a much broader scope for observation, since any change in the amount of cause, no matter how slight, should lead to a different amount of effect. If we can measure temperature to the hundredth of a degree Celsius, then between 0° and 100° we have486 10,000 possible trials. If we improve our measurements to be accurate to the thousandth of a degree, our trials could increase tenfold. The likelihood of a connection will be proportional to the precision of our measurements.
When we can vary the quantity of a cause at will it is easy to discover whether a certain effect is due to that cause or not. We can then make as many irregular changes as we like, and it is quite incredible that the supposed effect should by chance go through exactly the corresponding series of changes except by dependence. If we have a bell ringing in vacuo, the sound increases as we let in the air, and it decreases again as we exhaust the air. Tyndall’s singing flames evidently obeyed the directions of his own voice; and Faraday when he discovered the relation of magnetism and light found that, by making or breaking or reversing the current of the electro-magnet, he had complete command over a ray of light, proving beyond all reasonable doubt the dependence of cause and effect. In such cases it is the perfect coincidence in time between the change in the effect and that in the cause which raises a high improbability of casual coincidence.
When we can easily change the amount of a cause, it's straightforward to find out if a specific effect is really because of that cause. We can make as many random changes as we want, and it's quite unlikely that the supposed effect would coincidentally follow the exact series of changes without being dependent on the cause. If we have a bell ringing in vacuo, the sound gets louder as we let air in, and it gets quieter again as we take air out. Tyndall’s singing flames clearly followed the instructions of his own voice; and when Faraday discovered the link between magnetism and light, he found that by making, breaking, or reversing the current in the electromagnet, he could totally control a beam of light, proving beyond a reasonable doubt the reliance of cause and effect. In these situations, it’s the perfect timing between the change in the effect and the change in the cause that makes random coincidence highly improbable.
It is by a simple case of variation that we infer the existence of a material connection between two bodies moving with exactly equal velocity, such as the locomotive engine and the train which follows it. Elaborate observations were requisite before astronomers could all be convinced that the red hydrogen flames seen during solar eclipses belonged to the sun, and not to the moon’s atmosphere as Flamsteed assumed. As early as 1706, Stannyan noticed a blood-red streak in an eclipse which he witnessed at Berne, and he asserted that it belonged to the sun; but his opinion was not finally established until photographs of the eclipse in 1860, taken by Mr. De la Rue, showed that the moon’s dark body gradually covered the red prominences on one side, and uncovered those on the other; in short, that these prominences moved precisely as the sun moved, and not as the moon moved.
It’s through a simple case of variation that we deduce the existence of a physical connection between two objects moving at exactly the same speed, like a locomotive and the train it’s pulling. Extensive observations were needed before astronomers were all persuaded that the red hydrogen flames seen during solar eclipses were from the sun and not from the moon’s atmosphere, as Flamsteed had thought. As early as 1706, Stannyan noticed a blood-red streak during an eclipse he observed in Berne and claimed it was from the sun; however, his view wasn’t fully accepted until 1860, when photographs of the eclipse taken by Mr. De la Rue showed how the moon’s dark body slowly covered the red prominences on one side and revealed those on the other. In short, these prominences moved exactly as the sun did, rather than as the moon did.
Even when we have no means of accurately measuring the variable quantities we may yet be convinced of their connection, if one always varies perceptibly at the same time as the other. Fatigue increases with exertion;487 hunger with abstinence from food; desire and degree of utility decrease with the quantity of commodity consumed. We know that the sun’s heating power depends upon his height of the sky; that the temperature of the air falls in ascending a mountain; that the earth’s crust is found to be perceptibly warmer as we sink mines into it; we infer the direction in which a sound comes from the change of loudness as we approach or recede. The facility with which we can time after time observe the increase or decrease of one quantity with another sufficiently shows the connection, although we may be unable to assign any precise law of relation. The probability in such cases depends upon frequent coincidence in time.
Even when we can't accurately measure the changing amounts, we can still be convinced they're related if one always noticeably changes at the same time as the other. Fatigue increases with exertion; hunger grows with lack of food; desire and usefulness decrease as we consume more of a product. We know that the sun's heat relies on its position in the sky; that air temperature drops as we climb a mountain; that the earth's crust gets noticeably warmer as we dig deeper into it; we can tell where a sound is coming from based on how loud it gets as we get closer or move away. The ease with which we repeatedly observe one quantity increasing or decreasing along with another shows a connection, even if we can't pinpoint an exact law of relation. The likelihood in these situations depends on frequent timing coincidences.487
Empirical Mathematical Laws.
It is important to acquire a clear comprehension of the part which is played in scientific investigation by empirical formulæ and laws. If we have a table containing certain values of a variable and the corresponding values of the variant, there are mathematical processes by which we can infallibly discover a mathematical formula yielding numbers in more or less exact agreement with the table. We may generally assume that the quantities will approximately conform to a law of the form
It is important to have a clear understanding of the role that empirical formulas and laws play in scientific research. If we have a table with specific values of a variable and their corresponding values of a variant, there are mathematical methods that allow us to accurately find a mathematical formula that produces numbers that closely match the table. We can generally assume that the quantities will roughly follow a law of the form
in which x is the variable and y the variant. We can then select from the table three values of y, and the corresponding values of x; inserting them in the equation, we obtain three equations by the solution of which we gain the values of A, B, and C. It will be found as a general rule that the formula thus obtained yields the other numbers of the table to a considerable degree of approximation.
in which x is the variable and y is the variant. We can then choose three values of y from the table, along with their corresponding values of x; by plugging them into the equation, we get three equations that will help us find the values of A, B, and C. Generally, it's observed that the resulting formula closely approximates the other numbers in the table.
In many cases even the second power of the variable will be unnecessary; Regnault found that the results of his elaborate inquiry into the latent heat of steam at different pressures were represented with sufficient accuracy by the empirical formula
In many cases, even the square of the variable won't be needed; Regnault discovered that the outcomes of his detailed study on the latent heat of steam at various pressures were accurately represented by the empirical formula.
in which λ is the total heat of the steam, and t the temperature.488400 In other cases it may be requisite to include the third power of the variable. Thus physicists assume the law of the dilatation of liquids to be of the form
in which λ is the total heat of the steam, and t the temperature.488400 In other cases, it may be necessary to include the cube of the variable. Thus, physicists assume the law of the expansion of liquids to be of the form
and they calculate from results of observation the values of the three constants a, b, c, which are usually small quantities not exceeding one-hundredth part of a unit, but requiring to be determined with great accuracy.401 Theoretically speaking, this process of empirical representation might be applied with any degree of accuracy; we might include still higher powers in the formula, and with sufficient labour obtain the values of the constants, by using an equal number of experimental results. The method of least squares may also be employed to obtain the most probable values of the constants.
and they determine the values of the three constants a, b, c from their observations, which are generally small amounts not exceeding one-hundredth of a unit, but need to be calculated very precisely.401 Theoretically, this process of empirical representation could be used with any level of accuracy; we could include even higher powers in the formula and, with enough effort, find the values of the constants by using an equal amount of experimental results. The method of least squares can also be used to derive the most likely values of the constants.
In a similar manner all periodic variations may be represented with any required degree of accuracy by formulæ involving the sines and cosines of angles and their multiples. The form of any tidal or other wave may thus be expressed, as Sir G. B. Airy has explained.402 Almost all the phenomena registered by meteorologists are periodic in character, and when freed from disturbing causes may be embodied in empirical formulæ. Bessel has given a rule by which from any regular series of observations we may, on the principle of the method of least squares, calculate out with a moderate amount of labour a formula expressing the variation of the quantity observed, in the most probable manner. In meteorology three or four terms are usually sufficient for representing any periodic phenomenon, but the calculation might be carried to any higher degree of accuracy. As the details of the process have been described by Herschel in his treatise on Meteorology,403 I need not further enter into them.
In a similar way, all periodic variations can be accurately represented using formulas that involve the sines and cosines of angles and their multiples. The shape of any tidal or other wave can be expressed this way, as Sir G. B. Airy has explained. Almost all the phenomena noted by meteorologists are periodic in nature, and when isolate from disturbing factors, they can be captured in empirical formulas. Bessel provided a method that allows us to calculate a formula expressing the variation of the observed quantity from any regular series of observations, using the method of least squares with a reasonable amount of effort. In meteorology, three or four terms are usually enough to represent any periodic phenomenon, but the calculations could be extended for greater accuracy. Since Herschel has detailed the process in his treatise on Meteorology, I won’t go into further detail.
The reader might be tempted to think that in these processes of calculation we have an infallible method of discovering inductive laws, and that my previous statements (Chap. VII.) as to the purely tentative and inverse character of the inductive process are negatived. Were489 there indeed any general method of inferring laws from facts it would overturn my statement, but it must be carefully observed that these empirical formulæ do not coincide with natural laws. They are only approximations to the results of natural laws founded upon the general principles of approximation. It has already been pointed out that however complicated be the nature of a curve, we may examine so small a portion of it, or we may examine it with such rude means of measurement, that its divergence from an elliptic curve will not be apparent. As a still ruder approximation a portion of a straight line will always serve our purpose; but if we need higher precision a curve of the third or fourth degree will almost certainly be sufficient. Now empirical formulæ really represent these approximate curves, but they give us no information as to the precise nature of the curve itself to which we are approximating. We do not learn what function the variant is of the variable, but we obtain another function which, within the bounds of observation, gives nearly the same values.
The reader might be tempted to believe that in these calculation processes we have a foolproof method for discovering inductive laws, and that my earlier statements (Chap. VII.) about the purely experimental and reverse nature of the inductive process are contradicted. If there were indeed a general way to deduce laws from facts, it would challenge my statement, but it's important to note that these empirical formulas do not align with natural laws. They are merely approximations of the results of natural laws based on general principles of approximation. It has already been pointed out that no matter how complex a curve may be, we can examine such a small part of it, or use such basic means of measurement, that its deviation from an elliptic curve won’t be noticeable. As a rougher approximation, a portion of a straight line will always meet our needs; however, if we require greater accuracy, a curve of the third or fourth degree will almost certainly suffice. Now, empirical formulas actually represent these approximate curves, but they don’t tell us the exact nature of the curve we’re approximating. We don’t find out what function the variant is of the variable, but we get another function that, within the limits of observation, provides nearly the same values.
Discovery of Rational Formulæ.
Let us now proceed to consider the modes in which from numerical results we can establish the actual relation between the quantity of the cause and that of the effect. What we want is a rational formula or function, which will exhibit the reason or exact nature and origin of the law in question. There is no word more frequently used by mathematicians than the word function, and yet it is difficult to define its meaning with perfect accuracy. Originally it meant performance or execution, being equivalent to the Greek λειτουργία or τέλεσμα. Mathematicians at first used it to mean any power of a quantity, but afterwards generalised it so as to include “any quantity formed in any manner whatsoever from another quantity.”404 Any quantity, then, which depends upon and varies with another quantity may be called a function of it, and either may be considered a function of the other.
Let’s now look at how we can determine the actual relationship between the cause and the effect based on numerical results. What we need is a rational formula or function that will show the reason or exact nature and origin of the law in question. There’s no term used more often by mathematicians than the word function, yet defining it perfectly is tricky. Originally, it meant performance or execution, similar to the Greek λειτουργία or τέλεσμα. Mathematicians first used it to refer to any power of a quantity, but later broadened it to include “any quantity formed in any way from another quantity.”404 Any quantity that depends on and changes with another quantity can be called a function of that quantity, and either one can be regarded as a function of the other.
Given the quantities, we want the function of which490 they are the values. Simple inspection of the numbers cannot as a general rule disclose the function. In an earlier chapter (p. 124) I put before the reader certain numbers, and requested him to point out the law which they obey, and the same question will have to be asked in every case of quantitative induction. There are perhaps three methods, more or less distinct, by which we may hope to obtain an answer:
Given the quantities, we want the function that they represent.490 Simply looking at the numbers usually won't reveal the function. In an earlier chapter (p. 124), I presented certain numbers and asked you to identify the rule they follow, and we will need to ask the same question in every case of quantitative reasoning. There are perhaps three methods, more or less distinct, that we can use to try to find an answer:
(1) By purely haphazard trial.
By random chance.
(2) By noting the general character of the variation of the quantities, and trying by preference functions which give a similar form of variation.
(2) By observing the overall nature of the variation in the quantities and using preference functions that produce a similar pattern of variation.
(3) By deducing from previous knowledge the form of the function which is most likely to suit.
(3) By using previous knowledge to figure out the form of the function that is most likely to fit.
Having numerical results we are always at liberty to invent any kind of mathematical formula we like, and then try whether, by the suitable selection of values for the unknown constant quantities, we can make it give the required results. If ever we fall upon a formula which does so, to a fair degree of approximation, there is a presumption in favour of its being the true function, although there is no certainty whatever in the matter. In this way I discovered a simple mathematical law which closely agreed with the results of my experiments on muscular exertion. This law was afterwards shown by Professor Haughton to be the true rational law according to his theory of muscular action.405
With numerical results, we can always come up with any kind of mathematical formula we want and then see if, by choosing the right values for the unknown constant quantities, we can make it produce the desired results. If we happen to find a formula that does this reasonably well, it suggests that it might be the actual function, even though there's no guarantee about it. In this way, I found a simple mathematical law that closely matched the results of my experiments on muscle exertion. Later, Professor Haughton demonstrated that this law was indeed the correct rational law according to his theory of muscle action.405
But the chance of succeeding in this manner is small. The number of possible functions is infinite, and even the number of comparatively simple functions is so large that the probability of falling upon the correct one by mere chance is very slight. Even when we obtain the law it is by a deductive process, not by showing that the numbers give the law, but that the law gives the numbers.
But the chance of succeeding this way is low. The number of possible functions is infinite, and even the number of relatively simple functions is so large that the likelihood of randomly finding the right one is very small. Even when we arrive at the law, it's through a deductive process, not by demonstrating that the numbers reveal the law, but that the law explains the numbers.
In the second way, we may, by a survey of the numbers, gain a general notion of the kind of law they are likely to obey, and we may be much assisted in this491 process by drawing them out in the form of a curve. We can in this way ascertain with some probability whether the curve is likely to return into itself, or whether it has infinite branches; whether such branches are asymptotic, that is, approach infinitely towards straight lines; whether it is logarithmic in character, or trigonometric. This indeed we can only do if we remember the results of previous investigations. The process is still inversely deductive, and consists in noting what laws give particular curves, and then inferring inversely that such curves belong to such laws. If we can in this way discover the class of functions to which the required law belongs, our chances of success are much increased, because our haphazard trials are now reduced within a narrower sphere. But, unless we have almost the whole curve before us, the identification of its character must be a matter of great uncertainty; and if, as in most physical investigations, we have a mere fragment of the curve, the assistance given would be quite illusory. Curves of almost any character can be made to approximate to each other for a limited extent, so that it is only by a kind of divination that we fall upon the actual function, unless we have theoretical knowledge of the kind of function applicable to the case.
In the second method, we can get a general idea of the type of law the numbers are likely to follow by examining them, and we can significantly aid this process by plotting them as a curve. This way, we can reasonably determine whether the curve is likely to loop back on itself or if it has infinite branches; whether those branches are asymptotic, meaning they approach straight lines infinitely; or if the curve is logarithmic or trigonometric in nature. We can only make these determinations if we keep in mind the outcomes of previous studies. The process remains inversely deductive, involving noting what laws produce specific curves, and then inferring that those curves correspond to those laws. If we can identify the class of functions that the desired law belongs to, our chances of success increase significantly, as our random attempts are now confined to a smaller area. However, unless we have nearly the entire curve in front of us, accurately identifying its nature will be very uncertain; and if, as is often the case in physical research, we only have a fragment of the curve, any assistance we get would be rather misleading. Curves of almost any kind can seem similar over a limited range, so finding the actual function often requires a sort of divination, unless we have theoretical knowledge of the type of function that applies to the situation.
When we have once obtained what we believe to be the correct form of function, the remainder of the work is mere mathematical computation to be performed infallibly according to fixed rules,406 which include those employed in the determination of empirical formulæ (p. 487). The function will involve two or three or more unknown constants, the values of which we need to determine by our experimental results. Selecting some of our results widely apart and nearly equidistant, we form by means of them as many equations as there are constant quantities to be determined. The solution of these equations will then give us the constants required, and having now the actual function we can try whether it gives with sufficient accuracy the remainder of our experimental results. If not, we must either make a new selection of results to give a new set of equations, and thus obtain a new set of values for the constants, or we must acknowledge that our492 form of function has been wrongly chosen. If it appears that the form of function has been correctly ascertained, we may regard the constants as only approximately accurate and may proceed by the Method of Least Squares (p. 393) to determine the most probable values as given by the whole of the experimental results.
Once we have obtained what we believe to be the correct function form, the rest of the work is just mathematical computation performed accurately according to fixed rules,406 which also include those used to determine empirical formulas (p. 487). The function will involve two, three, or more unknown constants, the values of which we need to find based on our experimental results. By selecting some of our results that are spread out and nearly equidistant, we can create as many equations as there are constant values to determine. Solving these equations will provide us with the necessary constants, and now that we have the actual function, we can check if it accurately predicts the rest of our experimental results. If it doesn’t, we either have to choose a new set of results to create a new set of equations and get a new set of constant values, or we must admit that our form of the function was incorrectly chosen. If it turns out that the function form has been correctly identified, we can consider the constants to be only approximately accurate and proceed using the Method of Least Squares (p. 393) to find the most probable values based on all of the experimental results.
In most cases we shall find ourselves obliged to fall back upon the third mode, that is, anticipation of the form of the law to be expected on the ground of previous knowledge. Theory and analogical reasoning must be our guides. The general nature of the phenomenon will often indicate the kind of law to be looked for. If one form of energy or one kind of substance is being converted into another, we may expect the law of direct simple proportion. In one distinct class of cases the effect already produced influences the amount of the ensuing effect, as for instance in the cooling of a heated body, when the law will be of an exponential form. When the direction of a force influences its action, trigonometrical functions enter. Any influence which spreads freely through tridimensional space will be subject to the law of the inverse square of the distance. From such considerations we may sometimes arrive deductively and analogically at the general nature of the mathematical law required.
In most cases, we will find that we need to rely on the third method, which is to anticipate the expected form of the law based on what we already know. Theory and analogy should guide us. The general characteristics of the phenomenon often hint at the type of law to look for. If one form of energy or type of substance is changing into another, we can expect a law of direct simple proportion. In certain situations, the effect that has already occurred will influence the amount of the subsequent effect, like in the cooling of a heated object, where the law will take an exponential form. When the direction of a force affects its impact, we use trigonometric functions. Any influence that spreads freely through three-dimensional space follows the law of inverse square distance. From these considerations, we can sometimes deduce and analogize to determine the general nature of the mathematical law needed.
The Graphical Method.
In endeavouring to discover the mathematical law obeyed by experimental results it is often desirable to call in the aid of space-representations. Every equation involving two variable quantities corresponds to some kind of plane curve, and every plane curve may be represented symbolically in an equation containing two unknown quantities. Now in an experimental research we obtain a number of values of the variant corresponding to an equal number of values of the variable; but all the numbers are affected by more or less error, and the values of the variable will often be irregularly disposed. Even if the numbers were absolutely correct and disposed at regular intervals, there is, as we have seen, no direct mode of discovering the law, but the difficulty of discovery is much increased by the uncertainty and irregularity of the results.
In trying to find the mathematical law that fits our experimental results, it's often helpful to use visual representations. Every equation with two variable quantities corresponds to a type of plane curve, and every plane curve can be expressed symbolically in an equation with two unknowns. In experimental research, we gather several values of the dependent variable that correspond to the same number of values of the independent variable; however, all these values come with some degree of error, and the independent variable values are often scattered irregularly. Even if the numbers were perfectly accurate and spaced evenly, as we’ve seen, there’s no straightforward way to uncover the law, and the challenge of finding it becomes even greater due to the uncertainty and irregularity of the results.
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Under such circumstances, the best mode of proceeding is to prepare a paper divided into equal rectangular spaces, a convenient size for the spaces being one-tenth of an inch square. The values of the variable being marked off on the lowest horizontal line, a point is marked for each corresponding value of the variant perpendicularly above that of the variable, and at such a height as corresponds to the value of the variant.
Under these circumstances, the best way to move forward is to create a sheet divided into equal rectangular sections, with each section measuring one-tenth of an inch square. The values of the variable are indicated on the lowest horizontal line, and a point is marked for each corresponding value of the variant directly above the value of the variable, at a height that corresponds to the value of the variant.
The exact scale of the drawing is not of much importance, but it may require to be adjusted according to circumstances, and different values must often be attributed to the upright and horizontal divisions, so as to make the variations conspicuous but not excessive. If a curved line be drawn through all the points or ends of the ordinates, it will probably exhibit irregular inflections, owing to the errors which affect the numbers. But, when the results are numerous, it becomes apparent which results are more divergent than others, and guided by a so-called sense of continuity, it is possible to trace a line among the points which will approximate to the true law more nearly than the points themselves. The accompanying figure sufficiently explains itself.
The exact scale of the drawing isn't very important, but it might need to be adjusted based on circumstances, and different values often need to be assigned to the vertical and horizontal divisions to make the variations clear but not overdone. If you draw a curved line through all the points or ends of the axes, it will likely show irregular twists because of the errors in the numbers. However, when there are many results, it becomes clear which results are more varied than others, and with a so-called sense of continuity, it's possible to draw a line among the points that better approximates the true pattern than the points themselves. The accompanying figure explains itself well.

Perkins employed this graphical method with much care in exhibiting the results of his experiments on the compression of water.407 The numerical results were marked494 upon a sheet of paper very exactly ruled at intervals of one-tenth of an inch, and the original marks were left in order that the reader might judge of the correctness of the curve drawn, or choose another for himself. Regnault carried the method to perfection by laying off the points with a screw dividing engine;408 and he then formed a table of results by drawing a continuous curve, and measuring its height for equidistant values of the variable. Not only does a curve drawn in this manner enable us to infer numerical results more free from accidental errors than any of the numbers obtained directly from experiment, but the form of the curve sometimes indicates the class of functions to which our results belong.
Perkins used this graphical method carefully to show the results of his experiments on water compression.407 He marked the numerical results on a sheet of paper that was precisely ruled at intervals of one-tenth of an inch, leaving the original marks so that readers could assess the accuracy of the drawn curve or choose another one themselves. Regnault perfected the method by using a screw dividing engine to lay out the points.408 He then created a table of results by drawing a continuous curve and measuring its height at evenly spaced values of the variable. Not only does a curve drawn this way allow us to derive numerical results that are less affected by random errors than the numbers obtained directly from experiments, but the shape of the curve can also indicate the type of functions our results belong to.
Engraved sheets of paper prepared for the drawing of curves may be obtained from Mr. Stanford at Charing Cross, Messrs. W. and A. K. Johnston, of London and Edinburgh, Waterlow and Sons, Letts and Co., and probably other publishers. When we do not require great accuracy, paper ruled by the common machine-ruler into equal squares of about one-fifth or one-sixth of an inch square will serve well enough. I have met with engineers’ and surveyors’ memorandum books ruled with one-twelfth inch squares. When a number of curves have to be drawn, I have found it best to rule a good sheet of drawing paper with lines carefully adjusted at the most convenient distances, and then to prick the points of the curve through it upon another sheet fixed underneath. In this way we obtain an accurate curve upon a blank sheet, and need only introduce such division lines as are requisite to the understanding of the curve.
Engraved sheets of paper for drawing curves can be purchased from Mr. Stanford at Charing Cross, Messrs. W. and A. K. Johnston, in London and Edinburgh, Waterlow and Sons, Letts and Co., and likely other publishers as well. If we don't need extreme accuracy, paper that’s ruled by a standard machine ruler into equal squares of about one-fifth or one-sixth of an inch will work fine. I’ve encountered engineers’ and surveyors’ notebooks ruled with one-twelfth inch squares. When I need to draw several curves, I find it best to rule a good sheet of drawing paper with lines spaced at the most convenient distances, and then to prick the points of the curve onto another sheet placed underneath. This way, we can create an accurate curve on a blank sheet and only add the division lines that are necessary for understanding the curve.
In some cases our numerical results will correspond, not to the height of single ordinates, but to the area of the curve between two ordinates, or the average height of ordinates between certain limits. If we measure, for instance, the quantities of heat absorbed by water when raised in temperature from 0° to 5°, from 5° to 10°, and so on, these quantities will really be represented by areas of the curve denoting the specific heat of water; and since the specific heat varies continuously between every two points of temperature, we shall not get the correct curve495 by simply laying off the quantities of heat at the mean temperatures, namely 2 12°, and 7 12°, and so on. Lord Rayleigh has shown that if we have drawn such an incorrect curve, we can with little trouble correct it by a simple geometrical process, and obtain to a close approximation the true ordinates instead of those denoting areas.409
In some cases, our numerical results will correspond not to the height of individual points, but to the area under the curve between two points, or the average height of points within certain limits. For example, if we measure the amounts of heat absorbed by water when its temperature is raised from 0° to 5°, from 5° to 10°, and so on, these amounts will actually be represented by areas of the curve that shows the specific heat of water. Since the specific heat changes continuously between any two temperature points, we won't get the correct curve by just plotting the quantities of heat at the average temperatures, specifically 2 1/2° and 7 ½° and so on. Lord Rayleigh has demonstrated that if we've drawn such an incorrect curve, we can easily correct it using a simple geometric method, allowing us to get a close approximation of the true points instead of those that represent areas.409
Interpolation and Extrapolation.
When we have by experiment obtained two or more numerical results, and endeavour, without further experiment, to calculate intermediate results, we are said to interpolate. If we wish to assign by reasoning results lying beyond the limits of experiment, we may be said, using an expression of Sir George Airy, to extrapolate. These two operations are the same in principle, but differ in practicability. It is a matter of great scientific importance to apprehend precisely how far we can practise interpolation or extrapolation, and on what grounds we proceed.
When we've obtained two or more numerical results through experimentation and try to calculate the results in between without additional experiments, we call this interpolation. If we want to reason out results that go beyond the limits of our experiments, we use the term, as noted by Sir George Airy, extrapolate. While these two processes are fundamentally similar, they differ in how practical they are. It's critically important in science to understand exactly how far we can use interpolation or extrapolation and the reasoning behind it.
In the first place, if the interpolation is to be more than empirical, we must have not only the experimental results, but the laws which they obey—we must in fact go through the complete process of scientific investigation. Having discovered the laws of nature applying to the case, and verified them by showing that they agree with the experiments in question, we are then in a position to anticipate the results of similar experiments. Our knowledge even now is not certain, because we cannot completely prove the truth of any assumed law, and we cannot possibly exhaust all the circumstances which may affect the result. At the best then our interpolations will partake of the want of certainty and precision attaching to all our knowledge of nature. Yet, having the supposed laws, our results will be as sure and accurate as any we can attain to. But such a complete procedure is more than we commonly mean by interpolation, which usually denotes some method of estimating in a merely approximate manner the results496 which might have been expected independently of a theoretical investigation.
Firstly, if the interpolation is going to be more than just a guess, we need not only the experimental results but also the laws that govern them—we actually have to go through the entire scientific investigation process. Once we’ve discovered the applicable laws of nature and verified them by showing they align with the experiments in question, we can start to predict the results of similar experiments. Even now, our knowledge isn't certain because we can't fully prove the accuracy of any assumed law, and we can't possibly consider all the factors that might influence the outcome. At best, our interpolations will reflect the uncertainty and imprecision present in all our understanding of nature. However, with the supposed laws in hand, our results will be as reliable and accurate as possible. But such a thorough approach is more than what we typically mean by interpolation, which usually refers to some method of roughly estimating the results that could have been expected without a deep theoretical investigation.
Regarded in this light, interpolation is in reality an indeterminate problem. From given values of a function it is impossible to determine that function; for we can invent an infinite number of functions which will give those values if we are not restricted by any conditions, just as through a given series of points we can draw an infinite number of curves, if we may diverge between or beyond the points into bends and cusps as we think fit.410 In interpolation we must in fact be guided more or less by à priori considerations; we must know, for instance, whether or not periodical fluctuations are to be expected. Supposing that the phenomenon is non-periodic, we proceed to assume that the function can be expressed in a limited series of the powers of the variable. The number of powers which can be included depends upon the number of experimental results available, and must be at least one less than this number. By processes of calculation, which have been already alluded to in the section on empirical formulæ, we then calculate the coefficients of the powers, and obtain an empirical formula which will give the required intermediate results. In reality, then, we return to the methods treated under the head of approximation and empirical formulæ; and interpolation, as commonly understood, consists in assuming that a curve of simple character is to pass through certain determined points. If we have, for instance, two experimental results, and only two, we assume that the curve is a straight line; for the parabolas which can be passed through two points are infinitely various in magnitude, and quite indeterminate. One straight line alone can pass through two points, and it will have an equation of the form, y = mx + n, the constant quantities of which can be determined from two results. Thus, if the two values for x, 7 and 11, give the values for y, 35 and 53, the solution of two equations gives y = 4·5 × x + 3·5 as the equation, and for any other value of x, for instance 10, we get a value of y, that is 48·5. When we take a mean value of x, namely 9, this process yields a simple mean result, namely 44. Three experimental results497 being given, we assume that they fall upon a portion of a parabola and algebraic calculation gives the position of any intermediate point upon the parabola. Concerning the process of interpolation as practised in the science of meteorology the reader will find some directions in the French edition of Kaëmtz’s Meteorology.411
Regarded this way, interpolation is actually an uncertain problem. From the given values of a function, it's impossible to determine that function because we can create an infinite number of functions that will yield those values if we aren't bound by any conditions, just as we can draw countless curves through a given set of points, as long as we are free to bend and twist between or beyond those points. In interpolation, we need to be guided by some prior considerations; we must know, for example, whether we should expect periodic fluctuations. Assuming the phenomenon is non-periodic, we proceed to assert that the function can be represented by a limited series of the variable's powers. The number of powers we can include depends on how many experimental results we have, and it must be at least one less than that number. Through calculation processes already mentioned in the section on empirical formulas, we then determine the coefficients of these powers and produce an empirical formula to provide the necessary intermediate results. So, we essentially revert to the methods covered under approximation and empirical formulas; interpolation, as it’s commonly understood, consists of assuming that a straightforward curve will pass through certain defined points. For example, if we have two experimental results, and only two, we assume that the curve is a straight line; because the parabolas that can pass through two points are infinitely variable in magnitude and completely indeterminate. Only one straight line can pass through two points, and its equation will be in the form, y = mx + n, where the constant values can be calculated from the two results. So, if the two values for x, 7 and 11, correspond with the values for y, 35 and 53, solving the two equations gives us y = 4.5x + 3.5 as the equation, and for any other x value, like 10, we get a y value of 48.5. When we take an average value of x, which is 9, this method gives a simple average result of 44. With three experimental results given, we assume they fit onto part of a parabola, and algebraic calculations provide the position of any intermediate point on the parabola. For information on the process of interpolation as used in meteorology, the reader can find some guidance in the French edition of Kaëmtz’s Meteorology.
When we have, either by direct experiment or by the use of a curve, a series of values of the variant for equidistant values of the variable, it is instructive to take the differences between each value of the variant and the next, and then the differences between those differences, and so on. If any series of differences approaches closely to zero it is an indication that the numbers may be correctly represented by a finite empirical formula; if the nth differences are zero, then the formula will contain only the first n - 1 powers of the variable. Indeed we may sometimes obtain by the calculus of differences a correct empirical formula; for if p be the first term of the series of values, and Δp, Δ2p, Δ3p, be the first number in each column of differences, then the mth term of the series of values will be
When we have, either through direct experimentation or by using a curve, a series of values for the variant at equal intervals of the variable, it's helpful to take the differences between each value of the variant and the next one, then to find the differences of those differences, and so on. If any series of differences gets very close to zero, it suggests that the numbers could be accurately represented by a finite empirical formula; if the nth differences are zero, then the formula will include only the first n - 1 powers of the variable. In fact, we can sometimes derive a correct empirical formula by using the calculus of differences; if p is the first term of the series of values, and Δp, Δ2p, Δ3p are the first numbers in each column of differences, then the mth term of the series of values will be
A closely equivalent but more practicable formula for interpolation by differences, as devised by Lagrange, will be found in Thomson and Tait’s Elements of Natural Philosophy, p. 115.
A similar but more practical formula for interpolation by differences, created by Lagrange, can be found in Thomson and Tait’s Elements of Natural Philosophy, p. 115.
If no column of differences shows any tendency to become zero throughout, it is an indication that the law is of a more complicated, for instance of an exponential character, so that it requires different treatment. Dr. J. Hopkinson has suggested a method of arithmetical interpolation,412 which is intended to avoid much that is arbitrary in the graphical method. His process will yield the same results in all hands.
If no column of differences seems to approach zero overall, it suggests that the law is more complex, like an exponential one, requiring a different approach. Dr. J. Hopkinson proposed a method of arithmetic interpolation,412 which aims to eliminate much of the subjectivity involved in the graphical method. His process will produce consistent results regardless of who applies it.
So far as we can infer the results likely to be obtained by variations beyond the limits of experiment, we must498 proceed upon the same principles. If possible we must detect the exact laws in action, and then trust to them as a guide when we have no experience. If not, an empirical formula of the same character as those employed in interpolation is our only resource. But to extend our inference far beyond the limits of experience is exceedingly unsafe. Our knowledge is at the best only approximate, and takes no account of small tendencies. Now it usually happens that tendencies small within our limits of observation become perceptible or great under extreme circumstances. When the variable in our empirical formula is small, we are justified in overlooking the higher powers, and taking only two or three lower powers. But as the variable increases, the higher powers gain in importance, and in time yield the principal part of the value of the function.
As far as we can figure out the results likely to be achieved by variations beyond the limits of our experiments, we have to rely on the same principles. If possible, we need to identify the exact laws at play and then trust those as a guide when we lack experience. If that's not possible, an empirical formula similar to those used in interpolation is our only option. However, extending our conclusions far beyond the limits of experience is very risky. Our knowledge is, at best, only approximate and doesn’t account for small tendencies. Usually, small tendencies that are not noticeable in our observations can become significant or even large under extreme circumstances. When the variable in our empirical formula is small, we can ignore the higher powers and focus on just two or three lower powers. But as the variable increases, the higher powers become more important and eventually contribute the majority of the value of the function.
This is no mere theoretical inference. Excepting the few primary laws of nature, such as the law of gravity, of the conservation of energy, &c., there is hardly any natural law which we can trust in circumstances widely different from those with which we are practically acquainted. From the expansion or contraction, fusion or vaporisation of substances by heat at the surface of the earth, we can form a most imperfect notion of what would happen near the centre of the earth, where the pressure almost infinitely exceeds anything possible in our experiments. The physics of the earth give us a feeble, and probably a misleading, notion of a body like the sun, in which an inconceivably high temperature is united with an inconceivably high pressure. If there are in the realms of space nebulæ consisting of incandescent and unoxidised vapours of metals and other elements, so highly heated perhaps that chemical composition is out of the question, we are hardly able to treat them as subjects of scientific inference. Hence arises the great importance of experiments in which we investigate the properties of substances under extreme circumstances of cold or heat, density or rarity, intense electric excitation, &c. This insecurity in extending our inferences arises from the approximate character of our measurements. Had we the power of appreciating infinitely small quantities, we should by the principle of continuity discover some trace of every499 change which a substance could undergo under unattainable circumstances. By observing, for instance, the tension of aqueous vapour between 0° and 100° C., we ought theoretically to be able to infer its tension at every other temperature; but this is out of the question practically because we cannot really ascertain the law precisely between those temperatures.
This isn't just a theoretical guess. Aside from a few fundamental laws of nature, like gravity and the conservation of energy, there’s hardly any natural law we can rely on in situations that are very different from what we know. When it comes to how substances expand or contract, melt or vaporize due to heat at the Earth's surface, our understanding is really limited regarding what would occur near the Earth's core, where the pressure is far beyond what we can reach in our experiments. The physics of our planet give us a weak and likely misleading understanding of something like the sun, where incredibly high temperatures combine with incredibly high pressure. If there are clouds in space made of glowing and unoxidized vapor from metals and other elements, heated so much that their chemical composition becomes irrelevant, we can hardly consider them for scientific conclusions. This highlights the importance of experiments that explore the properties of substances under extreme conditions of cold or heat, high density or low density, intense electric stimulation, and so on. Our uncertainty in broadening our conclusions stems from the rough nature of our measurements. If we could measure infinitesimally small quantities, we would, through the principle of continuity, find evidence of every change a substance could experience in situations we can’t actually reach. For example, by observing the vapor pressure of water between 0° and 100° C, we should theoretically be able to figure out its pressure at any other temperature, but this isn’t practical because we can't accurately determine the law between those temperatures.
Many instances might be given to show that laws which appear to represent correctly the results of experiments within certain limits altogether fail beyond those limits. The experiments of Roscoe and Dittmar, on the absorption of gases in water413 afford interesting illustrations, especially in the case of hydrochloric acid, the quantity of which dissolved in water under different pressures follows very closely a linear law of variation, from which however it diverges widely at low pressures.414 Herschel, having deduced from observations of the double star γ Virginis an elliptic orbit for the motion of one component round the centre of gravity of both, found that for a time the motion of the star agreed very well with this orbit. Nevertheless divergence began to appear and after a time became so great that an entirely new orbit, of more than double the dimensions of the old one, had ultimately to be adopted.415
Many examples can be provided to demonstrate that laws, which seem to accurately reflect the results of experiments within certain limits, completely fail outside those limits. The experiments by Roscoe and Dittmar on the absorption of gases in water413 offer interesting illustrations, particularly in the case of hydrochloric acid. The amount that dissolves in water under different pressures closely follows a linear law of variation, but it diverges significantly at low pressures.414 Herschel, having deduced an elliptical orbit for the motion of one component of the double star γ Virginis around the center of gravity of both from observations, found that for a time, the star's motion matched this orbit very well. However, divergence started to become apparent, and after a while, it grew so large that a completely new orbit, more than double the size of the old one, ultimately had to be adopted.415
Illustrations of Empirical Quantitative Laws.
Although our object in quantitative inquiry is to discover the exact or rational formulæ, expressing the laws which apply to the subject, it is instructive to observe in how many important branches of science, no precise laws have yet been detected. The tension of aqueous vapour at different temperatures has been determined by a succession of eminent experimentalists—Dalton, Kaëmtz, Dulong, Arago, Magnus, and Regnault—and by the last mentioned the measurements were conducted with extraordinary care.500 Yet no incontestable general law has been established. Several functions have been proposed to express the elastic force of the vapour as depending on the temperature. The first form is that of Young, namely F = (a + b t)m, in which a, b, and m are unknown quantities to be determined by observation. Roche proposed, on theoretical grounds, a complicated formula of an exponential form, and a third form of function is that of Biot,416 as follows—log F = a + bαt + cβt. I mention these formulæ, because they well illustrate the feeble powers of empirical inquiry. None of the formulæ can be made to correspond closely with experimental results, and the two last forms correspond almost equally well. There is very little probability that the real law has been reached, and it is unlikely that it will be discovered except by deduction from mechanical theory.
While our goal in quantitative research is to find the exact or rational formulas that describe the laws applicable to the subject, it's interesting to note that in many important areas of science, no precise laws have yet been identified. The tension of water vapor at various temperatures has been measured by several distinguished experimentalists—Dalton, Kaëmtz, Dulong, Arago, Magnus, and Regnault—with particular care taken by Regnault. However, no indisputable general law has been established. Several functions have been suggested to represent the vapor's elastic force based on temperature. The first form is that of Young, specifically F = (a + b t)m, where a, b, and m are unknown values to be determined through observation. Roche introduced a complex exponential formula based on theoretical considerations, while a third function proposed by Biot is as follows—log F = a + bαt + cβt. I mention these formulas because they highlight the limited capabilities of empirical research. None align closely with experimental results, and the last two forms fit almost equally well. It seems unlikely that we have found the actual law, and it's doubtful that it will be discovered without deriving it from mechanical theory.500
Much ingenious labour has been spent upon the discovery of some general law of atmospheric refraction. Tycho Brahe and Kepler commenced the inquiry: Cassini first formed a table of refractions, calculated on theoretical grounds: Newton entered into some profound investigations upon the subject: Brooke Taylor, Bouguer, Simpson, Bradley, Mayer, and Kramp successively attacked the question, which is of the highest practical importance as regards the correction of astronomical observations. Laplace next laboured on the subject without exhausting it, and Brinkley and Ivory have also treated it. The true law is yet undiscovered. A closely connected problem, that regarding the relation between the pressure and elevation in different strata of the atmosphere, has received the attention of a long succession of physicists and was most carefully investigated by Laplace. Yet no invariable and general law has been detected. The same may be said concerning the law of human mortality; abundant statistics on this subject are available, and many hypotheses more or less satisfactory have been put forward as to the form of the curve of mortality, but it seems to be impossible to discover more than an approximate law.
Much clever effort has gone into finding a general law of atmospheric refraction. Tycho Brahe and Kepler started the investigation; Cassini was the first to create a table of refractions based on theoretical calculations. Newton conducted some deep research on the topic. Brooke Taylor, Bouguer, Simpson, Bradley, Mayer, and Kramp all took their turns examining this question, which is critically important for correcting astronomical observations. Laplace then worked on the topic without fully resolving it, and Brinkley and Ivory also explored it. The true law remains undiscovered. A closely related issue, concerning the relationship between pressure and elevation in different layers of the atmosphere, has been the focus of many physicists and was thoroughly studied by Laplace. Yet, no reliable and universal law has been identified. The same can be said for the law of human mortality; there are plenty of statistics available, and many more or less satisfactory hypotheses have been suggested regarding the shape of the mortality curve, but it seems impossible to find anything more than an approximate law.
It may perhaps be urged that in such subjects no single invariable law can be expected. The atmosphere may be501 divided into several variable strata which by their unconnected changes frustrate the exact calculations of astronomers. Human life may be subject at different ages to a succession of different influences incapable of reduction under any one law. The results observed may in fact be aggregates of an immense number of separate results each governed by its own separate laws, so that the subjects may be complicated beyond the possibility of complete resolution by empirical methods. This is certainly true of the mathematical functions which must some time or other be introduced into the science of political economy.
It can be argued that for these topics, we shouldn’t expect a single unchanging law. The atmosphere can be divided into several variable layers that change independently, making precise calculations by astronomers difficult. Human life can be influenced by a variety of factors at different ages, which can’t necessarily be summarized by one law. The outcomes we see may actually be the result of countless individual outcomes, each governed by its own specific laws, leading to a complexity that makes complete understanding through empirical methods impossible. This is definitely the case for the mathematical functions that will eventually need to be incorporated into the field of political economy.
Simple Proportional Variation.
When we first treat numerical results in any novel kind of investigation, our impression will probably be that one quantity varies in simple proportion to another, so as to obey the law y = mx + n. We must learn to distinguish carefully between the cases where this proportionality is really, and where it is only apparently true. In considering the principles of approximation we found that a small portion of any curve will appear to be a straight line. When our modes of measurement are comparatively rude, we must expect to be unable to detect the curvature. Kepler made meritorious attempts to discover the law of refraction, and he approximated to it when he observed that the angles of incidence and refraction if small bear a constant ratio to each other. Angles when small are nearly as their sines, so that he reached an approximate result of the true law. Cardan assumed, probably as a mere guess, that the force required to sustain a body on an inclined plane was simply proportional to the angle of elevation of the plane. This is approximately the case when the angle is small, but in reality the law is much more complicated, the power required being proportional to the sine of the angle. The early thermometer-makers were unaware whether the expansion of mercury was proportional or not to the heat communicated to it, and it is only in the present century that we have learnt it to be not so. We now know that even gases obey the law of uniform expansion by heat only in an approximate502 manner. Until reason to the contrary is shown, we should do well to look upon every law of simple proportion as only provisionally true.
When we first look at numerical results in any new kind of investigation, we might think that one quantity changes in simple proportion to another, following the rule y = mx + n. We need to clearly distinguish between situations where this proportionality is genuinely true and where it just seems to be. While examining the principles of approximation, we found that a small section of any curve looks like a straight line. When our measurement methods are relatively crude, we should expect to miss the curvature. Kepler made significant efforts to discover the law of refraction and got close when he noticed that the angles of incidence and refraction if small have a constant ratio to one another. Small angles are almost equal to their sines, leading him to an approximate version of the true law. Cardan guessed that the force needed to hold a body on an inclined plane was directly proportional to the angle of elevation. This is roughly true when the angle is small, but in reality, the law is much more complex, with the required force being proportional to the sine of the angle. The early thermometer makers didn't know whether the expansion of mercury was proportional to the heat applied to it, and it’s only in this century that we've discovered it isn’t. We now understand that even gases follow the law of uniform expansion with heat only in an approximate502 way. Until proven otherwise, it's wise to consider every law of simple proportion as only provisionally true.
Nevertheless many important laws of nature are in the form of simple proportions. Wherever a cause acts in independence of its previous effects, we may expect this relation. An accelerating force acts equally upon a moving and a motionless body. Hence the velocity produced is in simple proportion to the force, and to the duration of its uniform action. As gravitating bodies never interfere with each other’s gravity, this force is in direct simple proportion to the mass of each of the attracting bodies, the mass being measured by, or proportional to inertia. Similarly, in all cases of “direct unimpeded action,” as Herschel has remarked,417 we may expect simple proportion to manifest itself. In such cases the equation expressing the relation may have the simple form y = mx.
Nevertheless, many important laws of nature are expressed as simple proportions. Whenever a cause operates independently of its prior effects, we can expect this relationship. An accelerating force acts the same on both a moving and a stationary object. Therefore, the velocity produced is directly proportional to the force and to the time of its consistent application. Since gravitational bodies do not interfere with each other's gravity, this force is directly proportional to the mass of each attracting body, with mass measured by or proportional to inertia. Similarly, in all instances of “direct unimpeded action,” as Herschel noted, we can expect simple proportion to be evident. In these cases, the equation that describes the relationship may take the straightforward form y = mx.
A similar relation holds true when there is conversion of one substance or form of energy into another. The quantity of a compound is equal to the quantity of the elements which combine. The heat produced in friction is exactly proportional to the mechanical energy absorbed. It was experimentally proved by Faraday that “the chemical power of the current of electricity is in direct proportion to the quantity of electricity which passes.” When an electric current is produced, the quantity of electric energy is simply proportional to the weight of metal dissolved. If electricity is turned into heat, there is again simple proportion. Wherever, in fact, one thing is but another thing with a new aspect, we may expect to find the law of simple proportion. But it is only in the most elementary cases that this simple relation will hold true. Simple conditions do not, generally speaking, produce simple results. The planets move in approximate circles round the sun, but the apparent motions, as seen from the earth, are very various. All those motions, again, are summed up in the law of gravity, of no great complexity; yet men never have been, and never will be, able to exhaust the complications of action and reaction arising from that law, even among a small number of planets.503 We should be on our guard against a tendency to assume that the connection of cause and effect is one of direct proportion. Bacon reminds us of the woman in Æsop’s fable, who expected that her hen, with a double measure of barley, would lay two eggs a day instead of one, whereas it grew fat, and ceased to lay any eggs at all. It is a wise maxim that the half is often better than the whole.
A similar relationship applies when one substance or form of energy is converted into another. The amount of a compound equals the amount of the elements that combine to make it. The heat generated from friction is directly proportional to the mechanical energy used. Faraday experimentally showed that “the chemical power of an electric current is directly proportional to the amount of electricity that flows.” When an electric current is generated, the amount of electric energy is proportional to the weight of the metal that dissolves. If electricity is converted into heat, the relationship remains proportional. In fact, wherever one thing transforms into another with a new form, we can expect to see this law of simple proportion. However, this simple relationship usually only holds true in the most basic cases. Simple conditions do not typically lead to simple outcomes. The planets revolve in nearly circular orbits around the sun, but their apparent motions, as seen from Earth, are quite varied. All of these movements can be summarized by the law of gravity, which isn’t overly complex; but humans have never been and will never be able to fully understand the complexities of action and reaction that arise from that law, even with just a small number of planets.503 We should be cautious about assuming that the relationship between cause and effect is one of direct proportion. Bacon reminds us of the woman in Æsop’s fable who thought that feeding her hen double the amount of barley would lead to two eggs a day instead of one, but instead it got fat and stopped laying any eggs at all. It’s a wise saying that sometimes half is better than the whole.
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CHAPTER XXIII.
Using a hypothesis.
If the views upheld in this work be correct, all inductive investigation consists in the marriage of hypothesis and experiment. When facts are in our possession, we frame an hypothesis to explain their relations, and by the success of this explanation is the value of the hypothesis to be judged. In the invention and treatment of such hypotheses, we must avail ourselves of the whole body of science already accumulated, and when once we have obtained a probable hypothesis, we must not rest until we have verified it by comparison with new facts. We must endeavour by deductive reasoning to anticipate such phenomena, especially those of a singular and exceptional nature, as would happen if the hypothesis be true. Out of the infinite number of experiments which are possible, theory must lead us to select those critical ones which are suitable for confirming or negativing our anticipations.
If the ideas presented in this work are correct, all inductive research involves combining hypothesis and experiment. When we have facts, we create a hypothesis to explain their relationships, and the success of this explanation determines the value of the hypothesis. In creating and developing these hypotheses, we need to use all the scientific knowledge that already exists, and once we have a plausible hypothesis, we shouldn't stop until we verify it against new facts. We should try to use deductive reasoning to predict phenomena, especially unique and unusual ones, that would occur if the hypothesis is true. Out of the countless experiments possible, theory should guide us to select the critical ones that are appropriate for confirming or refuting our predictions.
This work of inductive investigation cannot be guided by any system of precise and infallible rules, like those of deductive reasoning. There is, in fact, nothing to which we can apply rules of method, because the laws of nature must be in our possession before we can treat them. If there were any rule of inductive method, it would direct us to make an exhaustive arrangement of facts in all possible orders. Given the specimens in a museum, we might arrive at the best classification by going systematically through all possible classifications, and, were we endowed with infinite time and patience, this would be an effective method. It is the method by which the first simple steps505 are taken in an incipient branch of science. Before the dignified name of science is applicable, some coincidences will force themselves upon the attention. Before there was a science of meteorology observant persons learned to associate clearness of the atmosphere with coming rain, and a colourless sunset with fine weather. Knowledge of this kind is called empirical, as seeming to come directly from experience; and there is a considerable portion of knowledge which bears this character.
This work of inductive investigation can't rely on any exact and foolproof rules, like those of deductive reasoning. In reality, there’s nothing we can apply methodical rules to because we need to understand the laws of nature before we can handle them. If there were a rule for inductive methods, it would tell us to organize facts exhaustively in every possible order. Given specimens in a museum, we could reach the best classification by systematically exploring all possible classifications, and if we had infinite time and patience, this would be an effective approach. This is the method used for the initial simple steps in a new branch of science. Before we can call it a true science, some patterns will demand our attention. Before meteorology was established as a science, observant people noticed that a clear sky often meant rain was coming, and a colorless sunset meant good weather. This type of knowledge is known as empirical, as it seems to come directly from experience, and a significant amount of knowledge has this quality.
We may be obliged to trust to the casual detection of coincidences in those branches of knowledge where we are deprived of the aid of any guiding notions; but a little reflection will show the utter insufficiency of haphazard experiment, when applied to investigations of a complicated nature. At the best, it will be the simple identity, or partial identity, of classes, as illustrated in pages 127 or 134, which can be thus detected. It was pointed out that, even when a law of nature involves only two circumstances, and there are one hundred distinct circumstances which may possibly be connected, there will be no less than 4,950 pairs of circumstances between which coincidence may exist. When a law involves three or more circumstances, the possible number of relations becomes vastly greater. When considering the subject of combinations and permutations, it became apparent that we could never cope with the possible variety of nature. An exhaustive examination of the possible metallic alloys, or chemical compounds, was found to be out of the question (p. 191).
We might have to rely on random coincidences in areas of knowledge where we lack any guiding principles; however, with a little thought, it becomes clear that random experimentation is completely inadequate for complex investigations. At best, we might only identify the simple or partial similarities of classes, as shown on pages 127 or 134. It was noted that even when a natural law involves just two factors, and there are a hundred different factors that could possibly be related, there are at least 4,950 pairs of factors where coincidence might occur. When a law involves three or more factors, the possible number of relationships increases dramatically. In looking into combinations and permutations, it was clear that we could never manage the possible variety of nature. A thorough investigation of all possible metallic alloys or chemical compounds was found to be impossible (p. 191).
It is on such considerations that we can explain the very small additions made to our knowledge by the alchemists. Many of them were men of the greatest acuteness, and their indefatigable labours were pursued through many centuries. A few things were discovered by them, but a true insight into nature, now enables chemists to discover more useful facts in a year than were yielded by the alchemists during many centuries. There can be no doubt that Newton was an alchemist, and that he often laboured night and day at alchemical experiments. But in trying to discover the secret by which gross metals might be rendered noble, his lofty powers of deductive investigation were wholly useless. Deprived of all506 guiding clues, his experiments were like those of all the alchemists, purely tentative and haphazard. While his hypothetical and deductive investigations have given us the true system of the Universe, and opened the way in almost all the great branches of natural philosophy, the whole results of his tentative experiments are comprehended in a few happy guesses, given in his celebrated “Queries.”
It is based on these considerations that we can explain the very limited contributions made to our knowledge by the alchemists. Many of them were incredibly sharp thinkers, and their tireless efforts spanned many centuries. They discovered a few things, but today’s understanding of nature allows chemists to uncover more useful facts in a year than what the alchemists produced over many centuries. There's no doubt that Newton was an alchemist and that he often worked day and night on alchemical experiments. However, in his attempts to uncover the secret to turning base metals into noble ones, his exceptional skills in deduction were totally ineffective. Lacking any guiding clues, his experiments were similar to those of other alchemists—purely trial-and-error and random. While his theoretical and deductive work led us to the true system of the universe and paved the way in nearly all major areas of natural philosophy, the overall results of his experimental attempts can be summed up in a few fortunate guesses found in his famous “Queries.”
Even when we are engaged in apparently passive observation of a phenomenon, which we cannot modify experimentally, it is advantageous that our attention should be guided by theoretical anticipations. A phenomenon which seems simple is, in all probability, really complex, and unless the mind is actively engaged in looking for particular details, it is likely that the critical circumstances will be passed over. Bessel regretted that no distinct theory of the constitution of comets had guided his observations of Halley’s comet;418 in attempting to verify or refute a hypothesis, not only would there be a chance of establishing a true theory, but if confuted, the confutation would involve a store of useful observations.
Even when we're observing a phenomenon that we can't change experimentally, it's helpful for our focus to be directed by theoretical expectations. A phenomenon that seems simple is probably quite complex, and if we're not actively looking for specific details, we might overlook critical factors. Bessel wished that a clear theory about the nature of comets had guided his observations of Halley's comet;418 in trying to prove or disprove a hypothesis, not only might we establish an accurate theory, but if it's disproven, the refutation could lead to a valuable collection of observations.
It would be an interesting work, but one which I cannot undertake, to trace out the gradual reaction which has taken place in recent times against the purely empirical or Baconian theory of induction. Francis Bacon, seeing the futility of the scholastic logic, which had long been predominant, asserted that the accumulation of facts and the orderly abstraction of axioms, or general laws from them, constituted the true method of induction. Even Bacon was not wholly unaware of the value of hypothetical anticipation. In one or two places he incidentally acknowledges it, as when he remarks that the subtlety of nature surpasses that of reason, adding that “axioms abstracted from particular facts in a careful and orderly manner, readily suggest and mark out new particulars.”
It would be an interesting project, but one I can't take on, to explore the gradual pushback that has occurred recently against the purely empirical or Baconian theory of induction. Francis Bacon, recognizing the ineffectiveness of the scholastic logic that had been dominant for so long, argued that gathering facts and methodically deriving axioms, or general laws, from them was the true way to approach induction. Even Bacon wasn't completely oblivious to the importance of hypothetical thinking. In a few instances, he acknowledges it when he notes that the complexity of nature exceeds that of reason, adding that “axioms abstracted from particular facts in a careful and orderly manner, readily suggest and mark out new particulars.”
Nevertheless Bacon’s method, as far as we can gather the meaning of the main portions of his writings, would correspond to the process of empirically collecting facts507 and exhaustively classifying them, to which I alluded. The value of this method may be estimated historically by the fact that it has not been followed by any of the great masters of science. Whether we look to Galileo, who preceded Bacon, to Gilbert, his contemporary, or to Newton and Descartes, Leibnitz and Huyghens, his successors, we find that discovery was achieved by the opposite method to that advocated by Bacon. Throughout Newton’s works, as I shall show, we find deductive reasoning wholly predominant, and experiments are employed, as they should be, to confirm or refute hypothetical anticipations of nature. In my “Elementary Lessons in Logic” (p. 258), I stated my belief that there was no kind of reference to Bacon in Newton’s works. I have since found that Newton does once or twice employ the expression experimentum crucis in his “Opticks,” but this is the only expression, so far as I am aware, which could indicate on the part of Newton direct or indirect acquaintance with Bacon’s writings.419
Nevertheless, Bacon’s approach, as far as we can understand the key parts of his writings, seems to involve the process of gathering facts through observation and thoroughly classifying them, as I mentioned earlier. The historical value of this method can be assessed by the fact that none of the great scientific leaders have followed it. Whether we look at Galileo, who came before Bacon, or Gilbert, his contemporary, or Newton, Descartes, Leibnitz, and Huyghens, who followed him, we see that discoveries were made using methods that were completely different from what Bacon proposed. In Newton’s works, as I will show, deductive reasoning plays a dominant role, and experiments are used, as they should be, to support or challenge theoretical expectations about nature. In my “Elementary Lessons in Logic” (p. 258), I expressed my belief that there is no reference to Bacon in Newton’s works. I have since discovered that Newton does use the term experimentum crucis once or twice in his “Opticks,” but this is the only term, as far as I know, that could suggest Newton had any direct or indirect awareness of Bacon’s writings.419
Other great physicists of the same age were equally prone to the use of hypotheses rather than the blind accumulation of facts in the Baconian manner. Hooke emphatically asserts in his posthumous work on Philosophical Method, that the first requisite of the Natural Philosopher is readiness at guessing the solution of phenomena and making queries. “He ought to be very well skilled in those several kinds of philosophy already known, to understand their several hypotheses, suppositions, collections, observations, &c., their various ways of ratiocinations and proceedings, the several failings and defects, both in their way of raising and in their way of managing their several theories: for by this means the mind will be somewhat more ready at guessing at the solution of many phenomena almost at first sight, and thereby be much more prompt at making queries, and at tracing the subtlety of Nature, and in discovering and searching into the true reason of things.”
Other great physicists of the same time were also inclined to use hypotheses instead of just piling up facts in a blindly Baconian way. Hooke strongly states in his posthumous work on Philosophical Method that the first requirement of a Natural Philosopher is the ability to guess the solutions to phenomena and ask questions. “He should be well-versed in the various types of philosophy already known, to understand their different hypotheses, suppositions, collections, observations, etc., their various methods of reasoning and approaches, and the different shortcomings and flaws, both in how they formulate and how they manage their theories: because this way, the mind will be somewhat quicker at guessing the solutions to many phenomena almost at first glance, and therefore be much more prompt in asking questions, tracing the intricacies of Nature, and uncovering and investigating the true reasons behind things.”
We find Horrocks, again, than whom no one was more508 filled with the scientific spirit, telling us how he tried theory after theory in order to discover one which was in accordance with the motions of Mars.420 Huyghens, who possessed one of the most perfect philosophical intellects, followed the deductive process combined with continual appeal to experiment, with a skill closely analogous to that of Newton. As to Descartes and Leibnitz, they fell into excess in the use of hypothesis, since they sometimes adopted hypothetical reasoning to the exclusion of experimental verification. Throughout the eighteenth century science was supposed to be advancing by the pursuance of the Baconian method, but in reality hypothetical investigation was the main instrument of progress. It is only in the present century that physicists began to recognise this truth. So much opprobrium had been attached by Bacon to the use of hypotheses, that we find Young speaking of them in an apologetic tone. “The practice of advancing general principles and applying them to particular instances is so far from being fatal to truth in all sciences, that when those principles are advanced on sufficient grounds, it constitutes the essence of true philosophy;”421 and he quotes cases in which Davy trusted to his theories rather than his experiments.
We see Horrocks, who was filled with the scientific spirit, explaining how he tested theory after theory to find one that matched the movements of Mars. Huyghens, who had one of the sharpest philosophical minds, used a deductive approach combined with constant experimentation, much like Newton. In contrast, Descartes and Leibnitz overused hypotheses, sometimes relying on them so heavily that they ignored the importance of experimental verification. Throughout the eighteenth century, science was thought to be advancing through the Baconian method, but in reality, it was hypothetical investigation that drove progress. It wasn't until this century that physicists began to recognize this fact. Bacon had placed so much disdain on the use of hypotheses that Young felt the need to speak about them defensively. “The practice of advancing general principles and applying them to specific cases is far from damaging to truth in all sciences; when those principles are based on solid grounds, it represents the core of true philosophy;” and he points out instances where Davy relied on his theories rather than his experiments.
Herschel, who was both a practical physicist and an abstract logician, entertained the deepest respect for Bacon, and made the “Novum Organum” as far as possible the basis of his own admirable Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy. Yet we find him in Chapter VII. recognising the part which the formation and verification of theories takes in the higher and more general investigations of physical science. J. S. Mill carried on the reaction by describing the Deductive Method in which ratiocination, that is deductive reasoning, is employed for the discovery of new opportunities of testing and verifying an hypothesis. Nevertheless throughout the other parts of his system he inveighed against the value of the deductive process, and even asserted that empirical inference from particulars to particulars is the true type of reasoning.509 The irony of fate will probably decide that the most original and valuable part of Mill’s System of Logic is irreconcilable with those views of the syllogism and of the nature of inference which occupy the main part of the treatise, and are said to have effected a revolution in logical science. Mill would have been saved from much confusion of thought had he not failed to observe that the inverse use of deduction constitutes induction. In later years Professor Huxley has strongly insisted upon the value of hypothesis. When he advocates the use of “working hypotheses” he means no doubt that any hypothesis is better that none, and that we cannot avoid being guided in our observations by some hypothesis or other. Professor Tyndall’s views as to the use of the Imagination in the pursuit of Science put the same truth in another light.
Herschel, who was both a practical physicist and a theoretical logician, held a deep respect for Bacon and made the “Novum Organum” the foundation of his own excellent Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy. However, in Chapter VII, he acknowledged the role that forming and verifying theories plays in the advanced and broader investigations of physical science. J. S. Mill continued this discussion by outlining the Deductive Method, where deductive reasoning is used to uncover new ways to test and verify a hypothesis. Yet throughout the rest of his framework, he criticized the importance of the deductive process and even claimed that drawing conclusions from specific cases to other specific cases is the true form of reasoning.509 The irony of fate will likely reveal that the most original and valuable aspect of Mill’s System of Logic contradicts the perspectives on the syllogism and inference that dominate the treatise and are said to have revolutionized logical science. Mill could have avoided much confusion had he recognized that the reversed application of deduction forms induction. In later years, Professor Huxley emphasized the importance of hypothesis. When he promotes the use of “working hypotheses,” he undoubtedly means that any hypothesis is better than none, and that we cannot help but be influenced in our observations by some hypothesis or another. Professor Tyndall’s views on the role of imagination in scientific inquiry reflect this same truth from a different angle.
It ought to be pointed out that Neil in his Art of Reasoning, a popular but able exposition of the principles of Logic, published in 1853, fully recognises in Chapter XI. the value and position of hypothesis in the discovery of truth. He endeavours to show, too (p. 109), that Francis Bacon did not object to the use of hypothesis.
It should be noted that Neil in his Art of Reasoning, a well-known but skilled explanation of the principles of Logic, published in 1853, fully acknowledges in Chapter XI the importance and role of hypothesis in discovering truth. He also tries to demonstrate (p. 109) that Francis Bacon did not oppose the use of hypothesis.
The true course of inductive procedure is that which has yielded all the more lofty results of science. It consists in Anticipating Nature, in the sense of forming hypotheses as to the laws which are probably in operation; and then observing whether the combinations of phenomena are such as would follow from the laws supposed. The investigator begins with facts and ends with them. He uses facts to suggest probable hypotheses; deducing other facts which would happen if a particular hypothesis is true, he proceeds to test the truth of his notion by fresh observations. If any result prove different from what he expects, it leads him to modify or to abandon his hypothesis; but every new fact may give some new suggestion as to the laws in action. Even if the result in any case agrees with his anticipations, he does not regard it as finally confirmatory of his theory, but proceeds to test the truth of the theory by new deductions and new trials.
The true course of inductive reasoning is what has led to all the greater achievements in science. It involves Anticipating Nature, which means making educated guesses about the laws that are likely at play; and then observing if the patterns of events match what those laws would predict. The researcher starts with facts and ends with them. They use facts to suggest possible hypotheses; by deducing other facts that would occur if a certain hypothesis is correct, they move on to verify their idea through additional observations. If any outcome differs from what they expected, it prompts them to adjust or discard their hypothesis; however, every new fact can offer new insights into the laws in action. Even if a result aligns with their expectations, they don't treat it as definitive proof of their theory but continue to test the validity of the theory through new deductions and experiments.
In such a process the investigator is assisted by the whole body of science previously accumulated. He may510 employ analogy, as I shall point out, to guide him in the choice of hypotheses. The manifold connections between one science and another give him clues to the kind of laws to be expected, and out of the infinite number of possible hypotheses he selects those which are, as far as can be foreseen at the moment, most probable. Each experiment, therefore, which he performs is that most likely to throw light upon his subject, and even if it frustrate his first views, it tends to put him in possession of the correct clue.
In this process, the investigator is supported by the entire body of previously accumulated science. He can use analogy, as I will explain, to help him choose among different hypotheses. The various connections between different fields of science provide him with hints about the types of laws he can expect, and from the countless possible hypotheses, he picks the ones that seem most likely, based on what can be predicted at that time. Therefore, each experiment he conducts is designed to shed light on his topic, and even if it challenges his initial ideas, it helps him find the correct clue.
Requisites of a good Hypothesis.
There is little difficulty in pointing out to what condition an hypothesis must conform in order to be accepted as probable and valid. That condition, as I conceive, is the single one of enabling us to infer the existence of phenomena which occur in our experience. Agreement with fact is the sole and sufficient test of a true hypothesis.
There’s not much trouble in identifying what criteria a hypothesis needs to meet to be considered likely and valid. That criterion, in my view, is simply that it must allow us to deduce the existence of phenomena we encounter in our experiences. Alignment with facts is the only necessary and adequate test of a true hypothesis.
Hobbes has named two conditions which he considers requisite in an hypothesis, namely (1) That it should be conceivable and not absurd; (2) That it should allow of phenomena being necessarily inferred. Boyle, in noticing Hobbes’ views, proposed to add a third condition, to the effect that the hypothesis should not be inconsistent with any other truth on phenomenon of nature.422 I think that of these three conditions, the first cannot be accepted, unless by inconceivable and absurd we mean self-contradictory or inconsistent with the laws of thought and nature. I shall have to point out that some satisfactory theories involve suppositions which are wholly inconceivable in a certain sense of the word, because the mind cannot sufficiently extend its ideas to frame a notion of the actions supposed to take place. That the force of gravity should act instantaneously between the most distant parts of the planetary system, or that a ray of violet light should consist of about 700 billions of vibrations in a second, are statements of an inconceivable and absurd character in one sense; but they are so far from being opposed to fact that we cannot on any other suppositions account for phenomena observed. But if an hypothesis involve self-contradiction, or is inconsistent with known511 laws of nature, it is self-condemned. We cannot even apply deductive reasoning to a self-contradictory notion; and being opposed to the most general and certain laws known to us, the primary laws of thought, it thereby conspicuously fails to agree with facts. Since nature, again, is never self-contradictory, we cannot at the same time accept two theories which lead to contradictory results. If the one agrees with nature, the other cannot. Hence if there be a law which we believe with high probability to be verified by observation, we must not frame an hypothesis in conflict with it, otherwise the hypothesis will necessarily be in disagreement with observation. Since no law or hypothesis is proved, indeed, with absolute certainty, there is always a chance, however slight, that the new hypothesis may displace the old one; but the greater the probability which we assign to that old hypothesis, the greater must be the evidence required in favour of the new and conflicting one.
Hobbes identified two conditions that he believes are essential for a hypothesis: (1) It should be conceivable and not absurd; (2) It should allow for phenomena to be necessarily inferred. Boyle, commenting on Hobbes' ideas, suggested adding a third condition, which states that the hypothesis should not contradict any other truth about natural phenomena. I think that of these three conditions, the first cannot be accepted unless by inconceivable and absurd we mean self-contradictory or inconsistent with the laws of thought and nature. I should point out that some satisfactory theories involve assumptions that are completely inconceivable in a certain sense because the mind cannot fully extend its ideas to comprehend the supposed actions. The idea that gravity should act instantly between the farthest parts of the planetary system, or that a ray of violet light consists of about 700 billion vibrations per second, sounds inconceivable and absurd in one sense; however, they are not opposed to facts, as we cannot explain observed phenomena through any other assumptions. But if a hypothesis involves self-contradiction or conflicts with known laws of nature, it condemns itself. We cannot apply deductive reasoning to a self-contradictory idea; and because it contradicts our most general and certain laws of thought, it clearly fails to align with facts. Since nature is never self-contradictory, we cannot accept two theories that lead to conflicting results at the same time. If one aligns with nature, the other cannot. Therefore, if there is a law that we believe with high probability is confirmed by observation, we must not create an hypothesis that contradicts it; otherwise, the hypothesis will necessarily disagree with observation. Since no law or hypothesis is proven with absolute certainty, there is always a chance, however slight, that a new hypothesis may replace an old one; but the higher the probability we assign to the old hypothesis, the greater the evidence needed to support the new and conflicting one.
I assert, then, that there is but one test of a good hypothesis, namely, its conformity with observed facts; but this condition may be said to involve three constituent conditions, nearly equivalent to those suggested by Hobbes and Boyle, namely:—
I argue that there is only one way to judge a good hypothesis, which is its alignment with observed facts; however, this requirement can be seen as having three main components, similar to those proposed by Hobbes and Boyle, which are:—
(1) That it allow of the application of deductive reasoning and the inference of consequences capable of comparison with the results of observation.
(1) That it permits the use of deductive reasoning and the drawing of conclusions that can be compared to the results of observation.
(2) That it do not conflict with any laws of nature, or of mind, which we hold to be true.
(2) That it doesn't conflict with any laws of nature or of the mind, which we believe to be true.
(3) That the consequences inferred do agree with facts of observation.
(3) That the inferred consequences align with observed facts.
Possibility of Deductive Reasoning.
As the truth of an hypothesis is to be proved by its conformity with fact, the first condition is that we be able to apply methods of deductive reasoning, and learn what should happen according to such an hypothesis. Even if we could imagine an object acting according to laws hitherto wholly unknown it would be useless to do so, because we could never decide whether it existed or not. We can only infer what would happen under supposed conditions by applying the knowledge of nature we possess512 to those conditions. Hence, as Boscovich truly said, we are to understand by hypotheses “not fictions altogether arbitrary, but suppositions conformable to experience or analogy.” It follows that every hypothesis worthy of consideration must suggest some likeness, analogy, or common law, acting in two or more things. If, in order to explain certain facts, a, a′, a″, &c., we invent a cause A, then we must in some degree appeal to experience as to the mode in which A will act. As the laws of nature are not known to the mind intuitively, we must point out some other cause, B, which supplies the requisite notions, and all we do is to invent a fourth term to an analogy. As B is to its effects b, b′, b″, &c., so is A to its effects a, a′, a″, &c. When we attempt to explain the passage of light and heat radiations through space unoccupied by matter, we imagine the existence of the so-called ether. But if this ether were wholly different from anything else known to us, we should in vain try to reason about it. We must apply to it at least the laws of motion, that is we must so far liken it to matter. And as, when applying those laws to the elastic medium air, we are able to infer the phenomena of sound, so by arguing in a similar manner concerning ether we are able to infer the existence of light phenomena corresponding to what do occur. All that we do is to take an elastic substance, increase its elasticity immensely, and denude it of gravity and some other properties of matter, but we must retain sufficient likeness to matter to allow of deductive calculations.
To prove the truth of a hypothesis, we first need to apply deductive reasoning to understand what should happen according to that hypothesis. Even if we can imagine an object behaving according to completely unknown laws, it wouldn't be helpful because we could never determine if it actually exists. We can only predict what would occur under assumed conditions by using our understanding of nature and applying that knowledge to those situations. Therefore, as Boscovich rightly stated, we should view hypotheses as “not completely arbitrary fictions, but assumptions that align with experience or analogy.” This means that every worthwhile hypothesis must suggest some similarity, analogy, or common principle that connects two or more things. If we create a cause A to explain certain facts like a, a′, a″, etc., we must refer to experience regarding how A would operate. Since we don’t inherently know the laws of nature, we need to identify another cause, B, which provides the necessary concepts, and essentially, we are introducing a fourth element to an analogy. Just as B relates to its effects b, b′, b″, etc., A relates to its effects a, a′, a″, etc. When we try to explain the movement of light and heat through empty space, we hypothesize the existence of something called ether. However, if this ether were entirely different from anything we know, we wouldn't be able to reason about it effectively. We must at least apply the laws of motion to it, which means we have to compare it to matter. Just as using those laws with the elastic medium air allows us to infer sound phenomena, applying similar reasoning to ether allows us to infer the existence of light phenomena that correspond to what actually happens. What we essentially do is take an elastic substance, greatly increase its elasticity, remove gravity and many other properties of matter, but we must keep enough similarity to matter to enable deductive reasoning.
The force of gravity is in some respects an incomprehensible existence, but in other respects entirely conformable to experience. We observe that the force is proportional to mass, and that it acts in entire independence of other matter which may be present or intervening. The law of the decrease of intensity, as the square of the distance increases, is observed to hold true of light, sound, and other influences emanating from a point, and spreading uniformly through space. The law is doubtless connected with the properties of space, and is so far in agreement with our necessary ideas.
The force of gravity is, in some ways, an unimaginable concept, but in other ways, it completely aligns with our experiences. We notice that the force is proportional to mass and acts independently of any other matter that might be around or in the way. The law that states intensity decreases with the square of the distance is seen to apply to light, sound, and other effects that originate from a point and spread uniformly through space. This law is certainly linked to the properties of space and aligns with our fundamental understanding.
It may be said, however, that no hypothesis can be so much as framed in the mind unless it be more or less conformable to experience. As the material of our ideas513 is derived from sensation we cannot figure to ourselves any agent, but as endowed with some of the properties of matter. All that the mind can do in the creation of new existences is to alter combinations, or the intensity of sensuous properties. The phenomenon of motion is familiar to sight and touch, and different degrees of rapidity are also familiar; we can pass beyond the limits of sense, and imagine the existence of rapid motion, such as our senses could not observe. We know what is elasticity, and we can therefore in a way figure to ourselves elasticity a thousand or a million times greater than any which is sensuously known to us. The waves of the ocean are many times higher than our own bodies; other waves, are many times less; continue the proportion, and we ultimately arrive at waves as small as those of light. Thus it is that the powers of mind enable us from a sensuous basis to reason concerning agents and phenomena different in an unlimited degree. If no hypothesis then can be absolutely opposed to sense, accordance with experience must always be a question of degree.
It can be said, however, that no hypothesis can even be formed in our minds unless it somewhat aligns with experience. Since the material of our ideas513 comes from sensation, we can’t imagine any agent without attributing some properties of matter to it. All the mind can do when creating new existences is change combinations or the intensity of sensory properties. The phenomenon of motion is something we can easily see and touch, and we are familiar with different speeds; we can even go beyond our senses and imagine rapid motion that we can't actually observe. We understand elasticity, which allows us to conceptualize elasticity a thousand or a million times greater than what we can experience. The ocean's waves are many times higher than our bodies, and other waves are much smaller; if we continue that proportion, we eventually reach waves as tiny as those of light. This is how our mental powers enable us, based on sensory experience, to reason about agents and phenomena that differ to an unlimited extent. Thus, if no hypothesis can be entirely contrary to our senses, consistency with experience must always be a matter of degree.
In order that an hypothesis may allow of satisfactory comparison with experience, it must possess definiteness and in many cases mathematical exactness allowing of the precise calculation of results. We must be able to ascertain whether it does or does not agree with facts. The theory of vortices is an instance to the contrary, for it did not present any mode of calculating the exact relations between the distances and periods of the planets and satellites; it could not, therefore, undergo that rigorous testing to which Newton scrupulously submitted his theory of gravity before its promulgation. Vagueness and incapability of precise proof or disproof often enable a false theory to live; but with those who love truth, vagueness should excite suspicion. The upholders of the ancient doctrine of Nature’s abhorrence of a vacuum, had been unable to anticipate the important fact that water would not rise more than 33 feet in a common suction pump. Nor when the fact was pointed out could they explain it, except by introducing a special alteration of the theory to the effect that Nature’s abhorrence of a vacuum was limited to 33 feet.
For a hypothesis to be satisfactorily compared with experience, it needs to be clear and, in many cases, mathematically precise, allowing for exact calculations of results. We need to determine whether it agrees with the facts or not. The theory of vortices is an example of the opposite, as it did not provide a way to calculate the exact relationships between the distances and periods of the planets and satellites; therefore, it could not undergo the strict testing that Newton rigorously subjected his theory of gravity to before presenting it. Vagueness and the inability to provide precise proof or disproof often allow a false theory to persist; however, for those who value truth, vagueness should raise suspicion. Supporters of the old doctrine of Nature's abhorrence of a vacuum could not have predicted the important fact that water would not rise more than 33 feet in a standard suction pump. Moreover, when this fact was pointed out, they could only explain it by modifying the theory to say that Nature's abhorrence of a vacuum was limited to 33 feet.
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Consistency with the Laws of Nature.
In the second place an hypothesis must not be contradictory to what we believe to be true concerning Nature. It must not involve self-inconsistency which is opposed to the highest and simplest laws, namely, those of Logic. Neither ought it to be irreconcilable with the simple laws of motion, of gravity, of the conservation of energy, nor any parts of physical science which we consider to be established beyond reasonable doubt. Not that we are absolutely forbidden to entertain such an hypothesis, but if we do so we must be prepared to disprove some of the best demonstrated truths in the possession of mankind. The fact that conflict exists means that the consequences of the theory are not verified if previous discoveries are correct, and we must therefore show that previous discoveries are incorrect before we can verify our theory.
First, a hypothesis must not contradict what we believe to be true about nature. It shouldn’t involve any inconsistency that goes against the most basic laws, specifically those of logic. It also shouldn’t conflict with the fundamental laws of motion, gravity, or the conservation of energy, or any aspects of physical science that we consider to be well-established. This doesn’t mean we can’t consider such a hypothesis, but if we do, we need to be ready to challenge some of the most well-supported truths known to humanity. The existence of a conflict indicates that the outcomes of the theory are not validated if earlier discoveries are correct, so we must demonstrate that previous discoveries are incorrect before we can confirm our theory.
An hypothesis will be exceedingly improbable, not to say absurd, if it supposes a substance to act in a manner unknown in other cases; for it then fails to be verified in our knowledge of that substance. Several physicists, especially Euler and Grove, have supposed that we might dispense with an ethereal basis of light, and infer from the interstellar passage of rays that there was a kind of rare gas occupying space. But if so, that gas must be excessively rare, as we may infer from the apparent absence of an atmosphere around the moon, and from other facts known to us concerning gases and the atmosphere; yet it must possess an elastic force at least a billion times as great as atmospheric air at the earth’s surface, in order to account for the extreme rapidity of light rays. Such an hypothesis then is inconsistent with our knowledge concerning gases.
A hypothesis is highly unlikely, if not downright ridiculous, if it assumes that a substance behaves in a way that is unfamiliar in other situations; this leads to a failure to confirm our understanding of that substance. Several physicists, particularly Euler and Grove, have suggested that we might be able to do without an ethereal medium for light and could instead deduce from the travel of rays through space that there exists a type of rare gas filling the universe. However, if that were the case, the gas would have to be extremely sparse, as indicated by the lack of an atmosphere around the moon and other facts we know about gases and the atmosphere. Nonetheless, it would need to have an elastic force at least a billion times greater than the air pressure on Earth's surface to explain the incredible speed of light rays. Thus, such a hypothesis contradicts our understanding of gases.
Provided that there be no clear and absolute conflict with known laws of nature, there is no hypothesis so improbable or apparently inconceivable that it may not be rendered probable, or even approximately certain, by a sufficient number of concordances. In fact the two best founded and most successful theories in physical science involve the most absurd suppositions. Gravity is a force which appears to act between bodies through vacuous515 space; it is in positive contradiction to the old dictum that nothing can act but through some medium. It is even more puzzling that the force acts in perfect indifference to intervening obstacles. Light in spite of its extreme velocity shows much respect to matter, for it is almost instantaneously stopped by opaque substances, and to a considerable extent absorbed and deflected by transparent ones. But to gravity all media are, as it were, absolutely transparent, nay non-existent; and two particles at opposite points of the earth affect each other exactly as if the globe were not between. The action is, so far as we can observe, instantaneous, so that every particle of the universe is at every moment in separate cognisance, as it were, of the relative position of every other particle throughout the universe at that same moment of time. Compared with such incomprehensible conditions, the theory of vortices deals with commonplace realities. Newton’s celebrated saying hypotheses non fingo, bears the appearance of irony; and it was not without apparent grounds that Leibnitz and the continental philosophers charged Newton with re-introducing occult powers and qualities.
As long as there isn’t a clear and undeniable conflict with established laws of nature, there’s no theory so unlikely or seemingly impossible that it can’t be made plausible, or even nearly certain, by enough supporting evidence. In fact, the two most well-established and successful theories in physical science rely on some pretty ridiculous assumptions. Gravity is a force that seems to act between objects across empty space; it directly contradicts the old saying that nothing can act without something in between. It’s even more baffling that this force works perfectly regardless of any obstacles in the way. Light, despite its incredible speed, interacts significantly with matter; it gets almost instantly blocked by opaque objects and is largely absorbed and refracted by transparent ones. But to gravity, all mediums appear completely transparent, or even non-existent; two particles on opposite sides of the earth influence each other as if the planet weren’t even there. The effect is, as far as we can tell, instantaneous, meaning every particle in the universe is constantly aware of the positions of every other particle at the same moment. Compared to such baffling realities, the theory of vortices seems quite mundane. Newton’s famous phrase hypotheses non fingo comes off as ironic; and Leibniz and other European philosophers had good reason to accuse Newton of reintroducing mysterious powers and qualities.
The undulatory theory of light presents almost equal difficulties of conception. We are asked by physical philosophers to give up our prepossessions, and to believe that interstellar space which seems empty is not empty at all, but filled with something immensely more solid and elastic than steel. As Young himself remarked,423 “the luminiferous ether, pervading all space, and penetrating almost all substances, is not only highly elastic, but absolutely solid!!!” Herschel calculated the force which may be supposed, according to the undulatory theory of light, to be constantly exerted at each point in space, and finds it to be 1,148,000,000,000 times the elastic force of ordinary air at the earth’s surface, so that the pressure of ether per square inch must be about seventeen billions of pounds.424 Yet we live and move without appreciable resistance through this medium, immensely harder and more elastic than adamant. All our ordinary notions must be laid aside in contemplating such an hypothesis;516 yet it is no more than the observed phenomena of light and heat force us to accept. We cannot deny even the strange suggestion of Young, that there may be independent worlds, some possibly existing in different parts of space, but others perhaps pervading each other unseen and unknown in the same space.425 For if we are bound to admit the conception of this adamantine firmament, it is equally easy to admit a plurality of such. We see, then, that mere difficulties of conception must not discredit a theory which otherwise agrees with facts, and we must only reject hypotheses which are inconceivable in the sense of breaking distinctly the primary laws of thought and nature.
The undulatory theory of light presents almost equal challenges in understanding. Physical philosophers ask us to set aside our assumptions and believe that interstellar space, which appears empty, is actually filled with something much more solid and elastic than steel. As Young himself noted,423 “the luminiferous ether, filling all space and penetrating almost all substances, is not only highly elastic but completely solid!!!” Herschel calculated the force that is thought, according to the undulatory theory of light, to be constantly exerted at each point in space, determining it to be 1,148,000,000,000 times the elastic force of regular air at sea level, meaning the pressure of ether per square inch must be around seventeen billion pounds.424 Despite this, we live and move through this medium, which is significantly harder and more elastic than adamant. All our usual concepts must be set aside when considering such a hypothesis;516 yet it is simply what the observed phenomena of light and heat compel us to accept. We cannot deny the strange idea suggested by Young that there may be independent worlds, some potentially located in different parts of space, while others may be overlapping each other unseen and unknown in the same space.425 If we must accept the idea of this adamantine firmament, it is just as easy to accept a multitude of such worlds. Thus, we see that mere challenges to understanding should not undermine a theory that otherwise aligns with facts, and we should only dismiss hypotheses that are inconceivable in terms of clearly breaking the primary laws of thought and nature.
Conformity with Facts.
Before we accept a new hypothesis it must be shown to agree not only with the previously known laws of nature, but also with the particular facts which it is framed to explain. Assuming that these facts are properly established, it must agree with all of them. A single absolute conflict between fact and hypothesis, is fatal to the hypothesis; falsa in uno, falsa in omnibus.
Before we accept a new hypothesis, it must be demonstrated that it aligns not only with the well-established laws of nature but also with the specific facts it aims to explain. Assuming these facts are accurately established, the hypothesis must be consistent with all of them. A single absolute conflict between a fact and the hypothesis is detrimental to the hypothesis; falsa in uno, falsa in omnibus.
Seldom, indeed, shall we have a theory free from difficulties and apparent inconsistency with facts. Though one real inconsistency would overturn the most plausible theory, yet there is usually some probability that the fact may be misinterpreted, or that some supposed law of nature, on which we are relying, may not be true. It may be expected, moreover, that a good hypothesis, besides agreeing with facts already noticed, will furnish us with distinct credentials by enabling us to anticipate deductively series of facts which are not already connected and accounted for by any equally probable hypothesis. We cannot lay down any precise rule as to the number of accordances which can establish the truth of an hypothesis, because the accordances will vary much in value. While, on the one hand, no finite number of accordances will give entire certainty, the probability of the hypothesis will increase very rapidly with the number of accordances.517 Almost every problem in science thus takes the form of a balance of probabilities. It is only when difficulty after difficulty has been successfully explained away, and decisive experimenta crucis have, time after time, resulted in favour of our theory, that we can venture to assert the falsity of all objections.
Seldom will we find a theory that is completely free from difficulties and obvious inconsistencies with facts. While just one real inconsistency could dismantle the most convincing theory, there’s usually some chance that the fact might be misinterpreted, or that a supposed natural law we’re relying on might not actually hold true. Furthermore, we can expect that a solid hypothesis, in addition to aligning with the facts we’ve observed, will provide clear evidence by allowing us to predict, through deduction, a series of facts that aren’t already linked and explained by any equally plausible hypothesis. We can’t establish a specific rule regarding how many agreements are needed to prove the truth of a hypothesis, as the value of these agreements will vary significantly. On one hand, no finite number of agreements will provide complete certainty, but the probability of the hypothesis will increase rapidly with the number of agreements.517 Almost every scientific problem, therefore, becomes a matter of weighing probabilities. It is only when we have successfully resolved numerous difficulties, and repeated critical experiments have consistently supported our theory, that we can confidently claim that all objections are false.
The sole real test of an hypothesis is its accordance with fact. Descartes’ celebrated system of vortices is exploded, not because it was intrinsically absurd and inconceivable, but because it could not give results in accordance with the actual motions of the heavenly bodies. The difficulties of conception involved in the apparatus of vortices, are child’s play compared with those of gravitation and the undulatory theory already described. Vortices are on the whole plausible suppositions; for planets and satellites bear at first sight much resemblance to objects carried round in whirlpools, an analogy which doubtless suggested the theory. The failure was in the first and third requisites; for, as already remarked, the theory did not allow of precise calculation of planetary motions, and was thus incapable of rigorous verification. But so far as we can institute a comparison, facts are entirely against the vortices. Newton did not ridicule the theory as absurd, but showed426 that it was “pressed with many difficulties.” He carefully pointed out that the Cartesian theory was inconsistent with the laws of Kepler, and would represent the planets as moving more rapidly at their aphelia than at their perihelia.427 The rotatory motion of the sun and planets on their own axes is in striking conflict with the revolutions of the satellites carried round them; and comets, the most flimsy of bodies, calmly pursue their courses in elliptic paths, irrespective of the vortices which they pass through. We may now also point to the interlacing orbits of the minor planets as a new and insuperable difficulty in the way of the Cartesian ideas.
The only true test of a hypothesis is how well it aligns with facts. Descartes' famous system of vortices was dismissed, not because it was fundamentally absurd or unimaginable, but because it couldn't produce results that matched the actual movements of celestial objects. The conceptual challenges involved in vortices are child's play compared to those related to gravitation and the wave theory previously mentioned. Vortices are generally reasonable assumptions; planets and satellites, at first glance, look a lot like objects being carried around in whirlpools, an analogy that probably inspired the theory. The failure lies in the first and third requirements; as mentioned before, the theory didn't permit precise calculations of planetary movements, which made rigorous verification impossible. But when we compare, the facts completely contradict the vortices. Newton didn't mock the theory as ridiculous; he pointed out that it was “burdened with many difficulties.” He carefully noted that the Cartesian theory contradicted Kepler's laws and would imply that planets move faster at their farthest point from the sun than at their closest. The rotation of the sun and planets on their own axes is in sharp conflict with the orbits of the satellites that revolve around them; and comets, the most delicate of bodies, smoothly travel in elliptical paths, ignoring the vortices they pass through. We can now also highlight the interwoven orbits of minor planets as a new and insurmountable challenge to Cartesian ideas.
Newton, though he established the best of theories, was also capable of proposing one of the worst; and if we want an instance of a theory decisively contradicted by518 facts, we have only to turn to his views concerning the origin of natural colours. Having analysed, with incomparable skill, the origin of the colours of thin plates, he suggests that the colours of all bodies are determined in like manner by the size of their ultimate particles. A thin plate of a definite thickness will reflect a definite colour; hence, if broken up into fragments it will form a powder of the same colour. But, if this be a sufficient explanation of coloured substances, then every coloured fluid ought to reflect the complementary colour of that which it transmits. Colourless transparency arises, according to Newton, from particles being too minute to reflect light; but if so, every black substance should be transparent. Newton himself so acutely felt this last difficulty as to suggest that true blackness is due to some internal refraction of the rays to and fro, and an ultimate stifling of them, which he did not attempt to explain further. Unless some other process comes into operation, neither refraction nor reflection, however often repeated, will destroy the energy of light. The theory therefore gives no account, as Brewster shows, of 24 parts out of 25 of the light which falls upon a black coal, and the remaining part which is reflected from the lustrous surface is equally inconsistent with the theory, because fine coal-dust is almost entirely devoid of reflective power.428 It is now generally believed that the colours of natural bodies are due to the unequal absorption of rays of light of different refrangibility.
Newton, while he developed some of the best theories, also proposed one of the worst. If we want an example of a theory that’s clearly contradicted by facts, we can look at his ideas about the origin of natural colors. After analyzing, with unparalleled skill, the origin of the colors in thin plates, he suggests that the colors of all objects are determined in a similar way by the size of their smallest particles. A thin plate of a specific thickness will reflect a specific color; therefore, if it's broken into pieces, it will create a powder of the same color. However, if this is a sufficient explanation for colored substances, then every colored liquid should reflect the complementary color of whatever it transmits. According to Newton, colorless transparency happens because the particles are too small to reflect light; but if that’s true, every black substance should be transparent. Newton himself was so aware of this issue that he proposed that true blackness is caused by some internal refraction of light rays bouncing around, ultimately stifling them, which he didn’t elaborate on. Unless another process is at work, neither refraction nor reflection, no matter how many times it happens, will eliminate the energy of light. Therefore, the theory doesn’t explain, as Brewster points out, 24 out of 25 parts of the light that hits a black coal, and the small amount that is reflected from its shiny surface is also inconsistent with the theory, since fine coal dust has nearly no reflective ability. It is now widely accepted that the colors of natural objects are due to the unequal absorption of light rays of different degrees of refraction.
Experimentum Crucis.
As we deduce more and more conclusions from a theory, and find them verified by trial, the probability of the theory increases in a rapid manner; but we never escape the risk of error altogether. Absolute certainty is beyond the powers of inductive investigation, and the most plausible supposition may ultimately be proved false. Such is the groundwork of similarity in nature, that two very different conditions may often give closely similar results. We sometimes find ourselves therefore519 in possession of two or more hypotheses which both agree with so many experimental facts as to have great appearance of truth. Under such circumstances we have need of some new experiment, which shall give results agreeing with one hypothesis but not with the other.
As we draw more conclusions from a theory and find them confirmed through experimentation, the likelihood of that theory being true increases rapidly; however, we can never completely eliminate the risk of being wrong. Absolute certainty is unattainable in inductive research, and the most reasonable assumption can eventually turn out to be false. The underlying similarity in nature is such that two very different conditions can often yield nearly identical results. Consequently, we sometimes end up with two or more hypotheses that both align with numerous experimental facts, giving them a strong appearance of being true. In such cases, we need a new experiment that will support one hypothesis while contradicting the other.
Any such experiment which decides between two rival theories may be called an Experimentum Crucis, an Experiment of the Finger Post. Whenever the mind stands, as it were, at cross-roads and knows not which way to select, it needs some decisive guide, and Bacon therefore assigned great importance and authority to instances which serve in this capacity. The name given by Bacon has become familiar; it is almost the only one of Bacon’s figurative expressions which has passed into common use. Even Newton, as I have mentioned (p. 507), used the name.
Any experiment that helps decide between two competing theories can be called an Experimentum Crucis, or a Crucial Experiment. When the mind feels stuck at a crossroads and doesn’t know which path to take, it needs a clear guide. Bacon emphasized the importance and authority of examples that serve this purpose. The term coined by Bacon has become well-known; it’s nearly the only one of his metaphorical expressions that has entered everyday use. Even Newton, as I mentioned (p. 507), used the term.
I do not think, indeed, that the common use of the word at all agrees with that intended by Bacon. Herschel says that “we make an experiment of the crucial kind when we form combinations, and put in action causes from which some particular one shall be deliberately excluded, and some other purposely admitted.”429 This, however, seems to be the description of any special experiment not made at haphazard. Pascal’s experiment of causing a barometer to be carried to the top of the Puy-de-Dôme has often been considered as a perfect experimentum crucis, if not the first distinct one on record;430 but if so, we must dignify the doctrine of Nature’s abhorrence of a vacuum with the position of a rival theory. A crucial experiment must not simply confirm one theory, but must negative another; it must decide a mind which is in equilibrium, as Bacon says,431 between two equally plausible views. “When in search of any nature, the understanding comes to an equilibrium, as it were, or stands suspended as to which of two or more natures the cause of nature inquired after should be attributed or assigned, by reason of the frequent and common occurrence of several natures, then these Crucial Instances show the true and inviolable association of one520 of these natures to the nature sought, and the uncertain and separable alliance of the other, whereby the question is decided, the former nature admitted for the cause, and the other rejected. These instances, therefore, afford great light, and have a kind of overruling authority, so that the course of interpretation will sometimes terminate in them, or be finished by them.”
I don’t think the common use of the word really aligns with what Bacon meant. Herschel states that “we conduct a crucial experiment when we create combinations and activate causes, intentionally excluding one specific cause while including another.”429 However, this seems to describe any specific experiment that isn’t random. Pascal’s experiment of taking a barometer to the top of the Puy-de-Dôme is often considered a perfect example of a experimentum crucis, if not the first clear one recorded;430 but if that’s the case, we would have to elevate the idea of Nature’s aversion to a vacuum to the status of a competing theory. A crucial experiment shouldn’t just support one theory; it should refute another; it must clarify a mind that is balanced, as Bacon describes,431 between two equally convincing perspectives. “When seeking to understand something, the mind reaches a sort of balance, or stands suspended between which of two or more natures the phenomenon in question should be assigned, due to the frequent and common presence of various natures. Then these Crucial Instances reveal the true and inescapable connection of one of these natures to the sought nature, and the uncertain and separable connection of the other, thus resolving the issue. The former nature is accepted as the cause, and the other is dismissed. These instances provide significant insight and hold a sort of overriding authority, so that the path of interpretation will sometimes culminate in them or be concluded by them.”
The long-continued strife between the Corpuscular and Undulatory theories of light forms the best possible illustration of an Experimentum Crucis. It is remarkable in how plausible a manner both these theories agreed with the ordinary laws of geometrical optics, relating to reflection and refraction. According to the first law of motion a moving particle proceeds in a perfectly straight line, when undisturbed by extraneous forces. If the particle being perfectly elastic, strike a perfectly elastic plane, it will bound off in such a path that the angles of incidence and reflection will be equal. Now a ray of light proceeds in a straight line, or appears to do so, until it meets a reflecting body, when its path is altered in a manner exactly similar to that of the elastic particle. Here is a remarkable correspondence which probably suggested to Newton’s mind the hypothesis that light consists of minute elastic particles moving with excessive rapidity in straight lines. The correspondence was found to extend also to the law of simple refraction; for if particles of light be supposed capable of attracting matter, and being attracted by it at insensibly small distances, then a ray of light, falling on the surface of a transparent medium, will suffer an increase in its velocity perpendicular to the surface, and the law of sines is the consequence. This remarkable explanation of the law of refraction had doubtless a very strong effect in leading Newton to entertain the corpuscular theory, and he appears to have thought that the analogy between the propagation of rays of light and the motion of bodies was perfectly exact, whatever might be the actual nature of light.432 It is highly remarkable, again, that Newton was able to give by his corpuscular theory, a plausible explanation of the inflection of light as discovered521 by Grimaldi. The theory would indeed have been a very probable one could Newton’s own law of gravity have applied; but this was out of the question, because the particles of light, in order that they may move in straight lines, must be devoid of any influence upon each other.
The ongoing debate between the Corpuscular and Undulatory theories of light serves as a perfect example of an Experimentum Crucis. It's striking how convincingly both theories aligned with the basic rules of geometrical optics regarding reflection and refraction. According to the first law of motion, a moving particle travels in a straight line when not affected by external forces. If a perfectly elastic particle hits a perfectly elastic surface, it will bounce off in such a way that the angles of incidence and reflection are equal. A ray of light travels in a straight line, or appears to, until it hits a reflective surface, causing its path to change in a way that's exactly like that of the elastic particle. This notable similarity likely led Newton to hypothesize that light is made of tiny elastic particles moving extremely quickly in straight lines. This similarity also applies to the law of simple refraction; if we assume that light particles can attract matter and be attracted by it from very short distances, then a ray of light hitting the surface of a transparent medium will speed up perpendicularly to the surface, resulting in the law of sines. This striking explanation of the law of refraction surely influenced Newton to consider the corpuscular theory, and he seemed to believe that the analogy between how light rays propagate and how bodies move was perfectly precise, regardless of the true nature of light.432 It's also remarkable that Newton was able to use his corpuscular theory to provide a reasonable explanation for the bending of light, as discovered by Grimaldi. The theory would have seemed quite plausible if Newton’s own law of gravity applied; however, this was unrealistic because the particles of light must not influence one another in order to move in straight lines.
The Huyghenian or Undulatory theory of light was also able to explain the same phenomena, but with one remarkable difference. If the undulatory theory be true, light must move more slowly in a dense refracting medium than in a rarer one; but the Newtonian theory assumed that the attraction of the dense medium caused the particles of light to move more rapidly than in the rare medium. On this point, then, there was complete discrepancy between the theories, and observation was required to show which theory was to be preferred. Now by simply cutting a uniform plate of glass into two pieces, and slightly inclining one piece so as to increase the length of the path of a ray passing through it, experimenters were able to show that light does move more slowly in glass than in air.433 More recently Fizeau and Foucault independently measured the velocity of light in air and in water, and found that the velocity is greater in air.434
The Huyghenian or Undulatory theory of light could also explain the same phenomena, but with one notable difference. If the undulatory theory is correct, light must travel more slowly in a dense refracting medium than in a less dense one; however, the Newtonian theory claimed that the attraction of the dense medium made light particles move faster than in a less dense medium. Thus, there was a complete disagreement between the theories on this point, and observation was needed to determine which theory was preferable. By simply cutting a uniform glass plate into two pieces and slightly tilting one piece to lengthen the path of a ray passing through it, experimenters demonstrated that light indeed moves more slowly in glass than in air.433 More recently, Fizeau and Foucault independently measured the speed of light in air and in water, finding that light travels faster in air.434
There are a number of other points at which experience decides against Newton, and in favour of Huyghens and Young. Laplace pointed out that the attraction supposed to exist between matter and the corpuscular particles of light would cause the velocity of light to vary with the size of the emitting body, so that if a star were 250 times as great in diameter as our sun, its attraction would prevent the emanation of light altogether.435 But experience shows that the velocity of light is uniform, and independent of the magnitude of the emitting body, as it should be according to the undulatory theory. Lastly, Newton’s explanation of diffraction or inflection fringes of colours was only plausible, and not true; for Fresnel ascertained that the dimensions of the fringes are not what they would be according to Newton’s theory.
There are several other instances where experience contradicts Newton's ideas, supporting Huygens and Young instead. Laplace noted that the supposed attraction between matter and the particles of light would cause the speed of light to change based on the size of the emitting object. If a star were 250 times the diameter of our sun, its attraction would completely stop the light from coming out.435 However, experience shows that the speed of light is consistent and not affected by the size of the emitting body, as it should be according to the wave theory. Finally, Newton’s explanation of the diffraction or bending of color fringes was merely plausible, not accurate; Fresnel discovered that the size of these fringes does not match what Newton's theory predicted.
Although the Science of Light presents us with the522 most beautiful examples of crucial experiments and observations, instances are not wanting in other branches of science. Copernicus asserted, in opposition to the ancient Ptolemaic theory, that the earth moved round the sun, and he predicted that if ever the sense of sight could be rendered sufficiently acute and powerful, we should see phases in Mercury and Venus. Galileo with his telescope was able, in 1610 to verify the prediction as regards Venus, and subsequent observations of Mercury led to a like conclusion. The discovery of the aberration of light added a new proof, still further strengthened by the more recent determination of the parallax of fixed stars. Hooke proposed to prove the existence of the earth’s diurnal motion by observing the deviation of a falling body, an experiment successfully accomplished by Benzenberg; and Foucault’s pendulum has since furnished an additional indication of the same motion, which is indeed also apparent in the trade winds. All these are crucial facts in favour of the Copernican theory.
Although the Science of Light shows us the522 most beautiful examples of important experiments and observations, there are also notable instances in other fields of science. Copernicus argued against the old Ptolemaic theory, claiming that the Earth revolves around the sun, and he predicted that if our eyesight could become sharp and powerful enough, we would see phases of Mercury and Venus. Galileo, using his telescope in 1610, was able to confirm the prediction regarding Venus, and later observations of Mercury supported a similar conclusion. The discovery of the aberration of light provided further proof, which was reinforced by the recent determination of the parallax of fixed stars. Hooke proposed proving that the Earth rotates daily by observing the deviation of a falling object, an experiment successfully carried out by Benzenberg; and Foucault’s pendulum has since provided additional evidence of this motion, which is also evident in the trade winds. All these are key facts supporting the Copernican theory.
Descriptive Hypotheses.
There are hypotheses which we may call descriptive hypotheses, and which serve for little else than to furnish convenient names. When a phenomenon is of an unusual kind, we cannot even speak of it without using some analogy. Every word implies some resemblance between the thing to which it is applied, and some other thing, which fixes the meaning of the word. If we are to speak of what constitutes electricity, we must search for the nearest analogy, and as electricity is characterised by the rapidity and facility of its movements, the notion of a fluid of a very subtle character presents itself as appropriate. There is the single-fluid and the double-fluid theory of electricity, and a great deal of discussion has been uselessly spent upon them. The fact is, that if these theories be understood as more than convenient modes of describing the phenomena, they are altogether invalid. The analogy extends only to the rapidity of motion, or rather the fact that a phenomenon occurs successively at different points of the body. The so-called electric fluid adds nothing to the weight of the conductor, and to suppose that it really523 consists of particles of matter is even more absurd than to reinstate the corpuscular theory of light. A far closer analogy exists between electricity and light undulations, which are about equally rapid in propagation. We shall probably continue for a long time to talk of the electric fluid, but there can be no doubt that this expression represents merely a phase of molecular motion, a wave of disturbance. The invalidity of these fluid theories is shown moreover in the fact that they have not led to the invention of a single new experiment.
There are ideas we can call descriptive hypotheses, which mainly serve to provide convenient names. When we encounter an unusual phenomenon, we can't even discuss it without using some analogy. Every word suggests some similarity between the thing it describes and something else, which helps define the meaning of the word. If we want to talk about what electricity is, we need to find the closest analogy, and since electricity is known for its speed and ease of movement, the idea of a very subtle fluid seems fitting. There are the single-fluid and double-fluid theories of electricity, and a lot of discussion has been wasted on them. The truth is, if these theories are viewed as more than just handy ways to describe the phenomena, they are completely invalid. The analogy only relates to the speed of movement or the fact that a phenomenon appears at different points in a body one after the other. The so-called electric fluid doesn't add anything to the weight of the conductor, and to think it actually consists of particles of matter is even more ridiculous than going back to the particle theory of light. A much closer analogy exists between electricity and light waves, which propagate at similar speeds. We will likely keep referring to the electric fluid for a long time, but it's clear that this term just describes a stage of molecular motion, a wave of disturbance. The invalidity of these fluid theories is also evident in the fact that they haven't led to the creation of a single new experiment.
Among these merely descriptive hypotheses I should place Newton’s theory of Fits of Easy Reflection and Refraction. That theory did not do more than describe what took place. It involved no analogy to other phenomena of nature, for Newton could not point to any other substance which went through these extraordinary fits. We now know that the true analogy would have been waves of sound, of which Newton had acquired in other respects so complete a comprehension. But though the notion of interference of waves had distinctly occurred to Hooke, Newton failed to see how the periodic phenomena of light could be connected with the periodic character of waves. His hypothesis fell because it was out of analogy with everything else in nature, and it therefore did not allow him, as in other cases, to descend by mathematical deduction to consequences which could be verified or refuted.
Among these purely descriptive ideas, I would include Newton’s theory of Fits of Easy Reflection and Refraction. That theory merely described what happened. It didn’t draw any parallels to other natural phenomena since Newton couldn’t identify any other substance that went through these unusual fits. We now understand that the true comparison would have been sound waves, of which Newton had incredibly comprehensive knowledge in other areas. However, even though the idea of wave interference had clearly occurred to Hooke, Newton didn’t recognize how the periodic phenomena of light could be linked to the periodic nature of waves. His hypothesis failed because it didn’t align with anything else in nature, preventing him, as in other cases, from using mathematical deduction to reach conclusions that could be tested or disproven.
We are at freedom to imagine the existence of a new agent, and to give it an appropriate name, provided there are phenomena incapable of explanation from known causes. We may speak of vital force as occasioning life, provided that we do not take it to be more than a name for an undefined something giving rise to inexplicable facts, just as the French chemists called Iodine the Substance X, so long as they were unaware of its real character and place in chemistry.436 Encke was quite justified in speaking of the resisting medium in space so long as the retardation of his comet could not be otherwise accounted for. But such hypotheses will do much harm whenever they divert us from attempts to reconcile the facts with524 known laws, or when they lead us to mix up discrete things. Because we speak of vital force we must not assume that it is a really existing physical force like electricity; we do not know what it is. We have no right to confuse Encke’s supposed resisting medium with the basis of light without distinct evidence of identity. The name protoplasm, now so familiarly used by physiologists, is doubtless legitimate so long as we do not mix up different substances under it, or imagine that the name gives us any knowledge of the obscure origin of life. To name a substance protoplasm no more explains the infinite variety of forms of life which spring out of the substance, than does the vital force which may be supposed to reside in the protoplasm. Both expressions are mere names for an inexplicable series of causes which out of apparently similar conditions produce the most diverse results.
We are free to imagine the existence of a new agent and give it a suitable name, as long as there are phenomena that can't be explained by known causes. We can talk about vital force as the cause of life, as long as we don’t think of it as more than just a name for something undefined that leads to inexplicable facts, similar to how French chemists referred to Iodine as Substance X when they didn’t yet understand its true nature and role in chemistry. Encke was justified in mentioning the resisting medium in space because the slowing down of his comet couldn’t be explained in any other way. However, such hypotheses can be harmful when they distract us from trying to understand the facts within the framework of known laws or when they cause us to confuse different things. Just because we talk about vital force doesn’t mean it actually exists as a physical force like electricity; we don’t know what it is. We shouldn’t confuse Encke’s supposed resisting medium with the foundation of light without clear evidence that they are the same. The term protoplasm, which is commonly used by physiologists today, is perfectly valid as long as we don’t mix different substances under that name or think that it provides insight into the mysterious origin of life. Calling a substance protoplasm doesn’t explain the infinite variety of life forms that emerge from it any more than the vital force thought to exist within protoplasm does. Both terms are just labels for an inexplicable series of causes that lead to a wide range of results from seemingly similar conditions.
Hardly to be distinguished from descriptive hypotheses are certain imaginary objects which we frame for the ready comprehension of a subject. The mathematician, in treating abstract questions of probability, finds it convenient to represent the conditions by a concrete hypothesis in the shape of a ballot-box. Poisson proved the principle of the inverse method of probabilities by imagining a number of ballot-boxes to have their contents mixed in one great ballot-box (p. 244). Many such devices are used by mathematicians. The Ptolemaic theory of cycles and epi-cycles was no grotesque and useless work of the imagination, but a perfectly valid mode of analysing the motions of the heavenly bodies; in reality it is used by mathematicians at the present day. Newton employed the pendulum as a means of representing the nature of an undulation. Centres of gravity, oscillation, &c., poles of the magnet, lines of force, are other imaginary existences employed to assist our thoughts (p. 364). Such devices may be called Representative Hypotheses, and they are only permissible so far as they embody analogies. Their further consideration belongs either to the subject of Analogy, or to that of language and representation, founded upon analogy.
Hardly distinguishable from descriptive hypotheses are certain imaginary concepts we create to help us understand a topic. The mathematician, when tackling abstract issues of probability, finds it useful to represent the conditions with a concrete hypothesis in the form of a ballot box. Poisson demonstrated the principle of the inverse method of probabilities by imagining a number of ballot boxes with their contents mixed into one large ballot box (p. 244). Many such ideas are used by mathematicians. The Ptolemaic theory of cycles and epi-cycles was not a bizarre and pointless fantasy, but a completely valid way to analyze the movements of celestial bodies; in fact, it is still used by mathematicians today. Newton used the pendulum to represent the nature of a wave. Centers of gravity, oscillation, etc., magnetic poles, and lines of force are other imaginary constructs used to help our understanding (p. 364). These concepts can be called Representative Hypotheses, and they are acceptable only as long as they represent analogies. Their further discussion pertains either to the subject of Analogy or to language and representation based on analogy.
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CHAPTER XXIV.
Empirical knowledge, explanation, and prediction.
Inductive investigation, as we have seen, consists in the union of hypothesis and experiment, deductive reasoning being the link by which experimental results are made to confirm or confute the hypothesis. Now when we consider this relation between hypothesis and experiment it is obvious that we may classify our knowledge under four heads.
Inductive investigation, as we have seen, combines hypothesis and experimentation, with deductive reasoning serving as the connection that allows experimental results to support or refute the hypothesis. Now, when we look at the relationship between hypothesis and experiment, it's clear that we can categorize our knowledge into four groups.
(1) We may be acquainted with facts which have not yet been brought into accordance with any hypothesis. Such facts constitute what is called Empirical Knowledge.
(1) We might know facts that haven't yet been aligned with any theories. These facts make up what is known as Empirical Knowledge.
(2) Another extensive portion of our knowledge consists of facts which having been first observed empirically, have afterwards been brought into accordance with other facts by an hypothesis concerning the general laws applying to them. This portion of our knowledge may be said to be explained, reasoned, or generalised.
(2) Another large part of what we know is made up of facts that were first observed through experience and then connected to other facts through a hypothesis about the general laws that apply to them. This part of our knowledge can be described as explained, reasoned, or generalized.
(3) In the third place comes the collection of facts, minor in number, but most important as regards their scientific interest, which have been anticipated by theory and afterwards verified by experiment.
(3) Thirdly, we have a collection of facts that are few in number but highly significant in terms of their scientific interest, which were predicted by theory and later confirmed by experiments.
(4) Lastly, there exists knowledge which is accepted solely on the ground of theory, and is incapable of experimental confirmation, at least with the instrumental means in our possession.
(4) Lastly, there is knowledge that is accepted solely based on theory and cannot be confirmed through experiments, at least with the tools currently available to us.
It is a work of much interest to compare and illustrate the relative extent and value of these four groups of knowledge. We shall observe that as a general rule a great branch of science originates in facts observed accidentally,526 or without distinct consciousness of what is to be expected. As a science progresses, its power of foresight rapidly increases, until the mathematician in his library acquires the power of anticipating nature, and predicting what will happen in circumstances which the eye of man has never examined.
It's interesting to compare and showcase the scope and significance of these four categories of knowledge. Generally, we find that a major area of science starts from facts observed by chance or without a clear idea of what to expect. As a science develops, its ability to foresee outcomes grows quickly, until a mathematician in their study can anticipate natural events and predict what will occur in situations that no person has ever witnessed.
Empirical Knowledge.
By empirical knowledge we mean such as is derived directly from the examination of detached facts, and rests entirely on those facts, without corroboration from other branches of knowledge. It is contrasted with generalised and theoretical knowledge, which embraces many series of facts under a few comprehensive principles, so that each series serves to throw light upon each other series of facts. Just as, in the map of a half-explored country, we see detached bits of rivers, isolated mountains, and undefined plains, not connected into any complete plan, so a new branch of knowledge consists of groups of facts, each group standing apart, so as not to allow us to reason from one to another.
By empirical knowledge, we mean the kind that comes directly from looking at separate facts and relies solely on those facts, without support from other areas of knowledge. This contrasts with generalized and theoretical knowledge, which groups many sets of facts under a few broad principles, allowing each set to illuminate the others. Just like in the map of a partly explored country, where we see scattered rivers, isolated mountains, and undefined plains that aren't connected into a complete picture, a new area of knowledge consists of clusters of facts, with each cluster remaining separate and preventing us from reasoning from one to another.
Before the time of Descartes, and Newton, and Huyghens, there was much empirical knowledge of the phenomena of light. The rainbow had always struck the attention of the most careless observers, and there was no difficulty in perceiving that its conditions of occurrence consisted in rays of the sun shining upon falling drops of rain. It was impossible to overlook the resemblance of the ordinary rainbow to the comparatively rare lunar rainbow, to the bow which appears upon the spray of a waterfall, or even upon beads of dew suspended on grass and spiders’ webs. In all these cases the uniform conditions are rays of light and round drops of water. Roger Bacon had noticed these conditions, as well as the analogy of the rainbow colours to those produced by crystals.437 But the knowledge was empirical until Descartes and Newton showed how the phenomena were connected with facts concerning the refraction of light.
Before the times of Descartes, Newton, and Huyghens, there was a lot of practical knowledge about light phenomena. The rainbow always caught the attention of even the most indifferent observers, and it was easy to see that it occurred when sunlight shone on falling raindrops. It was hard to miss the similarity between a regular rainbow and the rarer lunar rainbow, the bow that appears in the spray of a waterfall, or even on droplets of dew hanging on grass and spider webs. In all these instances, the common factors are rays of light and round water droplets. Roger Bacon had observed these conditions, as well as the similarity between rainbow colors and those produced by crystals.437 But the understanding remained empirical until Descartes and Newton explained how these phenomena were linked to the facts about light refraction.
There can be no better instance of an empirical truth527 than that detected by Newton concerning the high refractive powers of combustible substances. Newton’s chemical notions were almost as vague as those prevalent in his day, but he observed that certain “fat, sulphureous, unctuous bodies,” as he calls them, such as camphor, oils spirit of turpentine, amber, &c., have refractive powers two or three times greater than might be anticipated from their densities.438 The enormous refractive index of diamond, led him with great sagacity to regard this substance as of the same unctuous or inflammable nature, so that he may be regarded as predicting the combustibility of the diamond, afterwards demonstrated by the Florentine Academicians in 1694. Brewster having entered into a long investigation of the refractive powers of different substances, confirmed Newton’s assertions, and found that the three elementary combustible substances, diamond, phosphorus, and sulphur, have, in comparison with their densities, by far the highest known refractive indices,439 and there are only a few substances, such as chromate of lead or glass of antimony, which exceed them in absolute power of refraction. The oils and hydrocarbons generally possess excessive indices. But all this knowledge remains to the present day purely empirical, no connection having been pointed out between this coincidence of inflammability and high refractive power, with other laws of chemistry or optics. It is worth notice, as pointed out by Brewster, that if Newton had argued concerning two minerals, Greenockite and Octahedrite, as he did concerning diamond, his predictions would have proved false, showing sufficiently that he did not make any sure induction on the subject. In the present day, the relation of the refractive index to the density and atomic weight of a substance is becoming a matter of theory; yet there remain specific differences of refracting power known only on empirical grounds, and it is curious that in hydrogen an abnormally high refractive power has been found to be joined to inflammability.
There’s no better example of an empirical truth than what Newton discovered about the high refractive powers of combustible substances. Newton’s ideas about chemistry were almost as vague as those of his time, but he noticed that certain “fat, sulfurous, greasy bodies,” as he described them—like camphor, oils, spirit of turpentine, and amber—have refractive powers two or three times higher than you would expect based on their densities. The large refractive index of diamond led him wisely to consider this substance to be of the same greasy or flammable nature, predicting that diamonds could combust, a claim that was later proven by the Florentine Academicians in 1694. Brewster conducted a lengthy investigation into the refractive powers of various substances, confirming Newton’s claims and finding that the three basic combustible substances—diamond, phosphorus, and sulfur—have, compared to their densities, the highest known refractive indices. There are only a few substances, like lead chromate or antimony glass, that have higher absolute refraction power. Oils and hydrocarbons generally have excessively high indices. However, all this knowledge remains purely empirical even today, as no connection has been established between the coincidence of combustibility and high refractive power with other laws of chemistry or optics. It’s interesting, as Brewster noted, that if Newton had reasoned about two minerals, Greenockite and Octahedrite, as he did about diamond, his predictions would have been incorrect, demonstrating that he did not make any reliable conclusions on the topic. Nowadays, the relationship between refractive index, density, and atomic weight of a substance is becoming a theoretical issue; yet, there remain specific differences in refracting power that are only known through empirical means. It’s also curious that hydrogen has been found to have an abnormally high refractive power alongside its flammability.
The science of chemistry, however much its theory may have progressed, still presents us with a vast body of empirical knowledge. Not only is it as yet hopeless to attempt528 to account for the particular group of qualities belonging to each element, but there are multitudes of particular facts of which no further account can be given. Why should the sulphides of many metals be intensely black? Why should a slight amount of phosphoric acid have so great a power of interference with the crystallisation of vanadic acid?440 Why should the compound silicates of alkalies and alkaline metals be transparent? Why should gold be so highly ductile, and gold and silver the only two sensibly translucent metals? Why should sulphur be capable of so many peculiar changes into allotropic modifications?
The field of chemistry, no matter how advanced its theories have become, still offers us a huge amount of practical knowledge. It’s still pointless to try to explain the specific set of qualities that each element has, and there are countless specific facts that we can’t fully explain. Why are the sulfides of many metals so intensely black? Why does even a small amount of phosphoric acid have such a strong impact on the crystallization of vanadic acid? Why are the compound silicates of alkali and alkaline earth metals transparent? Why is gold so highly ductile, and why are gold and silver the only two metals that are noticeably translucent? Why is sulfur capable of so many unique transformations into allotropic forms?
There are whole branches of chemical knowledge which are mere collections of disconnected facts. The properties of alloys are often remarkable; but no laws have yet been detected, and the laws of combining proportions seem to have no clear application.441 Not the slightest explanation can be given of the wonderful variations of the qualities of iron, according as it contains more or less carbon and silicon, nay, even the facts of the case are often involved in uncertainty. Why, again, should the properties of steel be remarkably affected by the presence of a little tungsten or manganese? All that was determined by Matthiessen concerning the conducting powers of copper, was of a purely empirical character.442 Many animal substances cannot be shown to obey the laws of combining proportions. Thus for the most part chemistry is yet an empirical science occupied with the registration of immense numbers of disconnected facts, which may at some future time become the basis of a greatly extended theory.
There are entire areas of chemistry that consist of just random facts. The properties of alloys can be surprising, but no clear laws have been established, and the rules for combining proportions don't seem to apply straightforwardly.441 There’s no simple explanation for the surprising variations in iron's qualities depending on its carbon and silicon content, and sometimes the facts themselves can be quite uncertain. Why do even small amounts of tungsten or manganese significantly impact the properties of steel? Everything Matthiessen discovered about copper's conductivity was purely based on observation.442 Many animal substances don’t seem to follow the laws of combining proportions. So for the most part, chemistry remains an empirical science focused on cataloging a vast array of unrelated facts, which might someday form the foundation for a broader theory.
We must not indeed suppose that any science will ever entirely cease to be empirical. Multitudes of phenomena have been explained by the undulatory theory of light; but there yet remain many facts to be treated. The natural colours of bodies and the rays given off by them when heated, are unexplained, and yield few empirical coincidences. The theory of electricity is partially understood, but the conditions of the production of frictional electricity defy explanation, although they have been529 studied for two centuries. I shall subsequently point out that even the establishment of a wide and true law of nature is but the starting-point for the discovery of exceptions and divergences giving a new scope to empirical discovery.
We shouldn't assume that any science will ever completely stop being based on observation. Many phenomena have been explained by the wave theory of light, but there are still many facts that need to be addressed. The natural colors of objects and the light they emit when heated are still not fully understood and provide few observable connections. The theory of electricity is partially grasped, but the factors behind the creation of static electricity remain unexplained, despite being studied for two centuries. I will later point out that even when we establish a broad and accurate law of nature, it only serves as a starting point for finding exceptions and variations that open up new avenues for empirical research.
There is probably no science, I have said, which is entirely free from empirical and unexplained facts. Logic approaches most nearly to this position, as it is merely a deductive development of the laws of thought and the principle of substitution. Yet some of the facts established in the investigation of the inverse logical problem may be considered empirical. That a proposition of the form A = BC ꖌ b c possesses the least number of distinct logical variations, and the greatest number of logical equivalents of the same form among propositions involving three classes (p. 141), is a case in point. So also is the fact discovered by Professor Clifford that in regard to statements involving four classes, there is only one example of two dissimilar statements having the same distances (p. 144). Mathematical science often yields empirical truths. Why, for instance, should the value of π, when expressed to a great number of figures, contain the digit 7 much less frequently than any other digit?443 Even geometry may allow of empirical truths, when the matter does not involve quantities of space, but numerical results and the positive or negative character of quantities, as in De Morgan’s theorem concerning negative areas.
There’s probably no science, as I’ve mentioned, that is completely free from empirical and unexplained facts. Logic comes closest to this idea since it’s just a deductive development of the laws of thought and the principle of substitution. However, some of the facts found in investigating the inverse logical problem can be seen as empirical. For example, a proposition like A = BC ꖌ b c has the fewest distinct logical variations and the most logical equivalents of the same form among propositions involving three classes (p. 141). Another example is the finding by Professor Clifford that when it comes to statements involving four classes, there’s only one case of two different statements having the same distances (p. 144). Mathematical science frequently reveals empirical truths. Why, for example, does the value of π, when expressed with many digits, contain the digit 7 much less often than any other digit? 443 Even geometry can have empirical truths, especially when it doesn’t deal with quantities of space but rather numerical results and the positive or negative nature of quantities, like in De Morgan’s theorem about negative areas.
Accidental Discovery.
There are not a few cases where almost pure accident has determined the moment when a new branch of knowledge was to be created. The laws of the structure of crystals were not discovered until Haüy happened to drop a beautiful crystal of calc-spar upon a stone pavement. His momentary regret at destroying a choice specimen was quickly removed when, in attempting to join the fragments together, he observed regular geometrical faces, which did not correspond with the external facets of the crystals. A great many more crystals were soon broken intentionally,530 to observe the planes of cleavage, and the discovery of the internal structure of crystalline substances was the result. Here we see how much more was due to the reasoning power of the philosopher, than to an accident which must often have happened to other persons.
There are many instances where nearly pure chance decided the moment a new area of knowledge was formed. The laws governing crystal structures weren't found until Haüy accidentally dropped a stunning calc-spar crystal on a stone pavement. His brief regret over ruining a fine specimen quickly faded when, as he tried to piece the fragments back together, he noticed regular geometric faces that didn't match the external facets of the crystals. Many more crystals were soon intentionally broken to study the cleavage planes, leading to the discovery of the internal structure of crystalline substances. This shows that much more credit is due to the philosopher’s reasoning skills than to an accident that could have happened to anyone else.
In a similar manner, a fortuitous occurrence led Malus to discover the polarisation of light by reflection. The phenomena of double refraction had been long known, and when engaged in Paris in 1808, in investigating the character of light thus polarised, Malus chanced to look through a double refracting prism at the light of the setting sun, reflected from the windows of the Luxembourg Palace. In turning the prism round, he was surprised to find that the ordinary image disappeared at two opposite positions of the prism. He remarked that the reflected light behaved like light which had been polarised by passing through another prism. He was induced to test the character of light reflected under other circumstances, and it was eventually proved that polarisation is invariably connected with reflection. Some of the general laws of optics, previously unsuspected, were thus discovered by pure accident. In the history of electricity, accident has had a large part. For centuries some of the more common effects of magnetism and of frictional electricity had presented themselves as unaccountable deviations from the ordinary course of Nature. Accident must have first directed attention to such phenomena, but how few of those who witnessed them had any conception of the all-pervading character of the power manifested. The very existence of galvanism, or electricity of low tension, was unsuspected until Galvani accidentally touched the leg of a frog with pieces of metal. The decomposition of water by voltaic electricity also was accidentally discovered by Nicholson in 1801, and Davy speaks of this discovery as the foundation of all that had since been done in electro-chemical science.
In a similar way, a chance event led Malus to discover the polarization of light through reflection. People had known about double refraction for a long time, and while he was in Paris in 1808 studying the characteristics of polarized light, Malus happened to look through a double refracting prism at the light of the setting sun, which was reflected off the windows of the Luxembourg Palace. As he turned the prism, he was surprised to see that the regular image vanished at two opposite positions of the prism. He noted that the reflected light acted like light that had been polarized by passing through another prism. This prompted him to examine the nature of light reflected under different conditions, and it was eventually shown that polarization is consistently linked with reflection. Some of the general laws of optics, which had not been previously recognized, were discovered purely by accident. In the history of electricity, chance has played a significant role. For centuries, some common effects of magnetism and frictional electricity appeared as unexplained deviations from the usual patterns of nature. Accident likely first drew attention to these phenomena, but few of those who observed them had any idea of the pervasive nature of the power at play. The very existence of galvanism, or low-tension electricity, wasn’t understood until Galvani accidentally touched a frog's leg with metal pieces. The decomposition of water by voltaic electricity was also discovered by accident by Nicholson in 1801, and Davy described this finding as the foundation for everything that has been done in electro-chemical science since then.
It is otherwise with the discovery of electro-magnetism. Oersted, in common with many others, had suspected the existence of some relation between the magnet and electricity, and he appears to have tried to detect its exact nature. Once, as we are told by Hansteen, he had employed a strong galvanic battery during a lecture, and at531 the close it occurred to him to try the effect of placing the conducting wire parallel to a magnetic needle, instead of at right angles, as he had previously done. The needle immediately moved and took up a position nearly at right angles to the wire; he inverted the direction of the current, and the needle deviated in a contrary direction. The great discovery was made, and if by accident, it was such an accident as happens, as Lagrange remarked of Newton, only to those who deserve it.444 There was, in fact, nothing accidental, except that, as in all totally new discoveries, Oersted did not know what to look for. He could not infer from previous knowledge the nature of the relation, and it was only repeated trial in different modes which could lead him to the right combination. High and happy powers of inference, and not accident, subsequently led Faraday to reverse the process, and to show that the motion of the magnet would occasion an electric current in the wire.
It’s different with the discovery of electromagnetism. Oersted, like many others, had suspected there was a connection between magnets and electricity, and he seems to have tried to figure out exactly what that connection was. One time, as Hansteen tells us, he used a strong galvanic battery during a lecture, and at531 the end, he decided to see what would happen if he placed the conducting wire parallel to a magnetic needle instead of at right angles, as he had done before. The needle immediately moved and aligned itself nearly at right angles to the wire; when he reversed the current, the needle moved in the opposite direction. The major discovery was made, and while it may have been by chance, it was the kind of chance, as Lagrange noted about Newton, that only happens to those who are worthy of it. There was, in reality, nothing random about it, except that, like all completely new discoveries, Oersted didn’t know what to search for. He couldn’t deduce the nature of the connection from his previous knowledge, and only through repeated testing in different ways could he find the right combination. It was not accident but rather high and exceptional powers of reasoning that later allowed Faraday to reverse the process and demonstrate that the motion of the magnet would create an electric current in the wire.
Sufficient investigation would probably show that almost every branch of art and science had an accidental beginning. In historical times almost every important new instrument as the telescope, the microscope, or the compass, was probably suggested by some accidental occurrence. In pre-historic times the germs of the arts must have arisen still more exclusively in the same way. Cultivation of plants probably arose, in Mr. Darwin’s opinion, from some such accident as the seeds of a fruit falling upon a heap of refuse, and producing an unusually fine variety. Even the use of fire must, some time or other, have been discovered in an accidental manner.
A thorough investigation would likely reveal that nearly every area of art and science began by chance. Throughout history, most significant new tools like the telescope, microscope, or compass were probably inspired by some random event. In prehistoric times, the foundations of the arts likely emerged in an even more accidental manner. According to Mr. Darwin, the cultivation of plants probably started from an event like seeds from a fruit falling onto a pile of waste and producing an exceptionally good variety. Even discovering how to use fire must have happened accidentally at some point.
With the progress of a branch of science, the element of chance becomes much reduced. Not only are laws discovered which enable results to be predicted, as we shall see, but the systematic examination of phenomena and substances often leads to discoveries which can in no sense be said to be accidental. It has been asserted that the anæsthetic properties of chloroform were disclosed by a little dog smelling at a saucerful of the liquid in a chemist’s shop in Linlithgow, the singular effects upon the dog being reported to Simpson, who turned the incident to good532 account. This story, however, has been shown to be a fabrication, the fact being that Simpson had for many years been endeavouring to discover a better anæsthetic than those previously employed, and that he tested the properties of chloroform, among other substances, at the suggestion of Waldie, a Liverpool chemist. The valuable powers of chloral hydrate have since been discovered in a like manner, and systematic inquiries are continually being made into the therapeutic or economic values of new chemical compounds.
As science advances, the role of chance becomes much smaller. Not only are laws uncovered that allow us to predict outcomes, as we will see, but the careful study of phenomena and substances often leads to discoveries that can't be considered random. It was once claimed that the anesthetic properties of chloroform were discovered when a small dog sniffed a saucer of the liquid in a chemist’s shop in Linlithgow, with the unusual effects on the dog being reported to Simpson, who used this information to his advantage. However, this story has been proven to be false; in reality, Simpson had been working for many years to find a better anesthetic than those previously used, and he tested chloroform's properties, among other substances, based on a suggestion from Waldie, a chemist from Liverpool. The valuable effects of chloral hydrate were discovered in a similar way, and systematic research is constantly being conducted into the therapeutic or economic benefits of new chemical compounds.
If we must attempt to draw a conclusion concerning the part which chance plays in scientific discovery, it must be allowed that it more or less affects the success of all inductive investigation, but becomes less important with the progress of science. Accident may bring a new and valuable combination to the notice of some person who had never expressly searched for a discovery of the kind, and the probabilities are certainly in favour of a discovery being occasionally made in this manner. But the greater the tact and industry with which a physicist applies himself to the study of nature, the greater is the probability that he will meet with fortunate accidents, and will turn them to good account. Thus it comes to pass that, in the refined investigations of the present day, genius united to extensive knowledge, cultivated powers, and indomitable industry, constitute the characteristics of the successful discoverer.
If we try to conclude how much chance influences scientific discovery, we have to admit that it affects the success of all inductive research to some extent, but its importance decreases as science develops. Sometimes, an accident can reveal a new and valuable combination to someone who wasn’t actively searching for that kind of discovery, and there’s definitely a chance that discoveries can be made this way. However, the more skillful and hardworking a physicist is in studying nature, the more likely they are to experience fortunate accidents and make the most of them. So, in today’s advanced research, a mix of talent, broad knowledge, developed skills, and relentless effort are what define successful discoverers.
Empirical Observations subsequently Explained.
The second great portion of scientific knowledge consists of facts which have been first learnt in a purely empirical manner, but have afterwards been shown to follow from some law of nature, that is, from some highly probable hypothesis. Facts are said to be explained when they are thus brought into harmony with other facts, or bodies of general knowledge. There are few words more familiarly used in scientific phraseology than this word explanation, and it is necessary to decide exactly what we mean by it, since the question touches the deepest points concerning the nature of science. Like most terms referring to mental actions, the verbs to explain, or to explicate, involve533 material similes. The action is ex plicis plana reddere, to take out the folds, and render a thing plain or even. Explanation thus renders a thing clearly comprehensible in all its points, so that there is nothing left outstanding or obscure.
The second major part of scientific knowledge consists of facts that were initially learned in a purely empirical way but later shown to follow from some law of nature, or from a highly probable hypothesis. Facts are said to be explained when they are aligned with other facts or bodies of general knowledge. There are few words more commonly used in scientific language than the word explanation, and it’s essential to clarify what we mean by it, as the question touches on the fundamental aspects of the nature of science. Like most terms relating to mental processes, the verbs to explain or to explicate involve533 tangible metaphors. The action is ex plicis plana reddere, which means to unfold and make something clear or smooth. Explanation thus makes something fully understandable in all its aspects, leaving nothing unresolved or unclear.
Every act of explanation consists in pointing out a resemblance between facts, or in showing that similarity exists between apparently diverse phenomena. This similarity may be of any extent and depth; it may be a general law of nature, which harmonises the motions of all the heavenly bodies by showing that there is a similar force which governs all those motions, or the explanation may involve nothing more than a single identity, as when we explain the appearance of shooting stars by showing that they are identical with portions of a comet. Wherever we detect resemblance, there is a more or less explanation. The mind is disquieted when it meets a novel phenomenon, one which is sui generis; it seeks at once for parallels which may be found in the memory of past sensations. The so-called sulphurous smell which attends a stroke of lightning often excited attention, and it was not explained until the exact similarity of the smell to that of ozone was pointed out. The marks upon a flagstone are explained when they are shown to correspond with the feet of an extinct animal, whose bones are elsewhere found. Explanation, in fact, generally commences by the discovery of some simple resemblance; the theory of the rainbow began as soon as Antonio de Dominis pointed out the resemblance between its colours and those presented by a ray of sunlight passing through a glass globe full of water.
Every act of explanation involves pointing out a similarity between facts or showing that a connection exists between seemingly different phenomena. This similarity can vary in its extent and depth; it might be a general law of nature that connects the movements of all celestial bodies by demonstrating a similar force governing those movements, or the explanation might simply reveal a singular identity, like when we clarify that shooting stars are actually pieces of a comet. Whenever we notice a resemblance, we find some level of explanation. The mind feels unsettled when encountering a new phenomenon, something that is sui generis; it immediately searches for parallels found in past experiences. The sulfurous smell associated with a lightning strike often caught attention, and it wasn't explained until the strong similarity to the smell of ozone was recognized. The marks on a flagstone are understood when they are shown to match the footprints of an extinct animal, whose bones are found elsewhere. In essence, explanation typically begins with the discovery of some basic resemblance; the theory of the rainbow was initiated as soon as Antonio de Dominis pointed out the similarity between its colors and those produced by a beam of sunlight passing through a glass globe filled with water.
The nature and limits of explanation can only be fully considered, after we have entered upon the subjects of generalisation and analogy. It must suffice to remark, in this place, that the most important process of explanation consists in showing that an observed fact is one case of a general law or tendency. Iron is always found combined with sulphur, when it is in contact with coal, whereas in other parts of the carboniferous strata it always occurs as a carbonate. We explain this empirical fact as being due to the reducing power of carbon and hydrogen, which prevents the iron from combining with oxygen, and leaves it534 open to the affinity of sulphur. The uniform strength and direction of the trade-winds were long familiar to mariners, before they were explained by Halley on hydrostatical principles. The winds were found to arise from the action of gravity, which causes a heavier body to displace a lighter one, while the direction from east to west was explained as a result of the earth’s rotation. Whatever body in the northern hemisphere changes its latitude, whether it be a bird, or a railway train, or a body of air, must tend towards the right hand. Dove’s law of the winds is that the winds tend to veer in the northern hemisphere in the direction N.E.S.W., and in the southern hemisphere in the direction N.W.S.E. This tendency was shown by him to be the necessary effect of the same conditions which apply to the trade winds. Whenever, then, any fact is connected by resemblance, law, theory, or hypothesis, with other facts, it is explained.
The nature and limits of explanation can only be fully understood after we dive into the topics of generalization and analogy. For now, it's enough to point out that the key part of explanation is showing that an observed fact is a specific example of a general law or trend. For instance, iron is always found combined with sulfur when it's in contact with coal, while in other areas of carbon-rich layers, it typically appears as a carbonate. We explain this observation by attributing it to the reducing power of carbon and hydrogen, which prevents iron from combining with oxygen, allowing it to bond with sulfur instead. Sailors were well aware of the consistent strength and direction of trade winds long before Halley explained them using the principles of hydrostatics. The winds were found to result from gravity, which makes a heavier body displace a lighter one, while the east-to-west direction was explained by the earth’s rotation. Any object in the northern hemisphere that changes its latitude, whether it's a bird, a train, or a mass of air, will tend to move to the right. Dove’s law of the winds states that in the northern hemisphere, winds tend to shift in the direction N.E.S.W., and in the southern hemisphere, they shift toward N.W.S.E. He demonstrated that this pattern is a direct result of the same conditions that apply to trade winds. Therefore, whenever a fact is linked by resemblance, law, theory, or hypothesis to other facts, it is considered explained.
Although the great mass of recorded facts must be empirical, and awaiting explanation, such knowledge is of minor value, because it does not admit of safe and extensive inference. Each recorded result informs us exactly what will be experienced again in the same circumstances, but has no bearing upon what will happen in other circumstances.
Although most recorded facts are based on observation and are waiting for explanation, this knowledge is of limited value because it doesn't allow for reliable and broad conclusions. Each documented result tells us precisely what will happen again under the same conditions, but it doesn't help us understand what will occur in different situations.
Overlooked Results of Theory.
We must by no means suppose that, when a scientific truth is in our possession, all its consequences will be foreseen. Deduction is certain and infallible, in the sense that each step in deductive reasoning will lead us to some result, as certain as the law itself. But it does not follow that deduction will lead the reasoner to every result of a law or combination of laws. Whatever road a traveller takes, he is sure to arrive somewhere, but unless he proceeds in a systematic manner, it is unlikely that he will reach every place to which a network of roads will conduct him.
We shouldn't think that just because we have a scientific truth, we can predict all its outcomes. Deduction is reliable and foolproof in that each step in deductive reasoning leads us to a result as definite as the law itself. However, that doesn’t mean deduction will take us to every outcome of a law or a combination of laws. No matter which path a traveler chooses, they'll definitely end up somewhere, but if they don’t have a structured approach, they probably won't get to all the places that a network of roads could lead to.
In like manner there are many phenomena which were virtually within the reach of philosophers by inference from their previous knowledge, but were never discovered until accident or systematic empirical observation disclosed their existence.
Similarly, there are many phenomena that philosophers could have inferred from their existing knowledge, but were never discovered until they were revealed through chance or systematic empirical observation.
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That light travels with a uniform high velocity was proved by Roemer from observations of the eclipses of Jupiter’s satellites. Corrections were thenceforward made in all astronomical observations requiring it, for the difference of absolute time at which an event happened, and that at which it would be seen on the earth. But no person happened to remark that the motion of light compounded with that of the earth in its orbit would occasion a small apparent displacement of the greater part of the heavenly bodies. Fifty years elapsed before Bradley empirically discovered this effect, called by him aberration, when reducing his observations of the fixed stars.
That light travels at a constant high speed was proven by Roemer through his observations of the eclipses of Jupiter’s moons. From then on, corrections were made in all astronomical observations that needed it, to account for the difference between the actual time an event occurred and when it would be seen on Earth. However, no one noticed that the motion of light combined with the Earth's orbit would cause a small apparent shift in most of the celestial bodies. It took fifty years before Bradley empirically discovered this effect, which he called aberration, while refining his observations of the fixed stars.
When once the relation between an electric current and a magnet had been detected by Oersted and Faraday, it ought to have been possible for them to foresee the diverse results which must ensue in different circumstances. If, for instance, a plate of copper were placed beneath an oscillating magnetic needle, it should have been seen that the needle would induce currents in the copper, but as this could not take place without a certain reaction against the needle, it ought to have been seen that the needle would come to rest more rapidly than in the absence of the copper. This peculiar effect was accidentally discovered by Gambey in 1824. Arago acutely inferred from Gambey’s experiment that if the copper were set in rotation while the needle was stationary the motion would gradually be communicated to the needle. The phenomenon nevertheless puzzled the whole scientific world, and it required the deductive genius of Faraday to show that it was a result of the principles of electro-magnetism.445
Once Oersted and Faraday discovered the relationship between electric current and a magnet, they should have been able to predict the various outcomes that would occur in different situations. For example, if a copper plate was placed under an oscillating magnetic needle, it should have been obvious that the needle would generate currents in the copper; however, since this reaction would create an effect against the needle, it should have been recognized that the needle would come to a stop more quickly than it would without the copper. This unique effect was accidentally discovered by Gambey in 1824. Arago cleverly inferred from Gambey’s experiment that if the copper was rotated while the needle remained still, the motion would gradually be transferred to the needle. Nevertheless, this phenomenon baffled the entire scientific community, and it took Faraday's deductive genius to demonstrate that it was a result of the principles of electromagnetism.445
Many other curious facts might be mentioned which when once noticed were explained as the effects of well-known laws. It was accidentally discovered that the navigation of canals of small depth could be facilitated by increasing the speed of the boats, the resistance being actually reduced by this increase of speed, which enables the boat to ride as it were upon its own forced wave. Now mathematical theory might have predicted this536 result had the right application of the formulæ occurred to any one.446 Giffard’s injector for supplying steam boilers with water by the force of their own steam, was, I believe, accidentally discovered, but no new principles of mechanics are involved in it, so that it might have been theoretically invented. The same may be said of the curious experiment in which a stream of air or steam issuing from a pipe is made to hold a free disc upon the end of the pipe and thus obstruct its own outlet. The possession then of a true theory does not by any means imply the foreseeing of all the results. The effects of even a few simple laws may be manifold, and some of the most curious and useful effects may remain undetected until accidental observation brings them to our notice. .
Many other interesting facts could be mentioned that, once recognized, were explained as the outcomes of well-known laws. It was discovered by chance that navigating shallow canals could be made easier by increasing the speed of the boats; the resistance actually decreases with this increase in speed, allowing the boat to ride on its own wake. Mathematical theory could have predicted this result if someone had thought to apply the right formulas. Giffard’s injector, which supplies steam boilers with water using the force of their own steam, was, I believe, discovered by accident, but it doesn't involve any new principles of mechanics, so it could have been theoretically invented. The same goes for the intriguing experiment where a stream of air or steam coming from a pipe is used to hold a free disc at the end of the pipe, thus blocking its own outlet. Possessing a true theory does not necessarily mean that all results can be foreseen. The effects of even a few simple laws can be numerous, and some of the most fascinating and useful outcomes may remain unnoticed until they are brought to our attention by chance observation.
Predicted Discoveries.
The most interesting of the four classes of facts specified in p. 525, is probably the third, containing those the occurrence of which has been first predicted by theory and then verified by observation. There is no more convincing proof of the soundness of knowledge than that it confers the gift of foresight. Auguste Comte said that “Prevision is the test of true theory;” I should say that it is one test of true theory, and that which is most likely to strike the public attention. Coincidence with fact is the test of true theory, but when the result of theory is announced before-hand, there can be no doubt as to the unprejudiced spirit in which the theorist interprets the results of his own theory.
The most interesting of the four types of facts mentioned in p. 525 is probably the third one, which includes those events that have been predicted by theory and then confirmed by observation. There’s no better proof of the validity of knowledge than its ability to provide foresight. Auguste Comte once said, “Prevision is the test of true theory;” I would argue that it is one test of true theory and the one that most captures public attention. Alignment with facts is the test of true theory, but when the outcome of a theory is predicted in advance, there can be no doubt about the impartial way the theorist interprets the results of their own theory.
The earliest instance of scientific prophecy is naturally furnished by the science of Astronomy, which was the earliest in development. Herodotus447 narrates that, in the midst of a battle between the Medes and Lydians, the day was suddenly turned into night, and the event had been foretold by Thales, the Father of Philosophy. A cessation of the combat and peace confirmed by marriages were the consequences of this happy scientific effort. Much controversy has taken place concerning the date of537 this occurrence, Baily assigning the year 610 B.C., but Airy has calculated that the exact day was the 28th of May, 584 B.C. There can be no doubt that this and other predictions of eclipses attributed to ancient philosophers were due to a knowledge of the Metonic Cycle, a period of 6,585 days, or 223 lunar months, or about 19 years, after which a nearly perfect recurrence of the phases and eclipses of the moon takes place; but if so, Thales must have had access to long series of astronomical records of the Egyptians or the Chaldeans. There is a well-known story as to the happy use which Columbus made of the power of predicting eclipses in overawing the islanders of Jamaica who refused him necessary supplies of food for his fleet. He threatened to deprive them of the moon’s light. “His threat was treated at first with indifference, but when the eclipse actually commenced, the barbarians vied with each other in the production of the necessary supplies for the Spanish fleet.”
The earliest example of scientific prediction comes from Astronomy, which was the first science to develop. Herodotus narrates that during a battle between the Medes and Lydians, day suddenly turned into night, and this event had been predicted by Thales, the Father of Philosophy. The fighting ceased, and peace was established through marriages as a result of this fortunate scientific insight. There has been much debate about the date of this event; Baily attributed it to the year 610 B.C., while Airy calculated that it actually occurred on May 28, 584 B.C. There's no doubt that this and other eclipse predictions made by ancient philosophers were based on the Metonic Cycle, a period of 6,585 days, or 223 lunar months, roughly 19 years, after which the phases and eclipses of the moon recur almost perfectly. If that’s the case, Thales must have had access to extensive astronomical records from the Egyptians or the Chaldeans. A well-known story highlights how Columbus used his ability to predict eclipses to intimidate the islanders of Jamaica, who were initially unwilling to provide essential supplies for his fleet. He threatened to take away the moon’s light. “At first, his threat was met with indifference, but when the eclipse began, the islanders scrambled to gather the needed supplies for the Spanish fleet.”
Exactly the same kind of awe which the ancients experienced at the prediction of eclipses, has been felt in modern times concerning the return of comets. Seneca asserted in distinct terms that comets would be found to revolve in periodic orbits and return to sight. The ancient Chaldeans and the Pythagoreans are also said to have entertained a like opinion. But it was not until the age of Newton and Halley that it became possible to calculate the path of a comet in future years. A great comet appeared in 1682, a few years before the first publication of the Principia, and Halley showed that its orbit corresponded with that of remarkable comets recorded to have appeared in the years 1531 and 1607. The intervals of time were not quite equal, but Halley conceived the bold idea that this difference might be due to the disturbing power of Jupiter, near which the comet had passed in the interval 1607–1682. He predicted that the comet would return about the end of 1758 or the beginning of 1759, and though Halley did not live to enjoy the sight, it was actually detected on the night of Christmas-day, 1758. A second return of the comet was witnessed in 1835 nearly at the anticipated time.
The same sense of wonder that ancient people felt when they predicted eclipses can be seen in modern reactions to the return of comets. Seneca clearly stated that comets would orbit in predictable paths and come back into view. The ancient Chaldeans and Pythagoreans are also said to have held similar beliefs. However, it wasn’t until the time of Newton and Halley that it became possible to calculate a comet's future trajectory. A significant comet appeared in 1682, just a few years before the first publication of the Principia, and Halley demonstrated that its orbit matched that of notable comets observed in 1531 and 1607. The time intervals weren't exactly the same, but Halley proposed a daring idea that the difference could be caused by the gravitational influence of Jupiter, which the comet had passed near during the years between 1607 and 1682. He predicted that the comet would reappear around late 1758 or early 1759, and although Halley didn’t live to see it, it was indeed spotted on Christmas night in 1758. The comet made a second appearance in 1835, almost precisely when expected.
In recent times the discovery of Neptune has been the most remarkable instance of prevision in astronomical538 science. A full account of this discovery may be found in several works, as for instance Herschel’s Outlines of Astronomy, and Grant’s History of Physical Astronomy, Chapters XII and XIII.
In recent times, the discovery of Neptune has been the most impressive example of foresight in astronomy. You can find a detailed account of this discovery in several works, such as Herschel's Outlines of Astronomy and Grant’s History of Physical Astronomy, Chapters XII and XIII.
Predictions in the Science of Light.
Next after astronomy the science of physical optics has furnished the most beautiful instances of the prophetic power of correct theory. These cases are the more striking because they proceed from the profound application of mathematical analysis and show an insight into the mysterious workings of matter which is surprising to all, but especially to those who are unable to comprehend the methods of research employed. By its power of prevision the truth of the undulatory theory of light has been conspicuously proved, and the contrast in this respect between the undulatory and Corpuscular theories is remarkable. Even Newton could get no aid from his corpuscular theory in the invention of new experiments, and to his followers who embraced that theory we owe little or nothing in the science of light. Laplace did not derive from the theory a single discovery. As Fresnel remarks:448
Next to astronomy, the field of physical optics has provided some of the most stunning examples of how accurate theories can predict outcomes. These examples are particularly impressive because they stem from a deep understanding of mathematical analysis and reveal surprising insights into the complex nature of matter, especially for those who find it hard to grasp the research methods being used. The predictive power of the undulatory theory of light has been clearly demonstrated, and the differences between the undulatory and corpuscular theories are striking. Even Newton couldn't rely on his corpuscular theory to come up with new experiments, and we owe very little in the science of light to his followers who supported that theory. Laplace didn't make a single discovery based on it. As Fresnel points out:448
“The assistance to be derived from a good theory is not to be confined to the calculation of the forces when the laws of the phenomena are known. There are certain laws so complicated and so singular, that observation alone, aided by analogy, could never lead to their discovery. To divine these enigmas we must be guided by theoretical ideas founded on a true hypothesis. The theory of luminous vibrations presents this character, and these precious advantages; for to it we owe the discovery of optical laws the most complicated and most difficult to divine.”
“The help we get from a good theory isn’t just about calculating forces when we know the laws of the phenomena. Some laws are so complex and unique that just observing them, even with the help of analogy, wouldn’t lead to their discovery. To unravel these mysteries, we need to rely on theoretical ideas based on a true hypothesis. The theory of light vibrations offers this quality and these valuable benefits, as it has led to the discovery of optical laws that are the most complicated and hardest to figure out.”
Physicists who embraced the corpuscular theory had nothing but their own quickness of observation to rely upon. Fresnel having once seized the conditions of the true undulatory theory, as previously stated by Young, was enabled by the mere manipulation of his mathematical symbols to foresee many of the complicated phenomena of light. Who could possibly suppose, that by stopping a539 portion of the rays passing through a circular aperture, the illumination of a point upon a screen behind the aperture might be many times multiplied. Yet this paradoxical effect was predicted by Fresnel, and verified both by himself, and in a careful repetition of the experiment, by Billet. Few persons are aware that in the middle of the shadow of an opaque circular disc is a point of light sensibly as bright as if no disc had been interposed. This startling fact was deduced from Fresnel’s theory by Poisson, and was then verified experimentally by Arago. Airy, again, was led by pure theory to predict that Newton’s rings would present a modified appearance if produced between a lens of glass and a plate of metal. This effect happened to have been observed fifteen years before by Arago, unknown to Airy. Another prediction of Airy, that there would be a further modification of the rings when made between two substances of very different refractive indices, was verified by subsequent trial with a diamond. A reversal of the rings takes place when the space intervening between the plates is filled with a substance of intermediate refractive power, another phenomenon predicted by theory and verified by experiment. There is hardly a limit to the number of other complicated effects of the interference of rays of light under different circumstances which might be deduced from the mathematical expressions, if it were worth while, or which, being previously observed, can be explained. An interesting case was observed by Herschel and explained by Airy.449
Physicists who supported the particle theory only had their keen observations to rely on. Fresnel, having grasped the principles of the true wave theory previously articulated by Young, was able, through simply manipulating his mathematical symbols, to predict many complex phenomena related to light. Who could imagine that by blocking a portion of the rays passing through a circular opening, the brightness of a specific point on a screen behind that opening could be significantly increased? Yet, this counterintuitive effect was predicted by Fresnel and confirmed both by him and through a careful repetition of the experiment by Billet. Few people realize that in the center of the shadow of an opaque circular disc, there is a point of light that is almost as bright as if no disc had been placed in front of it. This surprising fact was derived from Fresnel’s theory by Poisson and later confirmed through experimentation by Arago. Airy, once again, used pure theory to predict that Newton’s rings would appear differently when created between a glass lens and a metal plate. This effect had actually been observed by Arago fifteen years earlier, without Airy being aware of it. Airy also predicted that there would be another change in the rings when formed between two substances with very different refractive indexes, which was later verified through experiments using diamonds. A reversal of the rings occurs when the space between the plates is filled with a substance of intermediate refractive power, another phenomenon that was predicted by theory and confirmed by experimentation. There seems to be no limit to the range of other complex effects of light interference under different conditions that could be deduced from the mathematical formulas, should one choose to explore them, or which, having been previously observed, can be explained. An intriguing case was noted by Herschel and clarified by Airy.
By a somewhat different effort of scientific foresight, Fresnel discovered that any solid transparent medium might be endowed with the power of double refraction by mere compression. As he attributed the double refracting power of crystals to unequal elasticity in different directions, he inferred that unequal elasticity, if artificially produced, would give similar phenomena. With a powerful screw and a piece of glass, he then produced not only the colours due to double refraction, but the actual duplication of images. Thus, by a great scientific generalisation, are the remarkable properties of Iceland spar shown to belong to all transparent substances under certain conditions.450
By a different approach to scientific prediction, Fresnel discovered that any solid transparent material could exhibit double refraction simply by being compressed. He believed the double refraction in crystals came from uneven elasticity in different directions, so he concluded that artificially creating this uneven elasticity would produce similar effects. Using a strong screw and a piece of glass, he not only created the colors associated with double refraction but also duplicated images. Therefore, through significant scientific generalization, the extraordinary properties of Iceland spar are shown to apply to all transparent substances under certain conditions.450
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All other predictions in optical science are, however, thrown into the shade by the theoretical discovery of conical refraction by the late Sir W. R. Hamilton, of Dublin. In investigating the passage of light through certain crystals, Hamilton found that Fresnel had slightly misinterpreted his own formulæ, and that, when rightly understood, they indicated a phenomenon of a kind never witnessed. A small ray of light sent into a crystal of arragonite in a particular direction, becomes spread out into an infinite number of rays, which form a hollow cone within the crystal, and a hollow cylinder when emerging from the opposite side. In another case, a different, but equally strange, effect is produced, a ray of light being spread out into a hollow cone at the point where it quits the crystal. These phenomena are peculiarly interesting, because cones and cylinders of light are not produced in any other cases. They are opposed to all analogy, and constitute singular exceptions, of a kind which we shall afterwards consider more fully. Their strangeness rendered them peculiarly fitted to test the truth of the theory by which they were discovered; and when Professor Lloyd, at Hamilton’s request, succeeded, after considerable difficulty, in witnessing the new appearances, no further doubt could remain of the validity of the wave theory which we owe to Huyghens, Young, and Fresnel.451
All other predictions in optical science are overshadowed by the theoretical discovery of conical refraction by the late Sir W. R. Hamilton from Dublin. While studying how light passes through certain crystals, Hamilton realized that Fresnel had slightly misunderstood his own formulas, and when interpreted correctly, they pointed to a phenomenon that had never been seen before. A small beam of light directed into a crystal of aragonite expands into an infinite number of rays, forming a hollow cone within the crystal and a hollow cylinder when exiting from the other side. In another instance, a different yet equally unusual effect occurs, with a ray of light spreading into a hollow cone as it leaves the crystal. These phenomena are particularly interesting because cones and cylinders of light are not produced in any other situations. They contradict all analogies and represent unique exceptions, which we will discuss more thoroughly later. Their unusual nature made them especially suitable for testing the validity of the theory that led to their discovery; and when Professor Lloyd, at Hamilton’s request, managed to observe these new appearances after significant effort, there was no longer any doubt about the validity of the wave theory developed by Huygens, Young, and Fresnel.451
Predictions from the Theory of Undulations.
It is curious that the undulations of light, although inconceivably rapid and small, admit of more accurate measurement than waves of any other kind. But so far as we can carry out exact experiments on other kinds of waves, we find the phenomena of interference repeated, and analogy gives considerable power of prediction. Herschel was perhaps the first to suggest that two sounds might be made to destroy each other by interference.452 For if one-half of a wave travelling through a tube could be separated,541 and conducted by a longer passage, so as, on rejoining the other half, to be one-quarter of a vibration behind-hand, the two portions would exactly neutralise each other. This experiment has been performed with success. The interference arising between the waves from the two prongs of a tuning-fork was also predicted by theory, and proved to exist by Weber; indeed it may be observed by merely holding a vibrating fork close to the ear and turning it round.453
It’s interesting that the waves of light, although incredibly fast and small, can be measured more accurately than any other type of wave. However, when we perform precise experiments on other kinds of waves, we see the phenomenon of interference repeated, and similar cases allow us to predict quite a bit. Herschel was likely the first to propose that two sounds could cancel each other out through interference. For instance, if we could separate one-half of a wave traveling through a tube and send it through a longer path, making it a quarter of a vibration behind when it meets the other half again, the two parts would completely cancel each other out. This experiment has been successfully conducted. The interference from the waves produced by the two prongs of a tuning fork was also theorized and confirmed by Weber; in fact, you can even notice it just by holding a vibrating fork close to your ear and rotating it.
It is a result of the theory of sound that, if we move rapidly towards a sounding body, or if it move rapidly towards us, the pitch of the sound will be a little more acute; and, vice versâ, when the relative motion is in the opposite direction, the pitch will be more grave. This arises from the less or greater intervals of time elapsing between the successive strokes of waves upon the auditory nerve, according as the ear moves towards or from the source of sound relatively speaking. This effect was predicted by theory, and afterwards verified by the experiments of Buys Ballot, on Dutch railways, and of Scott Russell, in England. Whenever one railway train passes another, on the locomotive of which the whistle is being sounded, the drop in the acuteness of the sound may be noticed at the moment of passing. This change gives the sound a peculiar howling character, which many persons must have noticed. I have calculated that with two trains travelling thirty miles an hour, the effect would amount to rather more than half a tone, and with some express trains it would amount to a tone. A corresponding effect is produced in the case of light undulations, when the eye and the luminous body approach or recede from each other. It is shown by a slight change in the refrangibility of the rays of light, and a consequent change in the place of the lines of the spectrum, which has been made to give important and unexpected information concerning the relative approach or recession of stars.
It's a result of sound theory that if we move quickly toward a sound source, or if it moves quickly toward us, the pitch will be slightly higher; conversely, when the relative motion goes the other way, the pitch will be lower. This happens because of the shorter or longer intervals between the waves hitting our auditory nerve, depending on whether we're moving toward or away from the sound source. This effect was predicted by theory and later confirmed by experiments conducted by Buys Ballot on Dutch railways and Scott Russell in England. Whenever one train passes another while the locomotive's whistle is blowing, you can notice the drop in pitch just as they pass. This change gives the sound a distinctive howling quality, which many people have likely noticed. I've calculated that with two trains traveling at thirty miles an hour, the effect would be just over half a tone, and with certain express trains, it could reach a full tone. A similar effect occurs with light waves when the eye and the light source are moving toward or away from each other. It shows up as a slight change in the refrangibility of light rays, leading to a shift in the spectrum lines, which has provided significant and unexpected insights about the relative movement of stars.
Tides are vast waves, and were the earth’s surface entirely covered by an ocean of uniform depth, they would admit of exact theoretical investigation. The irregular form of the seas introduces unknown quantities and complexities542 with which theory cannot cope. Nevertheless, Whewell, observing that the tides of the German Ocean consist of interfering waves, which arrive partly round the North of Scotland and partly through the British Channel, was enabled to predict that at a point about midway between Brill on the coast of Holland, and Lowestoft no tides would be found to exist. At that point the two waves would be of the same amount, but in opposite phases, so as to neutralise each other. This prediction was verified by a surveying vessel of the British navy.454
Tides are massive waves, and if the earth’s surface were completely covered by an ocean of uniform depth, they could be studied exactly in theory. However, the uneven shape of the seas adds unknown variables and complexities that theory can’t handle. Still, Whewell noticed that the tides in the German Ocean are made up of interfering waves that come in partly from the north of Scotland and partly through the British Channel. He was able to predict that halfway between Brill on the coast of Holland and Lowestoft, there would be no tides at all. At that spot, the two waves would be equal in size but out of sync, canceling each other out. This prediction was confirmed by a surveying vessel from the British navy.454
Prediction in other Sciences.
Generations, or even centuries, may elapse before mankind are in possession of a mathematical theory of the constitution of matter as complete as the theory of gravitation. Nevertheless, mathematical physicists have in recent years acquired a hold of some of the relations of the physical forces, and the proof is found in anticipations of curious phenomena which had never been observed. Professor James Thomson deduced from Carnot’s theory of heat that the application of pressure would lower the melting-point of ice. He even ventured to assign the amount of this effect, and his statement was afterwards verified by Sir W. Thomson.455 “In this very remarkable speculation, an entirely novel physical phenomenon was predicted, in anticipation of any direct experiments on the subject; and the actual observation of the phenomenon was pointed out as a highly interesting object for experimental research.” Just as liquids which expand in solidifying will have the temperature of solidification lowered by pressure, so liquids which contract in solidifying will exhibit the reverse effect. They will be assisted in solidifying, as it were, by pressure, so as to become solid at a higher temperature, as the pressure is greater. This latter result was verified by Bunsen and Hopkins, in the case of paraffin, spermaceti, wax, and stearin. The effect upon water has more recently been carried to such an extent by Mousson, that under the vast543 pressure of 1300 atmospheres, water did not freeze until cooled down to -18°C. Another remarkable prediction of Professor Thomson was to the effect that, if a metallic spring be weakened by a rise of temperature, work done against the spring in bending it will cause a cooling effect. Although the effect to be expected in a certain apparatus was only about four-thousandths of a degree Centigrade, Dr. Joule456 succeeded in measuring it to the extent of three-thousandths of a degree, such is the delicacy of modern heat measurements. I cannot refrain from quoting Dr. Joule’s reflections upon this fact. “Thus even in the above delicate case,” he says, “is the formula of Professor Thomson completely verified. The mathematical investigation of the thermo-elastic qualities of metals has enabled my illustrious friend to predict with certainty a whole class of highly interesting phenomena. To him especially do we owe the important advance which has been recently made to a new era in the history of science, when the famous philosophical system of Bacon will be to a great extent superseded, and when, instead of arriving at discovery by induction from experiment, we shall obtain our largest accessions of new facts by reasoning deductively from fundamental principles.”
Generations, or even centuries, might pass before humanity has a mathematical theory about the structure of matter that is as complete as the theory of gravity. However, in recent years, mathematical physicists have started to grasp some of the relationships between physical forces, as seen in their predictions of unusual phenomena that had never been observed before. Professor James Thomson inferred from Carnot’s theory of heat that applying pressure would lower the melting point of ice. He even dared to specify the extent of this effect, which was later confirmed by Sir W. Thomson.455 “In this very remarkable speculation, an entirely new physical phenomenon was predicted before any direct experiments on the subject were conducted; and the actual observation of the phenomenon was noted as a highly interesting target for experimental research.” Just as liquids that expand when solidifying will have their solidification temperature lowered by pressure, liquids that contract while solidifying will show the opposite effect. They will be aided in solidifying, so to speak, by pressure, causing them to become solid at a higher temperature as pressure increases. This latter result was confirmed by Bunsen and Hopkins in the cases of paraffin, spermaceti, wax, and stearin. The impact on water has more recently been investigated by Mousson, who found that under the immense543 pressure of 1300 atmospheres, water did not freeze until it was cooled to -18°C. Another remarkable prediction from Professor Thomson was that if a metallic spring is weakened by a temperature increase, doing work against the spring while bending it will create a cooling effect. Although the expected effect in a certain apparatus was only about four-thousandths of a degree Celsius, Dr. Joule456 managed to measure it at three-thousandths of a degree, showcasing the precision of modern heat measurements. I can't help but quote Dr. Joule’s thoughts on this finding. “Thus even in the above delicate case,” he says, “is the formula of Professor Thomson completely verified. The mathematical study of the thermo-elastic properties of metals has enabled my esteemed friend to confidently predict an entire category of fascinating phenomena. We especially owe to him the crucial advancement that marks a new era in the history of science, when the famous philosophical system of Bacon will largely be replaced, and when, instead of discovering through induction from experiments, we will gain most of our new insights by reasoning deductively from fundamental principles.”
The theory of electricity is a necessary part of the general theory of matter, and is rapidly acquiring the power of prevision. As soon as Wheatstone had proved experimentally that the conduction of electricity occupies time, Faraday remarked in 1838, with wonderful sagacity, that if the conducting wires were connected with the coatings of a large Leyden jar, the rapidity of conduction would be lessened. This prediction remained unverified for sixteen years, until the submarine cable was laid beneath the Channel. A considerable retardation of the electric spark was then detected, and Faraday at once pointed out that the wire surrounded by water resembles a Leyden jar on a large scale, so that each message sent through the cable verified his remark of 1838.457
The theory of electricity is an essential part of the overall theory of matter and is quickly gaining predictive power. After Wheatstone demonstrated that the conduction of electricity takes time, Faraday wisely noted in 1838 that if the conductive wires were connected to the coatings of a large Leyden jar, the speed of conduction would decrease. This prediction went unverified for sixteen years until the submarine cable was laid under the Channel. A significant delay in the electric spark was then observed, and Faraday immediately pointed out that the wire surrounded by water acts like a large Leyden jar, so each message sent through the cable confirmed his statement from 1838.457
The joint relations of heat and electricity to the metals constitute a new science of thermo-electricity by which544 Sir W. Thomson was enabled to anticipate the following curious effect, namely, that an electric current passing in an iron bar from a hot to a cold part produces a cooling effect, but in a copper bar the effect is exactly opposite in character, that is, the bar becomes heated.458 The action of crystals with regard to heat and electricity was partly foreseen on the grounds of theory by Poisson.
The relationship between heat and electricity in metals has led to a new field called thermo-electricity, which allowed Sir W. Thomson to predict an interesting phenomenon: when an electric current flows through an iron bar from a hot area to a cold area, it causes a cooling effect. In contrast, when the same current passes through a copper bar, the opposite occurs—the bar gets heated. The way crystals interact with heat and electricity was partially anticipated by Poisson based on theoretical grounds.
Chemistry, although to a great extent an empirical science, has not been without prophetic triumphs. The existence of the metals potassium and sodium was foreseen by Lavoisier, and their elimination by Davy was one of the chief experimenta crucis which established Lavoisier’s system. The existence of many other metals which eye had never seen was a natural inference, and theory has not been at fault. In the above cases the compounds of the metal were well known, and it was the result of decomposition that was foretold. The discovery in 1876 of the metal gallium is peculiarly interesting because the existence of this metal, previously wholly unknown, had been inferred from theoretical considerations by M. Mendelief, and some of its properties had been correctly predicted. No sooner, too, had a theory of organic compounds been conceived by Professor A. W. Williamson than he foretold the formation of a complex substance consisting of water in which both atoms of hydrogen are replaced by atoms of acetyle. This substance, known as the acetic anhydride, was afterwards produced by Gerhardt. In the subsequent progress of organic chemistry occurrences of this kind have become common. The theoretical chemist by the classification of his specimens and the manipulation of his formulæ can plan out whole series of unknown oils, acids, and alcohols, just as a designer might draw out a multitude of patterns. Professor Cayley has even calculated for certain cases the possible numbers of chemical compounds.459 The formation of many such substances is a matter of course; but there is an interesting prediction given by Hofmann, concerning the possible existence of new compounds of sulphur and545 selenium, and even oxides of ammonium, which it remains for chemists to verify.460
Chemistry, while largely an empirical science, has had its share of prophetic successes. Lavoisier predicted the existence of the metals potassium and sodium, and Davy's removal of these metals was a key experiment that supported Lavoisier’s system. The existence of many other metals that had never been seen was a logical deduction, and the theory has proven accurate. In these instances, the compounds of the metals were already well understood, and it was their decomposition that was anticipated. The discovery of the metal gallium in 1876 is particularly fascinating because its existence, which was entirely unknown before, had been inferred from theoretical considerations by M. Mendelief, and some of its properties were accurately predicted. Shortly after Professor A. W. Williamson developed a theory of organic compounds, he predicted the formation of a complex substance made of water in which both hydrogen atoms are replaced by acetyl atoms. This substance, known as acetic anhydride, was later synthesized by Gerhardt. As organic chemistry advanced, such occurrences became more commonplace. Theoretical chemists, through classifying their samples and adjusting their formulas, can devise entire series of unknown oils, acids, and alcohols, much like a designer sketching numerous patterns. Professor Cayley has even calculated the potential number of chemical compounds in certain scenarios. The creation of many such compounds is routine; however, Hofmann made an intriguing prediction about the possible existence of new compounds of sulfur and selenium, and even ammonium oxides, which remains to be validated by chemists.
Prediction by Inversion of Cause and Effect.
There is one process of experiment which has so often led to important discoveries as to deserve separate illustration—I mean the inversion of Cause and Effect. Thus if A and B in one experiment produce C as a consequent, then antecedents of the nature of B and C may usually be made to produce a consequent of the nature of A inverted in direction. When we apply heat to a gas it tends to expand; hence if we allow the gas to expand by its own elastic force, cold is the result; that is, B (air) and C (expansion) produce the negative of A (heat). Again, B (air) and compression, the negative of C, produce A (heat). Similar results may be expected in a multitude of cases. It is a familiar law that heat expands iron. What may be expected, then, if instead of increasing the length of an iron bar by heat we use mechanical force and stretch the bar? Having the bar and the former consequent, expansion, we should expect the negative of the former antecedent, namely cold. The truth of this inference was proved by Dr. Joule, who investigated the amount of the effect with his usual skill.461
There's one experimental method that has frequently led to significant discoveries and deserves special attention—I mean the reversal of Cause and Effect. So, if A and B in one experiment produce C as a result, then factors similar to B and C can usually be manipulated to create a result that resembles A but is reversed in direction. For example, when we heat a gas, it tends to expand; therefore, if we let the gas expand on its own, it results in coldness; meaning B (air) and C (expansion) lead to the opposite of A (heat). Similarly, B (air) and compression, the opposite of C, result in A (heat). We can expect similar outcomes in many situations. It's a well-known fact that heat causes iron to expand. So what happens if instead of heating an iron bar to lengthen it, we stretch it with mechanical force? With the bar and the previous outcome, expansion, we should anticipate the opposite of the previous cause, which is cold. Dr. Joule demonstrated the validity of this conclusion, thoroughly investigating the amount of the effect with his usual expertise.461
This inversion of cause and effect in the case of heat may be itself inverted in a highly curious manner. It happens that there are a few substances which are unexplained exceptions to the general law of expansion by heat. India-rubber especially is remarkable for contracting when heated. Since, then, iron and india-rubber are oppositely related to heat, we may expect that as distension of the iron produced cold, distension of the india-rubber will produce heat. This is actually found to be the case, and anyone may detect the effect by suddenly stretching an india-rubber band while the middle part is in the mouth. When being stretched it grows slightly warm, and when relaxed cold.
This reversal of cause and effect in heat can be flipped in a very interesting way. There are a few materials that are unusual exceptions to the general rule of expansion when heated. India rubber, in particular, is notable for contracting when heated. Since iron and india rubber behave oppositely with respect to heat, we can expect that stretching iron will cool it, while stretching india rubber will heat it up. This is actually true, and anyone can notice the effect by suddenly pulling an india rubber band while the middle part is in their mouth. When stretched, it gets a little warm, and when relaxed, it cools down.
The reader will see that some of the scientific predictions mentioned in preceding sections were due to the principle546 of inversion; for instance, Thomson’s speculations on the relation between pressure and the melting-point. But many other illustrations could be adduced. The usual agent by which we melt a substance is heat; but if we can melt a substance without heat, then we may expect the negative of heat as an effect. This is the foundation of all freezing mixtures. The affinity of salt for water causes it to melt ice, and we may thus reduce the temperature to Fahrenheit’s zero. Calcium chloride has so much higher an attraction for water that a temperature of -45° C. may be attained by its use. Even the solution of a certain alloy of lead, tin, and bismuth in mercury, may be made to reduce the temperature through 27° C. All the other modes of producing cold are inversions of more familiar uses of heat. Carré’s freezing machine is an inverted distilling apparatus, the distillation being occasioned by chemical affinity instead of heat. Another kind of freezing machine is the exact inverse of the steam-engine.
The reader will notice that some of the scientific predictions mentioned earlier were based on the principle of inversion; for example, Thomson’s ideas about the relationship between pressure and melting point. However, many other examples could be provided. The usual way we melt a substance is by using heat; but if we can melt a substance without heat, then we might expect the opposite of heat as a result. This is the basis for all freezing mixtures. The way salt interacts with water causes it to melt ice, allowing us to lower the temperature to Fahrenheit’s zero. Calcium chloride has an even stronger attraction to water, making it possible to reach temperatures of -45° C. Even a solution made from a specific alloy of lead, tin, and bismuth in mercury can reduce the temperature by 27° C. All the other methods of producing cold are inversions of more common uses of heat. Carré’s freezing machine is an inverted distilling device, with the distillation driven by chemical attraction instead of heat. Another type of freezing machine is the exact opposite of a steam engine.
A very paradoxical effect is due to another inversion. It is hard to believe that a current of steam at 100° C. can raise a body of liquid to a higher temperature than the steam itself possesses. But Mr. Spence has pointed out that if the boiling-point of a saline solution be above 100°, it will continue, on account of its affinity for water, to condense steam when above 100° in temperature. It will condense the steam until heated to the point at which the tension of its vapour is equal to that of the atmosphere, that is, its own boiling-point.462 Again, since heat melts ice, we might expect to produce heat by the inverse change from water into ice. This is accomplished in the phenomenon of suspended freezing. Water may be cooled in a clean glass vessel many degrees below the freezing-point, and yet retained in the liquid condition. But if disturbed, and especially if brought into contact with a small particle of ice, it instantly solidifies and rises in temperature to 0° C. The effect is still better displayed in the lecture-room experiment of the suspended crystallisation of a solution of sodium sulphate, in which a sudden rise of temperature of 15° or 20° C. is often manifested.
A very paradoxical effect comes from another inversion. It’s hard to believe that steam at 100° C can heat a liquid to a higher temperature than the steam itself. However, Mr. Spence pointed out that if the boiling point of a saline solution is above 100°, it will continue to condense steam that’s above 100° due to its affinity for water. It will condense the steam until heated to the point where the vapor pressure equals that of the atmosphere, meaning its own boiling point.462 Furthermore, since heat melts ice, we might expect to generate heat through the reverse process of turning water into ice. This occurs in the phenomenon known as suspended freezing. Water can be cooled in a clean glass container many degrees below the freezing point and still remain in liquid form. But if disturbed, especially if it comes into contact with a small piece of ice, it instantly solidifies and the temperature rises to 0° C. This effect is even more pronounced in the lecture-room demonstration of the suspended crystallization of a sodium sulfate solution, where a sudden temperature increase of 15° to 20° C is often observed.
The science of electricity is full of most interesting cases547 of inversion. As Professor Tyndall has remarked, Faraday had a profound belief in the reciprocal relations of the physical forces. The great starting-point of his researches, the discovery of electro-magnetism, was clearly an inversion. Oersted and Ampère had proved that with an electric current and a magnet in a particular position as antecedents, motion is the consequent. If then a magnet, a wire and motion be the antecedents, an opposite electric current will be the consequent. It would be an endless task to trace out the results of this fertile relationship. Another part of Faraday’s researches was occupied in ascertaining the direct and inverse relations of magnetic and diamagnetic, amorphous and crystalline substances in various circumstances. In all other relations of electricity the principle of inversion holds. The voltameter or the electro-plating cell is the inverse of the galvanic battery. As heat applied to a junction of antimony and bismuth bars produces electricity, it follows that an electric current passed through such a junction will produce cold. But it is now sufficiently apparent that inversion of cause and effect is a most fertile means of discovery and prediction.
The science of electricity is filled with fascinating examples of inversion547. As Professor Tyndall pointed out, Faraday had a strong belief in the reciprocal relationships of physical forces. The main starting point of his research, the discovery of electromagnetism, was clearly an inversion. Oersted and Ampère had shown that when you have an electric current and a magnet in a specific position, motion results. Therefore, if a magnet, a wire, and motion are the starting points, the result will be an opposite electric current. It would be an endless task to trace the outcomes of this productive relationship. Another aspect of Faraday’s research focused on understanding the direct and inverse relationships of magnetic and diamagnetic, amorphous and crystalline substances under various conditions. In all other aspects of electricity, the principle of inversion applies. The voltameter, or the electroplating cell, is the inverse of the galvanic battery. Just as heat applied to a junction of antimony and bismuth bars generates electricity, it follows that passing an electric current through such a junction will cause cooling. But it is now clear that the inversion of cause and effect is a highly fruitful way to discover and predict outcomes.
Facts known only by Theory.
Of the four classes of facts enumerated in p. 525 the last remains unconsidered. It includes the unverified predictions of science. Scientific prophecy arrests the attention of the world when it refers to such striking events as an eclipse, the appearance of a great comet, or any phenomenon which people can verify with their own eyes. But it is surely a matter for greater wonder that a physicist describes and measures phenomena which eye cannot see, nor sense of any kind detect. In most cases this arises from the effect being too small in amount to affect our organs of sense, or come within the powers of our instruments as at present constructed. But there is a class of yet more remarkable cases, in which a phenomenon cannot possibly be observed, and yet we can say what it would be if it were observed.
Of the four types of facts listed in p. 525, the last one hasn't been discussed. It includes unverified scientific predictions. Scientific forecasts capture the world's attention when they relate to significant events like an eclipse, the appearance of a major comet, or any phenomenon that people can witness themselves. However, it’s even more astonishing that a physicist can describe and measure phenomena that cannot be seen or detected by any sense. In most cases, this happens because the effects are too small to impact our senses or fit within the capabilities of our current instruments. Yet, there are even more remarkable instances where a phenomenon can't be observed at all, but we still can describe what it would be if it were observable.
In astronomy, systematic aberration is an effect of the sun’s proper motion almost certainly known to exist, but which we have no hope of detecting by observation in the548 present age of the world. As the earth’s motion round the sun combined with the motion of light causes the stars to deviate apparently from their true positions to the extent of about 18″ at the most, so the motion of the whole planetary system through space must occasion a similar displacement of at most 5″. The ordinary aberration can be readily detected with modern astronomical instruments, because it goes through a yearly change in direction or amount; but systematic aberration is constant so long as the planetary system moves uniformly in a sensibly straight line. Only then in the course of ages, when the curvature of the sun’s path becomes apparent, can we hope to verify the existence of this kind of aberration. A curious effect must also be produced by the sun’s proper motion upon the apparent periods of revolution of the binary stars.
In astronomy, systematic aberration is an effect of the sun’s proper motion that we almost certainly know exists, but we have no hope of detecting it through observation in the548 present age. As the earth moves around the sun, combined with the speed of light, the stars appear to shift from their true positions by about 18″ at most. Similarly, the movement of the entire planetary system through space must cause a similar displacement of up to 5″. Regular aberration can be easily detected with modern astronomical instruments because it changes direction or amount each year. However, systematic aberration remains constant as long as the planetary system is moving uniformly in a nearly straight line. Only over many ages, when the curvature of the sun’s path becomes noticeable, can we hope to confirm the existence of this type of aberration. The sun’s proper motion must also create a curious effect on the apparent revolution periods of binary stars.
To my mind, some of the most interesting truths in the whole range of science are those which have not been, and in many cases probably never can be, verified by trial. Thus the chemist assigns, with a very high degree of probability, the vapour densities of such elements as carbon and silicon, which have never been observed separately in a state of vapour. The chemist is also familiar with the vapour densities of elements at temperatures at which the elements in question never have been, and probably never can be, submitted to experiment in the form of vapour.
In my opinion, some of the most fascinating truths in all of science are those that haven't been, and probably never will be, verified through experimentation. For example, chemists estimate, with a very high degree of confidence, the vapor densities of elements like carbon and silicon, which have never been observed on their own in a vapor state. Chemists also know the vapor densities of elements at temperatures where those elements have never been, and likely never will be, tested as vapors.
Joule and others have calculated the actual velocity of the molecules of a gas, and even the number of collisions which must take place per second during their constant circulation. Physicists have not yet given us the exact magnitudes of the particles of matter, but they have ascertained by several methods the limits within which their magnitudes must lie. Such scientific results must be for ever beyond the power of verification by the senses. I have elsewhere had occasion to remark that waves of light, the intimate processes of electrical changes, the properties of the ether which is the base of all phenomena, are necessarily determined in a hypothetical, but not therefore a less certain manner.
Joule and others have calculated the actual speed of gas molecules and even the number of collisions that happen per second during their constant movement. Physicists still haven’t provided the exact sizes of matter particles, but they have determined the range within which these sizes must fall using various methods. Such scientific findings will always be beyond our direct sensory verification. I have mentioned elsewhere that light waves, the detailed processes of electrical changes, and the properties of the ether, which forms the foundation of all phenomena, are necessarily defined in a theoretical way, but that doesn’t make them any less certain.
Though only two of the metals, gold and silver, have ever been observed to be transparent, we know on the grounds of theory that they are all more or less so; we can even estimate by theory their refractive indices, and549 prove that they are exceedingly high. The phenomena of elliptic polarisation, and perhaps also those of internal radiation,463 depend upon the refractive index, and thus, even when we cannot observe any refracted rays, we can indirectly learn how they would be refracted.
Although only two metals, gold and silver, have been seen as transparent, theory suggests that all metals have some level of transparency. We can even estimate their refractive indices through theory and show that they are very high. The phenomena of elliptical polarization, and maybe also those of internal radiation, depend on the refractive index. So, even when we can't see any refracted rays, we can still indirectly understand how they would be refracted.
In many cases large quantities of electricity must be produced, which we cannot observe because it is instantly discharged. In the common electric machine the cylinder and rubber are made of non-conductors, so that we can separate and accumulate the electricity. But a little damp, by serving as a conductor, prevents this separation from enduring any sensible time. Hence there is no doubt that when we rub two good conductors against each other, for instance two pieces of metals, much electricity is produced, but instantaneously converted into some other form of energy. Joule believes that all the heat of friction is transmuted electricity.
In many cases, large amounts of electricity have to be generated, which we can't see because it's released immediately. In a typical electric machine, the cylinder and rubber are made of non-conductors, allowing us to separate and store the electricity. However, a bit of moisture, acting as a conductor, prevents this separation from lasting very long. So, it's clear that when we rub two good conductors together, like two pieces of metal, a lot of electricity is created, but it's instantly converted into another form of energy. Joule thinks that all the heat from friction is transformed electricity.
As regards phenomena of insensible amount, nature is absolutely full of them. We must regard those changes which we can observe as the comparatively rare aggregates of minuter changes. On a little reflection we must allow that no object known to us remains for two instants of exactly the same temperature. If so, the dimensions of objects must be in a perpetual state of variation. The minor planetary and lunar perturbations are infinitely numerous, but usually too small to be detected by observation, although their amounts may be assigned by theory. There is every reason to believe that chemical and electric actions of small amount are constantly in progress. The hardest substances, if reduced to extremely small particles, and diffused in pure water, manifest oscillatory movements which must be due to chemical and electric changes, so slight that they go on for years without affecting appreciably the weight of the particles.464 The earth’s magnetism must more or less affect every object which we handle. As Tyndall remarks, “An upright iron stone influenced by the earth’s magnetism becomes a magnet, with its bottom a north and its top a south pole. Doubtless, though in an immensely feebler degree, every erect marble statue is a550 true diamagnet, with its head a north pole and its feet a south pole. The same is certainly true of man as he stands upon the earth’s surface, for all the tissues of the human body are diamagnetic.”465 The sun’s light produces a very quick and perceptible effect upon the photographic plate; in all probability it has a less effect upon a great variety of substances. We may regard every phenomenon as an exaggerated and conspicuous case of a process which is, in infinitely numerous cases, beyond the means of observation.
When it comes to hardly noticeable phenomena, nature is absolutely filled with them. We should see the changes we can observe as the relatively rare results of much smaller changes. Upon some reflection, we have to accept that no object we know of stays at the exact same temperature for even two moments. This means that the size of objects must always be changing. The small disturbances of planets and moons are countless, but usually too minor to be seen, even though their magnitudes can be predicted by theory. There's every reason to think that small-scale chemical and electrical reactions are happening all the time. Even the hardest materials, when broken down into tiny particles and dissolved in pure water, show vibrations that must come from chemical and electrical changes so minimal that they can last for years without noticeably changing the particles' weight.464 The Earth's magnetism likely affects every object we touch. As Tyndall points out, “An upright iron stone influenced by the Earth’s magnetism becomes a magnet, with its bottom as a north pole and its top as a south pole. Certainly, although to a much lesser extent, every upright marble statue serves as a550 true diamagnet, with its head as a north pole and its feet as a south pole. This is also true for humans standing on the Earth's surface, as all the tissues in the human body are diamagnetic.”465 Sunlight has a very quick and noticeable effect on photographic plates; it likely has a lesser effect on many other substances. We can think of every phenomenon as an exaggerated and evident example of a process that, in countless cases, is beyond what we can observe.
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CHAPTER XXV. COMPLIANCE WITH QUANTITATIVE THEORIES.
In the preceding chapter we found that facts may be classed under four heads as regards their connection with theory, and our powers of explanation or prediction. The facts hitherto considered were generally of a qualitative rather than a quantitative nature; but when we look exclusively to the quantity of a phenomenon, and the various modes in which we may determine its amount, nearly the same system of classification will hold good. There will, however, be five possible cases:—
In the previous chapter, we discovered that facts can be categorized into four groups based on their relationship with theory and our ability to explain or predict them. The facts we've looked at so far have mainly been qualitative rather than quantitative. However, when we focus solely on the quantity of a phenomenon and the different ways we can measure it, a similar classification system will apply. There will, however, be five possible cases:—
(1) We may directly and empirically measure a phenomenon, without being able to explain why it should have any particular quantity, or to connect it by theory with other quantities.
(1) We can measure a phenomenon directly and empirically, even if we can't explain why it has a specific quantity or connect it theoretically to other quantities.
(2) In a considerable number of cases we can theoretically predict the existence of a phenomenon, but are unable to assign its amount, except by direct measurement, or to explain the amount theoretically when thus ascertained.
(2) In many cases, we can theoretically predict that a phenomenon exists, but we can't determine its quantity without direct measurement, nor can we explain the quantity theoretically once it has been measured.
(3) We may measure a quantity, and afterwards explain it as related to other quantities, or as governed by known quantitative laws.
(3) We can measure a quantity and then explain how it relates to other quantities or how it is influenced by established quantitative laws.
(4) We may predict the quantity of an effect on theoretical grounds, and afterwards confirm the prediction by direct measurement.
(4) We can estimate the amount of an effect based on theory and then verify that estimate through direct measurement.
(5) We may indirectly determine the quantity of an effect without being able to verity it by experiment.
(5) We can sometimes figure out how much of an effect there is without being able to confirm it through experiments.
These classes of quantitative facts might be illustrated by an immense number of interesting points in the history552 of physical science. Only a few instances of each class can be given here.
These types of quantitative facts could be shown through a vast number of fascinating examples in the history552 of physical science. Just a few examples from each category can be provided here.
Empirical Measurements.
Under the first head of purely empirical measurements, which have not been brought under any theoretical system, may be placed the great bulk of quantitative facts recorded by scientific observers. The tables of numerical results which abound in books on chemistry and physics, the huge quartos containing the observations of public observatories, the multitudinous tables of meteorological observations, which are continually being published, the more abstruse results concerning terrestrial magnetism—such results of measurement, for the most part, remain empirical, either because theory is defective, or the labour of calculation and comparison is too formidable. In the Greenwich Observatory, indeed, the salutary practice has been maintained by the present Astronomer Royal, of always reducing the observations, and comparing them with the theories of the several bodies. The divergences from theory thus afford material for the discovery of errors or of new phenomena; in short, the observations have been turned to the use for which they were intended. But it is to be feared that other establishments are too often engaged in merely recording numbers of which no real use is made, because the labour of reduction and comparison with theory is too great for private inquirers to undertake. In meteorology, especially, great waste of labour and money is taking place, only a small fraction of the results recorded being ever used for the advancement of the science. For one meteorologist like Quetelet, Dove, or Baxendell, who devotes himself to the truly useful labour of reducing other people’s observations, there are hundreds who labour under the delusion that they are advancing science by loading our book-shelves with numerical tables. It is to be feared, in like manner, that almost the whole bulk of statistical numbers, whether commercial, vital, or moral, is of little scientific value. Purely empirical measurements may have a direct practical value, as when tables of the specific gravity, or strength of materials, assist the engineer; the specific gravities of mixtures of water with acids, alcohols,553 salts, &c., are useful in chemical manufactories, custom-house gauging, &c.; observations of rainfall are requisite for questions of water supply; the refractive index of various kinds of glass must be known in making achromatic lenses; but in all such cases the use made of the measurements is not scientific but practical. It may be asserted, that no number which remains isolated, and uncompared by theory with other numbers, is of scientific value. Having tried the tensile strength of a piece of iron in a particular condition, we know what will be the strength of the same kind of iron in a similar condition, provided we can ever meet with that exact kind of iron again; but we cannot argue from piece to piece, nor lay down any laws exactly connecting the strength of iron with the quantity of its impurities.
Under the first category of purely empirical measurements, which haven’t been included in any theoretical framework, we find the majority of the quantitative data recorded by scientific observers. The tables of numerical results that fill chemistry and physics books, the massive volumes containing observations from public observatories, and the countless tables of meteorological data that are continually published—all of these measurements mostly remain empirical. This is either due to flawed theory or because the work of calculation and comparison is too daunting. At the Greenwich Observatory, however, the current Astronomer Royal has maintained a valuable practice of consistently analyzing the observations and comparing them with the theories of different celestial bodies. The differences from theory are useful for identifying errors or discovering new phenomena; in short, the observations have been put to the purpose they were meant for. Unfortunately, many other institutions often focus solely on collecting numbers that don't serve a real purpose because the effort needed to reduce and compare them with theory is too significant for individual researchers to handle. In meteorology, particularly, there is considerable waste of time and money, with only a tiny fraction of the recorded results being used to advance the science. For every meteorologist like Quetelet, Dove, or Baxendell who dedicates themselves to the genuinely constructive task of analyzing others’ observations, there are hundreds who mistakenly believe they are contributing to science by filling our shelves with numerical tables. Similarly, it’s concerning that the majority of statistical figures—whether related to commerce, vital statistics, or moral data—hold little scientific value. Purely empirical measurements may have direct practical applications, such as tables of specific gravity or strength of materials that help engineers; the specific gravities of mixtures like water with acids, alcohols, salts, etc., are useful in chemical manufacturing and customs; rainfall observations are needed for water supply issues; and knowing the refractive index of different types of glass is essential for making achromatic lenses. However, in all these cases, the application of these measurements is practical, not scientific. It can be argued that any number that stands alone, without being compared to others through theory, lacks scientific value. For instance, after testing the tensile strength of a piece of iron under specific conditions, we can anticipate the strength of the same kind of iron in similar circumstances—assuming we encounter that exact type of iron again. But we cannot draw conclusions from one piece to another or establish laws that definitively connect the strength of iron with the levels of its impurities.
Quantities indicated by Theory, but Empirically Measured.
In many cases we are able to foresee the existence of a quantitative effect, on the ground of general principles, but are unable, either from the want of numerical data, or from the entire absence of any mathematical theory, to assign the amount of such effect. We then have recourse to direct experiment to determine its amount. Whether we argued from the oceanic tides by analogy, or deductively from the theory of gravitation, there could be no doubt that atmospheric tides of some amount must occur in the atmosphere. Theory, however, even in the hands of Laplace, was not able to overcome the complicated mechanical conditions of the atmosphere, and predict the amounts of such tides; and, on the other hand, these amounts were so small, and were so masked by far larger undulations arising from the heating power of the sun, and from other meteorological disturbances, that they would probably have never been discovered by purely empirical observations. Theory having, however, indicated their existence and their periods, it was easy to make series of barometrical observations in places selected so as to be as free as possible from casual fluctuations, and then, by the suitable application of the method of means, to detect the small effects in question. The principal lunar554 atmospheric tide was thus proved to amount to between ·003 and ·004 inch.466
In many cases, we can predict the existence of a quantitative effect based on general principles, but we are unable to determine the extent of that effect due to a lack of numerical data or any mathematical theory. We then resort to direct experimentation to find out its magnitude. Whether we reasoned from ocean tides by analogy or deduced from the theory of gravitation, there is no doubt that some degree of atmospheric tides must occur. However, even with Laplace's expertise, theory couldn't overcome the complex mechanical conditions of the atmosphere to predict the extent of these tides. Additionally, these amounts were so small and hidden by much larger fluctuations caused by solar heating and other weather disturbances that they likely would have gone unnoticed through purely observational methods. Yet, since theory indicated their existence and timing, it was straightforward to conduct systematic barometric observations in locations chosen to minimize random fluctuations and then use the appropriate method to detect the small effects in question. The main lunar atmospheric tide was thus shown to be between .003 and .004 inch.466
Theory yields the greatest possible assistance in applying the method of means. For if we have a great number of empirical measurements, each representing the joint effect of a number of causes, our object will be to take the mean of all those in which the effect to be measured is present, and compare it with the mean of the remainder in which the effect is absent, or acts in the opposite direction. The difference will then represent the amount of the effect, or double the amount respectively. Thus, in the case of the atmospheric tides, we take the mean of all the observations when the moon was on the meridian, and compare it with the mean of all observations when she was on the horizon. In this case we trust to chance that all other effects will lie about as often in one direction as the other, and will neutralise themselves in the drawing of each mean. It is a great advantage, however, to be able to decide by theory when each principal disturbing effect is present or absent; for the means may then be drawn so as to separate each such effect, leaving only minor and casual divergences to the law of error. Thus, if there be three principal effects, and we draw means giving respectively the sum of all three, the sum of the first two, and the sum of the last two, then we gain three simple equations, by the solution of which each quantity is determined.
Theory provides the best support when using the method of means. If we have a large number of empirical measurements, each reflecting the combined effect of several causes, our goal is to calculate the average of all those where the effect being measured is present and compare it with the average of the others where the effect is absent or goes in the opposite direction. The difference will then indicate the extent of the effect or double that amount. For example, with atmospheric tides, we find the average of all observations when the moon was on the meridian and compare it with the average of all observations when the moon was on the horizon. In this situation, we rely on chance to assume that all other effects will balance out in both directions, canceling themselves out when calculating each average. However, it’s a significant advantage to be able to identify through theory when each main disturbing effect is present or absent; this way, we can compute the averages to isolate each effect, leaving only minor and random variations to the law of error. Therefore, if there are three main effects, and we calculate averages for the total of all three, the total of the first two, and the total of the last two, we end up with three simple equations that allow us to determine each quantity.
Explained Results of Measurement.
The second class of measured phenomena contains those which, after being determined in a direct and purely empirical application of measuring instruments, are afterwards shown to agree with some hypothetical explanation. Such results are turned to their proper use, and several advantages may arise from the comparison. The correspondence with theory will seldom or never be precise; and, even if it be so, the coincidence must be regarded as accidental.
The second category of measured phenomena includes those that, after being identified through a direct and purely empirical use of measuring tools, are later shown to align with some theoretical explanation. These results are utilized effectively, and comparing them can bring about several benefits. The match with theory will rarely or never be exact; and, even if it is, the alignment should be seen as coincidental.
If the divergences between theory and experiment be comparatively small, and variable in amount and direction, they may often be safely attributed to inconsiderable555 sources of error in the experimental processes. The strict method of procedure is to calculate the probable error of the mean of the observed results (p. 387), and then observe whether the theoretical result falls within the limits of probable error. If it does, and if the experimental results agree as well with theory as they agree with each other, then the probability of the theory is much increased, and we may employ the theory with more confidence in the anticipation of further results. The probable error, it should be remembered, gives a measure only of the effects of incidental and variable sources of error, but in no degree indicates the amount of fixed causes of error. Thus, if the mean results of two modes of determining a quantity are so far apart that the limits of probable error do not overlap, we may infer the existence of some overlooked source of fixed error in one or both modes. We will further consider in a subsequent section the discordance of measurements.
If the differences between theory and experiment are relatively small and vary in amount and direction, they can often be safely attributed to minor sources of error in the experimental processes. The proper procedure is to calculate the probable error of the mean of the observed results (p. 387), and then check whether the theoretical result falls within the limits of probable error. If it does, and if the experimental results align with the theory as well as with each other, then the likelihood of the theory being correct increases significantly, and we can use the theory with greater confidence when predicting further results. It’s important to remember that the probable error only measures the effects of incidental and variable sources of error, but does not indicate the extent of fixed sources of error. So, if the average results from two different methods of determining a quantity are far enough apart that the limits of probable error do not overlap, we can conclude that there is likely some overlooked source of fixed error in one or both methods. We will discuss the discrepancies in measurements further in a later section.
Quantities determined by Theory and verified by Measurement.
One of the most satisfactory tests of a theory consists in its application not only to predict the nature of a phenomenon, and the circumstances in which it may be observed, but also to assign the precise quantity of the phenomenon. If we can subsequently apply accurate instruments and measure the amount of the phenomenon witnessed, we have an excellent opportunity of verifying or negativing the theory. It was in this manner that Newton first attempted to verify his theory of gravitation. He knew approximately the velocity produced in falling bodies at the earth’s surface, and if the law of the inverse square of the distance held true, and the reputed distance of the moon was correct, he could infer that the moon ought to fall towards the earth at the rate of fifteen feet in one minute. Now, the actual divergence of the moon from the tangent of its orbit appeared to amount only to thirteen feet in one minute, and there was a discrepancy of two feet in fifteen, which caused Newton to lay “aside at that time any further thoughts of this matter.” Many years afterwards, probably fifteen or sixteen years, Newton obtained more precise data from556 which he could calculate the size of the moon’s orbit, and he then found the discrepancy to be inconsiderable.
One of the most satisfying tests of a theory is its ability to not only predict the nature of a phenomenon and the circumstances under which it can be observed, but also to specify the exact quantity of that phenomenon. If we can later use accurate instruments to measure the amount of the phenomenon observed, we have a great chance to confirm or refute the theory. This is how Newton first tried to verify his theory of gravitation. He had a rough idea of the speed gained by falling objects at the earth’s surface, and if the law of the inverse square of the distance was accurate, along with the known distance of the moon, he could deduce that the moon should fall towards the earth at a rate of fifteen feet per minute. However, the actual deviation of the moon from the tangent of its orbit was only about thirteen feet per minute, leading to a difference of two feet in fifteen, which made Newton put “aside at that time any further thoughts of this matter.” Many years later, likely about fifteen or sixteen years, Newton got more precise data to calculate the size of the moon’s orbit, and he then discovered that the discrepancy was minimal.
His theory of gravitation was thus verified as far as the moon was concerned; but this was to him only the beginning of a long course of deductive calculations, each ending in a verification. If the earth and moon attract each other, and also the sun and the earth, there is reason to expect that the sun and moon should attract each other. Newton followed out the consequences of this inference, and showed that the moon would not move as if attracted by the earth only, but sometimes faster and sometimes slower. Comparison with Flamsteed’s observations of the moon showed that such was the case. Newton argued again, that as the waters of the ocean are not rigidly attached to the earth, they might attract the moon, and be attracted in return, independently of the rest of the earth. Certain daily motions resembling the tides would then be caused, and there were the tides to verify the reasoning. It was the extraordinary power with which Newton traced out geometrically the consequences of his theory, and submitted them to repeated comparison with experience, which constitutes his pre-eminence over all physicists.
His theory of gravitation was proven to be accurate in relation to the moon; however, this was just the start of a long series of deductive calculations, each leading to further verification. If the earth and moon attract each other, and the sun and the earth do as well, it makes sense to expect that the sun and moon should also attract one another. Newton explored the implications of this conclusion and demonstrated that the moon would not move as if only influenced by the earth, but would sometimes speed up and sometimes slow down. Comparing this with Flamsteed’s observations of the moon confirmed that this was true. Newton further argued that since the ocean waters aren’t rigidly fixed to the earth, they could also attract the moon and be drawn in return, independently of the rest of the earth. This would then cause certain daily movements resembling the tides, which were indeed present to support the reasoning. It was Newton's remarkable ability to geometrically map out the implications of his theory and repeatedly compare them with actual observations that set him apart from all other physicists.
Quantities determined by Theory and not verified.
It will continually happen that we are able, from certain measured phenomena and a correct theory, to determine the amount of some other phenomenon which we may either be unable to measure at all, or to measure with an accuracy corresponding to that required to verify the prediction. Thus Laplace having worked out a theory of the motions of Jupiter’s satellites on the hypothesis of gravitation, found that these motions were greatly affected by the spheroidal form of Jupiter. The motions of the satellites can be observed with great accuracy owing to their frequent eclipses and transits, and from these motions he was able to argue inversely, and assign the ellipticity of the planet. The ratio of the polar and equatorial axes thus determined was very nearly that of 13 to 14; and it agrees well with such direct micrometrical measurements of the planet as have been made; but Laplace believed that the theory gave a more accurate result than direct observation557 could yield, so that the theory could hardly be said to admit of direct verification.
It will often happen that we can use certain measured phenomena and a solid theory to determine the magnitude of another phenomenon that we might not be able to measure at all, or can only measure with less accuracy than what’s needed to confirm the prediction. For example, Laplace developed a theory about the motions of Jupiter’s satellites based on the idea of gravitation, and discovered that these motions were significantly influenced by Jupiter's round shape. The satellite movements can be observed very precisely due to their frequent eclipses and transits, and from these movements, he was able to deduce the shape of the planet. The ratio of the polar and equatorial axes he calculated was nearly 13 to 14 and aligns well with direct micrometric measurements of the planet that have been taken. However, Laplace thought that the theory provided a more accurate result than direct observation could achieve, suggesting that the theory couldn't really be directly verified.557
The specific heat of air was believed on the grounds of direct experiment to amount to 0·2669, the specific heat of water being taken as unity; but the methods of experiment were open to considerable causes of error. Rankine showed in 1850 that it was possible to calculate from the mechanical equivalent of heat and other thermodynamic data, what this number should be, and he found it to be 0·2378. This determination was at the time accepted as the most satisfactory result, although not verified; subsequently in 1853 Regnault obtained by direct experiment the number 0·2377, proving that the prediction had been well grounded.
The specific heat of air was believed based on direct experiments to be 0.2669, with the specific heat of water set as one; however, the methods used in these experiments had significant potential for error. In 1850, Rankine demonstrated that it was possible to compute this value using the mechanical equivalent of heat and other thermodynamic data, finding it to be 0.2378. This finding was then regarded as the most reliable result, even though it was not confirmed. Later, in 1853, Regnault measured the value directly and found it to be 0.2377, confirming that Rankine's prediction was well-supported.
It is readily seen that in quantitative questions verification is a matter of degree and probability. A less accurate method of measurement cannot verify the results of a more accurate method, so that if we arrive at a determination of the same physical quantity in several distinct modes it is often a delicate matter to decide which result is most reliable, and should be used for the indirect determination of other quantities. For instance, Joule’s and Thomson’s ingenious experiments upon the thermal phenomena of fluids in motion467 involved, as one physical constant, the mechanical equivalent of heat; if requisite, then, they might have been used to determine that important constant. But if more direct methods of experiment give the mechanical equivalent of heat with superior accuracy, then the experiments on fluids will be turned to a better use in determining various quantities relating to the theory of fluids. We will further consider questions of this kind in succeeding sections.
It’s clear that in quantitative questions, verification is a matter of degree and probability. A less accurate measurement method can’t confirm the results of a more accurate one, so when we determine the same physical quantity in different ways, it can be tricky to figure out which result is the most reliable and should be used for indirectly determining other quantities. For example, Joule’s and Thomson’s clever experiments on the thermal phenomena of moving fluids involved, as one physical constant, the mechanical equivalent of heat; if needed, they could have been used to find that important constant. But if more direct methods provide the mechanical equivalent of heat with higher accuracy, then the fluid experiments will be better used for determining various quantities related to fluid theory. We will look at more questions like this in the following sections.
There are of course many quantities assigned on theoretical grounds which we are quite unable to verify with corresponding accuracy. The thickness of a film of gold leaf, the average depths of the oceans, the velocity of a star’s approach to or regression from the earth as inferred from spectroscopic data (pp. 296–99), are cases in point; but many others might be quoted where direct verification seems impossible. Newton and subsequent physicists558 have measured light undulations, and by several methods we learn the velocity with which light travels. Since an undulation of the middle green is about five ten-millionths of a metre in length, and travels at the rate of nearly 300,000,000 of metres per second, it follows that about 600,000,000,000,000 undulations must strike in one second the retina of an eye which perceives such light. But how are we to verify such an astounding calculation by directly counting pulses which recur six hundred billions of times in a second?
There are many quantities determined theoretically that we can’t verify with the same level of accuracy. For instance, the thickness of a gold leaf film, the average depths of the oceans, and the speed at which a star approaches or moves away from Earth based on spectroscopic data (pp. 296–99) are examples; many others exist where direct verification seems impossible. Newton and later physicists have measured light waves, and through various methods, we determine the speed at which light travels. Since a wave of middle green is about five ten-millionths of a meter long and travels at nearly 300,000,000 meters per second, it means that about 600,000,000,000,000 waves must strike the retina of an eye that perceives that light in just one second. But how can we verify such an incredible calculation by directly counting pulses that occur six hundred billion times in a second?
Discordance of Theory and Experiment.
When a distinct want of accordance is found to exist between the results of theory and direct measurement, interesting questions arise as to the mode in which we can account for this discordance. The ultimate explanation of the discrepancy may be accomplished in at least four ways as follows:—
When a clear mismatch is discovered between theoretical results and direct measurements, intriguing questions come up regarding how we can explain this inconsistency. The final explanation for the difference can be achieved in at least four ways, as follows:—
(1) The direct measurement may be erroneous owing to various sources of casual error.
(1) The direct measurement might be inaccurate due to different sources of random error.
(2) The theory may be correct as far as regards the general form of the supposed laws, but some of the constant numbers or other quantitative data employed in the theoretical calculations may be inaccurate.
(2) The theory might be right regarding the general structure of the supposed laws, but some of the constant numbers or other quantitative data used in the theoretical calculations could be incorrect.
(3) The theory may be false, in the sense that the forms of the mathematical equations assumed to express the laws of nature are incorrect.
(3) The theory could be wrong, meaning that the mathematical equations thought to represent the laws of nature might be inaccurate.
(4) The theory and the involved quantities may be approximately accurate, but some regular unknown cause may have interfered, so that the divergence may be regarded as a residual effect representing possibly a new and interesting phenomenon.
(4) The theory and the quantities involved might be roughly correct, but some unknown factor could have interfered, so the difference might be seen as a residual effect that could represent a new and interesting phenomenon.
No precise rules can be laid down as to the best mode of proceeding to explain the divergence, and the experimentalist will have to depend upon his own insight and knowledge; but the following recommendations may be made.
No exact rules can be set for the best way to explain the differences, and the experimenter will need to rely on their own understanding and knowledge; however, the following suggestions can be offered.
If the experimental measurements are not numerous, repeat them and take a more extensive mean result, the probable accuracy of which, as regards casual errors, will increase as the square root of the number of experiments. Supposing559 that no considerable modification of the result is thus effected, we may suspect the existence of more deep-seated sources of error in our method of measurement. The next resource will be to change the size and form of the apparatus employed, and to introduce various modifications in the materials employed or the course of procedure, in the hope (p. 396) that some cause of constant error may thus be removed. If the inconsistency with theory still remains unreduced we may attempt to invent some widely different mode of arriving at the same physical quantity, so that we may be almost sure that the same cause of error will not affect both the new and old results. In some cases it is possible to find five or six essentially different modes of arriving at the same determination.
If the experimental measurements are limited, repeat them and calculate a more comprehensive average, which will likely increase in accuracy concerning random errors as the square root of the number of experiments. Assuming that this doesn't significantly change the outcome, we might suspect that there are deeper sources of error in our measurement method. The next step is to alter the size and shape of the equipment used, and to make various changes in the materials or procedures, in the hope that this will eliminate any constant sources of error. If discrepancies with theory persist, we can try to develop a completely different method to measure the same physical quantity, ensuring that the same sources of error won't affect both the new and old results. In some cases, it’s possible to find five or six fundamentally different ways to achieve the same determination.
Supposing that the discrepancy still exists we may begin to suspect that our direct measurements are correct, and that the data employed in the theoretical calculations are inaccurate. We must now review the grounds on which these data depend, consisting as they must ultimately do of direct measurements. A comparison of the recorded data will show the degree of probability attaching to the mean result employed; and if there is any ground for imagining the existence of error, we should repeat the observations, and vary the forms of experiment just as in the case of the previous direct measurements. The continued existence of the discrepancy must show that we have not attained to a complete acquaintance with the theory of the causes in action, but two different cases still remain. We may have misunderstood the action of those causes which we know to exist, or we may have overlooked the existence of one or more other causes. In the first case our hypothesis appears to be wrongly chosen and inapplicable; but whether we are to reject it will depend upon whether we can form another hypothesis which yields a more accurate accordance. The probability of an hypothesis, it will be remembered (p. 243), is to be judged, in the absence of à priori grounds of judgment, by the probability that if the supposed causes exist the observed result follows; but as there is now little probability of reconciling the original hypothesis with our direct measurements the field is open for new hypotheses, and any one which gives a closer accordance with measurement will so560 far have better claims to attention. Of course we must never estimate the probability of an hypothesis merely by its accordance with a few results only. Its general analogy and accordance with other known laws of nature, and the fact that it does not conflict with other probable theories, must be taken into account, as we shall see in the next book. The requisite condition of a good hypothesis, that it must admit of the deduction of facts verified in observation, must be interpreted in the widest manner, as including all ways in which there may be accordance or discordance. All our attempts at reconciliation having failed, the only conclusion we can come to is that some unknown cause of a new character exists. If the measurements be accurate and the theory probable, then there remains a residual phenomenon, which, being devoid of theoretical explanation, must be set down as a new empirical fact worthy of further investigation. Outstanding residual discrepancies have often been found to involve new discoveries of the greatest importance.
Assuming the discrepancy still exists, we may start to suspect that our direct measurements are correct and that the data used in the theoretical calculations are inaccurate. We need to review the basis for these data, which ultimately consist of direct measurements. A comparison of the recorded data will show the degree of probability associated with the mean result used; and if there’s any reason to think there’s an error, we should repeat the observations and vary the types of experiments just like we did with the previous direct measurements. The ongoing existence of the discrepancy suggests that we haven’t fully understood the theory of the causes at play, but two different scenarios still exist. We could have misunderstood the actions of the causes we know about, or we might have overlooked the existence of one or more other causes. In the first scenario, our hypothesis seems to be poorly chosen and unfit; whether we should reject it will depend on whether we can come up with another hypothesis that provides a more accurate match. The likelihood of a hypothesis, as noted (p. 243), should be judged, in the absence of à priori grounds for judgment, by the likelihood that if the supposed causes exist, then the observed result follows; but since there is now little probability of reconciling the original hypothesis with our direct measurements, the door is open for new hypotheses, and any one that provides a closer fit with the measurements will have better claims to consideration. Of course, we should never judge the probability of a hypothesis simply based on its alignment with just a few results. Its overall analogy and consistency with other known laws of nature, along with the fact that it does not contradict other plausible theories, must be taken into account, as we will see in the next book. The essential requirement for a good hypothesis, that it must allow for the deduction of facts confirmed by observation, must be interpreted broadly, including all the ways there may be agreement or disagreement. Since all our attempts at reconciliation have failed, the only conclusion we can reach is that some unknown cause of a new nature exists. If the measurements are accurate and the theory plausible, then a residual phenomenon remains, which, lacking a theoretical explanation, must be considered a new empirical fact that deserves further examination. Notable unresolved discrepancies have often led to significant new discoveries.
Accordance of Measurements of Astronomical Distances.
One of the most instructive instances which we can meet, of the manner in which different measurements confirm or check each other, is furnished by the determination of the velocity of light, and the dimensions of the planetary system. Roemer first discovered that light requires time to travel, by observing that the eclipses of Jupiter’s satellites, although they occur at fixed moments of absolute time, are visible at different moments in different parts of the earth’s orbit, according to the distance between the earth and Jupiter. The time occupied by light in traversing the mean semi-diameter of the earth’s orbit is found to be about eight minutes. The mean distance of the sun and earth was long assumed by astronomers as being about 95,274,000 miles, this result being deduced by Bessel from the observations of the transit of Venus, which occurred in 1769, and which were found to give the solar parallax, or which is the same thing, the apparent angular magnitude of the earth seen from the sun, as equal to 8″·578. Dividing the mean distance of the sun and earth by the561 number of seconds in 8m. 13s.3 we find the velocity of light to be about 192,000 miles per second.
One of the most informative examples we can find of how different measurements confirm or check each other is in determining the speed of light and the size of the planetary system. Roemer was the first to discover that light takes time to travel by observing that the eclipses of Jupiter’s moons, although they happen at fixed moments of absolute time, are visible at different times in different parts of the Earth’s orbit, depending on the distance between Earth and Jupiter. The time it takes for light to travel across the average radius of the Earth’s orbit is about eight minutes. For a long time, astronomers assumed the average distance from the Sun to Earth was about 95,274,000 miles. This figure was derived by Bessel from the observations of the transit of Venus in 1769, which showed the solar parallax (essentially, the apparent angle of the Earth as seen from the Sun) to be equal to 8″·578. Dividing the average distance from the Sun to Earth by the number of seconds in 8m. 13s.3, we find the speed of light to be about 192,000 miles per second.
Nearly the same result was obtained in what seems a different manner. The aberration of light is the apparent change in the direction of a ray of light owing to the composition of its motion with that of the earth’s motion round the sun. If we know the amount of aberration and the mean velocity of the earth, we can estimate that of light, which is thus found to be 191,100 miles per second. Now this determination depends upon a new physical quantity, that of aberration, which is ascertained by direct observation of the stars, so that the close accordance of the estimates of the velocity of light as thus arrived at by different methods might seem to leave little room for doubt, the difference being less than one per cent.
Almost the same result was achieved in what appears to be a different way. The aberration of light is the visible change in the direction of a light ray due to the combination of its motion with the Earth's movement around the sun. If we know the degree of aberration and the average speed of the Earth, we can estimate the speed of light, which turns out to be 191,100 miles per second. This determination relies on a new physical quantity, aberration, which is measured through direct observation of the stars. The close agreement of the estimates of the speed of light obtained through different methods seems to leave little room for doubt, with the difference being less than one percent.
Nevertheless, experimentalists were not satisfied until they had succeeded in measuring the velocity of light by direct experiments performed upon the earth’s surface. Fizeau, by a rapidly revolving toothed wheel, estimated the velocity at 195,920 miles per second. As this result differed by about one part in sixty from estimates previously accepted, there was thought to be room for further investigation. The revolving mirror, used by Wheatstone in measuring the velocity of electricity, was now applied in a more refined manner by Fizeau and by Foucault to determine the velocity of light. The latter physicist came to the startling conclusion that the velocity was not really more than 185,172 miles per second. No repetition of the experiment would shake this result, and there was accordingly a discrepancy between the astronomical and the experimental results of about 7,000 miles per second. The latest experiments, those of M. Cornu, only slightly raise the estimate, giving 186,660 miles per second. A little consideration shows that both the astronomical determinations involve the magnitude of the earth’s orbit as one datum, because our estimate of the earth’s velocity in its orbit depends upon our estimate of the sun’s mean distance. Accordingly as regards this quantity the two astronomical results count only for one. Though the transit of Venus had been considered to give the best data for the calculation of the sun’s parallax, yet astronomers had not neglected less favourable opportunities. Hansen, calculating from562 certain inequalities in the moon’s motion, had estimated it at 8″·916; Winneke, from observations of Mars, at 8″·964; Leverrier, from the motions of Mars, Venus, and the moon, at 8″·950. These independent results agree much better with each other than with that of Bessel (8″·578) previously received, or that of Encke (8″·58) deduced from the transits of Venus in 1761 and 1769, and though each separately might be worthy of less credit, yet their close accordance renders their mean result (8″·943) comparable in probability with that of Bessel. It was further found that if Foucault’s value for the velocity of light were assumed to be correct, and the sun’s distance were inversely calculated from that, the sun’s parallax would be 8″·960, which closely agreed with the above mean result. This further correspondence of independent results threw the balance of probability strongly against the results of the transit of Venus, and rendered it desirable to reconsider the observations made on that occasion. Mr. E. J. Stone, having re-discussed those observations,468 found that grave oversights had been made in the calculations, which being corrected would alter the estimate of parallax to 8″·91, a quantity in such comparatively close accordance with the other results that astronomers did not hesitate at once to reduce their estimate of the sun’s mean distance from 95,274,000 to 91,771,000, miles, although this alteration involved a corresponding correction in the assumed magnitudes and distances of most of the heavenly bodies. The solar parallax is now (1875) believed to be about 8″·878, the number deduced from Cornu’s experiments on the velocity of light. This result agrees very closely with 8″·879, the estimate obtained from new observations on the transit of Venus, by the French observers, and with 8″·873, the result of Galle’s observations of the planet Flora. When all the observations of the late transit of Venus are fully discussed the sun’s distance will probably be known to less than one part in a thousand, if not one part in ten thousand.469
Nevertheless, experimentalists weren't satisfied until they successfully measured the speed of light through direct experiments on the Earth's surface. Fizeau, using a rapidly spinning toothed wheel, estimated the speed at 195,920 miles per second. Since this result differed by about one part in sixty from previous accepted estimates, there was believed to be room for further investigation. The revolving mirror, which Wheatstone had used to measure the speed of electricity, was now applied in a more refined way by Fizeau and Foucault to determine the speed of light. Foucault made the surprising discovery that the speed was actually only about 185,172 miles per second. No repetition of the experiment could change this result, leading to a discrepancy of about 7,000 miles per second between the astronomical and experimental findings. The latest experiments by M. Cornu only slightly adjusted the estimate to 186,660 miles per second. A bit of consideration shows that both astronomical measurements depend on the size of the Earth's orbit as a data point because our estimation of the Earth's velocity in its orbit relies on our estimate of the sun's average distance. Therefore, regarding this factor, the two astronomical results essentially count as one. Although the transit of Venus was considered to provide the best data for calculating the sun's parallax, astronomers did not overlook less favorable opportunities. Hansen, calculating from certain irregularities in the moon's motion, estimated it at 8″.916; Winneke, from observations of Mars, estimated it at 8″.964; and Leverrier, from the movements of Mars, Venus, and the moon, estimated it at 8″.950. These independent results align much better with each other than with Bessel's earlier value (8″.578) or Encke's (8″.58) derived from the transits of Venus in 1761 and 1769. While each of these might individually deserve less credit, their close agreement makes their average result (8″.943) comparable in reliability to Bessel's. It was further noted that if Foucault's value for the speed of light were assumed to be correct, and the sun's distance were calculated inversely from that, the sun's parallax would be 8″.960, which closely matched the above average result. This additional agreement of independent results strongly favored a rejection of the transit of Venus findings, making it advisable to re-evaluate those observations. Mr. E. J. Stone, upon revisiting those observations, discovered significant errors in the calculations, and correcting them changed the parallax estimate to 8″.91, a figure that aligned closely with the other results, prompting astronomers to quickly adjust their estimate of the sun's average distance from 95,274,000 to 91,771,000 miles, despite this change requiring corresponding adjustments in the assumed sizes and distances of most celestial bodies. The solar parallax is now (1875) believed to be about 8″.878, derived from Cornu’s light speed experiments. This figure closely matches 8″.879, the estimate obtained from new observations during the transit of Venus by the French observers, and 8″.873, the result from Galle’s observations of the planet Flora. When all observations from the recent transit of Venus are thoroughly analyzed, the sun's distance will likely be known to within less than one part in a thousand, if not one part in ten thousand.
563
563
In this question the theoretical relations between the velocity of light, the constant of aberration, the sun’s parallax, and the sun’s mean distance, are of the simplest character, and can hardly be open to any doubt, so that the only doubt was as to which result of observation was the most reliable. Eventually the chief discrepancy was found to arise from misapprehension in the reduction of observations, but we have a satisfactory example of the value of different methods of estimation in leading to the detection of a serious error. Is it not surprising that Foucault by measuring the velocity of light when passing through the space of a few yards, should lead the way to a change in our estimates of the magnitudes of the whole universe?
In this question, the theoretical connections between the speed of light, the constant of aberration, the sun’s parallax, and the sun’s average distance are quite straightforward and shouldn't really be questioned. The only uncertainty was which observational result was the most trustworthy. Ultimately, the main discrepancy was due to misunderstandings in how observations were processed, but this serves as a solid example of how different methods of estimation can help identify a significant error. Isn’t it surprising that Foucault, by measuring the speed of light over just a few yards, paved the way for a shift in our understanding of the sizes of the entire universe?
Selection of the best Mode of Measurement.
When we once obtain command over a question of physical science by comprehending the theory of the subject, we often have a wide choice opened to us as regards the methods of measurement, which may thenceforth be made to give the most accurate results. If we can measure one fundamental quantity very precisely we may be able by theory to determine accurately many other quantitative results. Thus, if we determine satisfactorily the atomic weights of certain elements, we do not need to determine with equal accuracy the composition and atomic weights of their several compounds. Having learnt the relative atomic weights of oxygen and sulphur, we can calculate the composition by weight of the several oxides of sulphur. Chemists accordingly select with the greatest care that compound of two elements which seems to allow of the most accurate analysis, so as to give the ratio of their atomic weights. It is obvious that we only need the ratio of the atomic weight of each element to that of some common element, in order to calculate, that of each to each. Moreover the atomic weight stands in simple relation to other quantitative facts. The weights of equal volumes of elementary gases at equal temperature and pressure have564 the same ratios as the atomic weights; now, as nitrogen under such circumstances weighs 14·06 times as much as hydrogen, we may infer that the atomic weight of nitrogen is about 14·06, or more probably 14·00, that of hydrogen being unity. There is much evidence, again, that the specific heats of elements are inversely as their atomic weights, so that these two classes of quantitative data throw light mutually upon each other. In fact the atomic weight, the atomic volume, and the atomic heat of an element, are quantities so closely connected that the determination of one will lead to that of the others. The chemist has to solve a complicated problem in deciding in the case of each of 60 or 70 elements which mode of determination is most accurate. Modern chemistry presents us with an almost infinitely extensive web of numerical ratios developed out of a few fundamental ratios.
Once we gain control over a physical science question by understanding the theory behind it, we often have a wide range of options for measurement methods that can provide the most accurate results. If we can measure one fundamental quantity very precisely, we might be able to accurately determine many other quantitative results through theory. For instance, if we accurately determine the atomic weights of certain elements, we do not need to measure the composition and atomic weights of their various compounds with the same level of precision. Once we've learned the relative atomic weights of oxygen and sulfur, we can calculate the weight composition of the different sulfur oxides. As a result, chemists carefully select the compound of two elements that seems to allow for the most accurate analysis to determine their atomic weight ratio. It's clear that we only need the ratio of the atomic weight of each element to that of a common element in order to calculate the ratio of each element to the other. Additionally, atomic weight is simply related to other quantitative facts. The weights of equal volumes of elementary gases at the same temperature and pressure maintain the same ratios as the atomic weights; for example, since nitrogen weighs 14.06 times as much as hydrogen under these conditions, we can infer that nitrogen's atomic weight is about 14.06, or more likely 14.00, with hydrogen's being one. There is also strong evidence that the specific heats of elements are inversely related to their atomic weights, so these two sets of quantitative data can illuminate each other. In fact, the atomic weight, atomic volume, and atomic heat of an element are so closely linked that determining one will lead to the determination of the others. Chemists face a complicated problem in deciding which method of determination is most accurate for each of the 60 or 70 elements. Modern chemistry presents us with an almost infinitely intricate web of numerical ratios developed from a few fundamental ratios.
In hygrometry we have a choice among at least four modes of measuring the quantity of aqueous vapour contained in a given bulk of air. We can extract the vapour by absorption in sulphuric acid, and directly weigh its amount; we can place the air in a barometer tube and observe how much the absorption of the vapour alters the elastic force of the air; we can observe the dew-point of the air, that is the temperature at which the vapour becomes saturated; or, lastly, we can insert a dry and wet bulb thermometer and observe the temperature of an evaporating surface. The results of each mode can be connected by theory with those of the other modes, and we can select for each experiment that mode which is most accurate or most convenient. The chemical method of direct measurement is capable of the greatest accuracy, but is troublesome; the dry and wet bulb thermometer is sufficiently exact for meteorological purposes and is most easy to use.
In hygrometry, we have at least four ways to measure the amount of water vapor in a specific volume of air. We can absorb the vapor in sulfuric acid and weigh it directly; we can put the air into a barometer tube and see how much the vapor's absorption changes the air's pressure; we can check the dew point of the air, which is the temperature at which the vapor becomes saturated; or we can use a dry and wet bulb thermometer to measure the temperature of an evaporating surface. The results from each method can be theoretically linked to the others, allowing us to choose the most accurate or convenient method for each experiment. The chemical method of direct measurement is the most accurate, but it’s cumbersome; the dry and wet bulb thermometer is accurate enough for weather purposes and is much easier to use.
Agreement of Distinct Modes of Measurement.
Many illustrations might be given of the accordance which has been found to exist in some cases between the results of entirely different methods of arriving at the measurement of a physical quantity. While such accordance must, in the absence of information to the contrary,565 be regarded as the best possible proof of the approximate correctness of the mean result, yet instances have occurred to show that we can never take too much trouble in confirming results of great importance. When three or even more distinct methods have given nearly coincident numbers, a new method has sometimes disclosed a discrepancy which it is yet impossible to explain.
Many examples can be provided of the agreement found in some cases between the results of completely different ways of measuring a physical quantity. While this agreement should, unless proven otherwise,565 be seen as the strongest evidence of the approximate accuracy of the average result, there have been cases that demonstrate we can never be too careful in verifying results of significant importance. When three or more distinct methods yield almost identical numbers, a new method has sometimes revealed a discrepancy that remains unexplained.
The ellipticity of the earth is known with considerable approach to certainty and accuracy, for it has been estimated in three independent ways. The most direct mode is to measure long arcs extending north and south upon the earth’s surface, by means of trigonometrical surveys, and then to compare the lengths of these arcs with their curvature as determined by observations of the altitude of certain stars at the terminal points. The most probable ellipticity of the earth deduced from all measurements of this kind was estimated by Bessel at 1300, though subsequent measurements might lead to a slightly different estimate. The divergence from a globular form causes a small variation in the force of gravity at different parts of the earth’s surface, so that exact pendulum observations give the data for an independent estimate of the ellipticity, which is thus found to be 1320. In the third place the spheroidal protuberance about the earth’s equator leads to a certain inequality in the moon’s motion, as shown by Laplace; and from the amount of that inequality, as given by observations, Laplace was enabled to calculate back to the amount of its cause. He thus inferred that the ellipticity is 1305, which lies between the two numbers previously given, and was considered by him the most satisfactory determination. In this case the accordance is undisturbed by subsequent results, so that we are obliged to accept Laplace’s result as a highly probable one.
The earth's ellipticity is known with a high degree of certainty and accuracy, as it has been estimated in three separate ways. The most straightforward method is to measure long arcs running north and south on the earth’s surface using triangulation surveys, and then compare the lengths of these arcs with their curvature based on observations of the altitude of certain stars at the endpoints. The most likely ellipticity of the earth, deduced from all these measurements, was estimated by Bessel at 1300, although later measurements might provide a slightly different figure. The deviation from a spherical shape causes a small variation in the force of gravity at different locations on the earth's surface, meaning precise pendulum observations offer data for an independent estimate of the ellipticity, which is found to be 1320. Additionally, the bulge around the earth’s equator results in a specific irregularity in the moon’s motion, as shown by Laplace; from the extent of that irregularity, based on observations, Laplace was able to infer the cause. He concluded that the ellipticity is 1305, which falls between the two previously mentioned values and was considered by him to be the most reliable estimate. In this case, the agreement stands firm against later findings, thus we have to accept Laplace’s result as highly probable.
The mean density of the earth is a constant of high importance, because it is necessary for the determination of the masses of all the other heavenly bodies. Astronomers and physicists accordingly have bestowed a great deal of labour upon the exact estimation of this constant. The method of procedure consists in comparing the566 gravitation of the globe with that of some body of matter of which the mass is known in terms of the assumed unit of mass. This body of matter, serving as an intermediate term of comparison, may be variously chosen; it may consist of a mountain, or a portion of the earth’s crust, or a heavy ball of metal. The method of experiment varies so much according as we select one body or the other, that we may be said to have three independent modes of arriving at the desired result.
The average density of the Earth is a crucial constant because it's essential for calculating the masses of all other celestial bodies. As a result, astronomers and physicists have put a lot of effort into accurately measuring this constant. The method involves comparing the gravitational pull of the Earth with that of another object whose mass is known based on an assumed unit of mass. This object for comparison can be variously chosen; it could be a mountain, a section of the Earth's crust, or a heavy metal ball. The experimental method changes significantly depending on which object we choose, giving us three independent ways to reach the desired result.
The mutual gravitation of two balls is so exceedingly small compared with their gravitation towards the immense mass of the earth, that it is usually quite imperceptible, and although asserted by Newton to exist, on the ground of theory, was never observed until the end of the 18th century. Michell attached two small balls to the extremities of a delicately suspended torsion balance, and then bringing heavy balls of lead alternately to either side of these small balls was able to detect a slight deflection of the torsion balance. He thus furnished a new verification of the theory of gravitation. Cavendish carried out the experiment with more care, and estimated the gravitation of the balls by treating the torsion balance as a pendulum; then taking into account the respective distances of the balls from each other and from the centre of the earth, he was able to assign 5·48 (or as re-computed by Baily, 5·448) as the probable mean density of the earth. Newton’s sagacious guess to the effect that the density of the earth was between five and six times that of water, was thus remarkably confirmed. The same kind of experiment repeated by Reich gave 5·438. Baily having again performed the experiment with every possible refinement obtained a slightly higher number, 5·660.
The mutual attraction between two balls is so incredibly small compared to their attraction to the massive earth that it usually goes unnoticed. Although Newton claimed it existed based on theory, it wasn't observed until the late 18th century. Michell attached two small balls to the ends of a finely suspended torsion balance, and by alternately bringing heavy lead balls close to either side of these small balls, he managed to detect a slight deflection in the torsion balance. This provided a new confirmation of the theory of gravity. Cavendish performed the experiment with more precision and estimated the attraction between the balls by treating the torsion balance like a pendulum; then, considering the distances between the balls and from the center of the earth, he calculated the probable mean density of the earth to be 5.48 (or 5.448 as recalculated by Baily). Newton's wise guess that the earth's density was between five and six times that of water was thus impressively confirmed. Reich repeated a similar experiment and found a value of 5.438. Baily, having conducted the experiment with every possible refinement, obtained a slightly higher result of 5.660.
A different method of procedure consisted in ascertaining the effect of a mountain mass in deflecting the plumb-line; for, assuming that we can determine the dimensions and mean density of the mountain, the plumb-line enables us to compare its mass with that of the whole earth. The mountain Schehallien was selected for the experiment, and observations and calculations performed by Maskelyne, Hutton, and Playfair, gave as the most probable result 4·713. The difference from the experimental results already mentioned is considerable and is important, because the instrumental567 operations are of an entirely different character from those of Cavendish and Baily’s experiments. Sir Henry James’ similar determination from the attraction of Arthur’s Seat gave 5·14.
A different method involved figuring out how a mountain affects the plumb line; by assuming we can measure the size and average density of the mountain, we can use the plumb line to compare its mass with that of the entire Earth. Mount Schehallien was chosen for the experiment, and observations and calculations by Maskelyne, Hutton, and Playfair suggested the most likely result was 4.713. The difference from the earlier experimental results is significant and important because the instrumental operations are completely different from those in Cavendish and Baily’s experiments. Sir Henry James’ similar measurement from the attraction of Arthur’s Seat gave 5.14.
A third distinct method consists in determining the force of gravity at points elevated above the surface of the earth on mountain ranges, or sunk below it in mines. Carlini experimented with a pendulum at the hospice of Mont Cenis, 6,375 feet above the sea, and by comparing the attractive forces of the earth and the Alps, found the density to be still smaller, namely, 4·39, or as corrected by Giulio, 4·950. Lastly, the Astronomer Royal has on two occasions adopted the opposite method of observing a pendulum at the bottom of a deep mine, so as to compare the density of the strata penetrated with the density of the whole earth. On the second occasion he carried his method into effect at the Harton Colliery, 1,260 feet deep; all that could be done by skill in measurement and careful consideration of all the causes of error, was accomplished in this elaborate series of observations470 (p. 291). No doubt Sir George Airy was much perplexed when he found that his new result considerably exceeded that obtained by any other method, being no less than 6·566, or 6·623 as finally corrected. In this case we learn an impressive lesson concerning the value of repeated determinations by distinct methods in disabusing our minds of the reliance which we are only too apt to place in results which show a certain degree of coincidence.
A third unique approach involves measuring the force of gravity at locations above the Earth's surface, like mountain ranges, or below it in mines. Carlini experimented with a pendulum at the Mont Cenis hospice, which is 6,375 feet above sea level. By comparing the gravitational effects of the Earth and the Alps, he found the density to be lower, specifically 4.39, or as adjusted by Giulio, 4.950. Finally, the Astronomer Royal used the opposite method on two occasions by observing a pendulum at the bottom of a deep mine to compare the density of the layers he passed through with the overall density of the Earth. On his second attempt, he conducted this method at the Harton Colliery, 1,260 feet deep; he managed to achieve precise measurements and carefully considered all potential sources of error during this detailed series of observations470 (p. 291). It's clear that Sir George Airy was quite confused when he discovered that his new finding significantly exceeded those obtained by any other method, reaching values of 6.566 or 6.623 after final correction. This situation teaches us an important lesson about the value of conducting repeated measurements using different methods to help us overcome our tendency to overly trust results that seem to align.
In 1844 Herschel remarked in his memoir of Francis Baily,471 “that the mean specific gravity of this our planet is, in all human probability, quite as well determined as that of an ordinary hand-specimen in a mineralogical cabinet,—a marvellous result, which should teach us to despair of nothing which lies within the compass of number, weight and measure.” But at the same time he pointed out that Baily’s final result, of which the probable error was only 0·0032, was the highest of all determinations then known, and Airy’s investigation has since given a much higher result, quite beyond the limits of probable error of any of568 the previous experiments. If we treat all determinations yet made as of equal weight, the simple mean is about 5·45, the mean error nearly 0·5, and the probable error almost 0·2, so that it is as likely as not that the truth lies between 5·65 and 5·25 on this view of the matter. But it is remarkable that the two most recent and careful series of observations by Baily and Airy,472 lie beyond these limits, and as with the increase of care the estimate rises, it seems requisite to reject the earlier results, and look upon the question as still requiring further investigation. Physicists often take 5 23 or 5·67 as the best guess at the truth, but it is evident that new experiments are much required. I cannot help thinking that a portion of the great sums of money which many governments and private individuals spent upon the transit of Venus expeditions in 1874, and which they will probably spend again in 1882 (p. 562), would be better appropriated to new determinations of the earth’s density. It seems desirable to repeat Baily’s experiment in a vacuous case, and with the greater mechanical refinements which the progress of the last forty years places at the disposal of the experimentalist. It would be desirable, also, to renew the pendulum experiments of Airy in some other deep mine. It might even be well to repeat upon some suitable mountain the observations performed at Schehallien. All these operations might be carried out for the cost of one of the superfluous transit expeditions.
In 1844, Herschel noted in his memoir of Francis Baily,471 that “the average specific gravity of our planet is probably as accurately determined as that of a typical sample in a mineral collection—a remarkable achievement that should teach us not to despair of anything that can be measured by numbers, weight, and measure.” However, he also pointed out that Baily's final result, with a probable error of only 0.0032, was the highest known at the time, and Airy’s research has since yielded a much higher result, well beyond the probable error of any previous experiments. If we consider all determinations made so far as equally valid, the simple mean is about 5.45, the mean error is nearly 0.5, and the probable error is almost 0.2, making it likely that the true value lies between 5.65 and 5.25 based on this perspective. It is notable that the two most recent and thorough series of observations from Baily and Airy,472 extend beyond these limits, and as the precision of estimates improves, it seems necessary to dismiss earlier results and view the issue as still needing further investigation. Physicists often use 5 23 or 5.67 as the best estimates of the truth, but it's clear that new experiments are critically needed. I can't help but think that a portion of the large sums of money spent by various governments and private individuals on the transit of Venus expeditions in 1874, and likely again in 1882 (p. 562), would be better directed towards new measurements of the Earth's density. It seems wise to repeat Baily's experiment in a vacuum chamber, utilizing the advanced mechanical precision available from the progress of the last forty years. It would also be beneficial to redo Airy’s pendulum experiments in another deep mine. It might even be worthwhile to replicate the observations conducted at Schehallien on a suitable mountain. All these tasks could be accomplished for the cost of one of the unnecessary transit expeditions.
Since the establishment of the dynamical theory of heat it has become a matter of the greatest importance to determine with accuracy the mechanical equivalent of heat, or the quantity of energy which must be given, or received, in a definite change of temperature effected in a definite quantity of a standard substance, such as water. No less than seven almost entirely distinct modes of determining this constant have been tried. Dr. Joule first ascertained by the friction of water that to raise the temperature of one kilogram of water through one degree centigrade, we must employ energy sufficient to raise 424 kilograms through the height of one metre against the force of gravity at the earth’s surface. Joule, Mayer,569 Clausius,473 Favre and other experimentalists have made determinations by less direct methods. Experiments on the mechanical properties of gases give 426 kilogrammetres as the constant; the work done by a steam-engine gives 413; from the heat evolved in electrical experiments several determinations have been obtained; thus from induced electric currents we get 452; from the electro-magnetic engine 443; from the circuit of a battery 420; and, from an electric current, the lowest result of all, namely, 400.474
Since the creation of the dynamic theory of heat, it has become extremely important to accurately determine the mechanical equivalent of heat, which is the amount of energy needed to raise or lower the temperature of a specific amount of a standard substance, like water. At least seven completely different methods have been used to find this constant. Dr. Joule discovered through the friction of water that to raise the temperature of one kilogram of water by one degree Celsius, we need enough energy to lift 424 kilograms one meter against the force of gravity at Earth's surface. Joule, Mayer,569 Clausius,473 Favre, and other experimentalists have used less direct methods for their measurements. Experiments on the mechanical properties of gases suggest a constant of 426 kilogram-meters; the work done by a steam engine suggests 413; various electrical experiments have provided several different results: induced electric currents give 452; the electromagnetic engine provides 443; a battery circuit results in 420; and the lowest result from an electric current is 400.474
Considering the diverse and in many cases difficult methods of observation, these results exhibit satisfactory accordance, and their mean (423·9) comes very close to the number derived by Dr. Joule from the apparently most accurate method. The constant generally assumed as the most probable result is 423·55 kilogrammetres.
Considering the various and often challenging methods of observation, these results show satisfactory agreement, and their average (423.9) is very close to the number obtained by Dr. Joule from what seems to be the most accurate method. The constant generally accepted as the most likely result is 423.55 kilogrammeters.
Residual Phenomena.
Even when the experimental data employed in the verification of a theory are sufficiently accurate, and the theory itself is sound, there may exist discrepancies demanding further investigation. Herschel pointed out the importance of such outstanding quantities, and called them residual phenomena.475 Now if the observations and the theory be really correct, such discrepancies must be due to the incompleteness of our knowledge of the causes in action, and the ultimate explanation must consist in showing that there is in action, either
Even when the experimental data used to verify a theory is accurate and the theory itself is solid, there can still be discrepancies that require further investigation. Herschel emphasized the significance of these noticeable quantities, calling them residual phenomena.475 If the observations and the theory are indeed correct, then these discrepancies must stem from the gaps in our understanding of the causes at play, and the ultimate explanation should reveal that there is either
(1) Some agent of known nature whose presence was not suspected;
(1) An agent of a known kind whose presence went unnoticed;
Or (2) Some new agent of unknown nature.
Or (2) Some new agent whose nature is unknown.
In the first case we can hardly be said to make a new discovery, for our ultimate success consists merely in reconciling the theory with known facts when our investigation is more comprehensive. But in the second case we meet with a totally new fact, which may lead us570 to realms of new discovery. Take the instance adduced by Herschel. The theory of Newton and Halley concerning comets was that they were gravitating bodies revolving round the sun in elliptic orbits, and the return of Halley’s Comet, in 1758, verified this theory. But, when accurate observations of Encke’s Comet came to be made, the verification was not found to be exact. Encke’s Comet returned each time a little sooner than it ought to do, the period regularly decreasing from 1212·79 days, between 1786 and 1789, to 1210·44 between 1855 and 1858; and the hypothesis has been started that there is a resisting medium filling the space through which the comet passes. This hypothesis is a deus ex machinâ for explaining this solitary phenomenon, and cannot possess much probability unless it can be shown that other phenomena are deducible from it. Many persons have identified this medium with that through which light undulations pass, but I am not aware that there is anything in the undulatory theory of light to show that the medium would offer resistance to a moving body. If Professor Balfour Stewart can prove that a rotating disc would experience resistance in a vacuous receiver, here is an experimental fact which distinctly supports the hypothesis. But in the mean time it is open to question whether other known agents, for instance electricity, may not be brought in, and I have tried to show that if, as is believed, the tail of a comet is an electrical phenomenon, it is a necessary result of the conservation of energy that the comet shall exhibit a loss of energy manifested in a diminution of its mean distance from the sun and its period of revolution.476 It should be added that if571 Professor Tait’s theory be correct, as seems very probable, and comets consist of swarms of small meteors, there is no difficulty in accounting for the retardation. It has long been known that a collection of small bodies travelling together in an orbit round a central body will tend to fall towards it. In either case, then, this residual phenomenon seems likely to be reconciled with known laws of nature.
In the first case, we can hardly say we made a new discovery, as our eventual success mainly involves reconciling the theory with known facts when our investigation is more thorough. But in the second case, we encounter a completely new fact that could open up pathways for new discoveries. Take the example mentioned by Herschel. The theory from Newton and Halley regarding comets was that they are gravitational bodies orbiting the sun in elliptical paths, and Halley’s Comet returning in 1758 confirmed this theory. However, when accurate observations of Encke’s Comet were conducted, the confirmation didn’t hold up perfectly. Encke’s Comet returned slightly sooner each time than expected, with the period consistently decreasing from 1212.79 days between 1786 and 1789 to 1210.44 between 1855 and 1858; and the theory was proposed that there might be a resisting medium filling the space through which the comet moves. This theory is a deus ex machinâ for explaining this unique phenomenon and doesn't have much credibility unless it can be shown that other phenomena can be derived from it. Many people have equated this medium with that through which light waves travel, but I don’t think there's anything in the wave theory of light to indicate that the medium would offer resistance to a moving object. If Professor Balfour Stewart can demonstrate that a rotating disc would face resistance in a vacuum, that would be an experimental fact that clearly supports the theory. But for now, it remains questionable whether other known forces, like electricity, could also be involved, and I’ve attempted to show that if, as believed, the tail of a comet is an electrical phenomenon, then it necessarily follows from the conservation of energy that the comet will display a loss of energy shown in a decrease of its average distance from the sun and its orbital period. It should also be noted that if Professor Tait’s theory is correct, which seems quite likely, and comets are made up of swarms of small meteors, there should be no issue in explaining the delay. It's been known for a long time that a collection of small bodies traveling together in an orbit around a central body will tend to fall toward it. In either case, this remaining phenomenon seems likely to align with established laws of nature.
In other cases residual phenomena have involved important inferences not recognised at the time. Newton showed how the velocity of sound in the atmosphere could be calculated by a theory of pulses or undulations from the observed tension and density of the air. He inferred that the velocity in the ordinary state of the atmosphere at the earth’s surface would be 968 feet per second, and rude experiments made by him in the cloisters of Trinity College seemed to show that this was not far from the truth. Subsequently it was ascertained by other experimentalists that the velocity of sound was more nearly 1,142 feet, and the discrepancy being one-sixth part of the whole was far too much to attribute to casual errors in the numerical data. Newton attempted to explain away this discrepancy by hypotheses as to the reactions of the molecules of air, but without success.
In other cases, leftover phenomena have led to important conclusions that weren't recognized at the time. Newton demonstrated how the speed of sound in the atmosphere could be calculated using a theory of pulses or waves based on the observed pressure and density of the air. He concluded that the speed in the normal state of the atmosphere at the earth’s surface would be 968 feet per second, and rough experiments he conducted in the cloisters of Trinity College seemed to indicate that this was close to the truth. Later, other experimenters determined that the speed of sound was actually around 1,142 feet, and the difference—about one-sixth of the total—was too significant to be dismissed as simple errors in the measurements. Newton tried to explain this discrepancy by theorizing about how air molecules react, but he was unsuccessful.
New investigations having been made from time to time concerning the velocity of sound, both as observed experimentally and as calculated from theory, it was found that each of Newton’s results was inaccurate, the theoretical velocity being 916 feet per second, and the real velocity about 1,090 feet. The discrepancy, nevertheless, remained as serious as ever, and it was not until the year 1816 that Laplace showed it to be due to the heat developed by the sudden compression of the air in the passage of the wave, this heat having the effect of increasing the elasticity of the air and accelerating the impulse. It is now perceived572 that this discrepancy really involves the doctrine of the equivalence of heat and energy, and it was applied by Mayer, at least by implication, to give an estimate of the mechanical equivalent of heat. The estimate thus derived agrees satisfactorily with direct determinations by Dr. Joule and other physicists, so that the explanation of the residual phenomenon which exercised Newton’s ingenuity is now complete, and forms an important part of the new science of thermodynamics.
New investigations have been conducted over time regarding the speed of sound, both from experiments and theoretical calculations. It was found that all of Newton's results were incorrect, with the theoretical speed being 916 feet per second, while the actual speed was around 1,090 feet. However, the difference remained significant, and it wasn't until 1816 that Laplace demonstrated it was caused by the heat generated from the sudden compression of air as the sound wave passes through. This heat increases the air's elasticity and speeds up the impulse. It is now understood572 that this discrepancy relates to the principle of the equivalence of heat and energy, which Mayer applied, at least indirectly, to estimate the mechanical equivalent of heat. The estimate aligns well with direct measurements by Dr. Joule and other physicists, so the explanation for the leftover phenomenon that puzzled Newton is now complete and plays a crucial role in the emerging field of thermodynamics.
As Herschel observed, almost all great astronomical discoveries have been disclosed in the form of residual differences. It is the practice at well-conducted observatories to compare the positions of the heavenly bodies as actually observed with what might have been expected theoretically. This practice was introduced by Halley when Astronomer Royal, and his reduction of the lunar observations gave a series of residual errors from 1722 to 1739, by the examination of which the lunar theory was improved. Most of the greater astronomical variations arising from nutation, aberration, planetary perturbation were discovered in the same manner. The precession of the equinox was perhaps the earliest residual difference observed; the systematic divergence of Uranus from its calculated places was one of the latest, and was the clue to the remarkable discovery of Neptune. We may also class under residual phenomena all the so-called proper motions of the stars. A complete star catalogue, such as that of the British Association, gives a greater or less amount of proper motion for almost every star, consisting in the apparent difference of position of the star as derived from the earliest and latest good observations. But these apparent motions are often due, as explained by Baily,477 the author of the catalogue, to errors of observation and reduction. In many cases the best astronomical authorities have differed as to the very direction of the supposed proper motion of stars, and as regards the amount of the motion, for instance of α Polaris, the most different estimates have been formed. Residual quantities will often be so small that their very existence is doubtful. Only the gradual progress of theory and of measurement will show clearly whether a discrepancy is to573 be referred to casual errors of observation or to some new phenomenon. But nothing is more requisite for the progress of science than the careful recording and investigation of such discrepancies. In no part of physical science can we be free from exceptions and outstanding facts, of which our present knowledge can give no account. It is among such anomalies that we must look for the clues to new realms of facts worthy of discovery. They are like the floating waifs which led Columbus to suspect the existence of the new world.
As Herschel noted, nearly all major astronomical discoveries have come from studying residual differences. At well-run observatories, it's standard practice to compare the actual positions of celestial bodies with their theoretically expected positions. This practice was initiated by Halley during his time as Astronomer Royal, and his analysis of lunar observations produced a series of residual errors from 1722 to 1739, which helped improve lunar theory. Most significant astronomical variations from nutation, aberration, and planetary perturbation were found this way. The precession of the equinox might be the earliest observed residual difference, while the systematic deviation of Uranus from its predicted locations was one of the most recent, ultimately leading to the remarkable discovery of Neptune. We can also categorize all the so-called proper motions of stars as residual phenomena. A comprehensive star catalog, like that of the British Association, shows varying amounts of proper motion for almost every star, indicating the apparent positional differences based on the earliest and latest reliable observations. However, these apparent motions are often attributed, as explained by Baily, the catalog's author, to errors in observation and data analysis. In many instances, leading astronomical authorities have disagreed on the direction of the supposed proper motion of stars, and regarding the amount of motion for α Polaris, estimates have varied widely. Residual quantities are often so small that their very existence is questionable. Only through the ongoing development of theory and measurement can we determine if a discrepancy is due to random observational errors or a new phenomenon. But nothing is more essential for scientific progress than meticulous recording and examination of such discrepancies. In no area of physical science can we escape exceptions and notable facts that our current understanding cannot explain. It is within these anomalies that we must seek clues to new areas of knowledge worth exploring. They are like the floating debris that led Columbus to suspect the existence of a new world.
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CHAPTER XXVI.
CHARACTER OF THE EXPERIMENTER.
In the present age there seems to be a tendency to believe that the importance of individual genius is less than it was—
In today's world, there seems to be a belief that the value of individual genius is less significant than it used to be—
“The individual withers, and the world is more and more.”
“The individual fades away, while the world keeps growing.”
Society, it is supposed, has now assumed so highly developed a form, that what was accomplished in past times by the solitary exertions of a great intellect, may now be worked out by the united labours of an army of investigators. Just as the well-organised power of a modern army supersedes the single-handed bravery of the mediæval knights, so we are to believe that the combination of intellectual labour has superseded the genius of an Archimedes, a Newton, or a Laplace. So-called original research is now regarded as a profession, adopted by hundreds of men, and communicated by a system of training. All that we need to secure additions to our knowledge of nature is the erection of great laboratories, museums, and observatories, and the offering of pecuniary rewards to those who can invent new chemical compounds, detect new species, or discover new comets. Doubtless this is not the real meaning of the eminent men who are now urging upon Government the endowment of physical research. They can only mean that the greater the pecuniary and material assistance given to men of science, the greater the result which the available genius of the country may be expected to produce. Money and opportunities of study can no more produce genius than sunshine and moisture can generate575 living beings; the inexplicable germ is wanting in both cases. But as, when the germ is present, the plant will grow more or less vigorously according to the circumstances in which it is placed, so it may be allowed that pecuniary assistance may favour development of intellect. Public opinion however is not discriminating, and is likely to interpret the agitation for the endowment of science as meaning that science can be had for money.
Society is believed to have evolved to such an advanced state that what was once achieved through the individual efforts of brilliant minds can now be accomplished by the collective work of a team of researchers. Just as the organized might of a modern army replaces the lone courage of medieval knights, we are expected to think that the collaboration of intellectual efforts has replaced the brilliance of greats like Archimedes, Newton, or Laplace. Nowadays, so-called original research is seen as a profession taken on by hundreds of individuals and shared through a system of training. All we need to expand our understanding of nature is the establishment of large laboratories, museums, and observatories, along with financial incentives for those who can create new chemical substances, identify new species, or find new comets. Certainly, this isn't the true intention of the distinguished individuals advocating for government funding for physical research. They likely mean that the more financial and material support offered to scientists, the greater the results we can expect from the nation's available talent. Money and study opportunities can't create genius any more than sunlight and rain can produce living things; something indescribable is missing in both situations. However, just as a plant will grow more or less vigorously depending on its environment when the seed is there, it's reasonable to say that financial support may aid in the development of intellect. Public opinion, though, isn't nuanced and may interpret the push for science funding as a belief that science can be bought with money.
All such notions are erroneous. In no branch of human affairs, neither in politics, war, literature, industry, nor science, is the influence of genius less considerable than it was. It is possible that the extension and organisation of scientific study, assisted by the printing-press and the accelerated means of communication, has increased the rapidity with which new discoveries are made known, and their details worked out by many heads and hands. A Darwin now no sooner propounds original ideas concerning the evolution of living creatures, than those ideas are discussed and illustrated, and applied by naturalists in every part of the world. In former days his discoveries would have been hidden for decades of years in scarce manuscripts, and generations would have passed away before his theory had enjoyed the same amount of criticism and corroboration as it has already received. The result is that the genius of Darwin is more valuable, not less valuable, than it would formerly have been. The advance of military science and the organisation of enormous armies has not decreased the value of a skilful general; on the contrary, the rank and file are still more in need than they used to be of the guiding power of a far-seeing intellect. The swift destruction of the French military power was not due alone to the perfection of the German army, nor to the genius of Moltke; it was due to the combination of a well-disciplined multitude with a leader of the highest powers. So in every branch of human affairs the influence of the individual is not withering, but is growing with the extent of the material resources which are at his command.
All such ideas are wrong. In no area of human activity, whether in politics, war, literature, industry, or science, is the impact of genius any less significant than it was. It’s true that the expansion and organization of scientific research, supported by the printing press and faster communication methods, have sped up how quickly new discoveries are shared and developed by many people. When a figure like Darwin presents new ideas about the evolution of living beings, those ideas are immediately debated, illustrated, and utilized by naturalists all over the globe. In the past, his discoveries would have been buried for decades in rare manuscripts, and it would have taken generations before his theory received the same level of critique and support as it does now. As a result, Darwin's genius is more valuable, not less, than it would have been before. The progress in military science and the organization of large armies hasn’t diminished the importance of a skilled general; in fact, the troops need the guidance of a visionary mind even more than they did in the past. The rapid downfall of the French military power wasn’t just due to the superiority of the German army or the genius of Moltke; it was the combination of a well-trained army with a leader of exceptional abilities. Therefore, in every area of human endeavor, the influence of individuals is not fading but is increasing along with the material resources available to them.
Turning to our own subject, it is a work of undiminished interest to reflect upon those qualities of mind which lead to great advances in natural knowledge. Nothing, indeed, is less amenable than genius to scientific analysis and576 explanation. Even definition is out of the question. Buffon said that “genius is patience,” and certainly patience is one of its most requisite components. But no one can suppose that patient labour alone will invariably lead to those conspicuous results which we attribute to genius. In every branch of science, literature, art, or industry, there are thousands of men and women who work with unceasing patience, and thereby ensure moderate success; but it would be absurd to suppose that equal amounts of intellectual labour yield equal results. A Newton may modestly attribute his discoveries to industry and patient thought, and there is reason to believe that genius is unconscious and unable to account for its own peculiar powers. As genius is essentially creative, and consists in divergence from the ordinary grooves of thought and action, it must necessarily be a phenomenon beyond the domain of the laws of nature. Nevertheless, it is always an interesting and instructive work to trace out, as far as possible, the characteristics of mind by which great discoveries have been achieved, and we shall find in the analysis much to illustrate the principles of scientific method.
Focusing on our topic, it's always fascinating to consider the qualities of mind that lead to major advancements in natural knowledge. In fact, nothing is less suited for scientific analysis and explanation than genius. Even putting it into words is challenging. Buffon claimed that "genius is patience," and patience is definitely one of its essential ingredients. However, it’s unrealistic to think that patient effort alone will always result in the remarkable outcomes we associate with genius. In every field—science, literature, art, or industry—there are countless individuals who work tirelessly and achieve decent success, but it would be ridiculous to assume that the same amount of intellectual effort leads to the same results. A Newton might humbly credit his discoveries to hard work and thoughtful persistence, and it seems likely that genius is often unaware of its own unique abilities. Since genius is fundamentally creative and involves stepping away from conventional ways of thinking and acting, it must be a phenomenon outside the boundaries of natural laws. Still, it’s always valuable and enlightening to identify, as much as possible, the mental characteristics that have led to significant discoveries, and through this analysis, we can glean insights into the principles of scientific methodology.
Error of the Baconian Method.
Hundreds of investigators may be constantly engaged in experimental inquiry; they may compile numberless note-books full of scientific facts, and endless tables of numerical results; but, if the views of induction here maintained be true, they can never by such work alone rise to new and great discoveries. By a system of research they may work out deductively the details of a previous discovery, but to arrive at a new principle of nature is another matter. Francis Bacon spread abroad the notion that to advance science we must begin by accumulating facts, and then draw from them, by a process of digestion, successive laws of higher and higher generality. In protesting against the false method of the scholastic logicians, he exaggerated a partially true philosophy, until it became as false as that which preceded it. His notion of scientific method was a kind of scientific bookkeeping. Facts were to be indiscriminately gathered from every source, and posted in a ledger, from which would emerge in time a balance of577 truth. It is difficult to imagine a less likely way of arriving at great discoveries. The greater the array of facts, the less is the probability that they will by any routine system of classification disclose the laws of nature they embody. Exhaustive classification in all possible orders is out of the question, because the possible orders are practically infinite in number.
Hundreds of researchers might be constantly involved in experimental studies; they could fill countless notebooks with scientific facts and endless tables of numerical results. However, if the ideas about induction presented here are correct, they can never achieve new and significant discoveries through this work alone. Through a research system, they might work out the specifics of an earlier discovery, but coming up with a new principle of nature is an entirely different challenge. Francis Bacon popularized the idea that to advance science, we need to start by gathering facts and then, through a process of analysis, develop increasingly general laws. In rejecting the flawed approach of the scholastic logicians, he overstated a partially true philosophy until it became as misguided as the one before it. His concept of scientific method resembled a form of scientific bookkeeping. Facts were to be gathered indiscriminately from all sources and recorded in a ledger, which would eventually yield a balance of truth. It's hard to imagine a less effective way of making important discoveries. The larger the collection of facts, the less likely it is that any systematic classification will reveal the natural laws they represent. Comprehensive classification in all possible ways is impossible because the number of possible orders is practically infinite.
It is before the glance of the philosophic mind that facts must display their meaning, and fall into logical order. The natural philosopher must therefore have, in the first place, a mind of impressionable character, which is affected by the slightest exceptional phenomenon. His associating and identifying powers must be great, that is, a strange fact must suggest to his mind whatever of like nature has previously come within his experience. His imagination must be active, and bring before his mind multitudes of relations in which the unexplained facts may possibly stand with regard to each other, or to more common facts. Sure and vigorous powers of deductive reasoning must then come into play, and enable him to infer what will happen under each supposed condition. Lastly, and above all, there must be the love of certainty leading him diligently and with perfect candour, to compare his speculations with the test of fact and experiment.
Facts must reveal their meaning and fall into logical order under the scrutiny of a thoughtful mind. Therefore, a natural philosopher needs to have an open and adaptable mindset that is influenced by even the slightest unusual occurrence. They must have strong associative and identifying skills, meaning that a strange fact should trigger memories of similar experiences. Their imagination should be active, generating numerous connections between the unexplained facts and other known facts. Then, strong and effective deductive reasoning must be employed to determine what will happen in each hypothetical situation. Finally, and most importantly, there must be a genuine desire for certainty, guiding them to diligently and transparently compare their theories against real facts and experiments.
Freedom of Theorising.
It would be an error to suppose that the great discoverer seizes at once upon the truth, or has any unerring method of divining it. In all probability the errors of the great mind exceed in number those of the less vigorous one. Fertility of imagination and abundance of guesses at truth are among the first requisites of discovery; but the erroneous guesses must be many times as numerous as those which prove well founded. The weakest analogies, the most whimsical notions, the most apparently absurd theories, may pass through the teeming brain, and no record remain of more than the hundredth part. There is nothing really absurd except that which proves contrary to logic and experience. The truest theories involve suppositions which are inconceivable, and no limit can really be placed to the freedom of hypothesis.
It would be a mistake to think that great discoverers instantly grasp the truth or have a foolproof way of figuring it out. In fact, the mistakes of brilliant minds likely outnumber those of less capable ones. A rich imagination and a lot of guesses about the truth are essential for making discoveries, but the incorrect guesses are probably far more numerous than the ones that turn out to be correct. The weakest connections, the most random ideas, and the most seemingly ridiculous theories can flow through an active mind, with hardly any record of more than one in a hundred. There’s nothing truly absurd except what contradicts logic and experience. The most accurate theories often rest on assumptions that are hard to imagine, and there really is no limit to how freely one can hypothesize.
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Kepler is an extraordinary instance to this effect. No minor laws of nature are more firmly established than those which he detected concerning the orbits and motions of planetary masses, and on these empirical laws the theory of gravitation was founded. Did we not learn from his own writings the multitude of errors into which he fell, we might have imagined that he had some special faculty of seizing on the truth. But, as is well known, he was full of chimerical notions; his favourite and long-studied theory was founded on a fanciful analogy between the planetary orbits and the regular solids. His celebrated laws were the outcome of a lifetime of speculation, for the most part vain and groundless. We know this because he had a curious pleasure in dwelling upon erroneous and futile trains of reasoning, which most persons consign to oblivion. But Kepler’s name was destined to be immortal, on account of the patience with which he submitted his hypotheses to comparison with observation, the candour with which he acknowledged failure after failure, and the perseverance and ingenuity with which he renewed his attack upon the riddles of nature.
Kepler is an extraordinary example of this. No minor laws of nature are more firmly established than the ones he discovered regarding the orbits and movements of planets, and these empirical laws became the foundation of the theory of gravitation. If we didn’t learn from his own writings about the many mistakes he made, we might have thought he had a unique ability to grasp the truth. But, as we know, he had plenty of fanciful ideas; his favorite and extensively studied theory was based on a whimsical analogy between planetary orbits and regular solids. His famous laws were the result of a lifetime of speculation, mostly empty and unfounded. We know this because he took a curious pleasure in focusing on erroneous and pointless lines of reasoning that most people forget. However, Kepler's name was destined to be remembered forever, due to the patience with which he compared his hypotheses to observation, the honesty with which he acknowledged each failure, and the perseverance and creativity with which he tackled the mysteries of nature.
Next after Kepler perhaps Faraday is the physical philosopher who has given us the best insight into the progress of discovery, by recording erroneous as well as successful speculations. The recorded notions, indeed, are probably but a tithe of the fancies which arose in his active brain. As Faraday himself said—“The world little knows how many of the thoughts and theories which have passed through the mind of a scientific investigator, have been crushed in silence and secrecy by his own severe criticism and adverse examination; that in the most successful instances not a tenth of the suggestions, the hopes, the wishes, the preliminary conclusions have been realised.”
Next after Kepler, perhaps Faraday is the scientist who has given us the best insight into the progress of discovery by documenting both his misguided and successful ideas. The recorded concepts are probably just a small fraction of the thoughts that came from his active mind. As Faraday himself said, “The world little knows how many of the thoughts and theories that have passed through the mind of a scientific investigator have been crushed in silence and secrecy by his own strict criticism and critical examination; that in the most successful instances, not even a tenth of the suggestions, hopes, wishes, and initial conclusions have been realized.”
Nevertheless, in Faraday’s researches, published in the Philosophical Transactions, in minor papers, in manuscript note-books, or in other materials, made known in his interesting life by Dr. Bence Jones, we find invaluable lessons for the experimentalist. These writings are full of speculations which we must not judge by the light of subsequent discovery. It may perhaps be said that Faraday committed to the printing press crude ideas which a friend would have counselled him to keep back. There was579 occasionally even a wildness and vagueness in his notions, which in a less careful experimentalist would have been fatal to the attainment of truth. This is especially apparent in a curious paper concerning Ray-vibrations; but fortunately Faraday was aware of the shadowy character of his speculations, and expressed the feeling in words which must be quoted. “I think it likely,” he says,478 “that I have made many mistakes in the preceding pages, for even to myself my ideas on this point appear only as the shadow of a speculation, or as one of those impressions upon the mind, which are allowable for a time as guides to thought and research. He who labours in experimental inquiries knows how numerous these are, and how often their apparent fitness and beauty vanish before the progress and development of real natural truth.” If, then, the experimentalist has no royal road to the discovery of the truth, it is an interesting matter to consider by what logical procedure he attains the truth.
Nevertheless, in Faraday’s research, published in the Philosophical Transactions, in smaller papers, in manuscript notebooks, or in other materials revealed in his fascinating life by Dr. Bence Jones, we find invaluable lessons for the experimentalist. These writings are filled with ideas that shouldn’t be judged based on later discoveries. It could be said that Faraday put raw concepts into print that a friend might have advised him to hold back. Sometimes there was even a wildness and vagueness in his thoughts that, in a less diligent experimentalist, would have hindered the pursuit of truth. This is especially noticeable in a curious paper about Ray-vibrations; but fortunately, Faraday recognized the unclear nature of his speculations and expressed this feeling in words that are worth quoting. “I think it likely,” he says,478 “that I have made many mistakes in the preceding pages, for even to myself my ideas on this point appear only as the shadow of a speculation, or as one of those impressions upon the mind, which are acceptable for a time as guides to thought and research. Those who work in experimental inquiries know how numerous these are, and how often their apparent suitability and beauty fade away before the progress and development of real natural truth.” If the experimentalist has no easy path to uncovering truth, it’s an interesting topic to consider how he logically arrives at it.
If I have taken a correct view of logical method, there is really no such thing as a distinct process of induction. The probability is infinitely small that a collection of complicated facts will fall into an arrangement capable of exhibiting directly the laws obeyed by them. The mathematician might as well expect to integrate his functions by a ballot-box, as the experimentalist to draw deep truths from haphazard trials. All induction is but the inverse application of deduction, and it is by the inexplicable action of a gifted mind that a multitude of heterogeneous facts are ranged in luminous order as the results of some uniformly acting law. So different, indeed, are the qualities of mind required in different branches of science, that it would be absurd to attempt to give an exhaustive description of the character of mind which leads to discovery. The labours of Newton could not have been accomplished except by a mind of the utmost mathematical genius; Faraday, on the other hand, has made the most extensive additions to human knowledge without passing beyond common arithmetic. I do not remember meeting in Faraday’s writings with a single580 algebraic formula or mathematical problem of any complexity. Professor Clerk Maxwell, indeed, in the preface to his new Treatise on Electricity, has strongly recommended the reading of Faraday’s researches by all students of science, and has given his opinion that though Faraday seldom or never employed mathematical formulæ, his methods and conceptions were not the less mathematical in their nature.479 I have myself protested against the prevailing confusion between a mathematical and an exact science,480 yet I certainly think that Faraday’s experiments were for the most part qualitative, and that his mathematical ideas were of a rudimentary character. It is true that he could not possibly investigate such a subject as magne-crystallic action without involving himself in geometrical relations of some complexity. Nevertheless I think that he was deficient in mathematical deductive power, that power which is so highly developed by the modern system of mathematical training at Cambridge.
If I've got the logical method right, there really isn't a distinct process for induction. The chance that a bunch of complex facts will line up in a way that directly shows the laws governing them is extremely low. The mathematician might as well expect to solve his equations by drawing lots as the experimentalist would expect to uncover deep truths from random experiments. Induction is just the reverse of deduction, and it's through the mysterious workings of a brilliant mind that a variety of unrelated facts are organized into clear order according to some consistent law. The types of thinking required in different fields of science are so varied that it seems pointless to try to give a complete description of the kind of mind that leads to discovery. Newton's work could only have been done by someone with exceptional mathematical talent; on the other hand, Faraday made significant contributions to human knowledge without going beyond basic arithmetic. I can't recall seeing a single algebraic formula or complex mathematical problem in Faraday's writings. Professor Clerk Maxwell, in the preface to his new Treatise on Electricity, strongly recommends that all science students read Faraday’s studies, believing that even though Faraday rarely used mathematical formulas, his methods and ideas were still fundamentally mathematical.479 I've personally argued against the common mix-up between mathematical and exact sciences,480 but I do think that Faraday’s experiments were mostly qualitative and that his mathematical concepts were quite basic. It’s true that he couldn't explore something like magne-crystallic action without getting into somewhat complex geometric relationships. Still, I believe he lacked the kind of mathematical deductive ability that's so well developed by the modern system of mathematical training at Cambridge.
Faraday was acquainted with the forms of his celebrated lines of force, but I am not aware that he ever entered into the algebraic nature of those curves, and I feel sure that he could not have explained their forms as depending on the resultant attractions of all the magnetic particles. There are even occasional indications that he did not understand some of the simpler mathematical doctrines of modern physical science. Although he so clearly foresaw the correlation of the physical forces, and laboured so hard with his own hands to connect gravity with other forces, it is doubtful whether he understood the doctrine of the conservation of energy as applied to gravitation. Faraday was probably equal to Newton in experimental skill, and in that peculiar kind of deductive power which leads to the invention of simple qualitative experiments; but it must be allowed that he exhibited little of that mathematical power which enabled Newton to follow out intuitively the quantitative results of a complicated problem with such wonderful facility. Two instances, Newton and Faraday, are sufficient to show that minds of widely581 different conformation will meet with suitable regions of research. Nevertheless, there are certain traits which we may discover in all the highest scientific minds.
Faraday was familiar with the shapes of his famous lines of force, but I'm not aware that he ever explored the algebraic nature of those curves, and I'm pretty sure he couldn't explain their shapes based on the combined attractions of all the magnetic particles. There are even signs that he didn't quite grasp some of the simpler mathematical principles of modern physical science. Although he clearly anticipated the connections between physical forces and worked hard to relate gravity to other forces, it's questionable whether he understood the principle of energy conservation as it applies to gravity. Faraday was probably on par with Newton in experimental skill and in that unique type of logical reasoning that leads to the development of straightforward qualitative experiments; however, he showed little of the mathematical skill that allowed Newton to intuitively navigate the quantitative aspects of complex problems with remarkable ease. The examples of Newton and Faraday are enough to demonstrate that minds of very different kinds will find suitable areas of research. Yet, there are certain qualities we can identify in all the greatest scientific minds.
The Newtonian Method, the True Organum.
Laplace was of opinion that the Principia and the Opticks of Newton furnished the best models then available of the delicate art of experimental and theoretical investigation. In these, as he says, we meet with the most happy illustrations of the way in which, from a series of inductions, we may rise to the causes of phenomena, and thence descend again to all the resulting details.
Laplace believed that Newton's Principia and Opticks provided the best examples at the time of the intricate skills needed for experimental and theoretical research. In these works, as he noted, we find excellent illustrations of how we can move from a series of inductions to the causes of phenomena, and then back down to all the resulting details.
The popular notion concerning Newton’s discoveries is that in early life, when driven into the country by the Great Plague, a falling apple accidentally suggested to him the existence of gravitation, and that, availing himself of this hint, he was led to the discovery of the law of gravitation, the explanation of which constitutes the Principia. It is difficult to imagine a more ludicrous and inadequate picture of Newton’s labours. No originality, or at least priority, was claimed by Newton as regards the discovery of the law of the inverse square, so closely associated with his name. In a well-known Scholium481 he acknowledges that Sir Christopher Wren, Hooke, and Halley, had severally observed the accordance of Kepler’s third law of motion with the principle of the inverse square.
The common belief about Newton’s discoveries is that, during his early life, he was inspired by a falling apple while in the countryside due to the Great Plague, leading him to the idea of gravity. This moment supposedly triggered his formulation of the law of gravitation, which is detailed in the Principia. It's hard to picture a more ridiculous and insufficient representation of Newton's work. Newton did not claim any originality, or at least priority, for the discovery of the inverse square law, which is so closely linked to his name. In a well-known Scholium481, he acknowledges that Sir Christopher Wren, Hooke, and Halley had each noted the connection between Kepler’s third law of motion and the principle of the inverse square.
Newton’s work was really that of developing the methods of deductive reasoning and experimental verification, by which alone great hypotheses can be brought to the touchstone of fact. Archimedes was the greatest of ancient philosophers, for he showed how mathematical theory could be wedded to physical experiments; and his works are the first true Organum. Newton is the modern Archimedes, and the Principia forms the true Novum Organum of scientific method. The laws which he established are great, but his example of the manner of establishing them is greater still. Excepting perhaps582 chemistry and electricity, there is hardly a progressive branch of physical and mathematical science, which has not been developed from the germs of true scientific procedure which he disclosed in the Principia or the Opticks. Overcome by the success of his theory of universal gravitation, we are apt to forget that in his theory of sound he originated the mathematical investigation of waves and the mutual action of particles; that in his corpuscular theory of light, however mistaken, he first ventured to apply mathematical calculation to molecular attractions and repulsions; that in his prismatic experiments he showed how far experimental verification could be pushed; that in his examination of the coloured rings named after him, he accomplished the most remarkable instance of minute measurement yet known, a mere practical application of which by Fizeau was recently deemed worthy of a medal by the Royal Society. We only learn by degrees how complete was his scientific insight; a few words in his third law of motion display his acquaintance with the fundamental principles of modern thermodynamics and the conservation of energy, while manuscripts long overlooked prove that in his inquiries concerning atmospheric refraction he had overcome the main difficulties of applying theory to one of the most complex of physical problems.
Newton's work was truly about developing methods of deductive reasoning and experimental verification, which are the only ways to test great hypotheses against reality. Archimedes was the greatest of ancient philosophers because he demonstrated how mathematical theory could be combined with physical experiments; his works are the first true Organum. Newton is the modern Archimedes, and the Principia is the true Novum Organum of scientific method. The laws he established are significant, but his example of how to establish them is even more important. Aside from perhaps chemistry and electricity, there are hardly any progressive branches of physical and mathematical science that haven't developed from the true scientific procedures he revealed in the Principia or the Opticks. Caught up in the success of his theory of universal gravitation, we often forget that in his theory of sound he initiated the mathematical study of waves and the interactions of particles; that in his corpuscular theory of light, however mistaken, he was the first to apply mathematical calculation to molecular attractions and repulsions; that in his prismatic experiments he demonstrated how far experimental verification could go; and that in his study of the colorful rings named after him, he achieved the most remarkable instance of precise measurement known at the time, a practical application of which was recently awarded a medal by the Royal Society for Fizeau. We are gradually discovering just how complete his scientific insight was; a few words in his third law of motion reveal his understanding of the fundamental principles of modern thermodynamics and energy conservation, while manuscripts that were long overlooked show that in his investigations of atmospheric refraction, he had tackled the main challenges of applying theory to one of the most complex physical problems.
After all, it is only by examining the way in which he effected discoveries, that we can rightly appreciate his greatness. The Principia treats not of gravity so much as of forces in general, and the methods of reasoning about them. He investigates not one hypothesis only, but mechanical hypotheses in general. Nothing so much strikes the reader of the work as the exhaustiveness of his treatment, and the unbounded power of his insight. If he treats of central forces, it is not one law of force which he discusses, but many, or almost all imaginable laws, the results of each of which he sketches out in a few pregnant words. If his subject is a resisting medium, it is not air or water alone, but resisting media in general. We have a good example of his method in the scholium to the twenty-second proposition of the second book, in which he runs rapidly over many suppositions as to the laws of the compressing forces which might conceivably act in an583 atmosphere of gas, a consequence being drawn from each case, and that one hypothesis ultimately selected which yields results agreeing with experiments upon the pressure and density of the terrestrial atmosphere.
After all, we can truly appreciate his greatness only by looking at how he made his discoveries. The Principia doesn't just focus on gravity; it looks at forces in general and how to reason about them. He doesn't just investigate one hypothesis but explores mechanical hypotheses as a whole. What stands out to readers of his work is the thoroughness of his approach and the incredible depth of his insight. When he talks about central forces, he examines not just one law of force but many, or nearly all conceivable laws, summarizing the outcomes of each in just a few impactful words. If his topic is a resisting medium, he considers not just air or water, but resisting media overall. A great example of his method can be found in the scholium to the twenty-second proposition of the second book, where he quickly goes through several assumptions about the laws of compressing forces that could potentially act in a gas atmosphere, drawing a conclusion from each situation and ultimately picking the hypothesis that aligns with experiments on the pressure and density of the Earth's atmosphere.
Newton said that he did not frame hypotheses, but, in reality, the greater part of the Principia is purely hypothetical, endless varieties of causes and laws being imagined which have no counterpart in nature. The most grotesque hypotheses of Kepler or Descartes were not more imaginary. But Newton’s comprehension of logical method was perfect; no hypothesis was entertained unless it was definite in conditions, and admitted of unquestionable deductive reasoning; and the value of each hypothesis was entirely decided by the comparison of its consequences with facts. I do not entertain a doubt that the general course of his procedure is identical with that view of the nature of induction, as the inverse application of deduction, which I advocate throughout this book. Francis Bacon held that science should be founded on experience, but he mistook the true mode of using experience, and, in attempting to apply his method, ludicrously failed. Newton did not less found his method on experience, but he seized the true method of treating it, and applied it with a power and success never since equalled. It is a great mistake to say that modern science is the result of the Baconian philosophy; it is the Newtonian philosophy and the Newtonian method which have led to all the great triumphs of physical science, and I repeat that the Principia forms the true “Novum Organum.”
Newton claimed that he didn't create hypotheses, but in reality, most of the Principia is purely hypothetical, filled with endless imagined causes and laws that have no real counterpart in nature. The most ridiculous hypotheses of Kepler or Descartes weren't any more imaginary. However, Newton had a perfect understanding of logical method; he only entertained hypotheses that were clearly defined and allowed for undeniable deductive reasoning. The value of each hypothesis was determined solely by comparing its outcomes with actual facts. I have no doubt that the general approach he took is in line with my perspective on induction as the reverse application of deduction, which I discuss throughout this book. Francis Bacon believed that science should be based on experience, but he misunderstood the correct way to use experience and failed comically in trying to apply his method. Newton also based his method on experience, but he correctly grasped how to handle it and applied it with a power and success that has never been matched since. It's a significant mistake to say that modern science results from Baconian philosophy; it's the Newtonian philosophy and method that have led to all the major achievements in physical science, and I emphasize that the Principia represents the true “Novum Organum.”
In bringing his theories to a decisive experimental verification, Newton showed, as a general rule, exquisite skill and ingenuity. In his hands a few simple pieces of apparatus were made to give results involving an unsuspected depth of meaning. His most beautiful experimental inquiry was that by which he proved the differing refrangibility of rays of light. To suppose that he originally discovered the power of a prism to break up a beam of white light would be a mistake, for he speaks of procuring a glass prism to try the “celebrated phenomena of colours.” But we certainly owe to him the theory that white light is a mixture of rays differing in refrangibility, and that lights which differ in colour, differ also in refrangibility. Other584 persons might have conceived this theory; in fact, any person regarding refraction as a quantitative effect must see that different parts of the spectrum have suffered different amounts of refraction. But the power of Newton is shown in the tenacity with which he followed his theory into every consequence, and tested each result by a simple but conclusive experiment. He first shows that different coloured spots are displaced by different amounts when viewed through a prism, and that their images come to a focus at different distances from the lense, as they should do, if the refrangibility differed. After excluding by many experiments a variety of indifferent circumstances, he fixes his attention upon the question whether the rays are merely shattered, disturbed, and spread out in a chance manner, as Grimaldi supposed, or whether there is a constant relation between the colour and the refrangibility.
In bringing his theories to a definitive experimental test, Newton demonstrated remarkable skill and creativity. He used just a few simple pieces of equipment to produce results that revealed an unexpected depth of meaning. His most impressive experimental work was the investigation that proved the different refrangibility of light rays. It would be incorrect to assume that he originally discovered the ability of a prism to split a beam of white light; he mentions obtaining a glass prism to explore the "famous phenomena of colors." However, we certainly credit him with the theory that white light is a mix of rays that differ in refrangibility and that colors also vary in refrangibility. Others might have thought of this theory; in fact, anyone considering refraction as a measurable effect would recognize that different parts of the spectrum experience varying degrees of refraction. But Newton’s strength lies in his persistence to follow his theory through all its implications and to test each result with simple but definitive experiments. He first demonstrates that differently colored spots are shifted by varying amounts when viewed through a prism, and that their images focus at different distances from the lens, as they should if their refrangibility differs. After ruling out numerous unrelated factors through various experiments, he focuses on whether the rays are simply broken, disturbed, and scattered randomly, as Grimaldi suggested, or whether there is a consistent relationship between color and refrangibility.
If Grimaldi was right, it might be expected that a part of the spectrum taken separately, and subjected to a second refraction, would suffer a new breaking up, and produce some new spectrum. Newton inferred from his own theory that a particular ray of the spectrum would have a constant refrangibility, so that a second prism would merely bend it more or less, but not further disperse it in any considerable degree. By simply cutting off most of the rays of the spectrum by a screen, and allowing the remaining narrow ray to fall on a second prism, he proved the truth of this conclusion; and then slowly turning the first prism, so as to vary the colour of the ray falling on the second one, he found that the spot of light formed by the twice-refracted ray travelled up and down, a palpable proof that the amount of refrangibility varies with the colour. For his further satisfaction, he sometimes refracted the light a third or fourth time, and he found that it might be refracted upwards or downwards or sideways, and yet for each colour there was a definite amount of refraction through each prism. He completed the proof by showing that the separated rays may again be gathered together into white light by an inverted prism, so that no number of refractions alters the character of the light. The conclusion thus obtained serves to explain the confusion arising in the use of a common lense; he shows that with homogeneous light there is one distinct focus, with mixed light an infinite585 number of foci, which prevent a clear view from being obtained at any point.
If Grimaldi was correct, it could be expected that taking a part of the spectrum on its own and subjecting it to a second refraction would cause it to break apart again and create a new spectrum. Newton, based on his own theory, concluded that a specific ray of the spectrum would have a constant refractiveness, meaning that a second prism would only bend it more or less, without significantly dispersing it further. By blocking most of the rays of the spectrum with a screen and allowing a narrow remaining ray to hit a second prism, he demonstrated the accuracy of this conclusion. Then, by slowly rotating the first prism to change the color of the ray hitting the second one, he observed that the spot of light created by the refracted ray moved up and down, clearly proving that the level of refractiveness varies with color. For further investigation, he sometimes refracted the light a third or fourth time, discovering that it could be refracted upward, downward, or sideways, yet each color maintained a specific level of refraction through each prism. He solidified his proof by showing that the separated rays could be recombined into white light using an inverted prism, demonstrating that no matter how many times the light is refracted, its character remains unchanged. This conclusion helps explain the confusion that arises when using a regular lens; it shows that with homogeneous light there is one clear focus, while with mixed light there are an infinite number of foci, which makes it impossible to get a clear view at any point.
What astonishes the reader of the Opticks is the persistence with which Newton follows out the consequences of a preconceived theory, and tests the one notion by a wonderful variety of simple comparisons with fact. The ease with which he invents new combinations, and foresees the results, subsequently verified, produces an insuperable conviction in the reader that he has possession of the truth. And it is certainly the theory which leads him to the experiments, most of which could hardly be devised by accident. Newton actually remarks that it was by mathematically determining all kinds of phenomena of colours which could be produced by refraction that he had “invented” almost all the experiments in the book, and he promises that others who shall “argue truly,” and try the experiments with care, will not be disappointed in the results.482
What surprises the reader of the Opticks is how consistently Newton pursues the implications of a set theory and tests that idea through a remarkable range of simple comparisons with reality. The way he effortlessly creates new combinations and predicts results, which are later confirmed, gives the reader an undeniable belief that he has uncovered the truth. It's definitely the theory that drives him to conduct experiments, most of which could hardly be thought of by chance. Newton actually points out that by mathematically analyzing all types of color phenomena that could be produced by refraction, he “invented” almost all the experiments in the book, and he assures that others who will “think correctly” and perform the experiments carefully won't be let down by the outcomes.482
The philosophic method of Huyghens was the same as that of Newton, and Huyghens’ investigation of double refraction furnishes almost equally beautiful instances of theory guiding experiment. So far as we know double refraction was first discovered by accident, and was described by Erasmus Bartholinus in 1669. The phenomenon then appeared to be entirely exceptional, and the laws governing the two paths of the refracted rays were so unapparent and complicated, that Newton altogether misunderstood the phenomenon, and it was only at the latter end of the last century that scientific men began to comprehend its laws.
The philosophical approach of Huygens was similar to that of Newton, and Huygens’ study of double refraction provides nearly as striking examples of theory guiding experimentation. As far as we know, double refraction was discovered by chance and was described by Erasmus Bartholinus in 1669. At that time, the phenomenon seemed completely unusual, and the rules governing the two paths of the refracted rays were so unclear and complex that Newton completely misunderstood it. It wasn't until the end of the last century that scientists started to grasp its laws.
Nevertheless, Huyghens had, with rare genius, arrived at the true theory as early as 1678. He regarded light as an undulatory motion of some medium, and in his Traité de la Lumière he pointed out that, in ordinary refraction, the velocity of propagation of the wave is equal in all directions, so that the front of an advancing wave is spherical, and reaches equal distances in equal times. But in crystals, as he supposed, the medium would be of unequal elasticity in different directions, so that a disturbance would reach unequal distances in equal times, and the wave produced would have a spheroidal form.586 Huyghens was not satisfied with an unverified theory. He calculated what might be expected to happen when a crystal of calc-spar was cut in various directions, and he says: “I have examined in detail the properties of the extraordinary refraction of this crystal, to see if each phenomenon which is deduced from theory would agree with what is really observed. And this being so, it is no slight proof of the truth of our suppositions and principles; but what I am going to add here confirms them still more wonderfully; that is, the different modes of cutting this crystal, in which the surfaces produced give rise to refraction exactly such as they ought to be, and as I had foreseen them, according to the preceding theory.”
Nevertheless, Huyghens had, with rare genius, arrived at the true theory as early as 1678. He viewed light as a wave motion of some medium, and in his Traité de la Lumière he pointed out that, in normal refraction, the speed of the wave travels equally in all directions, so the front of an advancing wave is spherical, reaching equal distances in equal times. However, in crystals, as he suggested, the medium would have different elasticity in different directions, causing a disturbance to cover unequal distances in equal times, resulting in a spheroidal wave form.586 Huyghens was not satisfied with an untested theory. He calculated what could be expected when a calc-spar crystal was cut in various directions, and he said: “I have examined in detail the properties of the unusual refraction of this crystal to see if each phenomenon deduced from theory aligns with what is actually observed. And this confirms the validity of our assumptions and principles; but what I will add here supports them even more remarkably: the different ways of cutting this crystal, where the resulting surfaces produce refraction exactly as they should, and as I had anticipated them, according to the previous theory.”
Newton’s mistaken corpuscular theory of light caused the theories and experiments of Huyghens to be disregarded for more than a century; but it is not easy to imagine a more beautiful or successful application of the true method of inductive investigation, theory guiding experiment, and yet wholly relying on experiment for confirmation.
Newton’s wrong particle theory of light led to Huyghens' theories and experiments being ignored for over a hundred years; however, it’s hard to think of a more beautiful or effective use of the true method of inductive investigation, where theory directs experimentation, yet fully depends on experiments for validation.
Candour and Courage of the Philosophic Mind.
Perfect readiness to reject a theory inconsistent with fact is a primary requisite of the philosophic mind. But it would be a mistake to suppose that this candour has anything akin to fickleness; on the contrary, readiness to reject a false theory may be combined with a peculiar pertinacity and courage in maintaining an hypothesis as long as its falsity is not actually apparent. There must, indeed, be no prejudice or bias distorting the mind, and causing it to pass over the unwelcome results of experiment. There must be that scrupulous honesty and flexibility of mind, which assigns adequate value to all evidence; indeed, the more a man loves his theory, the more scrupulous should be his attention to its faults. It is common in life to meet with some theorist, who, by long cogitation over a single theory, has allowed it to mould his mind, and render him incapable of receiving anything but as a contribution to the truth of his one theory. A narrow and intense course of thought may sometimes lead to great results, but the adoption of a wrong theory at the outset is in such a mind irretrievable. The man of one idea has but a single chance of587 truth. The fertile discoverer, on the contrary, chooses between many theories, and is never wedded to any one, unless impartial and repeated comparison has convinced him of its validity. He does not choose and then compare; but he compares time after time, and then chooses.
Being fully prepared to dismiss a theory that doesn’t match the facts is a key trait of a philosophical mind. However, it’s a mistake to think that this open-mindedness is similar to being fickle; in fact, the willingness to discard a false theory can go hand in hand with a strong determination and courage to defend a hypothesis until its flaws become clear. There should be no prejudice or bias clouding judgment, preventing a person from acknowledging uncomfortable experimental results. A person must possess a careful honesty and an adaptable mindset that values all evidence appropriately; in fact, the more someone is attached to their theory, the more carefully they should pay attention to its shortcomings. It’s common to encounter theorists who, after contemplating a single theory for a long time, let it shape their thinking and become incapable of recognizing anything that doesn’t support their one idea. A narrow and focused mindset can sometimes lead to significant outcomes, but starting off with a flawed theory makes it impossible to retrieve the situation for such a person. The person fixated on one idea has only a single chance at discovering the truth. On the other hand, the innovative thinker evaluates multiple theories and is never committed to just one unless unbiased and thorough comparisons show him its validity. They don’t choose first and then compare; instead, they compare repeatedly and then make a choice.
Having once deliberately chosen, the philosopher may rightly entertain his theory with the strongest fidelity. He will neglect no objection; for he may chance at any time to meet a fatal one; but he will bear in mind the inconsiderable powers of the human mind compared with the tasks it has to undertake. He will see that no theory can at first be reconciled with all objections, because there may be many interfering causes, and the very consequences of the theory may have a complexity which prolonged investigation by successive generations of men may not exhaust. If, then, a theory exhibit a number of striking coincidences with fact, it must not be thrown aside until at least one conclusive discordance is proved, regard being had to possible error in establishing that discordance. In science and philosophy something must be risked. He who quails at the least difficulty will never establish a new truth, and it was not unphilosophic in Leslie to remark concerning his own inquiries into the nature of heat—
Once a philosopher has made a deliberate choice, they can faithfully engage with their theory. They won't overlook any objections, as they might encounter a critical one at any moment; however, they should keep in mind the limited capacity of the human mind compared to the challenges it faces. They will understand that no theory can initially address all objections since there may be many conflicting factors, and the outcomes of the theory might have a complexity that thorough exploration over generations may not completely resolve. Therefore, if a theory shows several significant coincidences with facts, it shouldn’t be dismissed unless there is at least one proven conclusive discordance, taking into account the possibility of errors in identifying that discordance. In science and philosophy, some risks must be taken. Those who shy away from the slightest challenge will never establish a new truth, and it wasn’t unreasonable for Leslie to comment on his own explorations of the nature of heat—
“In the course of investigation, I have found myself compelled to relinquish some preconceived notions; but I have not abandoned them hastily, nor, till after a warm and obstinate defence, I was driven from every post.”483
“In the course of my investigation, I've found that I needed to let go of some of my preconceived ideas; however, I didn't abandon them lightly. I only did so after a strong and stubborn defense, where I was pushed away from every position.”483
Faraday’s life, again, furnishes most interesting illustrations of this tenacity of the philosophic mind. Though so candid in rejecting some theories, there were others to which he clung through everything. One of his favourite notions resulted in a brilliant discovery; another remains in doubt to the present day.
Faraday’s life provides some really interesting examples of the determination of a philosophical mind. Although he was open about rejecting some theories, there were others that he held on to through it all. One of his favorite ideas led to a brilliant discovery, while another is still uncertain to this day.
The Philosophic Character of Faraday.
In Faraday’s researches concerning the connection of magnetism and light, we find an excellent instance of the pertinacity with which a favourite theory may be pursued,588 so long as the results of experiment do not clearly negative the notions entertained. In purely quantitative questions, as we have seen, the absence of apparent effect can seldom be regarded as proving the absence of all effect. Now Faraday was convinced that some mutual relation must exist between magnetism and light. As early as 1822, he attempted to produce an effect upon a ray of polarised light, by passing it through water placed between the poles of a voltaic battery; but he was obliged to record that not the slightest effect was observable. During many years the subject, we are told,484 rose again and again to his mind, and no failure could make him relinquish his search after this unknown relation. It was in the year 1845 that he gained the first success; on August 30th he began to work with common electricity, vainly trying glass, quartz, Iceland spar, &c. Several days of labour gave no result; yet he did not desist. Heavy glass, a transparent medium of great refractive powers, composed of borate of lead, was now tried, being placed between the poles of a powerful electro-magnet while a ray of polarised light was transmitted through it. When the poles of the electro-magnet were arranged in certain positions with regard to the substance under trial, no effects were apparent; but at last Faraday happened fortunately to place a piece of heavy glass so that contrary magnetic poles were on the same side, and now an effect was witnessed. The glass was found to have the power of twisting the plane of polarisation of the ray of light.
In Faraday’s research on the connection between magnetism and light, we see a great example of how persistently someone can pursue a favored theory, as long as experimental results don’t clearly contradict their beliefs. In purely quantitative questions, as we’ve seen, the lack of an apparent effect can rarely be considered proof that there’s no effect at all. Faraday was convinced that some kind of relationship must exist between magnetism and light. As early as 1822, he tried to create an effect on a beam of polarized light by passing it through water placed between the poles of a voltaic battery; however, he had to document that there was no observable effect at all. Over many years, the subject repeatedly occupied his thoughts, and no failure could make him give up his quest for this unknown relationship. It wasn’t until 1845 that he first succeeded; on August 30th, he started experimenting with ordinary electricity, unsuccessfully trying glass, quartz, Iceland spar, etc. After several days of work with no results, he didn’t stop. He then tested heavy glass, a transparent material with strong refractive properties made of borate of lead, placing it between the poles of a powerful electromagnet while a beam of polarized light was sent through it. When the poles of the electromagnet were set in certain positions relative to the material being tested, no effects were seen; but eventually, Faraday luckily placed a piece of heavy glass so that opposing magnetic poles were on the same side, and then an effect was observed. The glass was found to twist the plane of polarization of the light beam.
All Faraday’s recorded thoughts upon this great experiment are replete with curious interest. He attributes his success to the opinion, almost amounting to a conviction, that the various forms, under which the forces of matter are made manifest, have one common origin, and are so directly related and mutually dependent that they are convertible. “This strong persuasion,” he says,485 “extended to the powers of light, and led to many exertions having for their object the discovery of the direct relation of light and electricity. These ineffectual exertions could not remove my strong persuasion, and I have at last succeeded.”589 He describes the phenomenon in somewhat figurative language as the magnetisation of a ray of light, and also as the illumination of a magnetic curve or line of force. He has no sooner got the effect in one case, than he proceeds, with his characteristic comprehensiveness of research, to test the existence of a like phenomenon in all the substances available. He finds that not only heavy glass, but solids and liquids, acids and alkalis, oils, water, alcohol, ether, all possess this power; but he was not able to detect its existence in any gaseous substance. His thoughts cannot be restrained from running into curious speculations as to the possible results of the power in certain cases. “What effect,” he says, “does this force have in the earth where the magnetic curves of the earth traverse its substance? Also what effect in a magnet?” And then he falls upon the strange notion that perhaps this force tends to make iron and oxide of iron transparent, a phenomenon never observed. We can meet with nothing more instructive as to the course of mind by which great discoveries are made, than these records of Faraday’s patient labours, and his varied success and failure. Nor are his unsuccessful experiments upon the relation of gravity and electricity less interesting, or less worthy of study.
All of Faraday’s notes on this significant experiment are filled with intriguing insights. He believes his success comes from a strong feeling, almost like a conviction, that the different ways in which the forces of matter are shown have a single common origin, and that they are directly connected and dependent on each other, making them interchangeable. “This strong belief,” he says,485 “extended to the powers of light and led to many efforts aimed at uncovering the direct relationship between light and electricity. These unsuccessful attempts couldn’t shake my strong belief, and I have finally succeeded.”589 He describes the phenomenon in somewhat metaphorical terms as the magnetization of a ray of light, and also as the illumination of a magnetic curve or line of force. As soon as he achieves results in one area, he continues, with his characteristic thoroughness, to explore the presence of a similar phenomenon in all available substances. He discovers that not only heavy glass, but also solids and liquids, acids and alkalis, oils, water, alcohol, and ether all have this capability; however, he couldn’t find it in any gaseous substance. His thoughts naturally drift into interesting speculations about the potential outcomes of this force in certain situations. “What effect,” he wonders, “does this force have on the earth where the magnetic curves of the earth pass through its substance? And what effect does it have in a magnet?” Then he entertains the odd idea that perhaps this force might make iron and iron oxide transparent, a phenomenon that has never been observed. There’s nothing more enlightening about the mindset that leads to major discoveries than these accounts of Faraday’s diligent work, along with his diverse successes and failures. His unsuccessful experiments regarding the relationship between gravity and electricity are equally fascinating and deserving of study.
Throughout a large part of his life, Faraday was possessed by the idea that gravity cannot be unconnected with the other forces of nature. On March 19th, 1849, he wrote in his laboratory book,—“Gravity. Surely this force must be capable of an experimental relation to electricity, magnetism, and the other forces, so as to bind it up with them in reciprocal action and equivalent effect?”486 He filled twenty paragraphs or more with reflections and suggestions, as to the mode of treating the subject by experiment. He anticipated that the mutual approach of two bodies would develop electricity in them, or that a body falling through a conducting helix would excite a current changing in direction as the motion was reversed. “All this is a dream,” he remarks; “still examine it by a few experiments. Nothing is too wonderful to be true, if590 it be consistent with the laws of nature; and in such things as these, experiment is the best test of such consistency.”
Throughout a large part of his life, Faraday was convinced that gravity couldn’t be unrelated to the other forces of nature. On March 19th, 1849, he wrote in his lab notebook, “Gravity. Surely this force must be capable of an experimental connection to electricity, magnetism, and the other forces, so as to link it with them in mutual action and equivalent effect?”486 He filled twenty or more paragraphs with thoughts and ideas on how to approach the subject through experimentation. He believed that the close proximity of two bodies would generate electricity in them, or that a body falling through a conductive coil would create a current that changed direction as the motion reversed. “All this is a dream,” he noted; “still, test it with a few experiments. Nothing is too amazing to be true if it aligns with the laws of nature; and in matters like these, experimentation is the best way to assess such consistency.”
He executed many difficult and tedious experiments, which are described in the 24th Series of Experimental Researches. The result was nil, and yet he concludes: “Here end my trials for the present. The results are negative; they do not shake my strong feeling of the existence of a relation between gravity and electricity, though they give no proof that such a relation exists.”
He conducted many challenging and tedious experiments, which are detailed in the 24th Series of Experimental Researches. The outcome was nothing, and yet he concludes: “These are the end of my trials for now. The results are negative; they don't weaken my strong belief in the connection between gravity and electricity, even though they offer no evidence that such a connection exists.”
He returned to the work when he was ten years older, and in 1858–9 recorded many remarkable reflections and experiments. He was much struck by the fact that electricity is essentially a dual force, and it had always been a conviction of Faraday that no body could be electrified positively without some other body becoming electrified negatively; some of his researches had been simple developments of this relation. But observing that between two mutually gravitating bodies there was no apparent circumstance to determine which should be positive and which negative, he does not hesitate to call in question an old opinion. “The evolution of one electricity would be a new and very remarkable thing. The idea throws a doubt on the whole; but still try, for who knows what is possible in dealing with gravity?” We cannot but notice the candour with which he thus acknowledges in his laboratory book the doubtfulness of the whole thing, and is yet prepared as a forlorn hope to frame experiments in opposition to all his previous experience of the course of nature. For a time his thoughts flow on as if the strange detection were already made, and he had only to trace out its consequences throughout the universe. “Let us encourage ourselves by a little more imagination prior to experiment,” he says; and then he reflects upon the infinity of actions in nature, in which the mutual relations of electricity and gravity would come into play; he pictures to himself the planets and the comets charging themselves as they approach the sun; cascades, rain, rising vapour, circulating currents of the atmosphere, the fumes of a volcano, the smoke in a chimney become so many electrical machines. A multitude of events and changes in the atmosphere seem to be at once elucidated by such actions; for a591 moment his reveries have the vividness of fact. “I think we have been dull and blind not to have suspected some such results,” and he sums up rapidly the consequences of his great but imaginary theory; an entirely new mode of exciting heat or electricity, an entirely new relation of the natural forces, an analysis of gravitation, and a justification of the conservation of force.
He went back to the work ten years later, and in 1858–9, he recorded many remarkable thoughts and experiments. He was struck by the fact that electricity is essentially a dual force, and Faraday had always believed that no object could be positively electrified without another object becoming negatively electrified; some of his research had simply developed this relationship. However, noticing that there was no clear reason to determine which of two mutually gravitating bodies should be positive and which should be negative, he did not hesitate to challenge an old belief. “The emergence of one electricity would be something new and very remarkable. This idea raises doubts about everything; but still, let's try, because who knows what is possible when dealing with gravity?” We can’t help but notice the honesty with which he acknowledges the uncertainty of it all in his lab book, and yet he is willing, as a last hope, to set up experiments that go against all his previous experiences with nature. For a while, his thoughts flow as if this strange discovery had already been made, and he just needed to trace its implications throughout the universe. “Let’s inspire ourselves with a bit more imagination before we experiment,” he says; then he reflects on the multitude of actions in nature where the mutual relationships of electricity and gravity would come into play; he imagines planets and comets charging themselves as they near the sun; waterfalls, rain, rising vapor, circulating air currents, volcanic fumes, and chimney smoke all becoming electrical machines. A host of events and changes in the atmosphere seem to be clarified by such interactions; for a brief moment, his daydreams feel as vivid as reality. “I think we’ve been dull and blind not to have suspected some such outcomes,” and he quickly summarizes the implications of his grand but imaginary theory: a whole new way of generating heat or electricity, a completely new relationship of natural forces, an analysis of gravitation, and a rationale for the conservation of force.
Such were Faraday’s fondest dreams of what might be, and to many a philosopher they would have been sufficient basis for the writing of a great book. But Faraday’s imagination was within his full control; as he himself says, “Let the imagination go, guarding it by judgment and principle, and holding it in and directing it by experiment.” His dreams soon took a very practical form, and for many days he laboured with ceaseless energy, on the staircase of the Royal Institution, in the clock tower of the Houses of Parliament, or at the top of the Shot Tower in Southwark, raising and lowering heavy weights, and combining electrical helices and wires in every conceivable way. His skill and long experience in experiment were severely taxed to eliminate the effects of the earth’s magnetism, and time after time he saved himself from accepting mistaken indications, which to another man might have seemed conclusive verifications of his theory. When all was done there remained absolutely no results. “The experiments,” he says, “were well made, but the results are negative;” and yet, he adds, “I cannot accept them as conclusive.” In this position the question remains to the present day; it may be that the effect was too slight to be detected, or it may be that the arrangements adopted were not suited to develop the particular relation which exists, just as Oersted could not detect electro-magnetism, so long as his wire was perpendicular to the plane of motion of his needle. But these are not matters which concern us further here. We have only to notice the profound conviction in the unity of natural laws, the active powers of inference and imagination, the unbounded licence of theorising, combined above all with the utmost diligence in experimental verification which this remarkable research exhibits.
Such were Faraday’s most cherished dreams of what could be, and for many philosophers, they would have been a solid basis for writing a great book. But Faraday kept his imagination firmly in check; as he himself stated, “Let the imagination flow, guiding it with judgment and principle, while directing it through experimentation.” His dreams quickly took on a very practical form, and for many days he worked tirelessly on the staircase of the Royal Institution, in the clock tower of the Houses of Parliament, or at the top of the Shot Tower in Southwark, lifting and lowering heavy weights and connecting electrical coils and wires in every way imaginable. His skill and extensive experience in experimentation were put to the test to eliminate the effects of Earth’s magnetism, and time after time, he prevented himself from accepting misleading indications that might have seemed like definitive proof of his theory to someone else. When it was all over, there were no results left. “The experiments,” he says, “were conducted well, but the results are negative;” and yet, he adds, “I cannot take them as conclusive.” This question still remains today; it may be that the effect was too subtle to detect, or it may be that the setups used were not suitable to reveal the specific relationship, just as Oersted could not detect electromagnetism while his wire was perpendicular to the needle’s plane of motion. But these details are not our focus here. We only need to recognize the deep conviction in the unity of natural laws, the active powers of deduction and imagination, the limitless freedom of theorizing, all combined with the utmost diligence in experimental validation that this remarkable research displays.
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Reservation of Judgment.
There is yet another characteristic needed in the philosophic mind; it is that of suspending judgment when the data are insufficient. Many people will express a confident opinion on almost any question which is put before them, but they thereby manifest not strength, but narrowness of mind. To see all sides of a complicated subject, and to weigh all the different facts and probabilities correctly, require no ordinary powers of comprehension. Hence it is most frequently the philosophic mind which is in doubt, and the ignorant mind which is ready with a positive decision. Faraday has himself said, in a very interesting lecture:487 “Occasionally and frequently the exercise of the judgment ought to end in absolute reservation. It may be very distasteful, and great fatigue, to suspend a conclusion; but as we are not infallible, so we ought to be cautious; we shall eventually find our advantage, for the man who rests in his position is not so far from right as he who, proceeding in a wrong direction, is ever increasing his distance.”
There’s another trait that the philosophical mind needs: the ability to suspend judgment when the evidence is lacking. Many people will confidently share their opinions on almost any question that comes up, but this shows not strength, but a limited mindset. To understand all angles of a complex topic and accurately weigh different facts and possibilities requires exceptional comprehension skills. Therefore, it’s often the philosophical mind that is in doubt, while the uninformed mind quickly jumps to a conclusion. Faraday himself stated in a very engaging lecture:487 “Sometimes, the use of judgment should result in absolute reservation. It can be quite frustrating and exhausting to hold off on making a conclusion; however, since we are not infallible, we need to be cautious. In the end, we will benefit from this approach, because the person who remains in their position isn’t as far from being right as the one who, moving in the wrong direction, is only increasing their distance.”
Arago presented a conspicuous example of this high quality of mind, as Faraday remarks; for when he made known his curious discovery of the relation of a magnetic needle to a revolving copper plate, a number of supposed men of science in different countries gave immediate and confident explanations of it, which were all wrong. But Arago, who had both discovered the phenomenon and personally investigated its conditions, declined to put forward publicly any theory at all.
Arago showed a clear example of this high level of intelligence, as Faraday noted; when he revealed his interesting discovery of how a magnetic needle relates to a spinning copper plate, several so-called scientists from various countries quickly came up with confident explanations that were all incorrect. However, Arago, who had both discovered the phenomenon and looked into its conditions himself, chose not to share any theory publicly at all.
At the same time we must not suppose that the truly philosophic mind can tolerate a state of doubt, while a chance of decision remains open. In science nothing like compromise is possible, and truth must be one. Hence, doubt is the confession of ignorance, and involves a painful feeling of incapacity. But doubt lies between error and truth, so that if we choose wrongly we are further away than ever from our goal.
At the same time, we shouldn’t think that a genuinely philosophical mind can accept doubt while there’s still a chance to decide. In science, compromise isn’t an option, and truth must be singular. Therefore, doubt reveals ignorance and brings a frustrating sense of inability. However, doubt exists between error and truth, meaning that if we make the wrong choice, we move further away from our goal.
Summing up, then, it would seem as if the mind of the great discoverer must combine contradictory attributes.593 He must be fertile in theories and hypotheses, and yet full of facts and precise results of experience. He must entertain the feeblest analogies, and the merest guesses at truth, and yet he must hold them as worthless till they are verified in experiment. When there are any grounds of probability he must hold tenaciously to an old opinion, and yet he must be prepared at any moment to relinquish it when a clearly contradictory fact is encountered. “The philosopher,” says Faraday,488 “should be a man willing to listen to every suggestion, but determined to judge for himself. He should not be biased by appearances; have no favourite hypothesis; be of no school; and in doctrine have no master. He should not be a respecter of persons, but of things. Truth should be his primary object. If to these qualities be added industry, he may indeed hope to walk within the veil of the temple of nature.”
In summary, it seems the mind of a great discoverer must combine contradictory qualities.593 They need to generate a wealth of theories and ideas while also being grounded in the facts and precise results of their experiences. They should consider even the weakest analogies and the simplest guesses about the truth, but at the same time, they must regard these as worthless until verified through experimentation. When there’s some probability, they should firmly hold onto an old belief, but be ready to let it go when faced with a clear contradictory fact. “The philosopher,” says Faraday,488 “should be someone open to every suggestion, but committed to making their own judgments. They shouldn’t be swayed by appearances; have no favorite hypothesis; belong to no particular school; and have no master in doctrine. They should regard things rather than people. Truth should be their main goal. If they also possess a strong work ethic, they might truly hope to explore the mysteries of nature.”
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BOOK V.
GENERALISATION, ANALOGY, AND CLASSIFICATION.
BOOK V.
GENERALIZATION, ANALOGY, AND CLASSIFICATION.
CHAPTER XXVII.
GENERALIZATION.
I have endeavoured to show in preceding chapters that all inductive reasoning is an inverse application of deductive reasoning, and consists in demonstrating that the consequences of certain assumed laws agree with facts of nature gathered by active or passive observation. The fundamental process of reasoning, as stated in the outset, consists in inferring of a thing what we know of similar objects, and it is on this principle that the whole of deductive reasoning, whether simply logical or mathematico-logical, is founded. All inductive reasoning must be founded on the same principle. It might seem that by a plain use of this principle we could avoid the complicated processes of induction and deduction, and argue directly from one particular case to another, as Mill proposed. If the Earth, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and other planets move in elliptic orbits, cannot we dispense with elaborate precautions, and assert that Neptune, Ceres, and the last discovered planet must do so likewise? Do we not know that Mr. Gladstone must die, because he is like other595 men? May we not argue that because some men die therefore he must? Is it requisite to ascend by induction to the general proposition “all men must die,” and then descend by deduction from that general proposition to the case of Mr. Gladstone? My answer undoubtedly is that we must ascend to general propositions. The fundamental principle of the substitution of similars gives us no warrant in affirming of Mr. Gladstone what we know of other men, because we cannot be sure that Mr. Gladstone is exactly similar to other men. Until his death we cannot be perfectly sure that he possesses all the attributes of other men; it is a question of probability, and I have endeavoured to explain the mode in which the theory of probability is applied to calculate the probability that from a series of similar events we may infer the recurrence of like events under identical circumstances. There is then no such process as that of inferring from particulars to particulars. A careful analysis of the conditions under which such an inference appears to be made, shows that the process is really a general one, and that what is inferred of a particular case might be inferred of all similar cases. All reasoning is essentially general, and all science implies generalisation. In the very birth-time of philosophy this was held to be so: “Nulla scientia est de individuis, sed de solis universalibus,” was the doctrine of Plato, delivered by Porphyry. And Aristotle489 held a like opinion—Οὐδεμία δὲ τέχνη σκοπεȋ τὸ καθ’ ἕκαστον ... τὸ δὲ καθ’ ἕκαστον ἄπειρον καὶ οὐκ ἐπιστητόν. “No art treats of particular cases; for particulars are infinite and cannot be known.” No one who holds the doctrine that reasoning may be from particulars to particulars, can be supposed to have the most rudimentary notion of what constitutes reasoning and scíence.
I have tried to show in previous chapters that all inductive reasoning is essentially the reverse of deductive reasoning. It involves demonstrating that the outcomes of certain assumed laws align with facts of nature gathered through active or passive observation. The basic process of reasoning, as mentioned at the beginning, involves inferring what we know about similar objects. This principle underlies all deductive reasoning, whether it’s purely logical or mathematico-logical. All inductive reasoning must be based on the same principle. It might seem like we could skip the complicated induction and deduction processes and argue directly from one specific case to another, as Mill suggested. If the Earth, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and other planets move in elliptical orbits, can’t we just claim that Neptune, Ceres, and the latest discovered planet must do the same? Don’t we know that Mr. Gladstone will die because he is like other men? Can we not argue that since some men die, he must too? Is it necessary to first rise through induction to the general proposition “all men must die,” and then deduce from that general proposition to Mr. Gladstone’s case? My answer is that we definitely need to move up to general propositions. The fundamental principle of substituting similar things doesn’t justify asserting about Mr. Gladstone what we know about other men because we can’t be sure that he is exactly like the others. Until he dies, we can’t be completely certain that he possesses all the attributes of other men; it’s a matter of probability. I have tried to explain how the theory of probability is used to determine the likelihood that from a series of similar events we can predict the recurrence of similar events under the same circumstances. Therefore, there’s no process for inferring from one specific case to another specific case. A careful analysis of the conditions under which such inferences seem to occur reveals that the process is genuinely a general one, and whatever is inferred about a specific case could be inferred about all similar cases. All reasoning is fundamentally general, and all science relies on generalization. Even in the early days of philosophy, it was believed this way: “Nulla scientia est de individuis, sed de solis universalibus,” was the doctrine of Plato, conveyed by Porphyry. And Aristotle held a similar view—Οὐδεμία δὲ τέχνη σκοπεȋ τὸ καθ’ ἕκαστον ... τὸ δὲ καθ’ ἕκαστον ἄπειρον καὶ οὐκ ἐπιστητόν. “No art focuses on particular cases; for particulars are infinite and cannot be known.” Anyone who believes that reasoning can occur from specifics to specifics clearly does not grasp the basic principles of what constitutes reasoning and science.
At the same time there can be no doubt that practically what we find to be true of many similar objects will probably be true of the next similar object. This is the result to which an analysis of the Inverse Method of Probabilities leads us, and, in the absence of precise data from which we may calculate probabilities, we are usually obliged to make a rough assumption that similars in some596 respects are similars in other respects. Thus it comes to pass that a large part of the reasoning processes in which scientific men are engaged, consists in detecting similarities between objects, and then rudely assuming that the like similarities will be detected in other cases.
At the same time, there's no doubt that what we observe to be true for many similar things is likely to be true for the next similar thing. This conclusion comes from analyzing the Inverse Method of Probabilities. In the absence of specific data to calculate probabilities, we often have to make a rough assumption that similarities in some aspects mean similarities in other aspects as well. Thus, a significant part of the reasoning that scientists engage in involves identifying similarities between objects and then roughly assuming that those same similarities will apply in other situations.
Distinction of Generalisation and Analogy.
There is no distinction but that of degree between what is known as reasoning by generalisation and reasoning by analogy. In both cases from certain observed resemblances we infer, with more or less probability, the existence of other resemblances. In generalisation the resemblances have great extension and usually little intension, whereas in analogy we rely upon the great intension, the extension being of small amount (p. 26). If we find that the qualities A and B are associated together in a great many instances, and have never been found separate, it is highly probable that on the next occasion when we meet with A, B will also be present, and vice versâ. Thus wherever we meet with an object possessing gravity, it is found to possess inertia also, nor have we met with any material objects possessing inertia without discovering that they also possess gravity. The probability has therefore become very great, as indicated by the rules founded on the Inverse Method of Probabilities (p. 257), that whenever in the future we meet an object possessing either of the properties of gravity and inertia, it will be found on examination to possess the other of these properties. This is a clear instance of the employment of generalisation.
There’s no real difference, only a matter of degree, between what we call reasoning by generalization and reasoning by analogy. In both situations, we draw conclusions about the existence of other similarities based on certain observed similarities. With generalization, the similarities are broad and usually not deep, while with analogy, we depend on strong depth, but the breadth is minimal (p. 26). If we see that qualities A and B are commonly linked together and have never been found apart, it’s very likely that the next time we encounter A, B will also be present, and vice versa. For example, wherever we find an object that has gravity, it also has inertia, and we haven't found any material objects that have inertia without also finding that they possess gravity. The likelihood has thus become very high, as shown by the principles based on the Inverse Method of Probabilities (p. 257), that in the future, if we find an object with either gravity or inertia, it will be determined that it has the other property as well. This is a clear example of using generalization.
In analogy, on the other hand, we reason from likeness in many points to likeness in other points. The qualities or points of resemblance are now numerous, not the objects. At the poles of Mars are two white spots which resemble in many respects the white regions of ice and snow at the poles of the earth. There probably exist no other similar objects with which to compare these, yet the exactness of the resemblance enables us to infer, with high probability, that the spots on Mars consist of ice and snow. In short, many points of resemblance imply many more. From the appearance and behaviour of those white spots we infer that they have all the chemical and physical597 properties of frozen water. The inference is of course only probable, and based upon the improbability that aggregates of many qualities should be formed in a like manner in two or more cases, without being due to some uniform condition or cause.
In contrast, we make inferences based on similarities in multiple aspects that connect to other similarities. The number of qualities or points of resemblance is extensive, rather than the objects themselves. On Mars, there are two white spots at the poles that closely resemble the icy and snowy regions at Earth's poles. There likely aren’t any other objects to compare them to, but the accuracy of this resemblance allows us to reasonably conclude that the spots on Mars are made up of ice and snow. In short, a lot of points of similarity suggest even more. From the look and behavior of those white spots, we deduce that they possess all the chemical and physical properties of frozen water. This inference is merely probable, based on the unlikelihood that many qualities would appear in a similar way in two or more cases without some consistent condition or cause being involved.
In reasoning by analogy, then, we observe that two objects ABCDE . . . . and A′B′C′D′E′ . . . . have many like qualities, as indicated by the identity of the letters, and we infer that, since the first has another quality, X, we shall discover this quality in the second case by sufficiently close examination. As Laplace says,—“Analogy is founded on the probability that similar things have causes of the same kind, and produce the same effects. The more perfect this similarity, the greater is this probability.”490 The nature of analogical inference is aptly described in the work on Logic attributed to Kant, where the rule of ordinary induction is stated in the words, “Eines in vielen, also in allen,” one quality in many things, therefore in all; and the rule of analogy is “Vieles in einem, also auch das übrige in demselben,”491 many (qualities) in one, therefore also the remainder in the same. It is evident that there may be intermediate cases in which, from the identity of a moderate number of objects in several properties, we may infer to other objects. Probability must rest either upon the number of instances or the depth of resemblance, or upon the occurrence of both in sufficient degrees. What there is wanting in extension must be made up by intension, and vice versâ.
In reasoning by analogy, we notice that two objects ABCDE … and A′B′C′D′E′ … have many similar qualities, as shown by the matching letters. We conclude that since the first has another quality, X, we can find this quality in the second case through thorough examination. As Laplace puts it, “Analogy is based on the likelihood that similar things have causes of the same kind and produce the same effects. The more perfect this similarity, the greater this likelihood.”490 The nature of analogical inference is clearly described in the Logic work attributed to Kant, where the rule of ordinary induction is expressed as, “Eines in vielen, also in allen,” one quality in many things, therefore in all; and the rule of analogy is “Vieles in einem, also auch das übrige in demselben,”491 many (qualities) in one, therefore also the rest in the same. It’s clear that there may be intermediate cases where, due to the shared characteristics of a moderate number of objects, we can infer things about other objects. Probability must rely on either the number of instances or the strength of resemblance, or both in sufficient amounts. What is lacking in breadth must be compensated for by depth, and vice versâ.
Two Meanings of Generalisation.
The term generalisation, as commonly used, includes two processes which are of different character, but are often closely associated together. In the first place, we generalise when we recognise even in two objects a common nature. We cannot detect the slightest similarity without opening the way to inference from one case to the other. If we compare a cubical crystal with a regular octahedron, there is little apparent similarity; but, as soon as we perceive598 that either can be produced by the symmetrical modification of the other, we discover a groundwork of similarity in the crystals, which enables us to infer many things of one, because they are true of the other. Our knowledge of ozone took its rise from the time when the similarity of smell, attending electric sparks, strokes of lightning, and the slow combustion of phosphorus, was noticed by Schönbein. There was a time when the rainbow was an inexplicable phenomenon—a portent, like a comet, and a cause of superstitious hopes and fears. But we find the true spirit of science in Roger Bacon, who desires us to consider the objects which present the same colours as the rainbow; he mentions hexagonal crystals from Ireland and India, but he bids us not suppose that the hexagonal form is essential, for similar colours may be detected in many transparent stones. Drops of water scattered by the oar in the sun, the spray from a water-wheel, the dewdrops lying on the grass in the summer morning, all display a similar phenomenon. No sooner have we grouped together these apparently diverse instances, than we have begun to generalise, and have acquired a power of applying to one instance what we can detect of others. Even when we do not apply the knowledge gained to new objects, our comprehension of those already observed is greatly strengthened and deepened by learning to view them as particular cases of a more general property.
The term generalization, as commonly used, includes two processes that are different in nature but often closely linked. First, we generalize when we recognize a common nature even in two objects. We can't detect the slightest similarity without opening the door to inference from one case to the other. For example, if we compare a cube-shaped crystal with a regular octahedron, there’s not much resemblance at first glance. But as soon as we realize that each can be created through the symmetrical modification of the other, we uncover a basis for similarity in the crystals that allows us to infer many things about one based on what we know of the other. Our understanding of ozone began when Schönbein noticed the similarity in smell from electric sparks, lightning strikes, and the slow burning of phosphorus. There was a time when the rainbow was an unexplainable phenomenon—a sign, like a comet, evoking superstitious hopes and fears. We find the true spirit of science in Roger Bacon, who urges us to consider objects that show the same colors as the rainbow; he mentions hexagonal crystals from Ireland and India but cautions us not to assume that the hexagonal shape is essential, as similar colors can be found in many transparent stones. Water drops scattered by an oar in the sunlight, spray from a water wheel, and dew on grass in the summer morning all display a similar effect. Once we group these seemingly different examples together, we start to generalize and gain the ability to apply what we learn from one instance to others. Even when we don't use the knowledge we gain on new objects, our understanding of those we've already observed is significantly enhanced and deepened by learning to view them as specific cases of a broader property.
A second process, to which the name of generalisation is often given, consists in passing from a fact or partial law to a multitude of unexamined cases, which we believe to be subject to the same conditions. Instead of merely recognising similarity as it is brought before us, we predict its existence before our senses can detect it, so that generalisation of this kind endows us with a prophetic power of more or less probability. Having observed that many substances assume, like water and mercury, the three states of solid, liquid, and gas, and having assured ourselves by frequent trial that the greater the means we possess of heating and cooling, the more substances we can vaporise and freeze, we pass confidently in advance of fact, and assume that all substances are capable of these three forms. Such a generalisation was accepted by Lavoisier and Laplace before many of the corroborative facts now in our599 possession were known. The reduction of a single comet beneath the sway of gravity was considered sufficient indication that all comets obey the same power. Few persons doubted that the law of gravity extended over the whole heavens; certainly the fact that a few stars out of many millions manifest the action of gravity, is now held to be sufficient evidence of its general extension over the visible universe.
A second process, often called generalization, involves moving from a specific fact or partial law to a wide range of unexamined cases that we believe follow the same conditions. Instead of just recognizing similarities as they appear, we predict their existence before our senses can pick them up, giving us a sort of prophetic power with varying degrees of likelihood. After observing that many substances, like water and mercury, can exist in solid, liquid, and gas forms, and confirming through repeated experiments that the better our ability to heat and cool, the more substances we can vaporize and freeze, we confidently assert that all substances can exist in these three states. This kind of generalization was accepted by Lavoisier and Laplace even before many of the supporting facts we now have were known. The observation of a single comet influenced by gravity was seen as enough evidence that all comets are governed by the same force. Few people doubted that the law of gravity applied throughout the entire cosmos; indeed, the fact that a small number of stars out of millions showcase gravitational effects is now considered enough evidence of its widespread presence in the visible universe.
Value of Generalisation.
It might seem that if we know particular facts, there can be little use in connecting them together by a general law. The particulars must be more full of useful information than an abstract general statement. If we know, for instance, the properties of an ellipse, a circle, a parabola, and hyperbola, what is the use of learning all these properties over again in the general theory of curves of the second degree? If we understand the phenomena of sound and light and water-waves separately, what is the need of erecting a general theory of waves, which, after all, is inapplicable to practice until resolved again into particular cases? But, in reality, we never do obtain an adequate knowledge of particulars until we regard them as cases of the general. Not only is there a singular delight in discovering the many in the one, and the one in the many, but there is a constant interchange of light and knowledge. Properties which are unapparent in the hyperbola may be readily observed in the ellipse. Most of the complex relations which old geometers discovered in the circle will be reproduced mutatis mutandis in the other conic sections. The undulatory theory of light might have been unknown at the present day, had not the theory of sound supplied hints by analogy. The study of light has made known many phenomena of interference and polarisation, the existence of which had hardly been suspected in the case of sound, but which may now be sought out, and perhaps found to possess unexpected interest. The careful study of water-waves shows how waves alter in form and velocity with varying depth of water. Analogous changes may some time be detected in sound waves. Thus there is mutual interchange of aid.
It might seem that if we know specific facts, there’s not much point in connecting them through a general law. The details must offer more useful information than an abstract general statement. For example, if we know the properties of an ellipse, a circle, a parabola, and a hyperbola, what’s the benefit of learning all these properties again in the general theory of curves of the second degree? If we understand the phenomena of sound, light, and water waves separately, why do we need a general theory of waves that ultimately has to be broken down into specific cases for practical use? However, in reality, we never truly gain a full understanding of the specifics until we see them as examples of the general. Not only is there a unique joy in discovering the many within the one and the one within the many, but there's also a constant exchange of insight and knowledge. Properties that are not obvious in the hyperbola may be easily seen in the ellipse. Most of the complex relationships that ancient geometers found in the circle will also appear, with necessary adjustments, in the other conic sections. The wave theory of light might not even exist today if the theory of sound hadn’t provided hints through analogy. The study of light has revealed many phenomena of interference and polarization that were hardly suspected in sound, but can now be explored and might even prove to be unexpectedly interesting. A careful study of water waves shows how waves change in shape and speed depending on the depth of the water. Similar changes might eventually be found in sound waves. Thus, there’s a mutual exchange of support.
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“Every study of a generalisation or extension,” De Morgan has well said,492 “gives additional power over the particular form by which the generalisation is suggested. Nobody who has ever returned to quadratic equations after the study of equations of all degrees, or who has done the like, will deny my assertion that οὐ βλέπει βλέπων may be predicated of any one who studies a branch or a case, without afterwards making it part of a larger whole. Accordingly it is always worth while to generalise, were it only to give power over the particular. This principle, of daily familiarity to the mathematician, is almost unknown to the logician.”
“Every study of a generalization or extension,” De Morgan aptly stated,492 “provides additional control over the specific form suggested by the generalization. Anyone who has revisited quadratic equations after studying equations of all degrees, or who has done something similar, would agree that οὐ βλέπει βλέπων can be said of anyone who studies a specific branch or case without later incorporating it into a larger whole. Therefore, it’s always worthwhile to generalize, if only to gain control over the specific. This principle, well-known to mathematicians, is almost unfamiliar to logicians.”
Comparative Generality of Properties.
Much of the value of science depends upon the knowledge which we gradually acquire of the different degrees of generality of properties and phenomena of various kinds. The use of science consists in enabling us to act with confidence, because we can foresee the result. Now this foresight must rest upon the knowledge of the powers which will come into play. That knowledge, indeed, can never be certain, because it rests upon imperfect induction, and the most confident beliefs and predictions of the physicist may be falsified. Nevertheless, if we always estimate the probability of each belief according to the due teaching of the data, and bear in mind that probability when forming our anticipations, we shall ensure the minimum of disappointment. Even when he cannot exactly apply the theory of probabilities, the physicist may acquire the habit of making judgments in general agreement with its principles and results.
A lot of the value of science comes from the knowledge we gradually gain about the different levels of generality of properties and phenomena of various types. The purpose of science is to help us act with confidence because we can predict the outcome. This prediction must be based on our understanding of the forces at work. That understanding can never be completely certain, as it relies on imperfect induction, and even the most confident beliefs and predictions of scientists can be proven wrong. Still, if we assess the probability of each belief based on the available data and keep that probability in mind when making our expectations, we can minimize disappointment. Even when a scientist can't exactly apply the theory of probabilities, they can develop the habit of making judgments that generally align with its principles and outcomes.
Such is the constitution of nature, that the physicist learns to distinguish those properties which have wide and uniform extension, from those which vary between case and case. Not only are certain laws distinctly laid down, with their extension carefully defined, but a scientific training gives a kind of tact in judging how far other laws are likely to apply under any particular circumstances. We learn by degrees that crystals exhibit phenomena depending601 upon the directions of the axes of elasticity, which we must not expect in uniform solids. Liquids, compared even with non-crystalline solids, exhibit laws of far less complexity and variety; and gases assume, in many respects, an aspect of nearly complete uniformity. To trace out the branches of science in which varying degrees of generality prevail, would be an inquiry of great interest and importance; but want of space, if there were no other reason, would forbid me to attempt it, except in a very slight manner.
The way nature is set up, physicists learn to tell apart the properties that are consistent and widespread from those that change from one case to another. Not only are certain laws clearly defined with their scope specified, but scientific training also helps develop an instinct for judging how far other laws might apply in specific situations. Gradually, we understand that crystals show behaviors based on the directions of their elastic axes, which we shouldn't expect from uniform solids. Liquids, when compared to non-crystalline solids, follow laws that are much simpler and less varied; meanwhile, gases often appear to behave in a nearly uniform way. Exploring the different branches of science where varying degrees of generality exist would be a fascinating and important task, but a lack of space, among other reasons, prevents me from attempting it in anything more than a very brief way.
Gases, so far as they are really gaseous, not only have exactly the same properties in all directions of space, but one gas exactly resembles other gases in many qualities. All gases expand by heat, according to the same law, and by nearly the same amount; the specific heats of equivalent weights are equal, and the densities are exactly proportional to the atomic weights. All such gases obey the general law, that the volume multiplied by the pressure, and divided by the absolute temperature, is constant or nearly so. The laws of diffusion and transpiration are the same in all cases, and, generally speaking, all physical laws, as distinguished from chemical laws, apply equally to all gases. Even when gases differ in chemical or physical properties, the differences are minor in degree. Thus the differences of viscosity are far less marked than in the liquid and solid states. Nearly all gases, again, are colourless, the exceptions being chlorine, the vapours of iodine, bromine, and a few other substances.
Gases, as long as they are truly gaseous, not only have the same properties in all directions but also closely resemble each other in many qualities. All gases expand with heat according to the same principle and nearly the same extent; their specific heats for equal weights are the same, and their densities are directly proportional to their atomic weights. All these gases follow the general rule that the volume multiplied by the pressure, divided by the absolute temperature, remains constant or nearly so. The laws of diffusion and transpiration are consistent across the board, and, generally, all physical laws, as opposed to chemical laws, apply equally to all gases. Even when gases have different chemical or physical properties, the differences are slight. For example, the differences in viscosity are much less pronounced than in liquids and solids. Almost all gases are colorless, with exceptions like chlorine, the vapors of iodine, bromine, and a few other substances.
Only in one single point, so far as I am aware, do gases present distinguishing marks unknown or nearly so, in the solid and liquid states. I mean as regards the light given off when incandescent. Each gas when sufficiently heated, yields its own peculiar series of rays, arising from the free vibrations of the constituent parts of the molecules. Hence the possibility of distinguishing gases by the spectroscope. But the molecules of solids and liquids appear to be continually in conflict with each other, so that only a confused noise of atoms is produced, instead of a definite series of luminous chords. At the same temperature, accordingly, all solids and liquids give off nearly the same rays when strongly heated, and we have in this case an exception to the greater generality of properties in gases.
As far as I know, gases are unique in only one way compared to solids and liquids: the light they emit when heated. Each gas, when heated enough, produces its own distinct set of rays due to the free vibrations of its molecular components. This allows us to identify gases using a spectroscope. In contrast, the molecules in solids and liquids seem to be constantly colliding with one another, creating just a chaotic noise of atoms instead of a clear set of light bands. Thus, at the same temperature, all solids and liquids emit almost the same rays when heated intensely, making this an exception to the broader characteristics of gases.
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Liquids are in many ways intermediate in character between gases and solids. While incapable of possessing different elasticity in different directions, and thus denuded of the rich geometrical complexity of solids, they retain the variety of density, colour degrees of transparency, great diversity in surface tension, viscosity, coefficients of expansion, compressibility, and many other properties which we observe in solids, but not for the most part in gases. Though our knowledge of the physical properties of liquids is much wanting in generality at present, there is ground to hope that by degrees laws connecting and explaining the variations may be traced out.
Liquids are, in many ways, a mix between gases and solids. While they can’t have different elasticity in different directions like solids do, which gives solids their complex shapes, they still have a range of properties such as varying density, color, transparency, surface tension, viscosity, expansion rates, compressibility, and many other characteristics that we see in solids, but mostly not in gases. Although our understanding of the physical properties of liquids is currently limited, there is hope that over time we will be able to identify and explain the laws governing their variations.
Solids are in every way contrasted to gases. Each solid substance has its own peculiar degree of density, hardness, compressibility, transparency, tenacity, elasticity, power of conducting heat and electricity, magnetic properties, capability of producing frictional electricity, and so forth. Even different specimens of the same kind of substance will differ widely, according to the accidental treatment received. And not only has each substance its own specific properties, but, when crystallised, its properties vary in each direction with regard to the axes of crystallisation. The velocity of radiation, the rate of conduction of heat, the coefficients of expansibility and compressibility, the thermo-electric properties, all vary in different crystallographic directions.
Solids are completely different from gases. Each solid material has its own unique level of density, hardness, compressibility, transparency, toughness, elasticity, ability to conduct heat and electricity, magnetic properties, and capacity to create static electricity, among other traits. Even different samples of the same type of material can vary greatly, depending on how they've been treated. Not only does each material have its own specific characteristics, but when it forms crystals, its properties can change in different directions based on the crystal axes. The speed of radiation, the rate of heat conduction, the coefficients of expansion and compression, and the thermo-electric properties all vary in different crystallographic directions.
It is probable that many apparent differences between liquids, and even between solids, will be explained when we learn to regard them under exactly corresponding circumstances. The extreme generality of the properties of gases is in reality only true at an infinitely high temperature, when they are all equally remote from their condensing points. Now, it is found that if we compare liquids—for instance, different kinds of alcohols—not at equal temperatures, but at points equally distant from their respective boiling points, the laws and coefficients of expansion are nearly equal. The vapour-tensions of liquids also are more nearly equal, when compared at corresponding points, and the boiling-points appear in many cases to be simply related to the chemical composition. No doubt the progress of investigation will enable us to discover generality, where at present we only see variety and puzzling complexity.
It’s likely that many of the obvious differences between liquids, and even between solids, will be explained once we learn to look at them under exactly the same conditions. The broad similarities in gas properties only hold true at an infinitely high temperature, when they are all equally far from their condensation points. Now, it turns out that if we compare liquids—like different types of alcohol—not at equal temperatures, but at points that are equally distant from their boiling points, the laws and coefficients of expansion are nearly the same. The vapor pressures of liquids are also more similar when compared at corresponding points, and the boiling points often seem to be directly related to their chemical makeup. There's no doubt that further investigation will help us find general patterns where we currently only see differences and confusing complexity.
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In some cases substances exhibit the same physical properties in the liquid as in the solid state. Lead has a high refractive power, whether in solution, or in solid salts, crystallised or vitreous. The magnetic power of iron is conspicuous, whatever be its chemical condition; indeed, the magnetic properties of substances, though varying with temperature, seem not to be greatly affected by other physical changes. Colour, absorptive power for heat or light rays, and a few other properties are also often the same in liquids and gases. Iodine and bromine possess a deep colour whenever they are chemically uncombined. Nevertheless, we can seldom argue safely from the properties of a substance in one condition to those in another condition. Ice is an insulator, water a conductor of electricity, and the same contrast exists in most other substances. The conducting power of a liquid for electricity increases with the temperature, while that of a solid decreases. By degrees we may learn to distinguish between those properties of matter which depend upon the intimate construction of the chemical molecule, and those which depend upon the contact, conflict, mutual attraction, or other relations of distinct molecules. The properties of a substance with respect to light seem generally to depend upon the molecule; thus, the power of certain substances to cause the plane of polarisation of a ray of light to rotate, is exactly the same whatever be its degree of density, or the diluteness of the solution in which it is contained. Taken as a whole, the physical properties of substances and their quantitative laws, present a problem of infinite complexity, and centuries must elapse before any moderately complete generalisations on the subject become possible.
In some cases, substances show the same physical properties in both their liquid and solid states. Lead has a high refractive ability, whether it’s in solution or in solid salts, whether crystallized or glassy. The magnetic properties of iron are noticeable, regardless of its chemical state; in fact, while the magnetic properties of substances can change with temperature, they don’t seem to be significantly affected by other physical changes. Color, absorptive capacity for heat or light, and a few other properties are often similar in liquids and gases. Iodine and bromine have a deep color whenever they are not chemically combined. However, we can rarely make safe assumptions about a substance's properties in one state based on its properties in another state. Ice acts as an insulator while water conducts electricity, and this contrast exists in most other substances. The electrical conductivity of a liquid increases with temperature, while that of a solid decreases. Gradually, we may learn to differentiate between the properties of matter that depend on the detailed structure of the chemical molecule and those that rely on the interactions, conflicts, attractions, or other relationships between distinct molecules. The properties of a substance regarding light generally seem to depend on the molecule itself; therefore, the ability of certain substances to rotate the plane of polarization of a light ray remains consistent, regardless of their density or how diluted the solution is. Overall, the physical properties of substances and their quantitative laws present a problem of infinite complexity, and it will take centuries before any reasonably complete generalizations on the topic are possible.
Uniform Properties of all Matter.
Some laws are held to be true of all matter in the universe absolutely, without exception, no instance to the contrary having ever been noticed. This is the case with the laws of motion, as laid down by Galileo and Newton. It is also conspicuously true of the law of universal gravitation. The rise of modern physical science may perhaps be considered as beginning at the time when Galileo604 showed, in opposition to the Aristotelians, that matter is equally affected by gravity, irrespective of its form, magnitude, or texture. All objects fall with equal rapidity, when disturbing causes, such as the resistance of the air, are removed or allowed for. That which was rudely demonstrated by Galileo from the leaning tower of Pisa, was proved by Newton to a high degree of approximation, in an experiment which has been mentioned (p. 443).
Some laws are considered universally true for all matter in the universe, without exception, with no counterexamples ever being observed. This applies to the laws of motion established by Galileo and Newton. It is also clearly true for the law of universal gravitation. The rise of modern physical science might be seen as starting when Galileo604 demonstrated, against the Aristotelians, that matter is equally affected by gravity, regardless of its shape, size, or texture. All objects fall at the same rate when factors like air resistance are removed or accounted for. What Galileo crudely demonstrated from the leaning tower of Pisa was later validated by Newton to a high degree of accuracy in an experiment referred to (p. 443).
Newton formed two pendulums, as nearly as possible the same in outward shape and size by taking two equal round wooden boxes, and suspending them by equal threads, eleven feet long. The pendulums were therefore equally subject to the resistance of the air. He filled one box with wood, and in the centre of oscillation of the other he placed an equal weight of gold. The pendulums were then equal in weight as well as in size; and, on setting them simultaneously in motion, Newton found that they vibrated for a length of time with equal vibrations. He tried the same experiment with silver, lead, glass, sand, common salt, water, and wheat, in place of the gold, and ascertained that the motion of his pendulum was exactly the same whatever was the kind of matter inside.493 He considered that a difference of a thousandth part would have been apparent. The reader must observe that the pendulums were made of equal weight only in order that they might suffer equal retardation from the air. The meaning of the experiment is that all substances manifest exactly equal acceleration from the force of gravity, and that therefore the inertia or resistance of matter to force, which is the only independent measure of mass known to us, is always proportional to gravity.
Newton created two pendulums that were as similar as possible in shape and size by using two identical round wooden boxes, hanging them by equal threads that were eleven feet long. This meant the pendulums experienced the same air resistance. He filled one box with wood and placed an equal weight of gold at the center of oscillation of the other. Therefore, the pendulums were the same weight and size; when he set them in motion at the same time, Newton observed that they vibrated for an equal amount of time with matching vibrations. He conducted the same experiment using silver, lead, glass, sand, table salt, water, and wheat instead of gold and found that the pendulum motion was exactly the same regardless of the material inside.493 He noted that even a tiny difference of a thousandth part would have been noticeable. It's important to understand that the pendulums were made equal in weight so they would experience the same air resistance. The significance of the experiment is that all substances show exactly the same acceleration due to gravity, which means that the inertia or resistance of matter to force, the only independent measure of mass we have, is always proportional to gravity.
These experiments of Newton were considered conclusive up to very recent times, when certain discordances between the theory and observations of the movements of planets led Nicolai, in 1826, to suggest that the equal gravitation of different kinds of matter might not be absolutely exact. It is perfectly philosophical thus to call in question, from time to time, some of the best accepted laws. On this occasion Bessel carefully repeated the experiments of Newton with pendulums composed of605 ivory, glass, marble, quartz, meteoric stones, &c., but was unable to detect the least difference. This conclusion is also confirmed by the ultimate agreement of all the calculations of physical astronomy based upon it. Whether the mass of Jupiter be calculated from the motion of its own satellites, from the effect upon the small planets, Vesta, Juno, &c., or from the perturbation of Encke’s Comet, the results are closely accordant, showing that precisely the same law of gravity applies to the most different bodies which we can observe. The gravity of a body, again, appears to be entirely independent of its other physical conditions, being totally unaffected by any alteration in the temperature, density, electric or magnetic condition, or other physical properties of the substance.
These experiments by Newton were seen as definitive until very recently, when some inconsistencies between the theory and observations of planet movements prompted Nicolai, in 1826, to propose that the uniform gravitation of different types of matter might not be completely accurate. It's perfectly reasonable to periodically question some of the most well-established laws. In this case, Bessel meticulously repeated Newton's pendulum experiments using materials like ivory, glass, marble, quartz, meteoric stones, etc., but he couldn't find any variations. This conclusion is also supported by the eventual agreement of all the calculations in physical astronomy that rely on it. Whether you calculate Jupiter's mass from the motion of its own moons, the effect on the small planets like Vesta and Juno, or from the perturbation of Encke’s Comet, the results are very consistent, indicating that the same law of gravity applies to the most diverse bodies we can observe. Moreover, a body's gravity seems to be completely independent of its other physical conditions, remaining unaffected by any changes in temperature, density, electric or magnetic properties, or other physical characteristics of the substance.
One paradoxical result of the law of equal gravitation is the theorem of Torricelli, to the effect that all liquids of whatever density fall or flow with equal rapidity. If there be two equal cisterns respectively filled with mercury and water, the mercury, though thirteen times as heavy, would flow from an aperture neither more rapidly nor more slowly than the water, and the same would be true of ether, alcohol, and other liquids, allowance being made, however, for the resistance of the air, and the differing viscosities of the liquids.
One surprising result of the law of equal gravitation is Torricelli's theorem, which states that all liquids, regardless of their density, fall or flow at the same speed. If there are two equal tanks filled with mercury and water, the mercury, despite being thirteen times heavier, would flow from an opening neither faster nor slower than the water. The same applies to ether, alcohol, and other liquids, although you have to consider the air resistance and the different thicknesses of the liquids.
In its exact equality and its perfect independence of all circumstances, except mass and distance, the force of gravity stands apart from all the other forces and phenomena of nature, and has not yet been brought into any relation with them except through the general principle of the conservation of energy. Magnetic attraction, as remarked by Newton, follows very different laws, depending upon the chemical quality and molecular structure of each particular substance.
In its precise equality and complete independence from all factors except mass and distance, the force of gravity is unique compared to all other forces and phenomena in nature, and it hasn't been connected to them in any way except through the general principle of energy conservation. As Newton noted, magnetic attraction follows very different rules based on the chemical properties and molecular structure of each specific substance.
We must remember that in saying “all matter gravitates,” we exclude from the term matter the basis of light-undulations, which is immensely more extensive in amount, and obeys in many respects the laws of mechanics. This adamantine substance appears, so far as can be ascertained, to be perfectly uniform in its properties when existing in space unoccupied by matter. Light and heat are conveyed by it with equal velocity in all directions, and in all parts606 of space so far as observation informs us. But the presence of gravitating matter modifies the density and mechanical properties of the so-called ether in a way which is yet quite unexplained.494
We need to keep in mind that when we say “all matter gravitates,” we are not including the basis of light waves, which is vastly more abundant and often follows the laws of mechanics. This solid substance seems, as far as we can tell, to be completely uniform in its properties when it exists in space without matter. Light and heat travel through it at the same speed in all directions and in every part of space that we can observe. However, the presence of gravitational matter changes the density and mechanical properties of the so-called ether in ways that are still not fully understood.494
Leaving gravity, it is somewhat difficult to discover other laws which are equally true of all matter. Boerhaave was considered to have established that all bodies expand by heat; but not only is the expansion very different in different substances, but we now know positive exceptions. Many liquids and a few solids contract by heat at certain temperatures. There are indeed other relations of heat to matter which seem to be universal and uniform; all substances begin to give off rays of light at the same temperature, according to the law of Draper; and gases will not be an exception if sufficiently condensed, as in the experiments of Frankland. Grove considers it to be universally true that all bodies in combining produce heat; with the doubtful exception of sulphur and selenium, all solids in becoming liquids, and all liquids in becoming gases, absorb heat; but the quantities of heat absorbed vary with the chemical qualities of the matter. Carnot’s Thermodynamic Law is held to be exactly true of all matter without distinction; it expresses the fact that the amount of mechanical energy which might be theoretically obtained from a certain amount of heat energy depends only upon the change of the temperatures, so that whether an engine be worked by water, air, alcohol, ammonia, or any other substance, the result would theoretically be the same, if the boiler and condenser were maintained at similar temperatures.
Leaving gravity, it’s somewhat hard to find other laws that apply equally to all matter. Boerhaave was believed to have established that all bodies expand with heat; however, not only does the expansion vary significantly among different substances, but we now know there are clear exceptions. Many liquids and a few solids actually contract when heated at certain temperatures. There are, in fact, other heat-matter relationships that seem to be universal and consistent; all substances start emitting rays of light at the same temperature, according to Draper’s law; and gases will also follow this rule if they are condensed enough, as shown in Frankland's experiments. Grove thinks it’s universally true that all bodies release heat when they combine; with the possible exceptions of sulfur and selenium, all solids turn into liquids and all liquids turn into gases while absorbing heat; however, the amount of heat absorbed varies based on the chemical properties of the substances. Carnot’s Thermodynamic Law is considered to hold true for all matter without exception; it states that the amount of mechanical energy that could be theoretically obtained from a specific amount of heat energy relies solely on the temperature change. Therefore, whether an engine is powered by water, air, alcohol, ammonia, or any other substance, the result would theoretically be the same, as long as the boiler and condenser are kept at similar temperatures.
Variable Properties of Matter.
I have enumerated some of the few properties of matter, which are manifested in exactly the same manner by all substances, whatever be their differences of chemical or physical constitution. But by far the greater number of607 qualities vary in degree; substances are more or less dense, more or less transparent, more or less compressible, more or less magnetic, and so on. One common result of the progress of science is to show that qualities supposed to be entirely absent from many substances are present only in so low a degree of intensity that the means of detection were insufficient. Newton believed that most bodies were quite unaffected by the magnet; Faraday and Tyndall have rendered it very doubtful whether any substance whatever is wholly devoid of magnetism, including under that term diamagnetism. We are rapidly learning to believe that there are no substances absolutely opaque, or non-conducting, non-electric, non-elastic, non-viscous, non-compressible, insoluble, infusible, or non-volatile. All tends to become a matter of degree, or sometimes of direction. There may be some substances oppositely affected to others, as ferro-magnetic substances are oppositely affected to diamagnetics, or as substances which contract by heat are opposed to those which expand; but the tendency is certainly for every affection of one kind of matter to be represented by something similar in other kinds. On this account one of Newton’s rules of philosophising seems to lose all validity; he said, “Those qualities of bodies which are not capable of being heightened, and remitted, and which are found in all bodies on which experiment can be made, must be considered as universal qualities of all bodies.” As far as I can see, the contrary is more probable, namely, that qualities variable in degree will be found in every substance in a greater or less degree.
I've listed some of the few properties of matter that show up in exactly the same way across all substances, no matter how different their chemical or physical makeup is. However, most qualities actually vary in degree; some substances are more or less dense, more or less transparent, more or less compressible, more or less magnetic, and so on. One common outcome of scientific progress is revealing that qualities thought to be completely absent in many substances are actually present, but in such low intensity that we didn't have the right tools to detect them. Newton believed that most materials were unaffected by magnets; however, Faraday and Tyndall have cast doubt on whether any substance is completely free of magnetism, including diamagnetism. We're quickly coming to believe that there aren't substances that are absolutely opaque, non-conducting, non-electric, non-elastic, non-viscous, non-compressible, insoluble, infusible, or non-volatile. Everything seems to come down to degrees, or sometimes directions. Some substances may respond oppositely to others, like ferromagnetic materials reacting inversely to diamagnetics, or substances that shrink when heated being opposed to those that expand; yet the tendency is definitely for every response in one type of matter to be matched by something similar in others. For this reason, one of Newton's rules of thinking seems to lose its validity; he claimed, "The qualities of bodies that cannot be increased or decreased and are found in all bodies that can be experimented on must be regarded as universal qualities of all bodies." From what I can see, the opposite is probably more accurate, meaning that qualities that vary in degree are likely to be found in every substance to some extent.
It is remarkable that Newton whose method of investigation was logically perfect, seemed incapable of generalising and describing his own procedure. His celebrated “Rules of Reasoning in Philosophy,” described at the commencement of the third book of the Principia, are of questionable truth, and still more questionable value.
It’s striking that Newton, whose investigative method was flawless in logic, appeared unable to generalize and articulate his own approach. His famous “Rules of Reasoning in Philosophy,” outlined at the start of the third book of the Principia, are debatable in terms of their truth and even more so in their worth.
Extreme Instances of Properties.
Although substances usually differ only in degree, great interest may attach to particular substances which manifest a property in a conspicuous and intense manner. Every608 branch of physical science has usually been developed from the attention forcibly drawn to some singular substance. Just as the loadstone disclosed magnetism and amber frictional electricity, so did Iceland spar show the existence of double refraction, and sulphate of quinine the phenomenon of fluorescence. When one such startling instance has drawn the attention of the scientific world, numerous less remarkable cases of the phenomenon will be detected, and it will probably prove that the property in question is actually universal to all matter. Nevertheless, the extreme instances retain their interest, partly in a historical point of view, partly because they furnish the most convenient substances for experiment.
Although substances usually differ only in degree, there’s often great interest in specific substances that show a property in a noticeable and intense way. Every608 branch of physical science has typically developed from the strong attention drawn to some unique substance. Just as lodestone revealed magnetism and amber revealed static electricity, Iceland spar demonstrated double refraction, and quinine sulfate showed fluorescence. When one such remarkable example captures the attention of the scientific community, many less impressive cases of the phenomenon will also be found, likely proving that the property is actually universal to all matter. Still, the extreme examples remain interesting, both from a historical perspective and because they offer the most convenient substances for experimentation.
Francis Bacon was fully aware of the value of such examples, which he called Ostensive Instances or Light-giving, Free and Predominant Instances. “They are those,” he says,495 “which show the nature under investigation naked, in an exalted condition, or in the highest degree of power; freed from impediments, or at least by its strength predominating over and suppressing them.” He mentions quicksilver as an ostensive instance of weight or density, thinking it not much less dense than gold, and more remarkable than gold as joining density to liquidity. The magnet is mentioned as an ostensive instance of attraction. It would not be easy to distinguish clearly between these ostensive instances and those which he calls Instantiae Monodicae, or Irregulares, or Heteroclitae, under which he places whatever is extravagant in its properties or magnitude, or exhibits least similarity to other things, such as the sun and moon among the heavenly bodies, the elephant among animals, the letter s among letters, or the magnet among stones.496
Francis Bacon recognized the importance of examples like these, which he referred to as Ostensive Instances or Light-giving, Free and Predominant Instances. “They are those,” he says,495 “that reveal the nature being studied in its purest form, at its highest power, free from obstacles, or at least with its strength overcoming and suppressing them.” He cites quicksilver as an ostensive instance of weight or density, considering it to be nearly as dense as gold, but more notable for combining density with liquidity. The magnet is also mentioned as an ostensive instance of attraction. It would be challenging to clearly differentiate between these ostensive instances and those he calls Instantiae Monodicae, or Irregulares, or Heteroclitae, under which he categorizes whatever is unusual in its properties or size, or shows little similarity to other things, like the sun and moon among celestial bodies, the elephant among animals, the letter s among letters, or the magnet among stones.496
In optical science great use has been made of the high dispersive power of the transparent compounds of lead, that is, the power of giving a long spectrum (p. 432). Dollond, having noticed this peculiar dispersive power in lenses made of flint glass, employed them to produce an achromatic arrangement. The element strontium presents a contrast to lead in this respect, being characterised by a remarkably low dispersive power; but I am not aware that this property has yet been turned to account.
In optical science, the high dispersive power of transparent lead compounds has been widely used, meaning their ability to create a long spectrum (p. 432). Dollond observed this unique dispersive power in flint glass lenses and used them to create an achromatic setup. Strontium, in contrast to lead, is known for its very low dispersive power; however, I'm not aware of this property being applied yet.
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Compounds of lead have both a high dispersive and a high refractive index, and in the latter respect they proved very useful to Faraday. Having spent much labour in preparing various kinds of optical glass, Faraday happened to form a compound of lead, silica, and boracic acid, now known as heavy glass, which possessed an intensely high refracting power. Many years afterwards in attempting to discover the action of magnetism upon light he failed to detect any effect, as has been already mentioned, (p. 588), until he happened to test a piece of the heavy glass. The peculiar refractive power of this medium caused the magnetic strain to be apparent, and the rotation of the plane of polarisation was discovered.
Compounds of lead have a high dispersive and refractive index, which made them very useful to Faraday. After putting in a lot of effort to create different types of optical glass, Faraday ended up making a compound of lead, silica, and boracic acid, now known as heavy glass, which had an exceptionally high refracting power. Years later, while trying to find out how magnetism affects light, he initially couldn’t detect any effects, as previously mentioned, (p. 588), until he decided to test a piece of the heavy glass. The unique refractive power of this material made the magnetic strain noticeable, leading to the discovery of the rotation of the plane of polarization.
In almost every part of physical science there is some substance of powers pre-eminent for the special purpose to which it is put. Rock-salt is invaluable for its extreme diathermancy or transparency to the least refrangible rays of the spectrum. Quartz is equally valuable for its transparency, as regards the ultra-violet or most refrangible rays. Diamond is the most highly refracting substance which is at the same time transparent; were it more abundant and easily worked it would be of great optical importance. Cinnabar is distinguished by possessing a power of rotating the plane of polarisation of light, from 15 to 17 times as much as quartz. In electric experiments copper is employed for its high conducting powers and exceedingly low magnetic properties; iron is of course indispensable for its enormous magnetic powers; while bismuth holds a like place as regards its diamagnetic powers, and was of much importance in Tyndall’s decisive researches upon the polar character of the diamagnetic force.497 In regard to magne-crystallic action the mineral cyanite is highly remarkable, being so powerfully affected by the earth’s magnetism, that, when delicately suspended, it assumes a constant position with regard to the magnetic meridian, and may almost be used like the compass needle. Sodium is distinguished by its unique light-giving powers, which are so extraordinary that probably one half of the whole number of stars in the heavens have a yellow tinge in consequence.
In almost every area of physical science, there's a substance that stands out for its specific purpose. Rock salt is invaluable due to its excellent diathermancy, or transparency to the least refrangible rays of the spectrum. Quartz is equally important for its transparency to ultraviolet or the most refrangible rays. Diamond is the most highly refracting substance that is also transparent; if it were more abundant and easier to work with, it would be very significant optically. Cinnabar is notable for its ability to rotate the plane of polarization of light, doing so 15 to 17 times more than quartz. In electrical experiments, copper is used for its high conductivity and very low magnetic properties; iron is essential for its massive magnetic capabilities; meanwhile, bismuth is significant for its diamagnetic properties and played a key role in Tyndall’s important research on the polar nature of diamagnetic force.497 Regarding magne-crystallic action, the mineral cyanite is particularly remarkable, being so strongly influenced by the earth’s magnetism that when delicately suspended, it maintains a constant alignment with the magnetic meridian and can almost function like a compass needle. Sodium is unique for its remarkable light-emitting abilities, which are so extraordinary that likely half of all the stars in the sky appear yellow as a result.
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It is remarkable that water, though the most common of all fluids, is distinguished in almost every respect by extreme qualities. Of all known substances water has the highest specific heat, being thus peculiarly fitted for the purpose of warming and cooling, to which it is often put. It rises by capillary attraction to a height more than twice that of any other liquid. In the state of ice it is nearly twice as dilatable by heat as any other known solid substance.498 In proportion to its density it has a far higher surface tension than any other substance, being surpassed in absolute tension only by mercury; and it would not be difficult to extend considerably the list of its remarkable and useful properties.
It’s impressive that water, despite being the most common fluid, stands out in almost every way with its extreme characteristics. Of all known substances, water has the highest specific heat, making it especially suited for heating and cooling, which it’s often used for. It rises through capillary action to a height more than twice that of any other liquid. When it’s ice, it expands nearly twice as much with heat as any other solid known.498 Relative to its density, it has a much higher surface tension than any other substance, with only mercury surpassing it in absolute tension; and it wouldn’t be hard to significantly add to the list of its amazing and useful properties.
Under extreme instances we may include cases of remarkably low powers or qualities. Such cases seem to correspond to what Bacon calls Clandestine Instances, which exhibit a given nature in the least intensity, and as it were in a rudimentary state.499 They may often be important, he thinks, as allowing the detection of the cause of the property by difference. I may add that in some cases they may be of use in experiments. Thus hydrogen is the least dense of all known substances, and has the least atomic weight. Liquefied nitrous oxide has the lowest refractive index of all known fluids.500 The compounds of strontium have the lowest dispersive power. It is obvious that a property of very low degree may prove as curious and valuable a phenomenon as a property of very high degree.
In extreme cases, we might consider examples of unusually low powers or qualities. These cases seem to match what Bacon refers to as Clandestine Instances, which show a particular nature at its least intensity, almost in a basic form.499 He believes they can often be significant because they help in identifying the cause of a property through comparison. I would add that they can also be useful in experiments. For example, hydrogen is the least dense of all known substances and has the lowest atomic weight. Liquefied nitrous oxide has the lowest refractive index of any known liquids.500 The compounds of strontium have the lowest dispersive power. It’s clear that a property with a very low degree can be just as interesting and valuable as a property with a very high degree.
The Detection of Continuity.
We should bear in mind that phenomena which are in reality of a closely similar or even identical nature, may present to the senses very different appearances. Without a careful analysis of the changes which take place, we may often be in danger of widely separating facts and processes, which are actually instances of the same law. Extreme difference of degree or magnitude is a frequent cause of611 error. It is truly difficult at the first moment to recognise any similarity between the gradual rusting of a piece of iron, and the rapid combustion of a heap of straw. Yet Lavoisier’s chemical theory was founded upon the similarity of the oxydising process in one case and the other. We have only to divide the iron into excessively small particles to discover that it is really the more combustible of the two, and that it actually takes fire spontaneously and burns like tinder. It is the excessive slowness of the process in the case of a massive piece of iron which disguises its real character.
We should remember that things that are actually very similar or even the same can appear quite different to our senses. Without carefully analyzing the changes that occur, we might easily mistake different facts and processes for ones that are unrelated when they actually follow the same principle. A significant difference in degree or size often leads to confusion. At first glance, it’s tough to see any connection between the slow rusting of a piece of iron and the quick burning of a pile of straw. However, Lavoisier’s chemical theory was based on the idea that the oxidation process in both cases is similar. If we break the iron into very small particles, we find that it is actually the more flammable of the two and can even ignite spontaneously, burning like tinder. It’s the extreme slowness of the process with a large piece of iron that hides its true nature.
If Xenophon reports truly, Socrates was misled by not making sufficient allowance for extreme differences of degree and quantity. Anaxagoras held that the sun is a fire, but Socrates rejected this opinion, on the ground that we can look at a fire, but not at the sun, and that plants grow by sunshine while they are killed by fire. He also pointed out that a stone heated in a fire is not luminous, and soon cools, whereas the sun ever remains equally luminous and hot.501 All such mistakes evidently arise from not perceiving that difference of quantity may be so extreme as to assume the appearance of difference of quality. It is the least creditable thing we know of Socrates, that after pointing out these supposed mistakes of earlier philosophers, he advised his followers not to study astronomy.
If Xenophon is correct, Socrates was misled by not considering the significant differences in degree and quantity. Anaxagoras claimed that the sun is a fire, but Socrates disagreed, arguing that we can see fire but not the sun, and that plants thrive in sunlight but perish in fire. He also noted that a stone heated in a fire doesn't give off light and cools quickly, while the sun always remains bright and hot.501 All these errors clearly stem from failing to recognize that differences in quantity can be so extreme that they appear to be differences in quality. It's not very flattering to Socrates that after pointing out these supposed errors of earlier philosophers, he advised his followers to avoid studying astronomy.
Masses of matter of very different size may be expected to exhibit apparent differences of conduct, arising from the various intensity of the forces brought into play. Many persons have thought it requisite to imagine occult forces producing the suspension of the clouds, and there have even been absurd theories representing cloud particles as minute water-balloons buoyed up by the warm air within them. But we have only to take proper account of the enormous comparative resistance which the air opposes to the fall of minute particles, to see that all cloud particles are probably constantly falling through the air, but so slowly that there is no apparent effect. Mineral matter again is always regarded as inert and incapable of spontaneous movement. We are struck by astonishment on observing in a powerful microscope, that every kind of solid matter suspended in612 extremely minute particles in pure water, acquires an oscillatory movement, often so marked as to resemble dancing or skipping. I conceive that this movement is due to the comparatively vast intensity of chemical action when exerted upon minute particles, the effect being 5,000 or 10,000 greater in proportion to the mass than in fragments of an inch diameter (p. 406).
Large amounts of matter of different sizes can be expected to show clear differences in behavior due to the varying strengths of the forces at play. Many people have felt the need to suggest hidden forces that cause clouds to hover, and there have even been ridiculous theories claiming that cloud particles are tiny water balloons lifted by the warm air inside them. However, if we consider the significant resistance that air offers against the fall of tiny particles, it's clear that all cloud particles are likely always falling through the air, but at such a slow rate that we don’t notice it. Mineral matter is typically seen as inactive and incapable of moving on its own. It's impressive to observe under a powerful microscope that any kind of solid matter suspended in extremely tiny particles in pure water develops an oscillatory motion, often so pronounced that it looks like dancing or skipping. I believe this movement is caused by the relatively strong intensity of chemical action when it acts on tiny particles, with the effect being 5,000 or 10,000 times greater in relation to the mass than in pieces that are an inch in diameter (p. 406).
Much that was formerly obscure in the science of electricity arose from the extreme differences of intensity and quantity in which this form of energy manifests itself. Between the brilliant explosive discharge of a thunder-cloud and the gentle continuous current produced by two pieces of metal and some dilute acid, there is no apparent analogy whatever. It was therefore a work of great importance when Faraday demonstrated the identity of the forces in action, showing that common frictional electricity would decompose water like that from the voltaic battery. The relation of the phenomena became plain when he succeeded in showing that it would require 800,000 discharges of his large Leyden battery to decompose one single grain of water. Lightning was now seen to be electricity of excessively high tension, but extremely small quantity, the difference being somewhat analogous to that between the force of one million gallons of water falling through one foot, and one gallon of water falling through one million feet. Faraday estimated that one grain of water acting on four grains of zinc, would yield electricity enough for a great thunderstorm.
A lot of what used to be unclear in the science of electricity came from the huge differences in intensity and quantity in which this form of energy appears. There’s no clear similarity between the intense, explosive discharge of a thundercloud and the gentle, steady current created by two pieces of metal and some diluted acid. So, it was a significant achievement when Faraday proved that the forces at play were the same, showing that regular static electricity could break down water just like electricity from a voltaic battery. The relationship of the phenomena became clear when he demonstrated that it would take 800,000 discharges from his large Leyden battery to separate just one grain of water. Lightning began to be understood as electricity with extremely high tension but very small quantity, which is somewhat like comparing the force of one million gallons of water falling one foot to one gallon of water falling one million feet. Faraday estimated that just one grain of water acting on four grains of zinc could produce enough electricity for a major thunderstorm.
It was long believed that electrical conductors and insulators belonged to two opposed classes of substances. Between the inconceivable rapidity with which the current passes through pure copper wire, and the apparently complete manner in which it is stopped by a thin partition of gutta-percha or gum-lac, there seemed to be no resemblance. Faraday again laboured successfully to show that these were but the extreme cases of a chain of substances varying in all degrees in their powers of conduction. Even the best conductors, such as pure copper or silver, offer resistance to the electric current. The other metals have considerably higher powers of resistance, and we pass gradually down through oxides and sulphides. The best insulators, on the other hand, allow of an atomic induction613 which is the necessary antecedent of conduction. Hence Faraday inferred that whether we can measure the effect or not, all substances discharge electricity more or less.502 One consequence of this doctrine must be, that every discharge of electricity produces an induced current. In the case of the common galvanic current we can readily detect the induced current in any parallel wire or other neighbouring conductor, and can separate the opposite currents which arise at the moments when the original current begins and ends. But a discharge of high tension electricity like lightning, though it certainly occupies time and has a beginning and an end, yet lasts so minute a fraction of a second, that it would be hopeless to attempt to detect and separate the two opposite induced currents, which are nearly simultaneous and exactly neutralise each other. Thus an apparent failure of analogy is explained away, and we are furnished with another instance of a phenomenon incapable of observation and yet theoretically known to exist.503
It was long thought that electrical conductors and insulators belonged to two completely different types of materials. Between the incredibly fast speed at which electrical current flows through pure copper wire and the seemingly complete way it is stopped by a thin layer of gutta-percha or gum-lac, there appeared to be no similarities. Faraday worked hard to demonstrate that these were just the extremes of a range of substances that differ in their ability to conduct electricity. Even the best conductors, like pure copper or silver, still resist electric current. Other metals have significantly higher resistance, and we gradually move down through oxides and sulfides. The best insulators, on the other hand, allow for atomic induction, which is a necessary precursor to conduction. Therefore, Faraday concluded that whether we can measure the effect or not, all substances discharge electricity to some degree. One implication of this theory is that every discharge of electricity creates an induced current. In the case of a regular galvanic current, we can easily detect the induced current in any nearby wire or conductor and can isolate the opposing currents that occur when the original current starts and stops. However, a discharge of high-voltage electricity like lightning, although it definitely has a duration with a start and end, lasts such a brief moment that it's almost impossible to detect and separate the two opposing induced currents, which happen nearly simultaneously and cancel each other out. Thus, a seeming lack of analogy is clarified, and we are presented with another example of a phenomenon that cannot be observed but is theoretically understood to exist.
Perhaps the most extraordinary case of the detection of unsuspected continuity is found in the discovery of Cagniard de la Tour and Professor Andrews, that the liquid and gaseous conditions of matter are only remote points in a continuous course of change. Nothing is at first sight more apparently distinct than the physical condition of water and aqueous vapour. At the boiling-point there is an entire breach of continuity, and the gas produced is subject to laws incomparably more simple than the liquid from which it arose. But Cagniard de la Tour showed that if we maintain a liquid under sufficient pressure its boiling point may be indefinitely raised, and yet the liquid will ultimately assume the gaseous condition with but a small increase of volume. Professor Andrews, recently following out this course of inquiry, has shown that liquid carbonic acid may, at a particular temperature (30°·92 C.), and under the pressure of 74 atmospheres, be at the same time in a state indistinguishable from that of liquid and gas. At higher pressures carbonic acid may be made to pass from a palpably liquid state to a truly gaseous state without614 any abrupt change whatever. As the pressure is greater the abruptness of the change from liquid to gas gradually decreases, and finally vanishes. Similar phenomena or an approximation to them have been observed in other liquids, and there is little doubt that we may make a wide generalisation, and assert that, under adequate pressure, every liquid might be made to pass into a gas without breach of continuity.504 The liquid state, moreover, is considered by Professor Andrews to be but an intermediate step between the solid and gaseous conditions. There are various indications that the process of melting is not perfectly abrupt; and could experiments be made under adequate pressures, it is believed that every solid could be made to pass by insensible degrees into the state of liquid, and subsequently into that of gas.
Perhaps the most remarkable case of detecting unexpected continuity is found in the discovery by Cagniard de la Tour and Professor Andrews that the liquid and gaseous states of matter are just distant points in a continuous process of change. At first glance, the physical states of water and water vapor seem very distinct. At the boiling point, there seems to be a complete break in continuity, and the gas produced follows rules that are much simpler than those governing the liquid from which it formed. However, Cagniard de la Tour demonstrated that if we maintain a liquid under enough pressure, its boiling point can be raised indefinitely, and the liquid will eventually turn into gas with only a slight increase in volume. Professor Andrews, who has recently continued this line of inquiry, has shown that liquid carbonic acid, at a specific temperature (30°·92 C) and under a pressure of 74 atmospheres, can exist in a state that is indistinguishable from both liquid and gas. At higher pressures, carbonic acid can transition from a clearly liquid state to a genuinely gaseous state without any sudden change at all. As the pressure increases, the abruptness of the change from liquid to gas gradually diminishes and eventually disappears. Similar phenomena, or approximations of them, have been observed in other liquids, and it’s very likely that we can make a broad generalization, claiming that, under sufficient pressure, every liquid could be made to turn into a gas without any break in continuity. The liquid state, furthermore, is viewed by Professor Andrews as just a transitional phase between solid and gaseous states. There are various signs that the melting process is not perfectly sudden, and if experiments could be conducted under sufficient pressures, it is believed that every solid could gradually transition into a liquid state and then into a gas.
These discoveries appear to open the way to most important and fundamental generalisations, but it is probable that in many other cases phenomena now regarded as discrete may be shown to be different degrees of the same process. Graham was of opinion that chemical affinity differs but in degree from the ordinary attraction which holds different particles of a body together. He found that sulphuric acid continued to evolve heat when mixed even with the fiftieth equivalent of water, so that there seemed to be no distinct limit to chemical affinity. He concludes, “There is reason to believe that chemical affinity passes in its lowest degree into the attraction of aggregation.”505
These discoveries seem to pave the way for important and fundamental generalizations, but it's likely that in many other instances, phenomena currently seen as separate may actually be different levels of the same process. Graham believed that chemical affinity is just a matter of degree compared to the regular attraction that keeps different particles of a substance together. He found that sulfuric acid kept releasing heat even when mixed with the fiftieth amount of water, suggesting there’s no clear limit to chemical affinity. He concludes, “There’s reason to believe that chemical affinity transitions in its lowest form into the attraction of aggregation.”505
The atomic theory is well established, but its limits are not marked out. As Grove points out, we may by selecting sufficiently high multipliers express any combination or mixture of elements in terms of their equivalent weights.506 Sir W. Thomson has suggested that the power which vegetable fibre, oatmeal, and other substances possess of attracting and condensing aqueous vapour is probably continuous, or, in fact, identical with capillary attraction, which is capable of interfering with the pressure of aqueous vapour and aiding its condensation.507 There are many cases of so-called catalytic or surface action, such as the extraordinary615 power of animal charcoal for attracting organic matter, or of spongy platinum for condensing hydrogen, which can only be considered as exalted cases of a more general power of attraction. The number of substances which are decomposed by light in a striking manner is very limited; but many other substances, such as vegetable colours, are affected by long exposure; on the principle of continuity we might expect to find that all kinds of matter are more or less susceptible of change by the incidence of light rays.508 It is the opinion of Grove that wherever an electric current passes there is a tendency to decomposition, a strain on the molecules, which when sufficiently intense leads to disruption. Even a metallic conducting wire may be regarded as tending to decomposition. Davy was probably correct in describing electricity as chemical affinity acting on masses, or rather, as Grove suggests, creating a disturbance through a chain of particles.509 Laplace went so far as to suggest that all chemical phenomena may be results of the Newtonian law of attraction, applied to atoms of various mass and position; but the time is probably far distant when the progress of molecular philosophy and of mathematical methods will enable such a generalisation to be verified or refuted.
The atomic theory is well established, but its boundaries are not clearly defined. As Grove points out, by choosing sufficiently high multipliers, we can express any combination or mixture of elements in terms of their equivalent weights.506 Sir W. Thomson has suggested that the ability of plant fibers, oatmeal, and other substances to attract and condense water vapor is likely continuous, or essentially the same as capillary attraction, which can interfere with the pressure of water vapor and help with its condensation.507 There are many instances of so-called catalytic or surface action, like the remarkable615 ability of animal charcoal to attract organic matter, or spongy platinum to condense hydrogen, which can only be seen as heightened examples of a more general power of attraction. The number of substances that are significantly decomposed by light is quite limited; however, many other substances, like plant pigments, can be affected by prolonged exposure. Based on the principle of continuity, we might expect that all kinds of matter are somewhat susceptible to change from light rays.508 Grove believes that wherever an electric current flows, there is a tendency for decomposition, a strain on the molecules that, when intense enough, results in disruption. Even a metallic wire can be seen as tending toward decomposition. Davy was likely correct in describing electricity as chemical affinity acting on masses, or rather, as Grove suggests, creating a disturbance through a chain of particles.509 Laplace even suggested that all chemical phenomena might be results of the Newtonian law of attraction applied to atoms of different mass and position; however, it’s probably a long way off before the advancements in molecular philosophy and mathematical methods will allow such a generalization to be proven or disproven.
The Law of Continuity.
Under the title of the Law of Continuity we may place many applications of the general principle of reasoning, that what is true of one case will be true of similar cases, and probably true of what are probably similar. Whenever we find that a law or similarity is rigorously fulfilled up to a certain point in time or space, we expect with a high degree of probability that it will continue to be fulfilled at least a little further. If we see part only of a circle, we naturally expect that the circular form will be continued in the part hidden from us. If a body has moved uniformly over a certain space, we expect that it will continue to move uniformly. The ground of such inferences is doubtless identical with that of other inductive inferences.616 In continuous motion every infinitely small space passed over constitutes a separate constituent fact, and had we perfect powers of observation the smallest finite motion would include an infinity of information, which, by the principles of the inverse method of probabilities, would enable us to infer with certainty to the next infinitely small portion of the path. But when we attempt to infer from one finite portion of a path to another finite portion, inference will be only more or less probable, according to the comparative lengths of the portions and the accuracy of observation; the longer our experience is, the more probable our inference will be; the greater the length of time or space over which the inference extends, the less probable.
Under the title of the Law of Continuity, we can include many applications of the general principle of reasoning that what is true for one case will also be true for similar cases, and likely true for cases that are probably similar. Whenever we find that a law or similarity holds strictly up to a certain point in time or space, we expect with a high degree of probability that it will continue to hold at least a bit further. If we see only part of a circle, we naturally expect that the circular form will continue in the part that’s hidden from us. If an object has moved uniformly over a certain distance, we expect it to keep moving uniformly. The basis for such inferences is undoubtedly the same as that for other inductive inferences.616 In continuous motion, every infinitely small segment passed over represents a separate fact, and if we had perfect powers of observation, even the smallest finite motion would contain an infinity of information, which, according to the principles of the inverse method of probabilities, would allow us to infer with certainty to the next infinitely small section of the path. However, when we try to infer from one finite section of a path to another finite section, the inference will be only more or less probable, depending on the relative lengths of the sections and the accuracy of our observations; the longer our experience, the more probable our inference will be; the greater the length of time or space over which the inference extends, the less probable it becomes.
This principle of continuity presents itself in nature in a great variety of forms and cases. It is familiarly expressed in the dictum Natura non agit per saltum. As Graham expressed the maxim, there are in nature no abrupt transitions, and the distinctions of class are never absolute.510 There is always some notice—some forewarning of every phenomenon, and every change begins by insensible degrees, could we observe it with perfect accuracy. The cannon ball, indeed, is forced from the cannon in an inappreciable portion of time; the trigger is pulled, the fuze fired, the powder inflamed, the ball expelled, all simultaneously to our senses. But there is no doubt that time is occupied by every part of the process, and that the ball begins to move at first with infinite slowness. Captain Noble is able to measure by his chronoscope the progress of the shot in a 300-pounder gun, and finds that the whole motion within the barrel takes place in something less than one 200th part of a second. It is certain that no finite force can produce motion, except in a finite space of time. The amount of momentum communicated to a body is proportional to the accelerating force multiplied by the time during which it acts uniformly. Thus a slight force produces a great velocity only by long-continued action. In a powerful shock, like that of a railway collision, the stroke of a hammer on an anvil, or the discharge of a gun, the617 time is very short, and therefore the accelerating forces brought into play are exceedingly great, but never infinite. In the case of a large gun the powder in exploding is said to exert for a moment a force equivalent to at least 2,800,000 horses.
This principle of continuity shows up in nature in many different forms and situations. It’s commonly summed up in the saying Natura non agit per saltum. As Graham put it, there are no sudden changes in nature, and class distinctions aren’t absolute.510 There’s always some indication—some warning—of every phenomenon, and every change starts gradually, if we could observe it with perfect accuracy. The cannonball is indeed shot out of the cannon in a nearly imperceptible moment of time; the trigger is pulled, the fuse ignites, the gunpowder explodes, and the ball is launched, all at once to our senses. But it's clear that every part of the process takes some time, and the ball begins to move initially at an extremely slow pace. Captain Noble can measure the progress of a shot from a 300-pounder cannon with his chronoscope and finds that the entire motion in the barrel happens in just under one two-hundredth of a second. It’s certain that no limited force can create motion without taking a finite amount of time. The amount of momentum given to an object depends on the accelerating force multiplied by the time it acts uniformly. So a small force can result in a high speed only through prolonged action. In a powerful impact, like a train collision, the blow of a hammer on an anvil, or the firing of a gun, the time is very brief, and as a result, the accelerating forces involved are extremely high, but never infinite. With a large cannon, the exploding gunpowder is said to generate a force equivalent to at least 2,800,000 horses for a moment.
Our belief in some of the fundamental laws of nature rests upon the principle of continuity. Galileo is held to be the first philosopher who consciously employed this principle in his arguments concerning the nature of motion, and it is certain that we can never by mere experience assure ourselves of the truth even of the first law of motion. A material particle, we are told, when not acted on by extraneous forces will continue in the same state of rest or motion. This may be true, but as we can find no body which is free from the action of extraneous causes, how are we to prove it? Only by observing that the less the amount of those forces the more nearly is the law found to be true. A ball rolled along rough ground is soon stopped; along a smooth pavement it continues longer in movement. A delicately suspended pendulum is almost free from friction against its supports, but it is gradually stopped by the resistance of the air; place it in the vacuous receiver of an air-pump and we find the motion much prolonged. A large planet like Jupiter experiences almost infinitely less friction, in comparison to its vast momentum, than we can produce experimentally, and we find in such a case that there is not the least evidence of the falsity of the law. Experience, then, informs us that we may approximate indefinitely to a uniform motion by sufficiently decreasing the disturbing forces. It is an act of inference which enables us to travel on beyond experience, and assert that, in the total absence of any extraneous force, motion would be absolutely uniform. The state of rest, again, is a limiting case in which motion is infinitely small or zero, to which we may attain, on the principle of continuity, by successively considering cases of slower and slower motion. There are many classes of phenomena, in which, by gradually passing from the apparent to the obscure, we can assure ourselves of the nature of phenomena which would otherwise be a matter of great doubt. Thus we can sufficiently prove in the manner of Galileo, that a musical sound consists of rapid uniform pulses, by causing strokes618 to be made at intervals which we gradually diminish until the separate strokes coalesce into a uniform hum or note. With great advantage we approach, as Tyndall says, the sonorous through the grossly mechanical. In listening to a great organ we cannot fail to perceive that the longest pipes, or their partial tones, produce a tremor and fluttering of the building. At the other extremity of the scale, there is no fixed limit to the acuteness of sounds which we can hear; some individuals can hear sounds too shrill for other ears, and as there is nothing in the nature of the atmosphere to prevent the existence of undulations far more rapid than any of which we are conscious, we may infer, by the principle of continuity, that such undulations probably exist.
Our belief in some of the fundamental laws of nature is based on the principle of continuity. Galileo is considered the first philosopher who intentionally used this principle in his discussions about motion, and it’s clear that we can never rely solely on experience to confirm the truth of even the first law of motion. A material particle, we’re told, when not acted on by external forces will continue in the same state of rest or motion. This might be true, but since we can't find any object that is entirely free from external influences, how can we prove it? We can only observe that the less those forces act on an object, the more accurately the law holds true. A ball rolled on rough ground quickly stops, while on smooth pavement, it continues moving for a longer time. A delicately suspended pendulum experiences almost no friction from its supports, but it is gradually slowed down by air resistance; place it inside a vacuum pump and we see its motion lasts much longer. A large planet like Jupiter encounters almost infinitely less friction compared to its massive momentum than we can replicate in experiments, and in such a case, there’s no evidence that the law is false. Therefore, experience tells us that we can get closer to uniform motion by significantly reducing the disturbing forces. It is through inference that we can go beyond direct experience and claim that in the complete absence of external forces, motion would be perfectly uniform. The state of rest is simply a case where motion is incredibly small or zero, which we can reach, based on the principle of continuity, by progressively considering cases of slower and slower movement. There are many types of phenomena where, by gradually moving from the obvious to the subtle, we can understand things that would otherwise be very uncertain. For instance, we can adequately show, in the manner of Galileo, that a musical sound is made up of rapid, uniform pulses by making strikes at intervals that we gradually decrease until the individual strikes blend into a smooth hum or note. As Tyndall suggests, we can effectively connect the audible to the mechanical. When listening to a large organ, we're sure to notice that the longest pipes or their partial tones create a vibration and fluttering in the building. At the other end of the scale, there is no fixed limit to how high of sounds we can hear; some people can perceive sounds that are too high-pitched for others, and since there’s nothing about the atmosphere that prevents the existence of waves much faster than what we normally sense, we can conclude, based on the principle of continuity, that such waves probably exist.
There are many habitual actions which we perform we know not how. So rapidly are acts of minds accomplished that analysis seems impossible. We can only investigate them when in process of formation, observing that the best formed habit is slowly and continuously acquired, and it is in the early stages that we can perceive the rationale of the process.
There are many routine actions we do without realizing how. The way our minds work is so quick that it feels impossible to break it down. We can only look into them while they're being formed, noticing that the well-developed habits take time and steady effort to build. It's in the early stages that we can actually see how this process works.
Let it be observed that this principle of continuity must be held of much weight only in exact physical laws, those which doubtless repose ultimately upon the simple laws of motion. If we fearlessly apply the principle to all kinds of phenomena, we may often be right in our inferences, but also often wrong. Thus, before the development of spectrum analysis, astronomers had observed that the more they increased the powers of their telescopes the more nebulæ they could resolve into distinct stars. This result had been so often found true that they almost irresistibly assumed that all nebulæ would be ultimately resolved by telescopes of sufficient power; yet Huggins has in recent years proved by the spectroscope, that certain nebulæ are actually gaseous, and in a truly nebulous state.
It's important to note that this principle of continuity should be considered significant mainly in precise physical laws, which clearly rest on the basic laws of motion. If we confidently apply this principle to various phenomena, we may often draw accurate conclusions, but we can also be mistaken. For instance, before the advent of spectrum analysis, astronomers noticed that as they enhanced the power of their telescopes, they could resolve more nebulae into individual stars. This observation was so consistently true that they nearly universally assumed that all nebulae would eventually be resolved with sufficiently powerful telescopes. However, in recent years, Huggins has demonstrated through spectroscopy that certain nebulae are, in fact, gaseous and remain genuinely nebulous.
The principle of continuity must have been continually employed in the inquiries of Galileo, Newton, and other experimental philosophers, but it appears to have been distinctly formulated for the first time by Leibnitz. He at least claims to have first spoken of “the law of continuity” in a letter to Bayle, printed in the Nouvelles de la République des Lettres, an extract from which is given in Erdmann’s edition of Leibnitz’s works, p. 104, under the619 title “Sur un Principe Général utile à l’explication des Lois de la Nature.”511 It has indeed been asserted that the doctrine of the latens processus of Francis Bacon involves the principle of continuity,512 but I think that this doctrine, like that of the natures of substances, is merely a vague statement of the principle of causation.
The principle of continuity must have been consistently used in the research of Galileo, Newton, and other experimental thinkers, but it seems to have been clearly articulated for the first time by Leibnitz. He at least claims to have been the first to mention "the law of continuity" in a letter to Bayle, published in the Nouvelles de la République des Lettres, an excerpt of which can be found in Erdmann’s edition of Leibnitz’s works, p. 104, under the619 title “Sur un Principe Général utile à l’explication des Lois de la Nature.”511 It has indeed been claimed that the doctrine of the latens processus by Francis Bacon includes the principle of continuity,512 but I believe that this doctrine, much like the concept of the natures of substances, is simply a vague expression of the principle of causation.
Failure of the Law of Continuity.
There are certain cautions which must be given as to the application of the principle of continuity. In the first place, where this principle really holds true, it may seem to fail owing to our imperfect means of observation. Though a physical law may not admit of perfectly abrupt change, there is no limit to the approach which it may make to abruptness. When we warm a piece of very cold ice, the absorption of heat, the temperature, and the dilatation of the ice vary according to apparently simple laws until we come to the zero of the Centigrade scale. Everything is then changed; an enormous absorption of heat takes place without any rise of temperature, and the volume of the ice decreases as it changes into water. Unless carefully investigated, this change appears to be perfectly abrupt; but accurate observation seems to show that there is a certain forewarning; the ice does not turn into water all at once, but through a small fraction of a degree the change is gradual. All the phenomena concerned, if measured very exactly, would be represented not by angular lines, but continuous curves, undergoing rapid flexures; and we may probably assert with safety that between whatever points of temperature we examine ice, there would be found some indication, though almost infinitesimally small, of the apparently abrupt change which was to occur at a higher temperature. It might also be pointed out that the important and apparently simple physical laws, such as those of Boyle and Mariotte, Dalton and Gay-Lussac, &c., are only approximately true, and the divergences from the simple laws are forewarnings of abrupt changes, which would otherwise break the law of continuity.
There are some important cautions to keep in mind when applying the principle of continuity. First, where this principle truly applies, it may appear to fail due to our limited ability to observe. Although a physical law may not allow for completely sudden changes, there’s no limit to how close it can get to suddenness. When we warm a very cold piece of ice, the absorption of heat, temperature, and expansion of the ice change according to seemingly simple laws until we reach zero on the Celsius scale. At that point, everything changes; a large amount of heat is absorbed without any increase in temperature, and the ice shrinks as it turns into water. If we don't look closely, this change seems completely sudden; however, careful observation suggests that there is a kind of warning sign; the ice doesn’t transform into water all at once, but rather, over a very small range of temperature, the change is gradual. If all the related phenomena were measured very precisely, they would be represented not by straight lines, but by continuous curves with rapid bends. We can likely assert with some confidence that between any temperature points we examine ice, there would be some indication, even if extremely tiny, of the seemingly sudden change that would occur at a higher temperature. Additionally, it’s worth noting that important and seemingly straightforward physical laws, like those of Boyle and Mariotte, Dalton and Gay-Lussac, etc., are only roughly accurate, and the discrepancies from these simple laws serve as warnings of sudden changes, which would otherwise disrupt the law of continuity.
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Secondly, it must be remembered that mathematical laws of some complexity will probably present singular cases or negative results, which may bear the appearance of discontinuity, as when the law of retraction suddenly yields us with perfect abruptness the phenomenon of total internal reflection. In the undulatory theory, however, there is no real change of law between refraction and reflection. Faraday in the earlier part of his career found so many substances possessing magnetic power, that he ventured on a great generalisation, and asserted that all bodies shared in the magnetic property of iron. His mistake, as he afterwards discovered, consisted in overlooking the fact that though magnetic in a certain sense, some substances have negative magnetism, and are repelled instead of being attracted by the magnet.
Secondly, it should be noted that complex mathematical laws may show unusual cases or negative outcomes, which could seem like a discontinuity, as seen when the law of retraction suddenly demonstrates the phenomenon of total internal reflection. In the wave theory, however, there is no actual change in the law between refraction and reflection. Early in his career, Faraday found so many materials with magnetic properties that he boldly generalized that all bodies had some level of magnetism like iron. His error, as he later realized, was failing to recognize that while some materials have magnetic properties in a certain way, they can also have negative magnetism and are repelled by a magnet rather than attracted to it.
Thirdly, where we might expect to find a uniform mathematical law prevailing, the law may undergo abrupt change at singular points, and actual discontinuity may arise. We may sometimes be in danger of treating under one law phenomena which really belong to different laws. For instance, a spherical shell of uniform matter attracts an external particle of matter with a force varying inversely as the square of the distance from the centre of the sphere. But this law only holds true so long as the particle is external to the shell. Within the shell the law is wholly different, and the aggregate gravity of the sphere becomes zero, the force in every direction being neutralised by an exactly equal opposite force. If an infinitely small particle be in the superficies of a sphere, the law is again different, and the attractive power of the shell is half what it would be with regard to particles infinitely close to the surface of the shell. Thus in approaching the centre of a shell from a distance, the force of gravity shows double discontinuity in passing through the shell.513
Thirdly, where we might expect to encounter a consistent mathematical law, that law can abruptly change at specific points, leading to actual discontinuity. We might sometimes mistakenly apply one law to phenomena that actually belong to different laws. For example, a spherical shell of uniform matter attracts an external particle with a force that varies inversely with the square of the distance from the center of the sphere. However, this law only applies as long as the particle is outside the shell. Inside the shell, the law is completely different, and the overall gravity of the sphere becomes zero, with the force in every direction balanced by an equal and opposite force. If an infinitely small particle is on the surface of the sphere, the law changes again, and the attractive force of the shell is half of what it would be for particles extremely close to the shell's surface. Therefore, as one approaches the center of the shell from a distance, the force of gravity exhibits double discontinuity when passing through the shell.513
It may admit of question, too, whether discontinuity is really unknown in nature. We perpetually do meet with events which are real breaks upon the previous law, though the discontinuity may be a sign that some independent cause has come into operation. If the ordinary course of621 the tides is interrupted by an enormous irregular wave, we attribute it to an earthquake, or some gigantic natural disturbance. If a meteoric stone falls upon a person and kills him, it is clearly a discontinuity in his life, of which he could have had no anticipation. A sudden sound may pass through the air neither preceded nor followed by any continuous effect. Although, then, we may regard the Law of Continuity as a principle of nature holding rigorously true in many of the relations of natural forces, it seems to be a matter of difficulty to assign the limits within which the law is verified. Much caution is required in its application.
It might also be questionable whether discontinuity is truly absent in nature. We constantly encounter events that break the previous patterns, although this discontinuity might indicate that some independent cause has come into play. If the usual flow of the tides is disrupted by a massive irregular wave, we link it to an earthquake or some other major natural disturbance. When a meteorite strikes and kills someone, it's clearly an interruption in their life that they couldn't have anticipated. A sudden sound can travel through the air without being preceded or followed by any continuous effect. Thus, while we can view the Law of Continuity as a principle of nature that reliably applies to many aspects of natural forces, it seems challenging to determine the boundaries within which the law holds true. We need to be very careful in how we apply it.
Negative Arguments on the Principle of Continuity.
Upon the principle of continuity we may sometimes found arguments of great force which prove an hypothesis to be impossible, because it would involve a continual repetition of a process ad infinitum, or else a purely arbitrary breach at some point. Bonnet’s famous theory of reproduction represented every living creature as containing germs which were perfect representatives of the next generation, so that on the same principle they necessarily included germs of the next generation, and so on indefinitely. The theory was sufficiently refuted when once clearly stated, as in the following poem called the Universe,514 by Henry Baker:—
Based on the principle of continuity, we can often build strong arguments that prove a hypothesis impossible, either because it requires a never-ending repetition of a process ad infinitum or necessitates an entirely arbitrary interruption at some point. Bonnet’s well-known theory of reproduction depicted every living being as containing germs that were perfect representatives of the next generation. Thus, following the same principle, they inherently included germs of the subsequent generation, and this continued indefinitely. The theory was sufficiently disproven once it was clearly articulated, as shown in the following poem called the Universe,514 by Henry Baker:—
The general principle of inference, that what we know of one case must be true of similar cases, so far as they are similar, prevents our asserting anything which we cannot apply time after time under the same circumstances.622 On this principle Stevinus beautifully demonstrated that weights resting on two inclined planes and balancing each other must be proportional to the lengths of the planes between their apex and a horizontal plane. He imagined a uniform endless chain to be hung over the planes, and to hang below in a symmetrical festoon. If the chain were ever to move by gravity, there would be the same reason for its moving on for ever, and thus producing a perpetual motion. As this is absurd, the portions of the chain lying on the planes, and equal in length to the planes, must balance each other. On similar grounds we may disprove the existence of any self-moving machine; for if it could once alter its own state of motion or rest, in however small a degree, there is no reason why it should not do the like time after time ad infinitum. Newton’s proof of his third law of motion, in the case of gravity, is of this character. For he remarks that if two gravitating bodies do not exert exactly equal forces in opposite directions, the one exerting the strongest pull will carry both away, and the two bodies will move off into space together with velocity increasing ad infinitum. But though the argument might seem sufficiently convincing, Newton in his characteristic way made an experiment with a loadstone and iron floated upon the surface of water.515 In recent years the very foundation of the principle of conservation of energy has been placed on the assumption that it is impossible by any combination of natural bodies to produce force continually from nothing.516 The principle admits of application in various subtle forms.
The basic principle of inference, that what we understand from one case should also apply to similar cases, as long as they are alike, prevents us from claiming anything we can't apply repeatedly under the same conditions.622 Based on this principle, Stevinus elegantly demonstrated that weights resting on two inclined planes and balancing each other must be proportional to the lengths of the planes between their peak and a horizontal plane. He imagined a uniform endless chain hung over the planes, creating a symmetrical droop below. If the chain were to move due to gravity, it would continue moving indefinitely, leading to perpetual motion. Since this is impossible, the sections of the chain on the planes, equal in length to the planes, must balance each other. Similarly, we can disprove the existence of any self-moving machine; if it could ever change its own state of motion or rest, even slightly, there’s no reason it wouldn’t do so repeatedly ad infinitum. Newton’s proof of his third law of motion regarding gravity follows this logic. He notes that if two gravitating bodies do not exert exactly equal forces in opposite directions, the one with the stronger pull will carry both away, causing them to move off into space together with increasing velocity ad infinitum. Although this argument seems quite convincing, Newton, being true to form, conducted an experiment with a loadstone and iron floating on the water’s surface.515 Recently, the very foundation of the principle of conservation of energy has been based on the idea that it's impossible to produce force continuously from nothing using any combination of natural bodies.516 This principle can be applied in various subtle ways.
Lucretius attempted to prove, by a most ingenious argument of this kind, that matter must be indestructible. For if a finite quantity, however small, were to fall out of existence in any finite time, an equal quantity might be supposed to lapse in every equal interval of time, so that in the infinity of past time the universe must have ceased to exist.517 But the argument, however ingenious, seems to fail at several points. If past time be infinite, why may not matter have been created infinite also? It would be most reasonable, again, to suppose the matter623 destroyed in any time to be proportional to the matter then remaining, and not to the original quantity; under this hypothesis even a finite quantity of original matter could never wholly disappear from the universe. For like reasons we cannot hold that the doctrine of the conservation of energy is really proved, or can ever be proved to be absolutely true, however probable it may be regarded.
Lucretius tried to prove, with a very clever argument, that matter must be indestructible. If a finite amount of matter, no matter how small, were to stop existing in any finite period of time, then an equal amount might also be assumed to vanish in every equal time interval, meaning that over the endless expanse of the past, the universe would have had to cease to exist.517 However, the argument, despite its cleverness, seems to break down at several points. If the past is infinite, why couldn’t matter have been created infinitely as well? It also seems more reasonable to assume that the amount of matter destroyed in any period of time is proportional to the amount of matter that remains, rather than the original amount; under this assumption, even a finite amount of original matter could never completely disappear from the universe. For similar reasons, we can't claim that the principle of energy conservation is truly proven, or that it can ever be absolutely proven to be true, no matter how likely it may seem.
Tendency to Hasty Generalisation.
In spite of all the powers and advantages of generalisation, men require no incitement to generalise; they are too apt to draw hasty and ill-considered inferences. As Francis Bacon said, our intellects want not wings, but rather weights of lead to moderate their course.518 The process is inevitable to the human mind; it begins with childhood and lasts through the second childhood. The child that has once been hurt fears the like result on all similar occasions, and can with difficulty be made to distinguish between case and case. It is caution and discrimination in the adoption of conclusions that we have chiefly to learn, and the whole experience of life is one continued lesson to this effect. Baden Powell has excellently described this strong natural propensity to hasty inference, and the fondness of the human mind for tracing resemblances real or fanciful. “Our first inductions,” he says,519 “are always imperfect and inconclusive; we advance towards real evidence by successive approximations; and accordingly we find false generalisation the besetting error of most first attempts at scientific research. The faculty to generalise accurately and philosophically requires large caution and long training, and is not fully attained, especially in reference to more general views, even by some who may properly claim the title of very accurate scientific observers in a more limited field. It is an intellectual habit which acquires immense and accumulating force from the contemplation of wider analogies.”
Despite all the benefits and strengths of generalization, people don’t need any encouragement to generalize; they tend to jump to quick, poorly thought-out conclusions. As Francis Bacon said, our minds don’t need wings, but rather weights of lead to keep them grounded.518 This process is unavoidable for the human mind; it starts in childhood and continues into old age. A child who has been hurt once is likely to fear similar outcomes in the future and has a hard time distinguishing between different situations. What we primarily need to learn is caution and discernment when it comes to drawing conclusions, and the entirety of life teaches us this lesson continuously. Baden Powell has described this strong natural tendency towards hasty conclusions and the human mind’s inclination to find real or imagined similarities very well. “Our first inductions,” he states,519 “are always imperfect and inconclusive; we move towards real evidence through successive approximations; thus, we find that false generalization is a common mistake in most initial attempts at scientific research. The ability to generalize accurately and philosophically requires significant caution and extensive training, and it’s not fully achieved, especially regarding broader perspectives, even by those who can rightly claim to be very precise scientific observers in a more limited area. It’s an intellectual habit that gains immense and growing strength from the exploration of broader analogies.”
Hasty and superficial generalisations have always been the bane of science, and there would be no difficulty in624 finding endless illustrations. Between things which are the same in number there is a certain resemblance, namely in number; but in the infancy of science men could not be persuaded that there was not a deeper resemblance implied in that of number. Pythagoras was not the inventor of a mystical science of number. In the ancient Oriental religions the seven metals were connected with the seven planets, and in the seven days of the week we still have, and probably always shall have, a relic of the septiform system ascribed by Dio Cassius to the ancient Egyptians. The disciples of Pythagoras carried the doctrine of the number seven into great detail. Seven days are mentioned in Genesis; infants acquire their teeth at the end of seven months; they change them at the end of seven years; seven feet was the limit of man’s height; every seventh year was a climacteric or critical year, at which a change of disposition took place. Then again there were the seven sages of Greece, the seven wonders of the world, the seven rites of the Grecian games, the seven gates of Thebes, and the seven generals destined to conquer that city.
Hasty and superficial generalizations have always been a major problem for science, and it’s easy to find countless examples of this. Between things that are the same in number, there’s a certain similarity, specifically in their quantity; however, in the early days of science, people couldn’t be convinced that there wasn’t a deeper connection suggested by that number similarity. Pythagoras didn’t create a mystical science of numbers. In the ancient Eastern religions, the seven metals were linked to the seven planets, and in the seven days of the week, we still have, and likely always will have, a remnant of the septiform system attributed by Dio Cassius to the ancient Egyptians. Pythagoras's followers went into great detail about the significance of the number seven. There are seven days mentioned in Genesis; babies get their teeth at seven months; they lose them after seven years; seven feet was considered the maximum height for a man; every seventh year was seen as a climactic or critical year, marking a transition in one’s life. Additionally, there were the seven sages of Greece, the seven wonders of the world, the seven ceremonies of the Greek games, the seven gates of Thebes, and the seven generals meant to conquer that city.
In natural science there were not only the seven planets, and the seven metals, but also the seven primitive colours, and the seven tones of music. So deep a hold did this doctrine take that we still have its results in many customs, not only in the seven days of the week, but the seven years’ apprenticeship, puberty at fourteen years, the second climacteric, and legal majority at twenty-one years, the third climacteric. The idea was reproduced in the seven sacraments of the Roman Catholic Church, and the seven year periods of Comte’s grotesque system of domestic worship. Even in scientific matters the loftiest intellects have occasionally yielded, as when Newton was misled by the analogy between the seven tones of music and the seven colours of his spectrum. Other numerical analogies, though rejected by Galileo, held Kepler in thraldom; no small part of Kepler’s labours during seventeen years was spent upon numerical and geometrical analogies of the most baseless character; and he gravely held that there could not be more than six planets, because there were not more than five regular solids. Even the genius of Huyghens did not prevent him from inferring that but625 one satellite could belong to Saturn, because, with those of Jupiter and the Earth, it completed the perfect number of six. A whole series of other superstitions and fallacies attach to the numbers six and nine.
In natural science, there weren't just seven planets and seven metals, but also seven basic colors and seven musical notes. This belief was so ingrained that we still see its effects in many customs, such as the seven days of the week, seven years of apprenticeship, reaching adulthood at fourteen, the second climacteric, and legal adulthood at twenty-one, marking the third climacteric. This concept also appeared in the seven sacraments of the Roman Catholic Church and the seven-year periods in Comte's odd system of domestic worship. Even in scientific circles, some brilliant minds were occasionally swayed; for instance, Newton was misled by the similarity between the seven musical notes and the seven colors in his spectrum. Other numerical analogies, though dismissed by Galileo, captivated Kepler; he spent a significant part of seventeen years working on the baseless numerical and geometrical analogies and seriously believed there could only be six planets because there were only five regular solids. Even the brilliance of Huyghens didn't stop him from concluding that Saturn could have only one moon, as it, along with the moons of Jupiter and Earth, completed the perfect number of six. A whole range of other superstitions and misconceptions are linked to the numbers six and nine.
It is by false generalisation, again, that the laws of nature have been supposed to possess that perfection which we attribute to simple forms and relations. The heavenly bodies, it was held, must move in circles, for the circle was the perfect figure. Newton seemed to adopt the questionable axiom that nature always proceeds in the simplest way; in stating his first rule of philosophising, he adds:520 “To this purpose the philosophers say, that nature does nothing in vain, when less will serve; for nature is pleased with simplicity, and affects not the pomp of superfluous causes.” Keill lays down521 as an axiom that “The causes of natural things are such, as are the most simple, and are sufficient to explain the phenomena: for nature always proceeds in the simplest and most expeditious method; because by this manner of operating the Divine Wisdom displays itself the more.” If this axiom had any clear grounds of truth, it would not apply to proximate laws; for even when the ultimate law is simple the results may be infinitely diverse, as in the various elliptic, hyperbolic, parabolic, or circular orbits of the heavenly bodies. Simplicity is naturally agreeable to a mind of limited powers, but to an infinite mind all things are simple.
It is through incorrect generalization that people have assumed the laws of nature possess the perfection we associate with simple forms and relationships. It was believed that heavenly bodies must move in circles because the circle is the perfect shape. Newton appeared to accept the questionable idea that nature always acts in the simplest way; when he stated his first rule of thinking, he added:520 “To this end, philosophers say that nature does nothing in vain when something simpler will do; for nature prefers simplicity and does not care for the show of unnecessary causes.” Keill establishes521 as a principle that “The causes of natural things are the simplest ones, enough to explain the phenomena: nature always operates in the simplest and most efficient way; because this method of operation reveals the Divine Wisdom more clearly.” If this principle had any real basis, it wouldn’t apply to immediate laws; for even when the ultimate law is simple, the results can be infinitely diverse, as seen in the various elliptical, hyperbolic, parabolic, or circular orbits of heavenly bodies. Simplicity appeals to a limited mind, but for an infinite mind, everything is simple.
Every great advance in science consists in a great generalisation, pointing out deep and subtle resemblances. The Copernican system was a generalisation, in that it classed the earth among the planets; it was, as Bishop Wilkins expressed it, “the discovery of a new planet,” but it was opposed by a more shallow generalisation. Those who argued from the condition of things upon the earth’s surface, thought that every object must be attached to and rest upon something else. Shall the earth, they said, alone be free? Accustomed to certain special results of gravity they could not conceive its action under widely different circumstances.522 No hasty thinker could seize the deep analogy pointed out by Horrocks between a pendulum626 and a planet, true in substance though mistaken in some details. All the advances of modern science rise from the conception of Galileo, that in the heavenly bodies, however apparently different their condition, we shall ultimately recognise the same fundamental principles of mechanical science which are true on earth.
Every major breakthrough in science involves a significant generalization that reveals deep and subtle similarities. The Copernican system was a generalization because it grouped the Earth with the planets; as Bishop Wilkins put it, it was “the discovery of a new planet,” but it faced opposition from a more simplistic generalization. Those who reasoned from the state of things on the Earth's surface believed that everything must be anchored to and depend on something else. They asked, should the Earth be the only thing that is free? Used to certain specific effects of gravity, they couldn't imagine its influence under vastly different situations. No quick thinker could grasp the profound analogy Horrocks drew between a pendulum626 and a planet, which was fundamentally correct even though it had some inaccuracies. All the progress in modern science stems from Galileo's idea that in celestial bodies, no matter how different they seem, we will eventually discover the same fundamental principles of mechanics that hold true on Earth.
Generalisation is the great prerogative of the intellect, but it is a power only to be exercised safely with much caution and after long training. Every mind must generalise, but there are the widest differences in the depth of the resemblances discovered and the care with which the discovery is verified. There seems to be an innate power of insight which a few men have possessed pre-eminently, and which enabled them, with no exemption indeed from labour or temporary error, to discover the one in the many. Minds of excessive acuteness may exist, which have yet only the powers of minute discrimination, and of storing up, in the treasure-house of memory, vast accumulations of words and incidents. But the power of discovery belongs to a more restricted class of minds. Laplace said that, of all inventors who had contributed the most to the advancement of human knowledge, Newton and Lagrange appeared to possess in the highest degree the happy tact of distinguishing general principles among a multitude of objects enveloping them, and this tact he conceived to be the true characteristic of scientific genius.523
Generalization is a key ability of the intellect, but it’s a skill that needs to be used carefully and honed over time. Every mind has to generalize, but there are significant differences in how deeply we recognize similarities and how thoroughly we verify those insights. Some individuals possess a natural ability for insight that sets them apart, allowing them to see the connections between many things, even though they still face hard work and occasional mistakes. There may be highly sharp minds that excel at fine distinctions and retain vast amounts of information, but the ability to discover patterns belongs to a more limited group of thinkers. Laplace noted that among all inventors who have significantly advanced human knowledge, Newton and Lagrange had the exceptional skill of identifying general principles amidst a sea of details, and he believed this skill to be the true mark of scientific genius.523
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CHAPTER XXVIII.
COMPARISON.
As we have seen in the previous chapter, generalisation passes insensibly into reasoning by analogy, and the difference is one of degree. We are said to generalise when we view many objects as agreeing in a few properties, so that the resemblance is extensive rather than deep. When we have only a few objects of thought, but are able to discover many points of resemblance, we argue by analogy that the correspondence will be even deeper than appears. It may not be true that the words are always used in such distinct senses, and there is great vagueness in the employment of these and many logical terms; but if any clear discrimination can be drawn between generalisation and analogy, it is as indicated above.
As we saw in the previous chapter, generalization subtly transitions into reasoning by analogy, and the difference between them is one of degree. We say we generalize when we see many objects sharing a few properties, resulting in a likeness that is broad rather than deep. When we have only a few ideas but can identify many similarities, we make an analogy that the connection might be more profound than it seems. It may not always be the case that the words are used in such distinct ways, and there's a lot of ambiguity in how these and many other logical terms are used; however, if we can clearly differentiate between generalization and analogy, it is as described above.
It has been said, indeed, that analogy denotes not a resemblance between things, but between the relations of things. A pilot is a very different man from a prime minister, but he bears the same relation to a ship that the minister does to the state, so that we may analogically describe the prime minister as the pilot of the state. A man differs still more from a horse, nevertheless four men bear to three men the same relation as four horses bear to three horses. There is a real analogy between the tones of the Monochord, the Sages of Greece, and the Gates of Thebes, but it does not extend beyond the fact that they were all seven in number. Between the most discrete notions, as, for instance, those of time and space, analogy may exist, arising from the fact that the mathematical conditions of the lapse of time and of motion along a line628 are similar. There is no identity of nature between a word and the thing it signifies; the substance iron is a heavy solid, the word iron is either a momentary disturbance of the air, or a film of black pigment on white paper; but there is analogy between words and their significates. The substance iron is to the substance iron-carbonate, as the name iron is to the name iron-carbonate, when these names are used according to their scientific definitions. The whole structure of language and the whole utility of signs, marks, symbols, pictures, and representations of various kinds, rest upon analogy. I may hope perhaps to enter more fully upon this important subject at some future time, and to attempt to show how the invention of signs enables us to express, guide, and register our thoughts. It will be sufficient to observe here that the use of words constantly involves analogies of a subtle kind; we should often be at a loss how to describe a notion, were we not at liberty to employ in a metaphorical sense the name of anything sufficiently resembling it. There would be no expression for the sweetness of a melody, or the brilliancy of an harangue, unless it were furnished by the taste of honey and the brightness of a torch.
It has been said that analogy doesn’t indicate a similarity between things, but between the relationships of things. A pilot is quite different from a prime minister, yet he has the same connection to a ship as the minister does to the state, so we can reasonably describe the prime minister as the pilot of the state. A man is even more different from a horse, but four men relate to three men in the same way that four horses relate to three horses. There’s a real analogy between the tones of the Monochord, the Sages of Greece, and the Gates of Thebes, but it only goes as far as the fact that they all number seven. Between very different concepts, like time and space, analogy can exist because the mathematical conditions of the passage of time and motion along a line are similar. There’s no identity of nature between a word and what it signifies; the substance iron is a heavy solid, while the word iron is either a fleeting disturbance of air or a mark of black ink on white paper, yet there is an analogy between words and their meanings. The substance iron relates to the substance iron-carbonate in the same way the name iron relates to the name iron-carbonate, when these names are used as defined scientifically. The entire structure of language and the usefulness of signs, marks, symbols, pictures, and various representations rely on analogy. I hope to discuss this important topic more in the future and to show how the creation of signs allows us to express, guide, and record our thoughts. It’s enough to note here that the use of words often involves subtle analogies; we would frequently struggle to describe a concept if we weren’t able to use the name of something that resembles it in a metaphorical sense. There wouldn't be a way to express the sweetness of a melody or the brilliance of a speech without referring to the taste of honey and the brightness of a torch.
A cursory examination of the way in which we popularly use the word analogy, shows that it includes all degrees of resemblance or similarity. The analogy may consist only in similarity of number or ratio, or in like relations of time and space. It may also consist in simple resemblance between physical properties. We should not be using the word inconsistently with custom, if we said that there was an analogy between iron, nickel, and cobalt, manifested in the strength of their magnetic powers. There is a still more perfect analogy between iodine and chlorine; not that every property of iodine is identical with the corresponding property of chlorine; for then they would be one and the same kind of substance, and not two substances; but every property of iodine resembles in all but degree some property of chlorine. For almost every substance in which iodine forms a component, a corresponding substance may be discovered containing chlorine, so that we may confidently infer from the compounds of the one to the compounds of the other substance. Potassium iodide crystallises in629 cubes; therefore it is to be expected that potassium chloride will also crystallise in cubes. The science of chemistry as now developed rests almost entirely upon a careful and extensive comparison of the properties of substances, bringing deep-lying analogies to light. When any new substance is encountered, the chemist is guided in his treatment of it by the analogies which it seems to present with previously known substances.
A quick look at how we commonly use the word analogy shows that it covers all kinds of similarity or resemblance. An analogy might be based purely on similarities in numbers or ratios, or in similar relationships of time and space. It can also be about simple similarities in physical properties. We wouldn't be misusing the word if we said there's an analogy between iron, nickel, and cobalt, shown in the strength of their magnetic properties. There's an even stronger analogy between iodine and chlorine; not because every property of iodine matches up perfectly with a corresponding property of chlorine—if that were the case, they would be the same substance, not two different ones—but because every property of iodine resembles some property of chlorine, differing only in degree. For almost every compound containing iodine, there seems to be a corresponding compound containing chlorine, allowing us to confidently infer insights about one substance's compounds based on the other's. Potassium iodide crystallizes in cubes; therefore, we can expect that potassium chloride will also crystallize in cubes. The field of chemistry as it exists today is based almost entirely on thorough and extensive comparisons of substances' properties, revealing deep analogies. When a chemist encounters a new substance, they rely on the analogies it seems to share with substances that are already known.
In this chapter I cannot hope to illustrate the all-pervading influence of analogy in human thought and science. All science, it has been said, at the outset, arises from the discovery of identity, and analogy is but one name by which we denote the deeper-lying cases of resemblance. I shall only try to point out at present how analogy between apparently diverse classes of phenomena often serves as a guide in discovery. We thus commonly gain the first insight into the nature of an apparently unique object, and thus, in the progress of a science, we often discover that we are treating over again, in a new form, phenomena which were well known to us in another form.
In this chapter, I can't fully explain the widespread influence of analogy in human thinking and science. It's been said that all science originates from recognizing similarities, and analogy is just one term we use to refer to these deeper connections. Right now, I just want to highlight how drawing analogies between seemingly different types of phenomena often helps us make discoveries. This is how we typically gain our first understanding of what might seem like a unique object, and as science advances, we often find that we're re-examining phenomena that we were already familiar with, just in a different form.
Analogy as a Guide in Discovery.
There can be no doubt that discovery is most frequently accomplished by following up hints received from analogy, as Jeremy Bentham remarked.524 Whenever a phenomenon is perceived, the first impulse of the mind is to connect it with the most nearly similar phenomenon. If we could ever meet a thing wholly sui generis, presenting no analogy to anything else, we should be incapable of investigating its nature, except by purely haphazard trial. The probability of success by such a process is so slight, that it is preferable to follow up the faintest clue. As I have pointed out already (p. 418), the possible experiments are almost infinite in number, and very numerous also are the hypotheses upon which we may proceed. Now it is self-evident that, however slightly superior the probability of success by one course of procedure may be over another, the most probable one should always be adopted first.
There’s no doubt that discovery usually happens by following hints from similarities, as Jeremy Bentham noted.524 Whenever we notice something, our first instinct is to connect it with the most similar thing we know. If we ever encountered something completely unique, with no similarities to anything else, we would be unable to understand it except through random experimentation. The chances of succeeding with such a method are so low that it's better to pursue even the faintest hint. As I’ve already pointed out (p. 418), the possible experiments are nearly endless, and there are also a lot of hypotheses we can explore. It’s clear that, no matter how slight the advantage of one method over another may be, we should always try the most likely one first.
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The chemist having discovered what he believes to be a new element, will have before him an infinite variety of modes of treating and investigating it. If in any of its qualities the substance displays a resemblance to an alkaline metal, for instance, he will naturally proceed to try whether it possesses other properties of the alkaline metals. Even the simplest phenomenon presents so many points for notice that we have a choice from among many hypotheses.
The chemist, having found what he thinks is a new element, will have countless ways to study and explore it. If the substance shows any traits similar to an alkaline metal, for example, he will naturally test whether it has other properties of alkaline metals. Even the simplest phenomenon has so many aspects to consider that we have a variety of hypotheses to choose from.
It would be difficult to find a more instructive instance of the way in which the mind is guided by analogy than in the description by Sir John Herschel of the course of thought by which he was led to anticipate in theory one of Faraday’s greatest discoveries. Herschel noticed that a screw-like form, technically called helicoidal dissymmetry, was observed in three cases, namely, in electrical helices, plagihedral quartz crystals, and the rotation of the plane of polarisation of light. As he said,525 “I reasoned thus: Here are three phenomena agreeing in a very strange peculiarity. Probably, this peculiarity is a connecting link, physically speaking, among them. Now, in the case of the crystals and the light, this probability has been turned into certainty by my own experiments. Therefore, induction led me to conclude that a similar connection exists, and must turn up, somehow or other, between the electric current and polarised light, and that the plane of polarisation would be deflected by magneto-electricity.” By this course of analogical thought Herschel had actually been led to anticipate Faraday’s great discovery of the influence of magnetic strain upon polarised light. He had tried in 1822–25 to discover the influence of electricity on light, by sending a ray of polarised light through a helix, or near a long wire conveying an electric current. Such a course of inquiry, followed up with the persistency of Faraday, and with his experimental resources, would doubtless have effected the discovery. Herschel also suggests that the plagihedral form of quartz crystals must be due to a screw-like strain during crystallisation; but the notion remains unverified by experiment.
It would be hard to find a more informative example of how the mind works through analogy than in the description by Sir John Herschel of the thought process that led him to anticipate one of Faraday’s biggest discoveries. Herschel noticed that a screw-like shape, technically called helicoidal dissymmetry, appeared in three cases: electrical helices, plagihedral quartz crystals, and the rotation of the plane of polarization of light. As he said,525 “I reasoned like this: Here are three phenomena that share a very strange peculiarity. This peculiarity is likely a physical connection among them. In the case of the crystals and the light, my own experiments have turned this probability into certainty. Therefore, induction led me to conclude that a similar connection exists, somehow, between electric current and polarized light, and that the plane of polarization would be deflected by magneto-electricity.” Through this kind of analogical reasoning, Herschel actually anticipated Faraday’s significant discovery about the influence of magnetic strain on polarized light. He tried between 1822 and 1825 to identify the effect of electricity on light by passing a ray of polarized light through a helix or near a long wire carrying an electric current. Following such an inquiry with the persistence of Faraday and with his experimental tools would likely have led to the discovery. Herschel also suggests that the plagihedral shape of quartz crystals is likely due to a screw-like strain during crystallization; however, this idea remains untested by experiments.
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Analogy in the Mathematical Sciences.
Whoever wishes to acquire a deep acquaintance with Nature must observe that there are analogies which connect whole branches of science in a parallel manner, and enable us to infer of one class of phenomena what we know of another. It has thus happened on several occasions that the discovery of an unsuspected analogy between two branches of knowledge has been the starting-point for a rapid course of discovery. The truths readily observed in the one may be of a different character from those which present themselves in the other. The analogy, once pointed out, leads us to discover regions of one science yet undeveloped, to which the key is furnished by the corresponding truths in the other science. An interchange of aid most wonderful in its results may thus take place, and at the same time the mind rises to a higher generalisation, and a more comprehensive view of nature.
Anyone who wants to gain a deep understanding of Nature should notice that there are connections that link entire areas of science in a similar way, allowing us to infer things about one set of phenomena based on what we know about another. This has often led to the discovery of surprising similarities between two fields of knowledge, which have then sparked a rapid series of discoveries. The truths we observe in one field may differ from those in the other. Once an analogy is identified, it can reveal unexplored areas of one science, to which insights from the other science can provide the key. This exchange of support can lead to remarkable results, and at the same time, our understanding elevates to a broader generalization and a more complete view of nature.
No two sciences might seem at first sight more different in their subject matter than geometry and algebra. The first deals with circles, squares, parallelograms, and other forms in space; the latter with mere symbols of number. Prior to the time of Descartes, the sciences were developed slowly and painfully in almost entire independence of each other. The Greek philosophers indeed could not avoid noticing occasional analogies, as when Plato in the Thæetetus describes a square number as equally equal, and a number produced by multiplying two unequal factors as oblong. Euclid, in the 7th and 8th books of his Elements, continually uses expressions displaying a consciousness of the same analogies, as when he calls a number of two factors a plane number, ἐπίπεδος ἀριθμός, and distinguishes a square number of which the two factors are equal as an equal-sided and plane number, ἰσόπλευρος καὶ ἐπίπεδος ἀριθμός. He also calls the root of a cubic number its side, πλευρά. In the Diophantine algebra many problems of a geometrical character were solved by algebraic or numerical processes; but there was no general system, so that the solutions were of an isolated character. In general the ancients were far more advanced in geometric than symbolic methods; thus Euclid in his 4th book gives632 the means of dividing a circle by purely geometric means into 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 10, 12, 15, 16, 20, 24, 30 parts, but he was totally unacquainted with the theory of the roots of unity exactly corresponding to this division of the circle.
No two sciences might seem more different at first glance than geometry and algebra. Geometry focuses on shapes like circles, squares, and parallelograms, while algebra deals with symbols representing numbers. Before Descartes' time, these sciences developed slowly and almost completely independently. Greek philosophers noticed some parallels, such as when Plato describes a square number as equally equal and a number from multiplying two unequal factors as oblong in the Thæetetus. Euclid, in the 7th and 8th books of his Elements, frequently uses terms that reflect these analogies, calling a number with two factors a plane number, ἐπίπεδος ἀριθμός, and distinguishing a square number with equal factors as an equal-sided and plane number, ἰσόπλευρος καὶ ἐπίπεδος ἀριθμός. He also refers to the root of a cubic number as its side, πλευρά. In Diophantine algebra, many geometry-related problems were solved using algebraic or numerical methods, but there was no overall system, making the solutions feel isolated. Generally, ancient thinkers were much more advanced in geometric methods than in symbolic ones; Euclid, for instance, provides the means to divide a circle using only geometric methods into 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 10, 12, 15, 16, 20, and 24 parts in his 4th book, yet he had no understanding of the theory of roots of unity that corresponded to this circle division.
During the middle ages, on the contrary, algebra advanced beyond geometry, and modes of solving equations were gradually discovered by those who had no notion that at every step they were implicitly solving geometric problems. It is true that Regiomontanus, Tartaglia, Bombelli, and possibly other early algebraists, solved isolated geometrical problems by the aid of algebra, but particular numbers were always used, and no consciousness of a general method was displayed. Vieta in some degree anticipated the final discovery, and occasionally represented the roots of an equation geometrically, but it was reserved for Descartes to show, in the most general manner, that every equation may be represented by a curve or figure in space, and that every bend, point, cusp, or other peculiarity in the curve indicates some peculiarity in the equation. It is impossible to describe in any adequate manner the importance of this discovery. The advantage was two-fold: algebra aided geometry, and geometry gave reciprocal aid to algebra. Curves such as the well-known sections of the cone were found to correspond to quadratic equations; and it was impossible to manipulate the equations without discovering properties of those all-important curves. The way was thus opened for the algebraic treatment of motions and forces, without which Newton’s Principia could never have been worked out. Newton indeed was possessed by a strong infatuation in favour of the ancient geometrical methods; but it is well known that he employed symbolic methods to discover his theorems, and he now and then, by some accidental use of algebraic expression, confessed its greater power and generality.
During the Middle Ages, algebra progressed beyond geometry, and methods for solving equations were gradually uncovered by people who had no idea that with each step, they were implicitly solving geometric problems. It’s true that Regiomontanus, Tartaglia, Bombelli, and possibly other early algebraists solved specific geometric problems using algebra, but they always used particular numbers, and there was no awareness of a general method. Vieta somewhat anticipated the ultimate discovery and occasionally represented the roots of an equation geometrically, but it was Descartes who first showed, in the broadest terms, that every equation can be represented by a curve or figure in space, and that every curve's bend, point, cusp, or other characteristic indicates a corresponding feature in the equation. It’s hard to fully capture the significance of this discovery. The benefit was two-fold: algebra supported geometry, and geometry, in turn, aided algebra. Curves like the well-known conic sections corresponded to quadratic equations, and manipulating the equations inevitably led to insights about those crucial curves. This opened the door for the algebraic study of motion and forces, without which Newton’s Principia could never have been developed. Newton was indeed quite enamored with the ancient geometric methods, but it’s well-known that he used symbolic methods to derive his theorems, and occasionally, through some accidental use of algebraic expressions, he acknowledged its greater power and generality.
Geometry, on the other hand, gave great assistance to algebra, by affording concrete representations of relations which would otherwise be too abstract for easy comprehension. A curve of no great complexity may give the whole history of the variations of value of a troublesome mathematical expression. As soon as we know, too, that every regular geometrical curve represents some algebraic633 equation, we are presented by observation of mechanical movements with abundant suggestions towards the discovery of mathematical problems. Every particle of a carriage-wheel when moving on a level road is constantly describing a cycloidal curve, the curious properties of which exercised the ingenuity of all the most skilful mathematicians of the seventeenth century, and led to important advancements in algebraic power. It may be held that the discovery of the Differential Calculus was mainly due to geometrical analogy, because mathematicians, in attempting to treat algebraically the tangent of a curve, were obliged to entertain the notion of infinitely small quantities.526 There can be no doubt that Newton’s fluxional, that is, geometrical mode of stating the differential calculus, however much it subsequently retarded its progress in England, facilitated its apprehension at first, and I should think it almost certain that Newton discovered the principles of the calculus geometrically.
Geometry, on the other hand, greatly helped algebra by providing concrete representations of relationships that would otherwise be too abstract to easily understand. A simple curve can illustrate the entire history of fluctuations in the value of a challenging mathematical expression. Once we realize that every regular geometric curve corresponds to some algebraic633 equation, we can observe mechanical movements that give us plenty of ideas for discovering mathematical problems. Every particle of a carriage wheel moving along a flat road constantly traces out a cycloidal curve, the intriguing properties of which engaged the creativity of the most skilled mathematicians of the seventeenth century and led to significant advancements in algebra. It can be said that the discovery of Differential Calculus was largely due to geometric analogy, as mathematicians, in trying to algebraically analyze the tangent of a curve, had to consider the concept of infinitely small quantities. There is no doubt that Newton’s fluxional, or geometric, way of explaining differential calculus, although it later slowed down its development in England, initially made it easier to understand. I believe it’s almost certain that Newton discovered the principles of calculus in a geometric way.
We may accordingly look upon this discovery of analogy, this happy alliance, as Bossut calls it,527 between geometry and algebra, as the chief source of discoveries which have been made for three centuries past in mathematical methods. This is certainly the opinion of Lagrange, who says, “So long as algebra and geometry have been separate, their progress was slow, and their employment limited; but since these two sciences have been united, they have lent each other mutual strength, and have marched together with a rapid step towards perfection.”
We can see this discovery of analogy, this great partnership, as Bossut puts it,527 between geometry and algebra, as the main source of breakthroughs that have occurred over the past three centuries in mathematical techniques. Lagrange definitely shares this view, stating, “As long as algebra and geometry were separate, their progress was slow, and their use was limited; but since these two fields have come together, they have strengthened each other, advancing rapidly towards perfection.”
The advancement of mechanical science has also been greatly aided by analogy. An abstract and intangible existence like force demands much power of conception, but it has a perfect concrete representative in a line, the end of which may denote the point of application, and the direction the line of action of the force, while the length can be made arbitrarily to denote the amount of the force. Nor does the analogy end here; for the moment of the force about any point, or its product into the perpendicular distance of its line of action from the point, is634 found to be represented by an area, namely twice the area of the triangle contained between the point and the ends of the line representing the force. Of late years a great generalisation has been effected; the Double Algebra of De Morgan is true not only of space relations, but of forces, so that the triangle of forces is reduced to a case of pure geometrical addition. Nay, the triangle of lines, the triangle of velocities, the triangle of forces, the triangle of couples, and perhaps other cognate theorems, are reduced by analogy to one simple theorem, which amounts to this, that there are two ways of getting from one angular point of a triangle to another, which ways, though different in length, are identical in their final results.528 In the system of quaternions of the late Sir W. R. Hamilton, these analogies are embodied and carried out in the most general manner, so that whatever problem involves the threefold dimensions of space, or relations analogous to those of space, is treated by a symbolic method of the most comprehensive simplicity.
The progress of mechanical science has also been greatly supported by analogy. An abstract and intangible concept like force requires a lot of imagination, but it has a clear concrete representative in a line, where one end can indicate the point of application and the direction of the force’s action, while the length can be adjusted to represent the strength of the force. The analogy doesn't stop there; the moment of the force around any point, or its product with the perpendicular distance of its line of action from that point, is found to be represented by an area, specifically twice the area of the triangle formed between the point and the ends of the line representing the force. In recent years, a significant generalization has been achieved; De Morgan's Double Algebra is applicable not only to spatial relationships but also to forces, meaning the triangle of forces can be seen as a case of pure geometric addition. Moreover, the triangle of lines, the triangle of velocities, the triangle of forces, the triangle of couples, and possibly other related theorems can be simplified through analogy into one straightforward theorem, which states that there are two ways to travel from one angular point of a triangle to another, which, although different in length, yield the same final results. In the quaternion system of the late Sir W. R. Hamilton, these analogies are represented and developed in the most comprehensive way, so that any problem involving three-dimensional space or similar relationships is handled through a symbolic method that is remarkably simple.
It ought to be added that to the discovery of analogy between the forms of mathematical and logical expressions, we owe the greatest advance in logical science. Boole based his extension of logical processes upon the notion that logic is an algebra of two quantities 0 and 1. His profound genius for symbolic investigation led him to perceive by analogy that there must exist a general system of logical deduction, of which the old logicians had seized only a few fragments. Mistaken as he was in placing algebra as a higher science than logic, no one can deny that the development of the more complex and dependent science had advanced far beyond that of the simpler science, and that Boole, in drawing attention to the connection, made one of the most important discoveries in the history of science. As Descartes had wedded algebra and geometry,635 so did Boole accomplish the marriage of logic and algebra.
It should be noted that the discovery of the similarity between mathematical and logical expressions led to significant progress in the field of logic. Boole built on the idea that logic can be treated like an algebra of two values: 0 and 1. His remarkable talent for symbolic analysis allowed him to recognize that there must be a comprehensive system of logical deduction, of which previous logicians had only grasped a few parts. Although he was wrong in thinking that algebra was a superior science to logic, it's undeniable that the more intricate and dependent field had advanced much further than the simpler one. By highlighting this connection, Boole made one of the most important discoveries in the history of science. Just as Descartes unified algebra and geometry,635 Boole achieved the integration of logic and algebra.
Analogy in the Theory of Undulations.
There is no class of phenomena which more thoroughly illustrates alike the power and weakness of analogy than the waves which agitate every kind of medium. All waves, whatsoever be the matter through which they pass, obey the principles of rhythmical or harmonic motion, and the subject therefore presents a fine field for mathematical generalisation. Each kind of medium may allow of waves peculiar in their conditions, so that it is a beautiful exercise in analogical reasoning to decide how, in making inferences from one kind of medium to another, we must make allowance for difference of circumstances. The waves of the ocean are large and visible, and there are the yet greater tidal waves which extend around the globe. From such palpable cases of rhythmical movement we pass to waves of sound, varying in length from about 32 feet to a small fraction of an inch. We have but to imagine, if we can, the fortieth octave of the middle C of a piano, and we reach the undulations of yellow light, the ultra-violet being about the forty-first octave. Thus we pass from the palpable and evident to that which is obscure, if not incomprehensible. Yet the same phenomena of reflection, interference, and refraction, which we find in some kinds of waves, may be expected to occur, mutatis mutandis, in other kinds.
There’s no group of phenomena that better demonstrates, both the strength and limitations of analogy, than the waves that stir every type of medium. All waves, regardless of the material they move through, follow the principles of rhythmic or harmonic motion, making this topic a great opportunity for mathematical generalization. Each type of medium can produce waves with unique characteristics, so it’s a fascinating exercise in analogical reasoning to determine how we need to adjust our inferences when switching from one type of medium to another based on differing circumstances. Ocean waves are large and visible, and there are even larger tidal waves that wrap around the globe. From these clear examples of rhythmic movement, we shift to sound waves, which can vary in length from about 32 feet to a tiny fraction of an inch. If we can imagine it, thinking of the fortieth octave of middle C on a piano leads us to the undulations of yellow light, with ultraviolet being around the forty-first octave. This journey takes us from the obvious and clear to the obscure, if not incomprehensible. Yet, the same phenomena of reflection, interference, and refraction that we observe in some types of waves can also be expected to occur, mutatis mutandis, in others.
From the great to the small, from the evident to the obscure, is not only the natural order of inference, but it is the historical order of discovery. The physical science of the Greek philosophers must have remained incomplete, and their theories groundless, because they did not understand the nature of undulations. Their systems were based upon the notion of movement of translation from place to place. Modern science tends to the opposite notion that all motion is alternating or rhythmical, energy flowing onwards but matter remaining comparatively fixed in position. Diogenes Laertius indeed correctly compared the propagation of sound with the spreading of waves on the surface of water when disturbed by a stone, and Vitruvius displayed636 a more complete comprehension of the same analogy. It remained for Newton to create the theory of undulatory motion in showing by mathematical deductive reasoning that the particles of an elastic fluid by vibrating backwards and forwards, might carry a pulse or wave moving from the source of disturbance, while the disturbed particles return to their place of rest. He was even able to make a first approximation by theoretical calculation to the velocity of sound-waves in the atmosphere. His theory of sound formed a hardly less important epoch in science than his far more celebrated theory of gravitation. It opened the way to all the subsequent applications of mechanical principles to the insensible motion of molecules. He seems to have been, too, upon the brink of another application of the same principles which would have advanced science by a century of progress, and made him the undisputed founder of all the theories of matter. He expressed opinions at various times that light might be due to undulatory movements of a medium occupying space, and in one intensely interesting sentence remarks529 that colours are probably vibrations of different lengths, “much after the manner that, in the sense of hearing, nature makes use of aërial vibrations of several bignesses to generate sounds of divers tones, for the analogy of nature is to be observed.” He correctly foresaw that red and yellow light would consist of the longer undulations, and blue and violet of the shorter, while white light would be composed of an indiscriminate mixture of waves of various lengths. Newton almost overcame the strongest apparent difficulty of the undulatory theory of light, namely, the propagation of light in straight lines. For he observed that though waves of sound bend round an obstacle to some extent, they do not do so in the same degree as water-waves.530 He had but to extend the analogy proportionally to light-waves, and not only would the difficulty have vanished, but the true theory of diffraction would have been open to him. Unfortunately he had a preconceived theory that rays of light are bent from and not towards the shadow of a body, a theory which for once he did not sufficiently compare with observation to detect637 its falsity. I am not aware, too, that Newton has, in any of his works, displayed an understanding of the phenomena of interference without which his notion of waves must have been imperfect.
From the big to the small, from the obvious to the hidden, this is not just the natural sequence of reasoning, but also the historical sequence of discovery. The physical sciences of the Greek philosophers must have remained incomplete, and their theories unfounded, because they didn’t grasp the nature of waves. Their systems were based on the concept of movement from one place to another. Modern science, however, leans toward the idea that all motion is alternating or rhythmic, with energy continuously flowing while matter stays mostly still. Diogenes Laertius accurately compared how sound spreads to how waves spread on water when disturbed by a stone, and Vitruvius had an even better grasp of this analogy. It was left to Newton to develop the theory of undulatory motion, showing through mathematical reasoning that the particles of an elastic fluid, by vibrating back and forth, could carry a pulse or wave moving away from the disturbance, while the particles return to their original position. He even made a preliminary calculation of the speed of sound waves in the atmosphere. His theory of sound was just as pivotal in science as his much more famous theory of gravitation. It paved the way for all future applications of mechanical principles to the unnoticed motion of molecules. He also seemed to be on the verge of another application of the same principles that could have propelled science forward by a century and established him as the undisputed founder of all theories of matter. He expressed at different times that light might result from wave movements in a medium that occupies space, and in one particularly fascinating remark, he stated that colors are probably vibrations of different lengths, "similar to how, in the sense of hearing, nature uses air vibrations of various sizes to create sounds of different tones, as the analogy in nature suggests." He correctly predicted that red and yellow light would come from longer waves, while blue and violet would come from shorter ones, with white light being a mix of waves of various lengths. Newton almost tackled the main apparent problem of the wave theory of light, which is the way light travels in straight lines. He noted that while sound waves can bend around obstacles to some extent, they don’t do so as much as water waves. If he had only extended the analogy to light waves, not only would the issue have been resolved, but he would have also uncovered the true theory of diffraction. Unfortunately, he had a preconceived idea that rays of light bend away from the shadow of an object rather than toward it, a theory he didn’t adequately compare with observations to realize it was false. Additionally, I am not aware of Newton discussing the phenomenon of interference in any of his works, which means his concept of waves was incomplete.
While the general principles of undulatory motion will be the same in whatever medium the motion takes place, the circumstances may be excessively different. Between light travelling 186,000 miles per second and sound travelling in air only about 1,100 feet in the same time, or almost 900,000 times as slowly, we cannot expect a close outward resemblance. There are great differences, too, in the character of the vibrations. Gases scarcely admit of transverse vibration, so that sound travelling in air is a longitudinal wave, the particles of air moving backwards and forwards in the same line in which the wave moves onwards. Light, on the other hand, appears to consist entirely in the movement of points of force transversely to the direction of propagation of the ray. The light-wave is partially analogous to the bending of a rod or of a stretched cord agitated at one end. Now this bending motion may take place in any one of an infinite number of planes, and waves of which the planes are perpendicular to each other cannot interfere any more than two perpendicular forces can interfere. The complicated phenomena of polarised light arise out of this transverse character of the luminous wave, and we must not expect to meet analogous phenomena in atmospheric sound-waves. It is conceivable that in solids we might produce transverse sound undulations, in which phenomena of polarisation might be reproduced. But it would appear that even between transverse sound and light-waves the analogy holds true rather of the principles of harmonic motion than the circumstances of the vibrating medium; from experiment and theory it is inferred that the plane of polarisation in plane polarised light is perpendicular to instead of being coincident with the direction of vibration, as it would be in the case of transverse sound undulations. If so the laws of elastic forces are essentially different in application to the luminiferous ether and to ordinary solid bodies.531
While the general principles of wave motion are the same in any medium, the specifics can vary greatly. For example, light travels at 186,000 miles per second, whereas sound moves through air at only about 1,100 feet per second, making it almost 900,000 times slower. Therefore, we can't expect them to look the same on the surface. The nature of their vibrations also differs significantly. Gases barely allow for transverse vibrations, so sound in air is a longitudinal wave, with air particles moving back and forth in the same direction as the wave. In contrast, light seems to consist entirely of movements that are perpendicular to the direction the light travels. A light wave is somewhat similar to bending a rod or a stretched cord that’s shaken at one end. This bending can occur in any of an infinite number of planes, and waves whose planes are perpendicular to each other can't interfere any more than two perpendicular forces can. The complex behaviors of polarized light come from this transverse nature of light waves, and we shouldn't expect similar behaviors in sound waves in the atmosphere. It's possible that in solids, we could create transverse sound waves where polarization effects might occur. However, even between transverse sound and light waves, the similarity seems to be more about the principles of harmonic motion than the characteristics of the vibrating medium. Experiments and theories suggest that the plane of polarization in plane polarized light is perpendicular to, rather than coinciding with, the direction of vibration, which would be the case for transverse sound waves. If this is true, then the laws of elastic forces differ fundamentally when applied to light and ordinary solids.531
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Analogy in Astronomy.
We shall be much assisted in gaining a true appreciation of the value of analogy in its feebler degrees, by considering how much it has contributed to the progress of astronomical science. Our point of observation is so fixed with regard to the universe, and our means of examining distant bodies are so restricted, that we are necessarily guided by limited and apparently feeble resemblances. In many cases the result has been confirmed by subsequent direct evidence of the most forcible character.
We will greatly benefit from understanding the value of analogy in its weaker forms by looking at how much it has helped advance astronomical science. Our perspective on the universe is so fixed, and our ability to examine distant objects is so limited, that we are often led by small and seemingly weak similarities. In many instances, the outcome has been backed up by strong direct evidence that came later.
While the scientific world was divided in opinion between the Copernican and Ptolemaic systems, it was analogy which furnished the most satisfactory argument. Galileo discovered, by the use of his new telescope, the four small satellites which circulate round Jupiter, and make a miniature planetary world. These four Medicean Stars, as they were called, were plainly seen to revolve round Jupiter in various periods, but approximately in one plane, and astronomers irresistibly inferred that what might happen on the smaller scale might also be found true of the greater planetary system. This discovery gave “the holding turn,” as Herschel expressed it, to the opinions of mankind. Even Francis Bacon, who, little to the credit of his scientific sagacity, had previously opposed the Copernican views, now became convinced, saying “We affirm the solisequium of Venus and Mercury; since it has been found by Galileo that Jupiter also has attendants.” Nor did Huyghens think it superfluous to adopt the analogy as a valid argument.532 Even in an advanced stage of physical astronomy, the Jovian system has not lost its analogical interest; for the mutual perturbations of the four satellites pass through all their phases within a few centuries, and thus enable us to verify in a miniature case the principles of stability, which Laplace established for the great planetary system. Oscillations or disturbances which in the motions of the planets appear to be secular, because their periods extend over millions of years, can be watched, in the case of Jupiter’s satellites, through complete revolutions within the historical period of astronomy.533
While the scientific community was split in opinion between the Copernican and Ptolemaic systems, it was analogy that provided the most convincing argument. Galileo discovered, using his new telescope, four small moons orbiting Jupiter, creating a miniature planetary world. These four Medicean Stars, as they were called, could clearly be seen revolving around Jupiter in different periods, but mostly in a similar plane, leading astronomers to infer that what happens on a smaller scale might also be true for the larger planetary system. This discovery significantly shifted public opinion, as Herschel put it. Even Francis Bacon, who had previously opposed the Copernican views, became convinced, stating, “We affirm the solisequium of Venus and Mercury; since it has been found by Galileo that Jupiter also has attendants.” Huyghens also found it worthwhile to use this analogy as a valid argument. Even in the advanced field of physical astronomy, the Jovian system remains an interesting analogy; the mutual interactions of the four moons go through their cycles within just a few centuries, allowing us to verify the stability principles that Laplace established for the larger planetary system. Oscillations or disturbances that appear to take eons in planetary motions can be observed in Jupiter’s moons through complete revolutions within the historical timeline of astronomy.
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In obtaining a knowledge of the stellar universe we must sometimes depend upon precarious analogies. We still hold upon this ground the opinion, entertained by Bruno as long ago as 1591, that the stars may be suns attended by planets like our earth. This is the most probable first assumption, and it is supported by spectrum observations, which show the similarity of light derived from many stars with that of the sun. But at the same time we learn by the prism that there are nebulæ and stars in conditions widely different from anything known in our system. In the course of time the analogy may perhaps be restored to comparative completeness by the discovery of suns in various stages of nebulous condensation. The history of the evolution of our own world may be traced back in bodies less developed, or traced forwards in systems more advanced towards the dissipation of energy, and the extinction of life. As in a great workshop, we may perhaps see the material work of Creation as it has progressed through thousands of millions of years.
In our quest to understand the universe, we sometimes have to rely on uncertain comparisons. We still hold the belief, first suggested by Bruno back in 1591, that the stars might be suns surrounded by planets like our Earth. This is the most likely starting point, and it’s backed up by spectrum observations that reveal many stars emit light similar to that of the sun. However, we also discover through the prism that there are nebulae and stars in states very different from anything we know in our solar system. Over time, we might refine this analogy with the discovery of suns at various stages of nebula formation. We can trace the history of our own planet's evolution in less developed bodies, or look forward in more advanced systems that are moving towards energy dissipation and the end of life. Like a vast workshop, we might witness the ongoing process of Creation as it has unfolded over billions of years.
In speculations concerning the physical condition of the planets and their satellites, we depend upon analogies of a weak character. We may be said to know that the moon has mountains and valleys, plains and ridges, volcanoes and streams of lava, and, in spite of the absence of air and water, the rocky surface of the moon presents so many familiar appearances that we do not hesitate to compare them with the features of our globe. We infer with high probability that Mars has polar snow and an atmosphere absorbing blue rays like our own; Jupiter undoubtedly possesses a cloudy atmosphere, possibly not unlike a magnified copy of that surrounding the earth, but our tendency to adopt analogies receives a salutary correction in the recently discovered fact that the atmosphere of Uranus contains hydrogen.
In speculations about the physical condition of the planets and their moons, we rely on somewhat weak analogies. We can say for sure that the moon has mountains and valleys, plains and ridges, volcanoes and lava flows, and even though there's no air or water, the rocky surface of the moon shows so many familiar features that we easily compare them to those on Earth. We strongly believe that Mars has polar snow and an atmosphere that absorbs blue rays like ours; Jupiter definitely has a cloudy atmosphere, possibly resembling a larger version of the one surrounding Earth, but our inclination to make analogies is corrected by the recent discovery that Uranus's atmosphere contains hydrogen.
Philosophers have not stopped at these comparatively safe inferences, but have speculated on the existence of living creatures in other planets. Huyghens remarked that as we infer by analogy from the dissected body of a dog to that of a pig and ox or other animal of the same general form, and as we expect to find the same viscera, the heart, stomach, lungs, intestines, &c., in corresponding positions, so when we notice the similarity of the planets640 in many respects, we must expect to find them alike in other respects.534 He even enters into an inquiry whether the inhabitants of other planets would possess reason and knowledge of the same sort as ours, concluding in the affirmative. Although the power of intellect might be different, he considers that they would have the same geometry if they had any at all, and that what is true with us would be true with them.535 As regards the sun, he wisely observes that every conjecture fails. Laplace entertained a strong belief in the existence of inhabitants on other planets. The benign influence of the sun gives birth to animals and plants upon the surface of the earth, and analogy induces us to believe that his rays would tend to have a similar effect elsewhere. It is not probable that matter which is here so fruitful of life would be sterile upon so great a globe as Jupiter, which, like the earth, has its days and nights and years, and changes which indicate active forces. Man indeed is formed for the temperature and atmosphere in which he lives, and, so far as appears, could not live upon the other planets. But there might be an infinity of organisations relative to the diverse constitutions of the bodies of the universe. The most active imagination cannot form any idea of such various creatures, but their existence is not unlikely.536
Philosophers haven't stopped at these relatively safe conclusions; they've also speculated about the existence of living beings on other planets. Huyghens pointed out that just as we can infer by analogy from the dissected body of a dog to that of a pig or an ox, expecting to find the same organs—the heart, stomach, lungs, intestines, etc.—in similar positions, we should expect to find similarities between the planets in various respects. He even wondered whether the inhabitants of other planets would have reason and knowledge similar to ours, coming to the conclusion that they would. Although their level of intellect might differ, he believed they would have the same geometry if they had any at all, and that what is true for us would also hold true for them. Regarding the sun, he wisely noted that every guess fails. Laplace strongly believed in the existence of inhabitants on other planets. The sun's beneficial influence gives rise to animals and plants on Earth, and analogy leads us to believe that its rays would have a similar effect elsewhere. It's unlikely that the fertile matter here would be lifeless on a massive globe like Jupiter, which, like Earth, experiences days, nights, and years, along with changes that suggest active forces. Indeed, humans are suited for the temperature and atmosphere of our planet and, as far as we know, wouldn't survive on other planets. However, there could be countless forms of life adapted to the diverse conditions of the universe. Even the most imaginative minds can't conceive of such varied creatures, but their existence isn't impossible.
We now know that many metals and other elements never found in organic structures are yet capable of forming compounds with substances of vegetable or animal origin. It is therefore just possible that at different temperatures creatures formed of different yet analogous compounds might exist, but it would seem indispensable that carbon should form the basis of organic structures. We have no analogies to lead us to suppose that in the absence of that complex element life can exist. Could we find globes surrounded by atmospheres resembling our own in temperature and composition, we should be almost forced to believe them inhabited, but the probability of any analogical argument decreases rapidly as the condition of a globe diverges from that of our own. The Cardinal Nicholas de Cusa held long ago that the moon was641 inhabited, but the absence of any appreciable atmosphere renders the existence of inhabitants highly improbable. Speculations resting upon weak analogies hardly belong to the scope of true science, and can only be tolerated as an antidote to the far worse dogmas which assert that the thousand million of persons on earth, or rather a small fraction of them, are the sole objects of care of the Power which designed this limitless Universe.
We now know that many metals and other elements not found in organic structures can still form compounds with plant or animal substances. It’s possible that at different temperatures, creatures made of different but similar compounds could exist, but it seems essential that carbon serves as the foundation for organic structures. We have no examples to suggest that life can exist without that complex element. If we could find planets with atmospheres similar to ours in terms of temperature and composition, we would almost have to believe they are inhabited, but the chances of any analogical argument hold less weight as a planet's conditions differ from ours. Cardinal Nicholas de Cusa argued long ago that the moon was inhabited, but the lack of a significant atmosphere makes it very unlikely to have inhabitants. Speculations based on weak similarities don’t truly belong in science and can only be seen as a counter to far worse beliefs that claim the billions of people on Earth, or rather a small fraction of them, are the sole focus of the Power that created this vast Universe.
Failures of Analogy.
So constant is the aid which we derive from the use of analogy in all attempts at discovery or explanation, that it is most important to observe in what cases it may lead us into difficulties. That which we expect by analogy to exist
So consistent is the help we get from using analogy in all our efforts to discover or explain things that it's really important to notice when it might lead us into trouble. What we anticipate to exist by analogy
(1) May be found to exist;
(1) May be found to exist;
(2) May seem not to exist, but nevertheless may really exist;
(2) May seem like it doesn't exist, but actually might exist;
(3) May actually be non-existent.
May actually be nonexistent.
In the second case the failure is only apparent, and arises from our obtuseness of perception, the smallness of the phenomenon to be noticed, or the disguised character in which it appears. I have already pointed out that the analogy of sound and light seems to fail because light does not apparently bend round a corner, the fact being that it does so bend in the phenomena of diffraction, which present the effect, however, in such an unexpected and minute form, that even Newton was misled, and turned from the correct hypothesis of undulations which he had partially entertained.
In the second case, the failure is only apparent and comes from our lack of perception, the smallness of the phenomenon we need to notice, or the way it disguises itself. I've already mentioned that the analogy between sound and light seems to break down because light doesn’t seem to bend around corners, but in reality, it does bend in the phenomena of diffraction. However, this effect is so unexpected and subtle that even Newton was misled and abandoned the correct hypothesis of undulations that he had partially considered.
In the third class of cases analogy fails us altogether, and we expect that to exist which really does not exist. Thus we fail to discover the phenomena of polarisation in sound travelling through the atmosphere, since air is not capable of any appreciable transverse undulations. These failures of analogy are of peculiar interest, because they make the mind aware of its superior powers. There have been many philosophers who said that we can conceive nothing in the intellect which we have not previously received through the senses. This is true in the sense that we cannot image them to the mind in the concrete642 form of a shape or a colour; but we can speak of them and reason concerning them; in short, we often know them in everything but a sensuous manner. Accurate investigation shows that all material substances retard the motion of bodies through them by subtracting energy by impact. By the law of continuity we can frame the notion of a vacuous space in which there is no resistance whatever, nor need we stop there; for we have only to proceed by analogy to the case where a medium should accelerate the motion of bodies passing through it, somewhat in the mode which Aristotelians attributed falsely to the air. Thus we can frame the notion of negative density, and Newton could reason exactly concerning it, although no such thing exists.537
In the third type of cases, analogy completely breaks down, and we expect something to exist that really does not. As a result, we fail to identify the phenomena of polarization in sound traveling through the atmosphere because air can't support any significant transverse waves. These failures of analogy are particularly interesting because they highlight the mind's advanced capabilities. Many philosophers have argued that we can't conceive of anything in our intellect that we haven't previously experienced through our senses. This is true in the sense that we can't visualize them in a concrete form, like a shape or color, but we can discuss and reason about them; in other words, we often understand them in ways that don't rely on sensory perception. Detailed investigation shows that all physical substances slow down objects moving through them by absorbing energy upon impact. According to the law of continuity, we can conceptualize an empty space where there is no resistance at all, and we don’t have to stop there. We can also move by analogy to the idea of a medium that speeds up the motion of objects moving through it, similar to the incorrect belief Aristotle and his followers had about air. Thus, we can conceive of the idea of *negative density*, and Newton could reason accurately about it, even though it doesn’t actually exist.537
In every direction of thought we may meet ultimately with similar failures of analogy. A moving point generates a line, a moving line generates a surface, a moving surface generates a solid, but what does a moving solid generate? When we compare a polyhedron, or many-sided solid, with a polygon, or plane figure of many sides, the volume of the first is analogous to the area of the second; the face of the solid answers to the side of the polygon; the edge of the solid to the point of the figure; but the corner, or junction of edges in the polyhedron, is left wholly unrepresented in the plane of the polygon. Even if we attempted to draw the analogies in some other manner, we should still find a geometrical notion embodied in the solid which has no representative in the figure of two dimensions.538
In every line of thought, we eventually encounter similar failures of analogy. A moving point creates a line, a moving line creates a surface, a moving surface creates a solid, but what does a moving solid create? When we compare a polyhedron, or a solid with many sides, to a polygon, or a flat figure with many sides, the volume of the first is similar to the area of the second; the face of the solid corresponds to the side of the polygon; the edge of the solid corresponds to the point of the figure; but the corner, or junction of edges in the polyhedron, has no counterpart in the plane of the polygon. Even if we tried to establish the analogies in another way, we would still find a geometric concept contained in the solid that has no equivalent in the two-dimensional figure.538
Faraday was able to frame some notion of matter in a fourth condition, which should be to gas what gas is to liquid.539 Such substance, he thought, would not fall far short of radiant matter, by which apparently he meant the supposed caloric or matter assumed to constitute heat, according to the corpuscular theory. Even if we could frame the notion, matter in such a state cannot be known to exist, and recent discoveries concerning the continuity643 of the solid, liquid, and gaseous states remove the basis of the speculation.
Faraday was able to conceptualize a form of matter in a fourth state, which would be to gas what gas is to liquid.539 He believed that this substance would come close to radiant matter, which he seemed to refer to as the supposed caloric or matter thought to make up heat, according to the corpuscular theory. Even if we could imagine such a concept, matter in this state cannot be proven to exist, and recent findings about the continuity of solid, liquid, and gaseous states undermine the foundation of this speculation.
From these and many other instances which might be adduced, we learn that analogical reasoning leads us to the conception of many things which, so far as we can ascertain, do not exist. In this way great perplexities have arisen in the use of language and mathematical symbols. All language depends upon analogy; for we join and arrange words so that they may represent the corresponding junctions or arrangements of things and their equalities. But in the use of language we are obviously capable of forming many combinations of words to which no corresponding meaning apparently exists. The same difficulty arises in the use of mathematical signs, and mathematicians have needlessly puzzled themselves about the square root of a negative quantity, which is, in many applications of algebraic calculation, simply a sign without any analogous meaning, there being a failure of analogy.
From these and many other examples that could be mentioned, we see that analogical reasoning can lead us to think of many things that, as far as we can tell, don’t actually exist. This has caused considerable confusion in how we use language and mathematical symbols. All language relies on analogy; we combine and arrange words so they can represent the corresponding connections or arrangements of things and their equalities. However, in language, we can clearly create many combinations of words that don’t seem to have any corresponding meaning. The same issue occurs with mathematical signs, and mathematicians have unnecessarily puzzled over the square root of a negative number, which in many algebraic calculations is simply a symbol without any corresponding meaning, demonstrating a failure of analogy.
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CHAPTER XXIX.
UNIQUE EVENTS.
If science consists in the detection of identity and the recognition of uniformity existing in many objects, it follows that the progress of science depends upon the study of exceptional phenomena. Such new phenomena are the raw material upon which we exert our faculties of observation and reasoning, in order to reduce the new facts beneath the sway of the laws of nature, either those laws already well known, or those to be discovered. Not only are strange and inexplicable facts those which are on the whole most likely to lead us to some novel and important discovery, but they are also best fitted to arouse our attention. So long as events happen in accordance with our anticipations, and the routine of every-day observation is unvaried, there is nothing to impress upon the mind the smallness of its knowledge, and the depth of mystery, which may be hidden in the commonest sights and objects. In early times the myriads of stars which remained in apparently fixed relative positions upon the heavenly sphere, received less notice from astronomers than those few planets whose wandering and inexplicable motions formed a riddle. Hipparchus was induced to prepare the first catalogue of stars, because a single new star had been added to those nightly visible; and in the middle ages two brilliant but temporary stars caused more popular interest in astronomy than any other events, and to one of them we owe all the observations of Tycho Brahe, the mediæval Hipparchus.
If science is all about finding identities and recognizing patterns in various objects, then the advancement of science relies on studying exceptional phenomena. These new occurrences are the raw material for our observation and reasoning skills, allowing us to understand these new facts in relation to the laws of nature, whether they are already known or yet to be uncovered. Not only do bizarre and inexplicable facts lead us to novel and significant discoveries, but they also grab our attention the most. As long as events unfold as we expect them to and our daily observations remain unchanged, there's nothing to highlight how limited our knowledge is and how much mystery may lie in even the simplest sights and objects. In ancient times, the countless stars that seemed to stay in fixed positions in the sky received less attention from astronomers than the few planets with their puzzling and unpredictable movements. Hipparchus was prompted to create the first star catalog simply because a new star had been added to the visible ones. In the Middle Ages, two bright but temporary stars sparked more public interest in astronomy than any other events, and to one of them, we owe all the observations of Tycho Brahe, the medieval Hipparchus.
In other sciences, as well as in that of the heavens,645 exceptional events are commonly the points from which we start to explore new regions of knowledge. It has been beautifully said that Wonder is the daughter of Ignorance, but the mother of Invention; and though the most familiar and slight events, if fully examined, will afford endless food for wonder and for wisdom, yet it is the few peculiar and unlooked-for events which most often lead to a course of discovery. It is true, indeed, that it requires much philosophy to observe things which are too near to us.
In other sciences, as well as in astronomy,645 extraordinary events are often the starting points for exploring new areas of knowledge. It has been beautifully said that Wonder is the child of Ignorance but the parent of Invention; and while even the most ordinary and minor events, when examined closely, can provide endless inspiration for wonder and wisdom, it’s usually the rare and unexpected events that lead to significant discoveries. It’s true that it takes a lot of depth to notice things that are very close to us.
The high scientific importance attaching, then, to exceptions, renders it desirable that we should carefully consider the various modes in which an exception may be disposed of; while some new facts will be found to confirm the very laws to which they seem at first sight clearly opposed, others will cause us to limit the generality of our previous statements. In some cases the exception may be proved to be no exception; occasionally it will prove fatal to our previous most confident speculations; and there are some new phenomena which, without really destroying any of our former theories, open to us wholly new fields of scientific investigation. The study of this subject is especially interesting and important, because, as I have before said (p. 587), no important theory can be built up complete and perfect all at once. When unexplained phenomena present themselves as objections to the theory, it will often demand the utmost judgment and sagacity to assign to them their proper place and force. The acceptance or rejection of a theory will depend upon discriminating the one insuperable contradictory fact from many, which, however singular and inexplicable at first sight, may afterwards be shown to be results of different causes, or possibly the most striking results of the very law with which they stand in apparent conflict.
The high scientific importance of exceptions makes it essential for us to carefully examine the different ways an exception can be handled. While some new facts will reinforce the very laws they initially seem to contradict, others will lead us to refine the generality of our earlier assertions. In some instances, what appears to be an exception might turn out not to be one at all; at times, it could undermine our previous confident theories; and there are new phenomena that, while not negating any of our earlier ideas, open up entirely new avenues for scientific exploration. This topic is particularly fascinating and significant because, as I mentioned before (p. 587), no major theory can be fully formed all at once. When unexplained phenomena arise as challenges to a theory, it often requires the utmost judgment and insight to determine their true significance and role. The decision to accept or reject a theory will hinge on our ability to identify the one undeniable contradictory fact among many that, although seemingly unusual and incomprehensible at first, may later be revealed as the result of different causes or even as the most striking effects of the very law that appears to be in conflict.
I can enumerate at least eight classes or kinds of exceptional phenomena, to one or other of which any supposed exception to the known laws of nature can usually be referred; they may be briefly described as below, and will be sufficiently illustrated in the succeeding sections.
I can list at least eight types of exceptional phenomena, to which any supposed exception to the established laws of nature can usually be assigned; they can be briefly described as follows, and will be adequately illustrated in the following sections.
(1) Imaginary, or false exceptions, that is, facts, objects, or events which are not really what they are supposed to be.
(1) Imaginary, or false exceptions, meaning facts, objects, or events that aren’t actually what they appear to be.
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(2) Apparent, but congruent exceptions, which, though apparently in conflict with a law of nature, are really in agreement with it.
(2) Obvious but consistent exceptions that, even though they seem to conflict with a law of nature, actually align with it.
(3) Singular exceptions, which really agree with a law of nature, but exhibit remarkable and unique results of it.
(3) Unique exceptions that align with a natural law but show remarkable and one-of-a-kind outcomes.
(4) Divergent exceptions, which really proceed from the ordinary action of known processes of nature, but which are excessive in amount or monstrous in character.
(4) Divergent exceptions that actually arise from the usual workings of well-known natural processes, but are extreme in quantity or unusual in nature.
(5) Accidental exceptions, arising from the interference of some entirely distinct but known law of nature.
(5) Accidental exceptions that result from the interference of a completely different but recognized natural law.
(6) Novel and unexplained exceptions, which lead to the discovery of a new series of laws and phenomena, modifying or disguising the effects of previously known laws, without being inconsistent with them.
(6) New and unexplained exceptions that lead to the discovery of a new set of laws and phenomena, changing or masking the effects of previously known laws, without being contradictory to them.
(7) Limiting exceptions showing the falsity of a supposed law in some cases to which it had been extended, but not affecting its truth in other cases.
(7) Restricting exceptions that demonstrate the falsehood of an alleged law in certain cases where it was applied, but not impacting its validity in other situations.
(8) Contradictory or real exceptions which lead us to the conclusion that a supposed hypothesis or theory is in opposition to the phenomena of nature, and must therefore be abandoned.
(8) Conflicting or genuine exceptions that lead us to the conclusion that a supposed hypothesis or theory goes against the natural phenomena and must therefore be discarded.
It ought to be clearly understood that in no case is a law of nature really thwarted or prevented from being fulfilled. The effects of a law may be disguised and hidden from our view in some instances: in others the law itself may be rendered inapplicable altogether; but if a law is applicable it must be carried out. Every law of nature must therefore be stated with the utmost generality of all the instances really coming under it. Babbage proposed to distinguish between universal principles, which do not admit of a single exception, such as that every number ending in 5 is divisible by five, and general principles which are more frequently obeyed than violated, as that “men will be governed by what they believe to be their interest.”540 But in a scientific point of view general principles must be universal as regards some distinct class of objects, or they are not principles at all. If a law to which exceptions exist is stated without allusion to those exceptions, the statement is erroneous. I have no right to say that “All liquids647 expand by heat,” if I know that water below 4° C. does not; I ought to say, “All liquids, except water below 4° C., expand by heat;” and every new exception discovered will falsify the statement until inserted in it. To speak of some laws as being generally true, meaning not universally but in the majority of cases, is a hurtful abuse of the word, but is quite usual. General should mean that which is true of a whole genus or class, and every true statement must be true of some assigned or assignable class.
It should be clearly understood that in no case is a law of nature truly obstructed or prevented from being fulfilled. The effects of a law may be obscured and hidden from our view in some cases; in others, the law itself may be rendered completely inapplicable; but if a law is applicable, it must be executed. Every law of nature must therefore be stated with the utmost generality of all instances that genuinely fall under it. Babbage suggested distinguishing between universal principles, which allow for no exceptions, like the fact that every number ending in 5 is divisible by five, and general principles which are usually followed more than they are violated, such as “men will act according to what they believe to be their interest.”540 However, from a scientific perspective, general principles must be universal concerning some specific class of objects, or they aren’t principles at all. If a law that has exceptions is stated without mentioning those exceptions, the statement is incorrect. I cannot say that “All liquids647 expand with heat” if I know that water below 4° C does not; I should say, “All liquids, except water below 4° C, expand with heat;” and every newly discovered exception will invalidate the statement until it is included. Referring to some laws as being generally true, implying not universally but in most cases, is a damaging misuse of the term, though it is quite common. General should refer to what is true of a whole genus or class, and every true statement must apply to some recognized or recognizable class.
Imaginary or False Exceptions.
When a supposed exception to a law of nature is brought to our notice, the first inquiry ought properly to be—Is there any breach of the law at all? It may be that the supposed exceptional fact is not a fact at all, but a mere figment of the imagination. When King Charles requested the Royal Society to investigate the curious fact that a live fish put into a bucket of water does not increase the weight of the bucket and its contents, the Royal Society wisely commenced their deliberations by inquiring whether the fact was so or not. Every statement, however false, must have some cause or prior condition, and the real question for the Royal Society to investigate was, how the King came to think that the fact was so. Mental conditions, as we have seen, enter into all acts of observation, and are often a worthy subject of inquiry. But there are many instances in the history of science, in which trouble and error have been caused by false assertions carelessly made, and carelessly accepted without verification.
When a supposed exception to a natural law comes to our attention, the first question should be: Is there any actual violation of the law? It might turn out that the so-called exceptional fact isn’t a fact at all, but simply a product of imagination. When King Charles asked the Royal Society to investigate the interesting claim that a live fish placed in a bucket of water doesn't add to the weight of the bucket and its contents, the Royal Society wisely started by checking if the claim was true. Every statement, no matter how false, must have some underlying cause or condition, and the real question for the Royal Society to explore was how the King came to believe that the claim was true. Mental states, as we have observed, play a role in all acts of observation and are often worth investigating. However, there have been many instances in the history of science where problems and mistakes arose from false claims that were made and accepted without proper verification.
The reception of the Copernican theory was much impeded by the objection, that if the earth were moving, a stone dropped from the top of a high tower should be left behind, and should appear to move towards the west, just as a stone dropped from the mast-head of a moving ship would fall behind, owing to the motion of the ship. The Copernicans attempted to meet this grave objection in every way but the true one, namely, showing by trial that the asserted facts are not correct. In the first place, if a stone had been dropped with suitable precautions from the mast-head of a moving ship, it would have fallen close to the foot of the mast, because, by the first law of motion, it would648 remain in the same state of horizontal motion communicated to it by the mast. As the anti-Copernicans had assumed the contrary result as certain to ensue, their argument would of course have fallen through. Had the Copernicans next proceeded to test with great care the other assertion involved, they would have become still better convinced of the truth of their own theory. A stone dropped from the top of a high tower, or into a deep well, would certainly not have been deflected from the vertical direction in the considerable degree required to agree with the supposed consequences of the Copernican views; but, with very accurate observation, they might have discovered, as Benzenberg subsequently did, a very small deflection towards the east, showing that the eastward velocity is greater at the top than the bottom. Had the Copernicans then been able to detect and interpret the meaning of the small divergence thus arising, they would have found in it corroboration of their own views.
The reception of the Copernican theory faced significant challenges because people argued that if the earth was moving, a stone dropped from the top of a tall tower would be left behind and appear to fall towards the west, similar to how a stone dropped from the mast of a moving ship would fall behind due to the ship's movement. The Copernicans tried to address this serious objection in every way except the right one, which was to demonstrate through experimentation that the claimed facts were incorrect. Firstly, if a stone had been dropped carefully from the mast of a moving ship, it would have landed close to the base of the mast because, according to the first law of motion, it would maintain the same horizontal motion given to it by the mast. Since the anti-Copernicans assumed the opposite result would definitely happen, their argument would inevitably collapse. If the Copernicans had then meticulously tested the other claim involved, they would have become even more convinced of the validity of their theory. A stone dropped from the top of a tall tower or into a deep well would not have deviated from the vertical direction to the extent needed to support the supposed consequences of the Copernican views; however, with precise observation, they might have discovered, as Benzenberg did later, a very slight deflection towards the east, indicating that the eastward velocity is greater at the top than at the bottom. If the Copernicans had been able to notice and understand the meaning of this small divergence, they would have found it as support for their own theories.
Multitudes of cases might be cited in which laws of nature seem to be evidently broken, but in which the apparent breach arises from a misapprehension of the case. It is a general law, absolutely true of all crystals yet submitted to examination, that no crystal has a re-entrant angle, that is an angle which towards the axis of the crystal is greater than two right angles. Wherever the faces of a crystal meet they produce a projecting edge, and wherever edges meet they produce a corner. Many crystals, however, when carelessly examined, present exceptions to this law, but closer observation always shows that the apparently re-entrant angle really arises from the oblique union of two distinct crystals. Other crystals seem to possess faces contradicting all the principles of crystallography; but careful examination shows that the supposed faces are not true faces, but surfaces produced by the orderly junction of an immense number of distinct thin crystalline plates, each plate being in fact a separate crystal, in which the laws of crystallography are strictly observed. The roughness of the supposed face, the striæ detected by the microscope, or inference by continuity from other specimens where the true faces of the plates are clearly seen, prove the mistaken character of the supposed exceptions. Again, four of the faces of a regular octahedron may become so enlarged649 in the crystallisation of iron pyrites and some other substances, that the other four faces become imperceptible and a regular tetrahedron appears to be produced, contrary to the laws of crystallographic symmetry. Many other crystalline forms are similarly modified, so as to produce a series of what are called hemihedral forms.
There are many examples where the laws of nature seem to be clearly violated, but these apparent violations stem from a misunderstanding of the situation. It is a general principle, universally true for all crystals examined, that no crystal has a re-entrant angle, which means an angle that, towards the axis of the crystal, is greater than two right angles. Where the faces of a crystal meet, they create a protruding edge, and where edges meet, they form a corner. However, many crystals, when not examined carefully, appear to contradict this law. A closer look, though, always reveals that the seemingly re-entrant angle actually comes from the angled connection of two distinct crystals. Some crystals seem to have faces that contradict all the rules of crystallography, but a careful examination reveals that these supposed faces aren't real faces; rather, they are surfaces formed by the organized junction of numerous thin crystalline plates, each plate being a separate crystal that adheres to the laws of crystallography. The roughness of the supposed face, the striations detected by the microscope, or connecting the dots to other specimens where the true faces of the plates are clearly visible, indicate that these supposed exceptions are misunderstandings. Furthermore, four faces of a regular octahedron can become so enlarged during the crystallization of iron pyrites and other substances that the remaining four faces become virtually invisible, giving the appearance of a regular tetrahedron, which goes against the principles of symmetrical crystallography. Many other crystalline forms are similarly altered, leading to a series of shapes known as hemihedral forms.
In tracing out the isomorphic relations of the elements, great perplexity has often been caused by mistaking one substance for another. It was pointed out that though arsenic was supposed to be isomorphous with phosphorus, the arseniate of soda crystallised in a form distinct from that of the corresponding phosphate. Some chemists held this to be a fatal objection to the doctrine of isomorphism; but it was afterwards pointed out by Clarke, that the arseniate and phosphate in question were not corresponding compounds, as they differed in regard to the water of crystallisation.541 Vanadium again appeared to be an exception to the laws of isomorphism, until it was proved by Professor Roscoe, that what Berzelius supposed to be metallic vanadium was really an oxide of vanadium.542
In tracing the isomorphic relationships of elements, confusion has often arisen from confusing one substance with another. It was noted that although arsenic was thought to be isomorphic with phosphorus, the arseniate of soda crystallized in a different form than the corresponding phosphate. Some chemists considered this a major flaw in the isomorphism theory; however, Clarke later pointed out that the arseniate and phosphate in question were not matching compounds because they differed in their water of crystallization.541 Vanadium also seemed to contradict the laws of isomorphism until Professor Roscoe demonstrated that what Berzelius thought was metallic vanadium was actually an oxide of vanadium.542
Apparent but Congruent Exceptions.
Not unfrequently a law of nature will present results in certain circumstances which appear to be entirely in conflict with the law itself. Not only may the action of the law be much complicated and disguised, but it may in various ways be reversed or inverted, so that careless observers are misled. Ancient philosophers generally believed that while some bodies were heavy by nature, others, such as flame, smoke, bubbles, clouds, &c., were essentially light, or possessed a tendency to move upwards. So acute an inquirer as Aristotle failed to perceive the true nature of buoyancy, and the doctrine of intrinsic lightness, expounded in his works, became the accepted view for many centuries. It is true that Lucretius was aware why flame tends to rise, holding that—
Not infrequently, a natural law will show results in certain situations that seem to completely contradict the law itself. Not only can the effects of the law be quite complicated and obscured, but they can also be reversed or inverted in various ways, leading careless observers to be misled. Ancient philosophers commonly believed that while some bodies were heavy by nature, others, like flame, smoke, bubbles, clouds, etc., were essentially light or had a tendency to move upward. A keen thinker like Aristotle failed to grasp the true nature of buoyancy, and the idea of intrinsic lightness that he explained in his writings became the accepted view for many centuries. It is true that Lucretius understood why flame tends to rise, arguing that—
Nor mounts but when compelled by heavier air.”
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Archimedes also was so perfectly acquainted with the buoyancy of bodies immersed in water, that he could not fail to perceive the existence of a parallel effect in air. Yet throughout the early middle ages the light of true science could not contend with the glare of the Peripatetic doctrine. The genius of Galileo and Newton was required to convince people of the simple truth that all matter is heavy, but that the gravity of one substance may be overborne by that of another, as one scale of a balance is carried up by the preponderating weight in the opposite scale. It is curious to find Newton gravely explaining the difference of absolute and relative gravity, as if it were a new discovery proceeding from his theory.543 More than a century elapsed before other apparent exceptions to the Newtonian philosophy were explained away.
Archimedes was so well-versed in the buoyancy of objects in water that he couldn't help but notice a similar effect in air. However, during the early Middle Ages, genuine science struggled to compete with the overwhelming influence of the Peripatetic doctrine. The brilliance of Galileo and Newton was needed to help people understand the simple truth that all matter is heavy, but the weight of one substance can be offset by another, just like one side of a balance scale is lifted by the greater weight on the other side. It's interesting to see Newton seriously discussing the difference between absolute and relative gravity, as if it were a groundbreaking discovery from his theory.543 It took more than a century for other apparent exceptions to Newton's philosophy to be clarified.
Newton himself allowed that the motion of the apsides of the moon’s orbit appeared to be irreconcilable with the law of gravity, and it remained for Clairaut to remove the difficulty by more complete mathematical analysis. There must always remain, in the motions of the heavenly bodies, discrepancies of some amount between theory and observation; but such discrepancies have so often yielded in past times to prolonged investigation that physicists now regard them as merely apparent exceptions, which will afterwards be found to agree with the law of gravity.
Newton himself admitted that the movement of the moon's orbit seemed to conflict with the law of gravity, and it was Clairaut who worked out the problem through more detailed mathematical analysis. There will always be some differences between theory and observation in the movements of celestial bodies; however, these discrepancies have often been resolved through extended research in the past, leading physicists today to see them as just apparent exceptions that will eventually align with the law of gravity.
The most beautiful instance of an apparent exception, is found in the total reflection of light, which occurs when a beam of light within a medium falls very obliquely upon the boundary separating it from a rarer medium. The general law is that when a ray strikes the limit between two media of different refractive indices, part of the light is reflected and part is refracted; but when the obliquity of the ray within the denser medium passes beyond a certain point, there is a sudden apparent breach of continuity, and the whole of the light is reflected. A clear reason can be given for this exceptional conduct of the light. According to the law of refraction, the sine of the angle of incidence bears a fixed ratio to the sine of the angle of refraction, so that the greater of the two angles, which is always that in the less dense medium, may increase up to a right angle;651 but when the media differ in refractive power, the less angle cannot become a right angle, as this would require the sine of an angle to be greater than the radius. It might seem that this is an exception of the kind described below as a limiting exception, by which a law is shown to be inapplicable beyond certain limits; but in the explanation of the exception according to the undulatory theory, we find that there is really no breach of the general law. When an undulation strikes a point in a bounding surface, spherical waves are produced and spread from the point. The refracted ray is the resultant of an infinite number of such spherical waves, and the bending of the ray at the common surface of two media depends upon the comparative velocities of propagation of the undulations in those media. But if a ray falls very obliquely upon the surface of a rarer medium, the waves proceeding from successive points of the surface spread so rapidly as never to intersect, and no resultant wave will then be produced. We thus perceive that from similar mathematical conditions arise distinct apparent effects.
The most striking example of an apparent exception is found in total reflection of light, which happens when a beam of light in one medium hits the boundary with a less dense medium at a very steep angle. Normally, when a ray hits the boundary between two media with different refractive indices, part of the light reflects back and part of it refracts into the other medium. However, when the angle of incidence in the denser medium exceeds a certain point, there's an abrupt and obvious break in this pattern, causing all of the light to reflect back. There’s a clear explanation for this unusual behavior of light. According to the law of refraction, the sine of the angle of incidence has a fixed ratio to the sine of the angle of refraction, meaning the larger angle—always the one in the less dense medium—can increase up to a right angle. Yet, when the media have different refractive powers, the smaller angle can't reach a right angle, as that would imply that the sine of the angle is greater than one. It may seem like this is an exception, as described below as a limiting exception, which suggests that a law doesn't apply beyond certain limits; but when we explain this exception using the wave theory, we see there's really no violation of the general law. When a wave hits a point on a boundary, it generates spherical waves that spread out from that point. The refracted ray is the result of countless such spherical waves, and the bending of the ray at the boundary between the two media depends on how fast the waves travel in those media. However, if a ray hits the boundary of a less dense medium very steeply, the waves from successive points on the surface spread out too quickly to meet, resulting in no resultant wave being formed. Thus, we see that similar mathematical conditions can lead to different apparent effects.
There occur from time to time failures in our best grounded predictions. A comet, of which the orbit has been well determined, may fail, like Lexell’s Comet, to appear at the appointed time and place in the heavens. In the present day we should not allow such an exception to our successful predictions to weigh against our belief in the theory of gravitation, but should assume that some unknown body had through the action of gravitation deflected the comet. As Clairaut remarked, in publishing his calculations concerning the expected reappearance of Halley’s Comet, a body which passes into regions so remote, and which is hidden from our view during such long periods, might be exposed to the influence of forces totally unknown to us, such as the attraction of other comets, or of planets too far removed from the sun to be ever perceived by us. In the case of Lexell’s Comet it was afterwards shown, curiously enough, that its appearance was not one of a regular series of periodical returns within the sphere of our vision, but a single exceptional visit never to be repeated, and probably due to the perturbing powers of Jupiter. This solitary visit became a strong confirmation of the law of gravity with which it seemed to be in conflict.
Failures in our most reliable predictions happen from time to time. A comet, whose orbit has been accurately calculated, may fail to show up at the scheduled time and place in the sky, like Lexell’s Comet did. In today's world, we shouldn't let such an exception to our accurate predictions undermine our belief in the theory of gravitation. Instead, we should think that some unknown force, acting through gravitation, caused the comet to be deflected. As Clairaut noted when he published his calculations about Halley’s Comet's expected return, a body traveling to such distant regions, hidden from our view for long periods, might be affected by forces we don't know about—like the gravitational pull of other comets or planets too far from the sun for us to ever see. In the case of Lexell’s Comet, it was later revealed, interestingly enough, that its appearance was not part of a regular series of periodic returns visible to us, but rather a unique visit that will never happen again, likely influenced by Jupiter’s gravitational effects. This one-time appearance ultimately provided strong support for the law of gravity, even though it appeared to contradict it.
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Singular Exceptions.
Among the most interesting of apparent exceptions are those which I call singular exceptions, because they are more or less analogous to the singular cases or solutions which occur in mathematical science. A general mathematical law embraces an infinite multitude of cases which perfectly agree with each other in a certain respect. It may nevertheless happen that a single case, while really obeying the general law, stands out as apparently different from all the rest. The rotation of the earth upon its axis gives to all the stars an apparent motion of rotation from east to west; but while countless thousands obey the rule, the Pole Star alone seems to break it. Exact observations indeed show that it also revolves in a small circle, but a star might happen for a short time to exist so close to the pole that no appreciable change of place would be caused by the earth’s rotation. It would then constitute a perfect singular exception; while really obeying the law, it would break the terms in which it is usually stated. In the same way the poles of every revolving body are singular points.
Among the most interesting apparent exceptions are what I call singular exceptions, because they are somewhat similar to the singular cases or solutions found in mathematics. A general mathematical law includes an infinite number of cases that align in a certain way. However, it can happen that one specific case, while truly following the general law, stands out as seemingly different from the rest. The rotation of the Earth on its axis causes all the stars to appear to move from east to west; yet, while countless stars follow this pattern, the Pole Star appears to defy it. Precise observations actually show that it also revolves in a small circle, but a star could temporarily be so close to the pole that the Earth's rotation wouldn't result in any noticeable change in its position. In that scenario, it would be a perfect singular exception; while it would still comply with the law, it would contradict the way it's usually expressed. Similarly, the poles of every revolving body are singular points.
Whenever the laws of nature are reduced to a mathematical form we may expect to meet with singular cases, and, as all the physical sciences will meet in the mathematical principles of mechanics, there is no part of nature where we may not encounter them. In mechanical science the motion of rotation may be considered an exception to the motion of translation. It is a general law that any number of parallel forces, whether acting in the same or opposite directions, will have a resultant which may be substituted for them with like effect. This resultant will be equal to the algebraic sum of the forces, or the difference of those acting in one direction and the other; it will pass through a point which is determined by a simple formula, and which may be described as the mean point of all the points of application of the parallel forces (p. 364). Thus we readily determine the resultant of parallel forces except in one peculiar case, namely, when two forces are equal and opposite but not in the same straight line. Being equal and opposite the amount of the resultant is nothing, yet, as the forces are not in the same653 straight line, they do not balance each other. Examining the formula for the point of application of the resultant, we find that it gives an infinitely great magnitude, so that the resultant is nothing at all, and acts at an infinite distance, which is practically the same as to say that there is no resultant. Two such forces constitute what is known in mechanical science as a couple, which occasions rotatory instead of rectilinear motion, and can only be neutralised by an equal and opposite couple of forces.
Whenever the laws of nature are expressed in mathematical terms, we can expect to encounter unique cases, and since all physical sciences converge in the mathematical principles of mechanics, we can find them in any part of nature. In mechanical science, rotational motion can be seen as different from linear motion. There’s a general rule that any number of parallel forces, whether they’re acting in the same direction or opposite ones, will have a combined effect that can replace them while producing the same result. This combined effect will equal the total sum of the forces or the difference of the forces acting in one direction versus the other; it will pass through a point determined by a simple formula, which can be described as the average point of all the points where the parallel forces are applied (p. 364). Thus, we can easily find the resultant of parallel forces except in one specific scenario: when two forces are equal and opposite but not aligned in the same straight line. Though they are equal and opposite, resulting in a net force of zero, the fact that they’re not in the same straight line means they don't balance each other out. When we look at the formula for the point where the resultant would apply, we find it yields an infinitely large value, indicating that the resultant is effectively nonexistent and acts at an infinite distance, which means it’s safe to say there is no resultant. Two such forces create an effect known in mechanical science as a couple, which produces rotational motion instead of straight-line motion and can only be countered by an equal and opposite couple of forces.
The best instances of singular exceptions are furnished by the science of optics. It is a general law that in passing through transparent media the plane of vibration of polarised light remains unchanged. But in certain liquids, some peculiar crystals of quartz, and transparent solid media subjected to a magnetic strain, as in Faraday’s experiment (pp. 588, 630), the plane of polarisation is rotated in a screw-like manner. This effect is so entirely sui generis, so unlike any other phenomena in nature, as to appear truly exceptional; yet mathematical analysis shows it to be only a single case of much more general laws. As stated by Thomson and Tait,544 it arises from the composition of two uniform circular motions. If while a point is moving round a circle, the centre of that circle move upon another circle, a great variety of curious curves will be produced according as we vary the dimensions of the circles, the rapidity or the direction of the motions. When the two circles are exactly equal, the rapidities nearly so, and the directions opposite, the point will be found to move gradually round the centre of the stationary circle, and describe a curious star-like figure connected with the molecular motions out of which the rotational power of the media rises. Among other singular exceptions in optics may be placed the conical refraction of light, already noticed (p. 540), arising from the peculiar form assumed by a wave of light when passing through certain double-refracting crystals. The laws obeyed by the wave are exactly the same as in other cases, yet the results are entirely sui generis. So far are such cases from contradicting the law of ordinary cases, that they afford the best opportunities for verification.
The best examples of unique exceptions come from the science of optics. It's a general rule that when passing through transparent materials, the plane of vibration of polarized light stays the same. However, in certain liquids, some special crystals of quartz, and transparent solid materials under magnetic strain, like in Faraday’s experiment (pp. 588, 630), the plane of polarization rotates in a spiral fashion. This effect is so entirely sui generis, so different from any other phenomena in nature, that it seems truly exceptional; yet mathematical analysis reveals it to be just one instance of much broader laws. As noted by Thomson and Tait,544, it comes from the combination of two uniform circular motions. If while a point moves in a circle, the center of that circle also moves in another circle, a wide variety of interesting curves will be created depending on how we change the sizes of the circles, the speed, or the direction of the movements. When the two circles are exactly the same size, their speeds nearly equal, and their directions opposite, the point will be found moving gradually around the center of the stationary circle, tracing out an intriguing star-like figure associated with the molecular motions that give rise to the rotational power of the materials. Among other unique exceptions in optics is the conical refraction of light, previously mentioned (p. 540), which results from the unusual shape taken by a light wave when it passes through certain double-refracting crystals. The laws governing the wave are exactly the same as in other situations, yet the outcomes are entirely sui generis. Such cases don't contradict the law of ordinary instances; rather, they provide great opportunities for verification.
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In astronomy singular exceptions might occur, and in an approximate manner they do occur. We may point to the rings of Saturn as objects which, though undoubtedly obeying the law of gravity, are yet unique, as far as our observation of the universe has gone. They agree, indeed, with the other bodies of the planetary system in the stability of their movements, which never diverge far from the mean position. There seems to be little doubt that these rings are composed of swarms of small meteoric stones; formerly they were thought to be solid continuous rings, and mathematicians proved that if so constituted an entirely exceptional event might have happened under certain circumstances. Had the rings been exactly uniform all round, and with a centre of gravity coinciding for a moment with that of Saturn, a singular case of unstable equilibrium would have arisen, necessarily resulting in the sudden collapse of the rings, and the fall of their debris upon the surface of the planet. Thus in one single case the theory of gravity would give a result wholly unlike anything else known in the mechanism of the heavens.
In astronomy, unique exceptions can happen, and they do in a general sense. We can point to the rings of Saturn as objects that, while definitely following the law of gravity, are still unusual based on our observations of the universe so far. They do align with the other bodies in the planetary system in that their movements remain stable and don't stray far from the average position. There's little doubt that these rings are made up of clusters of small meteoric stones; in the past, they were believed to be solid, continuous rings. Mathematicians showed that if they were indeed solid, a completely unusual event could occur under specific conditions. If the rings had been perfectly uniform all around and their center of gravity perfectly aligned with Saturn’s at one moment, a unique case of unstable equilibrium would have happened, leading to the sudden collapse of the rings and the debris falling onto the planet's surface. In this one case, the theory of gravity would yield a result entirely different from anything else known in the workings of the heavens.
It is possible that we might meet with singular exceptions in crystallography. If a crystal of the second or dimetric system, in which the third axis is usually unequal to either of the other two, happened to have the three axes equal, it might be mistaken for a crystal of the cubic system, but would exhibit different faces and dissimilar properties. There is, again, a possible class of diclinic crystals in which two axes are at right angles and the third axis inclined to the other two. This class is chiefly remarkable for its non-existence, since no crystals have yet been proved to have such axes. It seems likely that the class would constitute only a singular case of the more general triclinic system, in which all three axes are inclined to each other at various angles. Now if the diclinic form were merely accidental, and not produced by any general law of molecular constitution, its actual occurrence would be infinitely improbable, just as it is infinitely improbable that any star should indicate the North Pole with perfect exactness.
It’s possible that we might encounter some unique cases in crystallography. If a crystal from the second or dimetric system, where the third axis is usually different from the other two, happened to have all three axes equal, it might be mistaken for a crystal from the cubic system, but it would have different faces and distinct properties. Additionally, there’s a potential class of diclinic crystals where two axes are at right angles and the third axis is tilted relative to the other two. This class is mainly notable for not existing since no crystals have been proven to have such axes. It seems likely that this class would only be an unusual case of the more general triclinic system, where all three axes are tilted at various angles to one another. If the diclinic form were just a coincidence and not the result of any general rules of molecular structure, its actual occurrence would be highly unlikely, much like it’s highly unlikely for any star to point exactly at the North Pole.
In the curves denoting the relation between the temperature and pressure of water there is, as shown by Professor J. Thomson, one very remarkable point entirely unique, at which alone water can remain in the three655 conditions of gas, liquid, and solid in the same vessel. It is the triple point at which three lines meet, namely (1) the steam line, which shows at what temperatures and pressures water is just upon the point of becoming gaseous; (2) the ice line, showing when ice is just about to melt; and (3) the hoar-frost line, which similarly indicates the pressures and temperatures at which ice is capable of passing directly into the state of gaseous vapour.545
In the curves representing the relationship between the temperature and pressure of water, there is, as noted by Professor J. Thomson, one very unique point where water can exist simultaneously in all three states: gas, liquid, and solid, within the same container. This is the triple point where three lines intersect: (1) the steam line, which indicates the temperatures and pressures at which water is about to become gaseous; (2) the ice line, which indicates the point at which ice is about to melt; and (3) the hoar-frost line, which similarly shows the pressures and temperatures at which ice can transition directly into gaseous vapor.545
Divergent Exceptions.
Closely analogous to singular exceptions are those divergent exceptions, in which a phenomenon manifests itself in unusual magnitude or character, without becoming subject to peculiar laws. Thus in throwing ten coins, it happened in four cases out of 2,048 throws, that all the coins fell with heads uppermost (p. 208); these would usually be regarded as very singular events, and, according to the theory of probabilities, they would be rare; yet they proceed only from an unusual conjunction of accidental events, and from no really exceptional causes. In all classes of natural phenomena we may expect to meet with similar divergencies from the average, sometimes due merely to the principles of probability, sometimes to deeper reasons. Among every large collection of persons, we shall probably find some persons who are remarkably large or remarkably small, giants or dwarfs, whether in bodily or mental conformation. Such cases appear to be not mere lusus naturæ, since they occur with a frequency closely accordant with the law of error or divergence from an average, as shown by Quetelet and Mr. Galton.546 The rise of genius, and the occurrence of extraordinary musical or mathematical faculties, are attributed by Mr. Galton to the same principle of divergence.
Similar to unique exceptions are those different exceptions, where a phenomenon appears in an unusual way or degree, without being governed by special laws. For example, when tossing ten coins, there were four instances out of 2,048 throws where all the coins landed heads up (p. 208); these are often seen as very rare events, and according to probability theory, they are uncommon; however, they arise simply from an unusual combination of random events, rather than from any truly exceptional causes. In all types of natural phenomena, we can expect to find similar variations from the average, sometimes resulting purely from probability principles, and at other times due to deeper reasons. Among a large group of people, we are likely to find some who are exceptionally tall or exceptionally short, whether physically or mentally. These cases do not seem to be just lusus naturæ, as they occur with a frequency that aligns closely with the law of error or divergence from an average, as shown by Quetelet and Mr. Galton.546 Mr. Galton attributes the emergence of genius and the appearance of extraordinary musical or mathematical abilities to the same principle of divergence.
When several distinct forces happen to concur together, we may have surprising or alarming results. Great storms, floods, droughts, and other extreme deviations from the average condition of the atmosphere thus arise. They must be expected to happen from time to time, and will yet be very infrequent compared with minor disturbances.656 They are not anomalous but only extreme events, analogous to extreme runs of luck. There seems, indeed, to be a fallacious impression in the minds of many persons, that the theory of probabilities necessitates uniformity in the happening of events, so that in the same space of time there will always be nearly the same number of railway accidents and murders. Buckle has superficially remarked upon the constancy of such events as ascertained by Quetelet, and some of his readers acquire the false notion that there is a mysterious inexorable law producing uniformity in human affairs. But nothing can be more opposed to the teachings of the theory of probability, which always contemplates the occurrence of unusual runs of luck. That theory shows the great improbability that the number of railway accidents per month should be always equal, or nearly so. The public attention is strongly attracted to any unusual conjunction of events, and there is a fallacious tendency to suppose that such conjunction must be due to a peculiar new cause coming into operation. Unless it can be clearly shown that such unusual conjunctions occur more frequently than they should do according to the theory of probabilities, we should regard them as merely divergent exceptions.
When several different forces come together, we can see surprising or alarming results. Major storms, floods, droughts, and other extreme changes in weather can occur. These events should be expected from time to time, but they will be very rare compared to smaller disturbances. They aren't anomalies, just extreme events, similar to unusual streaks of luck. Many people mistakenly believe that the theory of probabilities requires uniformity in event occurrences, so that in the same timeframe, there will always be about the same number of train accidents and murders. Buckle has made a superficial observation about the constancy of such events noted by Quetelet, and some of his readers gain the incorrect impression that there is a mysterious, unchangeable law that creates uniformity in human activities. However, nothing could be more contrary to the principles of probability theory, which always accounts for the chance of unusual streaks of luck. This theory indicates that it’s highly unlikely for the number of train accidents per month to always be the same, or very close. People are drawn to any unusual combination of events and often mistakenly think that such combinations must be caused by a new, specific factor. Unless it can be clearly demonstrated that these unusual combinations occur more often than probability theory suggests they should, we should view them as mere divergent exceptions.656
Eclipses and remarkable conjunctions of the heavenly bodies may also be regarded as results of ordinary laws which nevertheless appear to break the regular course of nature, and never fail to excite surprise. Such events vary greatly in frequency. One or other of the satellites of Jupiter is eclipsed almost every day, but the simultaneous eclipse of three satellites can only take place, according to the calculations of Wargentin, after the lapse of 1,317,900 years. The relations of the four satellites are so remarkable, that it is actually impossible, according to the theory of gravity, that they should all suffer eclipse simultaneously. But it may happen that while some of the satellites are really eclipsed by entering Jupiter’s shadow, the others are either occulted or rendered invisible by passing over his disk. Thus on four occasions, in 1681, 1802, 1826, and 1843, Jupiter has been witnessed in the singular condition of being apparently deprived of satellites. A close conjunction of two planets always excites admiration, though such conjunctions must occur at intervals in the ordinary course of their motions. We cannot wonder that when657 three or four planets approach each other closely, the event is long remembered. A most remarkable conjunction of Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and Mercury, which took place in the year 2446 B.C., was adopted by the Chinese Emperor, Chuen Hio, as a new epoch for the chronology of his Empire, though there is some doubt whether the conjunction was really observed, or was calculated from the supposed laws of motion of the planets. It is certain that on the 11th November, 1524, the planets Venus, Jupiter, Mars, and Saturn were seen very close together, while Mercury was only distant by about 16° or thirty apparent diameters of the sun, this conjunction being probably the most remarkable which has occurred in historical times.
Eclipses and impressive alignments of celestial bodies can also be viewed as results of ordinary laws that, however, seem to disrupt the normal flow of nature and always generate surprise. The frequency of such events varies widely. One of Jupiter's moons is eclipsed almost daily, but, according to Wargentin's calculations, the simultaneous eclipse of three moons can only occur after 1,317,900 years. The relationships among the four moons are so extraordinary that, based on the theory of gravity, it’s impossible for all of them to be eclipsed at the same time. However, while some moons may indeed be eclipsed by entering Jupiter's shadow, the others might be obscured or made invisible by passing across its surface. Consequently, there have been four instances—in 1681, 1802, 1826, and 1843—when Jupiter appeared to be without its moons. A close alignment of two planets always draws admiration, even though such alignments must happen periodically as part of their normal movements. It’s no surprise that when three or four planets come close together, the event is long remembered. A particularly notable alignment of Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and Mercury in 2446 B.C. was adopted by the Chinese Emperor Chuen Hio as a new starting point for the chronology of his Empire, though there’s some uncertainty about whether this alignment was actually observed or just calculated based on the presumed laws of motion of the planets. On November 11, 1524, Venus, Jupiter, Mars, and Saturn were seen very close together, while Mercury was about 16° away, or roughly thirty times the apparent diameter of the sun. This conjunction is likely the most remarkable one recorded in historical times.
Among the perturbations of the planets we find divergent exceptions arising from the peculiar accumulation of effects, as in the case of the long inequality of Jupiter and Saturn (p. 455). Leverrier has shown that there is one place between the orbits of Mercury and Venus, and another between those of Mars and Jupiter, in either of which, if a small planet happened to exist, it would suffer comparatively immense disturbance in the elements of its orbit. Now between Mars and Jupiter there do occur the minor planets, the orbits of which are in many cases exceptionally divergent.547
Among the disruptions of the planets, we see unique exceptions that come from specific accumulations of effects, such as the long-term irregularity between Jupiter and Saturn (p. 455). Leverrier has indicated that there is one spot between the orbits of Mercury and Venus, and another between those of Mars and Jupiter, where, if a small planet were to exist, it would experience significant disturbances in its orbital elements. Now, between Mars and Jupiter, there are indeed minor planets, whose orbits are, in many instances, particularly irregular.547
Under divergent exceptions we might place all or nearly all the instances of substances possessing physical properties in a very high or low degree, which were described in the chapter on Generalisation (p. 607). Quicksilver is divergent among metals as regards its melting point, and potassium and sodium as regards their specific gravities. Monstrous productions and variations, whether in the animal or vegetable kingdoms, should probably be assigned to this class of exceptions.
Under different exceptions, we could categorize almost all instances of substances that have very high or very low physical properties, which were discussed in the chapter on Generalization (p. 607). Mercury is unique among metals when it comes to its melting point, while potassium and sodium stand out regarding their specific gravities. Unusual forms and variations, whether in the animal or plant kingdoms, should likely be placed in this category of exceptions.
It is worthy of notice that even in such a subject as formal logic, divergent exceptions seem to occur, not of course due to chance, but exhibiting in an unusual degree a phenomenon which is more or less manifested in all other cases. I pointed out in p. 141 that propositions of the general type A = BC ꖌ bc are capable of expression in six equivalent logical forms, so that they manifest in a higher degree than any other proposition yet discovered the phenomenon of logical equivalence.
It’s worth noting that even in a field like formal logic, there seem to be some unusual exceptions, which are clearly not random, but rather show a phenomenon that appears to a lesser degree in other cases. I pointed out in p. 141 that propositions of the general type A = BC ꖌ bc can be expressed in six equivalent logical forms, demonstrating a higher degree of logical equivalence than any other proposition discovered so far.
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Accidental Exceptions.
The third and largest class of exceptions contains those which arise from the casual interference of extraneous causes. A law may be in operation, and, if so, must be perfectly fulfilled; but, while we conceive that we are examining its results, we may have before us the effects of a different cause, possessing no connexion with the subject of our inquiry. The law is not really broken, but at the same time the supposed exception is not illusory. It may be a phenomenon which cannot occur but under the condition of the law in question, yet there has been such interference that there is an apparent failure of science. There is, for instance, no subject in which more rigorous and invariable laws have been established than in crystallography. As a general rule, each chemical substance possesses its own definite form, by which it can be infallibly recognised; but the mineralogist has to be on his guard against what are called pseudomorphic crystals. In some circumstances a substance, having assumed its proper crystalline form, may afterwards undergo chemical change; a new ingredient may be added, a former one removed, or one element may be substituted for another. In calcium carbonate the carbonic acid is sometimes replaced by sulphuric acid, so that we find gypsum in the form of calcite; other cases are known where the change is inverted and calcite is found in the form of gypsum. Mica, talc, steatite, hematite, are other minerals subject to these curious transmutations. Sometimes a crystal embedded in a matrix is entirely dissolved away, and a new mineral is subsequently deposited in the cavity as in a mould. Quartz is thus found cast in many forms wholly unnatural to it. A still more perplexing case sometimes occurs. Calcium carbonate is capable of assuming two distinct forms of crystallisation, in which it bears respectively the names of calcite and arragonite. Now arragonite, while retaining its outward form unchanged, may undergo an internal molecular change into calcite, as indicated by the altered cleavage. Thus we may come across crystals apparently of arragonite, which seem to break all the laws of crystallography, by possessing the cleavage of a different system of crystallisation.
The third and largest category of exceptions includes those that result from the random interference of outside factors. A law may be in effect and, if so, must be fully adhered to; however, while we believe we are looking at its results, we might actually be observing the effects of a different cause that has no connection to our inquiry. The law isn't truly broken, but at the same time, the supposed exception isn't imaginary. It might be a phenomenon that can only happen under the conditions of the law in question, yet such interference creates an apparent breakdown of scientific understanding. For example, there are no topics in which more strict and unchanging laws have been established than in crystallography. As a general rule, each chemical substance has its own specific form, which allows for accurate identification; however, mineralogists must be cautious of what are called pseudomorphic crystals. In some situations, a substance that has taken on its proper crystalline form may later undergo a chemical change; an additional ingredient may be introduced, a previous one removed, or one element may swap for another. In calcium carbonate, carbonic acid can sometimes be replaced by sulfuric acid, resulting in gypsum taking the form of calcite; there are other instances where this transformation is reversed, and calcite is found as gypsum. Mica, talc, steatite, and hematite are other minerals susceptible to these interesting transformations. Occasionally, a crystal embedded in a matrix can completely dissolve, and a new mineral may later be deposited in the cavity, resembling a mold. Quartz can be discovered cast in many forms that are entirely unnatural to it. An even more confusing situation can sometimes occur. Calcium carbonate can take on two distinct crystal forms, known as calcite and aragonite, respectively. Now, aragonite may, while keeping its external form the same, undergo an internal molecular transformation into calcite, as indicated by the changed cleavage. As a result, we may encounter crystals that seem to be aragonite but appear to defy all the laws of crystallography by displaying the cleavage of a different crystallization system.
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Some of the most invariable laws of nature are disguised by interference of unlooked-for causes. While the barometer was yet a new and curious subject of investigation, its theory, as stated by Torricelli and Pascal, seemed to be contradicted by the fact that in a well-constructed instrument the mercury would often stand far above 31 inches in height. Boyle showed548 that mercury could be made to stand as high as 75 inches in a perfectly cleansed tube, or about two and a half times as high as could be due to the pressure of the atmosphere. Many theories about the pressure of imaginary fluids were in consequence put forth,549 and the subject was involved in much confusion until the adhesive or cohesive force between glass and mercury, when brought into perfect contact, was pointed out as the real interfering cause. It seems to me, however, that the phenomenon is not thoroughly understood as yet.
Some of the most consistent laws of nature are masked by unexpected factors. While the barometer was still a new and interesting area of study, its theory, as explained by Torricelli and Pascal, appeared to be contradicted by the fact that in a well-made instrument, the mercury would often rise well above 31 inches. Boyle demonstrated that mercury could reach heights of up to 75 inches in a perfectly cleaned tube, which is about two and a half times higher than what could be accounted for by atmospheric pressure. As a result, many theories about the pressure of hypothetical fluids were proposed, and the topic became quite confusing until the adhesive or cohesive force between glass and mercury, when perfectly in contact, was identified as the real interfering factor. It seems to me, though, that the phenomenon is still not completely understood.
Gay-Lussac observed that the temperature of boiling water was very different in some kinds of vessels from what it was in others. It is only when in contact with metallic surfaces or sharply broken edges that the temperature is fixed at 100° C. The suspended freezing of liquids is another case where the action of a law of nature appears to be interrupted. Spheroidal ebullition was at first sight a most anomalous phenomenon; it was almost incredible that water should not boil in a red-hot vessel, or that ice could actually be produced in a red-hot crucible. These paradoxical results are now fully explained as due to the interposition of a non-conducting film of vapour between the globule of liquid and the sides of the vessel. The feats of conjurors who handle liquid metals are accounted for in the same manner. At one time the passive state of steel was regarded as entirely anomalous. It may be assumed as a general law that when pieces of electro-negative and electro-positive metal are placed in nitric acid, and made to touch each other, the electro-negative metal will undergo rapid solution. But when iron is the electro-negative and platinum the electro-positive, the solution of the iron entirely and abruptly ceases. Faraday ingeniously proved660 that this effect is due to a thin film of oxide of iron, which forms upon the surface of the iron and protects it.550
Gay-Lussac noticed that the boiling temperature of water varies significantly depending on the type of container. The temperature stays at 100° C only when it’s in contact with metal surfaces or sharply broken edges. The suspended freezing of liquids is another instance where a natural law seems to be interrupted. Spheroidal ebullition initially appeared to be a very strange phenomenon; it was hard to believe that water wouldn’t boil in a red-hot container or that ice could actually form in a red-hot crucible. These surprising results are now fully understood as being caused by a non-conductive layer of vapor that forms between the liquid droplet and the walls of the vessel. The tricks performed by magicians using liquid metals can be explained in the same way. At one time, the passive state of steel was thought to be completely unusual. It can be generally assumed that when pieces of electro-negative and electro-positive metals are placed in nitric acid and come into contact with each other, the electro-negative metal will dissolve quickly. However, when iron is the electro-negative metal and platinum is the electro-positive metal, the dissolution of the iron suddenly stops. Faraday cleverly demonstrated660 that this effect is due to a thin layer of iron oxide that forms on the iron's surface, protecting it.550
The law of gravity is so simple, and disconnected from the other laws of nature, that it never suffers any disturbance, and is in no way disguised, but by the complication of its own effects. It is otherwise with those secondary laws of the planetary system which have only an empirical basis. The fact that all the long known planets and satellites have a similar motion from west to east is not necessitated by any principles of mechanics, but points to some common condition existing in the nebulous mass from which our system has been evolved. The retrograde motions of the satellites of Uranus constituted a distinct breach in this law of uniform direction, which became all the more interesting when the single satellite of Neptune was also found to be retrograde. It now became probable, as Baden Powell well observed, that the anomaly would cease to be singular, and become a case of another law, pointing to some general interference which has taken place on the bounds of the planetary system. Not only have the satellites suffered from this perturbance, but Uranus is also anomalous in having an axis of rotation lying nearly in the ecliptic; and Neptune constitutes a partial exception to the empirical law of Bode concerning the distances of the planets, which circumstance may possibly be due to the same disturbance.
The law of gravity is simple and separate from other natural laws, so it never experiences any disruptions and is only complicated by its own effects. In contrast, the secondary laws of the planetary system are based only on observations. The fact that all the well-known planets and moons move from west to east is not required by any mechanical principles but suggests a shared condition that existed in the cloud of gas and dust from which our solar system formed. The backward movements of Uranus’s moons represented a clear violation of this consistent direction, which became even more intriguing when Neptune's lone moon was also found to move backward. It then became likely, as Baden Powell pointed out, that this anomaly would no longer be unique and could indicate another law, suggesting some general interference affecting the edges of the planetary system. Not only have the moons been affected by this disturbance, but Uranus is also unusual because its rotation axis is nearly aligned with the plane of the solar system, and Neptune partially contradicts the empirical Bode's law about the planets' distances, which could also be related to the same disturbance.
Geology is a science in which accidental exceptions are likely to occur. Only when we find strata in their original relative positions can we surely infer that the order of succession is the order of time. But it not uncommonly happens that strata are inverted by the bending and doubling action of extreme pressure. Landslips may carry one body of rock into proximity with an unrelated series, and produce results apparently inexplicable.551 Floods, streams, icebergs, and other casual agents, may lodge remains in places where they would be wholly unexpected. Though such interfering causes have been sometimes wrongly supposed to explain important discoveries, the geologist must bear the possibility of interference in mind.661 Scarcely more than a century ago it was held that fossils were accidental productions of nature, mere forms into which minerals had been shaped by no peculiar cause. Voltaire appears not to have accepted such an explanation; but fearing that the occurrence of fossil fishes on the Alps would support the Mosaic account of the deluge, he did not hesitate to attribute them to the remains of fishes accidentally brought there by pilgrims. In archæological investigations the greatest caution is requisite in allowing for secondary burials in ancient tombs and tumuli, for imitations, forgeries, casual coincidences, disturbance by subsequent races or by other archæologists. In common life extraordinary events will happen from time to time, as when a shepherdess in France was astonished at an iron chain falling out of the sky close to her, the fact being that Gay-Lussac had thrown it out of his balloon, which was passing over her head at the time.
Geology is a science where random exceptions can happen. We can only confidently conclude that the order of layers represents the timeline when we find them in their original positions. However, it's common for layers to be flipped or bent due to intense pressure. Landslides can bring one type of rock close to an unrelated series, leading to seemingly inexplicable results. Floods, rivers, icebergs, and other random factors can deposit remains in places where you wouldn't expect them. While these disruptive factors have sometimes been incorrectly thought to clarify major discoveries, geologists must always consider the possibility of such interference. 661 Just over a century ago, people believed that fossils were random products of nature, mere shapes formed by minerals without any specific cause. Voltaire seemed to reject this explanation; however, he feared that finding fossil fish in the Alps would support the Biblical flood account, so he suggested they were remains of fish accidentally brought there by pilgrims. In archaeological research, great care must be taken to account for secondary burials in ancient graves and mounds, including imitations, forgeries, random coincidences, and disturbances by later cultures or archaeologists. In everyday life, unusual events can occur, like when a shepherdess in France was surprised by an iron chain falling from the sky, which turned out to be thrown by Gay-Lussac from his balloon passing overhead at that moment.
Novel and Unexplained Exceptions.
When a law of nature appears to fail because some other law has interfered with its action, two cases may present themselves;—the interfering law may be a known one, or it may have been previously undetected. In the first case, which we have sufficiently considered in the preceding section, we have nothing to do but calculate as exactly as possible the amount of interference, and make allowance for it; the apparent failure of the law under examination should then disappear. But in the second case the results may be much more important. A phenomenon which cannot be explained by any known laws may indicate the interference of undiscovered natural forces. The ancients could not help perceiving that the general tendency of bodies downwards failed in the case of the loadstone, nor would the doctrine of essential lightness explain the exception, since the substance drawn upwards by the loadstone is a heavy metal. We now see that there was no breach in the perfect generality of the law of gravity, but that a new form of energy manifested itself in the loadstone for the first time.
When a natural law seems to break down because another law has interfered, two situations can arise: the interfering law could be one we already know, or it might be something we haven't detected before. In the first scenario, which we’ve already discussed in the previous section, we just need to calculate the level of interference as accurately as possible and account for it; the apparent failure of the law in question should then fade away. However, in the second scenario, the consequences could be much more significant. A phenomenon that can’t be explained by any known laws might point to the influence of undiscovered natural forces. The ancients noticed that the generally downward tendency of objects didn't happen with the lodestone, and the idea of essential lightness couldn’t explain this exception, since the substance being pulled up by the lodestone is a heavy metal. We now understand that there wasn't a violation of the universal law of gravity; instead, a new form of energy was revealed in the lodestone for the first time.
Other sciences show us that laws of nature, rigorously true and exact, may be developed by those who are662 ignorant of more complex phenomena involved in their application. Newton’s comprehension of geometrical optics was sufficient to explain all the ordinary refractions and reflections of light. The simple laws of the bending of rays apply to all rays, whatever the character of the undulations composing them. Newton suspected the existence of other classes of phenomena when he spoke of rays as having sides; but it remained for later experimentalists to show that light is a transverse undulation, like the bending of a rod or cord.
Other sciences demonstrate that the laws of nature, which are strictly true and precise, can be created by those who don’t understand the more complex phenomena involved in their application. Newton's understanding of geometrical optics was enough to clarify all the common refractions and reflections of light. The basic laws regarding how rays bend apply to all rays, regardless of the nature of the undulations that make them up. Newton had an inkling of the existence of other types of phenomena when he mentioned that rays have sides; however, it was up to later experimentalists to reveal that light is a transverse undulation, similar to how a rod or cord bends.
Dalton’s atomic theory is doubtless true of all chemical compounds, and the essence of it is that the same compound will always be found to contain the same elements in the same definite proportions. Pure calcium carbonate contains 48 parts by weight of oxygen to 40 of calcium and 12 of carbon. But when careful analyses were made of a great many minerals, this law appeared to fail. What was unquestionably the same mineral, judging by its crystalline form and physical properties, would give varying proportions of its components, and would sometimes contain unusual elements which yet could not be set down as mere impurities. Dolomite, for instance, is a compound of the carbonates of magnesia and lime, but specimens from different places do not exhibit any fixed ratio between the lime and magnesia. Such facts could be reconciled with the laws of Dalton only by supposing the interference of a new law, that of Isomorphism.
Dalton’s atomic theory is definitely true for all chemical compounds, and its main idea is that the same compound will always contain the same elements in the same specific proportions. Pure calcium carbonate has 48 parts by weight of oxygen for every 40 parts of calcium and 12 parts of carbon. However, when detailed analyses were conducted on many minerals, this rule seemed to break down. What was clearly the same mineral, based on its crystal structure and physical properties, would show different ratios of its components and sometimes include rare elements that couldn’t just be dismissed as impurities. For example, dolomite is a compound of the carbonates of magnesium and lime, but samples from different locations don’t show a consistent ratio between lime and magnesium. These observations could only be explained in line with Dalton's laws by proposing the existence of a new principle, that of isomorphism.
It is now established that certain elements are related to each other, so that they can, as it were, step into each other’s places without apparently altering the shapes of the crystals which they constitute. The carbonates of iron, calcium, and magnesium, are nearly identical in their crystalline forms, hence they may crystallise together in harmony, producing mixed minerals of considerable complexity, which nevertheless perfectly verify the laws of equivalent proportions. This principle of isomorphism once established, not only explains what was formerly a stumbling-block, but gives valuable aid to chemists in deciding upon the constitution of new salts, since compounds of isomorphous elements which have identical crystalline forms must possess corresponding chemical formulæ.
It’s now clear that certain elements are related enough that they can, in a sense, replace each other without noticeably changing the shapes of the crystals they form. The carbonates of iron, calcium, and magnesium are almost identical in their crystalline structures, so they can crystallize together harmoniously, creating mixed minerals that are quite complex, yet still perfectly follow the laws of equivalent proportions. This principle of isomorphism, once established, not only clarifies what was previously a confusing issue but also helps chemists figure out the makeup of new salts. Since compounds made up of isomorphous elements that have the same crystalline forms must have corresponding chemical formulas, it provides valuable insight.
We may expect that from time to time extraordinary663 phenomena will be discovered, and will lead to new views of nature. The recent observation, for instance, that the resistance of a bar of selenium to a current of electricity is affected in an extraordinary degree by rays of light falling upon the selenium, points to a new relation between light and electricity. The allotropic changes which sulphur, selenium, and phosphorus undergo by an alteration in the amount of latent heat which they contain, will probably lead at some future time to important inferences concerning the molecular constitution of solids and liquids. The curious substance ozone has perplexed many chemists, and Andrews and Tait thought that it afforded evidence of the decomposition of oxygen by the electric discharge. The researches of Sir B. C. Brodie negative this notion, and afford evidence of the real constitution of the substance,552 which still, however, remains exceptional in its properties and relations, and affords a hope of important discoveries in chemical theory.
We can expect that from time to time, extraordinary663 phenomena will be discovered, leading to new perspectives on nature. For example, recent observations show that the resistance of a selenium bar to an electric current is drastically influenced by light rays hitting it, indicating a new connection between light and electricity. The changes in the structure of sulfur, selenium, and phosphorus due to variations in the amount of latent heat they contain may lead to significant insights about the molecular makeup of solids and liquids in the future. The intriguing substance ozone has puzzled many chemists, and Andrews and Tait believed it provided evidence of oxygen breaking down due to electric discharge. However, Sir B. C. Brodie's research contradicts this idea and offers insights into the actual makeup of the substance, which still remains unique in its properties and relationships, holding the promise of important discoveries in chemical theory.
Limiting Exceptions.
We pass to cases where exceptional phenomena are actually irreconcilable with a law of nature previously regarded as true. Error must now be allowed to have been committed, but the error may be more or less extensive. It may happen that a law holding rigorously true of the facts actually under notice had been extended by generalisation to other series of facts then unexamined. Subsequent investigation may show the falsity of this generalisation, and the result must be to limit the law for the future to those objects of which it is really true. The contradiction to our previous opinions is partial and not total.
We move on to situations where exceptional phenomena actually conflict with a previously accepted natural law. We have to acknowledge that a mistake may have been made, but this mistake can vary in extent. It's possible that a law that is completely accurate for the specific facts we're looking at had been broadly applied to other sets of facts that were not previously examined. Further investigation might reveal that this broad application is incorrect, and as a result, the law will need to be limited in the future to only those cases where it truly applies. The contradiction to our earlier beliefs is partial, not total.
Newton laid down as a result of experiment that every ray of homogeneous light has a definite refrangibility, which it preserves throughout its course until extinguished. This is one case of the general principle of undulatory movement, which Herschel stated under the title “Principle of Forced Vibrations” (p. 451), and asserted to be absolutely without exception. But Herschel himself described in the Philosophical Transactions for 1845 a curious appearance in a664 solution of quinine; as viewed by transmitted light the solution appeared colourless, but in certain aspects it exhibited a beautiful celestial blue tint. Curiously enough the colour is seen only in the first portion of liquid which the light enters. Similar phenomena in fluor-spar had been described by Brewster in 1838. Professor Stokes, having minutely investigated the phenomena, discovered that they were more or less present in almost all vegetable infusions, and in a number of mineral substances. He came to the conclusion that this phenomenon, called by him Fluorescence, could only be explained by an alteration in the refrangibility of the rays of light; he asserts that light-rays of very short length of vibration in falling upon certain atoms excite undulations of greater length, in opposition to the principle of forced vibrations. No complete explanation of the mode of change is yet possible, because it depends upon the intimate constitution of the atoms of the substances concerned; but Professor Stokes believes that the principle of forced vibrations is true only so long as the excursions of an atom are very small compared with the magnitude of the complex molecules.553
Newton determined through experiments that every ray of uniform light has a specific refractivity, which it maintains along its path until it is extinguished. This is an illustration of the broader principle of wave movement, which Herschel described as the “Principle of Forced Vibrations” (p. 451), claiming it to be without exception. However, Herschel himself noted a fascinating phenomenon in a solution of quinine in the Philosophical Transactions in 1845; when viewed with transmitted light, the solution appeared colorless, but from certain angles, it displayed a beautiful celestial blue tint. Interestingly, this color is only visible in the first part of the liquid that the light encounters. Similar effects in fluor-spar were reported by Brewster in 1838. Professor Stokes, after closely examining these phenomena, found that they exist in nearly all plant infusions and several mineral substances. He concluded that this phenomenon, which he called Fluorescence, could only be explained by a change in the refractivity of the light rays; he claimed that light rays with very short wavelengths, when hitting certain atoms, induce longer wave undulations, contrary to the principle of forced vibrations. A complete explanation of how this change occurs is not yet feasible, as it relies on the complex structure of the atoms involved; however, Professor Stokes believes that the principle of forced vibrations holds true only as long as the movements of an atom are very small compared to the size of the complex molecules.553
It is well known that in Calorescence the refrangibility of rays is increased and the wave-length diminished. Rays of obscure heat and low refrangibility may be concentrated so as to heat a solid substance, and make it give out rays belonging to any part of the spectrum, and it seems probable that this effect arises from the impact of distinct but conflicting atoms. Nor is it in light only that we discover limiting exceptions to the law of forced vibrations; for if we notice gentle waves lapping upon the stones at the edge of a lake we shall see that each larger wave in breaking upon a stone gives rise to a series of smaller waves. Thus there is constantly in progress a degradation in the magnitude of water-waves. The principle of forced vibrations seems then to be too generally stated by Herschel, but it must be a difficult question of mechanical theory to discriminate the circumstances in which it does and does not hold true.
It’s well known that in Calorescence, the refractivity of rays increases while the wavelength decreases. Rays of low heat and low refractivity can be concentrated to heat a solid object, causing it to emit rays from various parts of the spectrum. It seems likely that this effect comes from the collision of different but conflicting atoms. We also find exceptions to the law of forced vibrations beyond just light; for instance, if we observe gentle waves lapping against stones at the edge of a lake, we’ll notice that each larger wave breaks against a stone and generates a series of smaller waves. This shows a continuous reduction in the size of water waves. The principle of forced vibrations appears to be too broadly declared by Herschel, but identifying the specific situations in which it applies or doesn’t is likely a challenging problem in mechanical theory.
We sometimes foresee the possible existence of exceptions yet unknown by experience, and limit the statement of our discoveries accordingly. Extensive inquiries have shown665 that all substances yet examined fall into one of two classes; they are all either ferro-magnetic, that is, magnetic in the same way as iron, or they are diamagnetic like bismuth. But it does not follow that every substance must be ferro-magnetic or diamagnetic. The magnetic properties are shown by Sir W. Thomson554 to depend upon the specific inductive capacities of the substance in three rectangular directions. If these inductive capacities are all positive, we have a ferro-magnetic substance; if negative, a diamagnetic substance; but if the specific inductive capacity were positive in one direction and negative in the others, we should have an exception to previous experience, and could not place the substance under either of the present recognised classes.
We sometimes anticipate the potential existence of exceptions not yet encountered in experience and adjust our findings accordingly. Broad investigations have revealed665 that all substances examined can be categorized into two groups; they are either ferro-magnetic, meaning they behave magnetically like iron, or they are diamagnetic, like bismuth. However, this does not mean that every substance must be ferro-magnetic or diamagnetic. According to Sir W. Thomson554, the magnetic properties depend on the specific inductive capacities of the substance in three perpendicular directions. If these inductive capacities are all positive, we classify it as ferro-magnetic; if they are negative, it's diamagnetic. But if the specific inductive capacity is positive in one direction and negative in the others, we would have an exception to previous experience, making it impossible to categorize the substance under either of the currently recognized classes.
So many gases have been reduced to the liquid state, and so many solids fused, that scientific men rather hastily adopted the generalisation that all substances could exist in all three states. A certain number of gases, such as oxygen, hydrogen, and nitrogen, have resisted all efforts to liquefy them, and it now seems probable from the experiments of Dr. Andrews that they are limiting exceptions. He finds that above 31° C. carbonic acid cannot be liquefied by any pressure he could apply, whereas below this temperature liquefaction is always possible. By analogy it becomes probable that even hydrogen might be liquefied if cooled to a very low temperature. We must modify our previous views, and either assert that below a certain critical temperature every gas may be liquefied, or else we must assume that a highly condensed gas is, when above the critical temperature, undistinguishable from a liquid. At the same time we have an explanation of a remarkable exception presented by liquid carbonic acid to the general rule that gases expand more by heat than liquids. Liquid carbonic acid was found by Thilorier in 1835 to expand more than four times as much as air; but by the light of Andrews’ experiments we learn to regard the liquid as rather a highly condensed gas than an ordinary liquid, and it is actually possible to reduce the gas to the apparently liquid condition without any abrupt condensation.555
So many gases have been turned into liquids, and so many solids melted, that scientists quickly generalize that all substances can exist in all three states. However, some gases, like oxygen, hydrogen, and nitrogen, have resisted all attempts to turn them into liquids, and it now appears from Dr. Andrews' experiments that they are likely exceptions. He finds that above 31° C, carbon dioxide cannot be liquefied by any pressure he could exert, while below this temperature, liquefaction is always achievable. By analogy, it seems likely that even hydrogen could be liquefied if cooled to a very low temperature. We need to revise our earlier beliefs and either claim that below a certain critical temperature, every gas can be liquefied, or we must accept that a highly compressed gas, when above the critical temperature, is indistinguishable from a liquid. At the same time, we can explain a remarkable exception that liquid carbon dioxide presents to the general rule that gases expand more with heat than liquids. Liquid carbon dioxide was found by Thilorier in 1835 to expand more than four times as much as air; but based on Andrews' experiments, we understand to see the liquid as more of a highly compressed gas than a typical liquid, and it is even possible to reduce the gas to what appears to be a liquid state without any sudden condensation.555
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Limiting exceptions occur most frequently in the natural sciences of Botany, Zoology, Geology, &c., the laws of which are empirical. In innumerable instances the confident belief of one generation has been falsified by the wider observation of a succeeding one. Aristotle confidently held that all swans are white,556 and the proposition seemed true until not a hundred years ago black swans were discovered in Western Australia. In zoology and physiology we may expect a fundamental identity to exist in the vital processes, but continual discoveries show that there is no limit to the apparently anomalous expedients by which life is reproduced. Alternate generation, fertilisation for several successive generations, hermaphroditism, are opposed to all we should expect from induction founded upon the higher animals. But such phenomena are only limiting exceptions showing that what is true of one class is not true of another. In certain of the cephalopoda we meet the extraordinary fact that an arm of the male is cast off and lives independently until it encounters the female.
Limiting exceptions happen most often in the natural sciences like Botany, Zoology, Geology, etc., where the laws are based on observation. Many times, the strong beliefs of one generation have been overturned by the broader observations of the next. Aristotle was sure that all swans are white, and that idea seemed accurate until black swans were found in Western Australia less than a hundred years ago. In zoology and physiology, we can expect some fundamental similarities in vital processes, but ongoing discoveries demonstrate that there are no limits to the surprising ways life reproduces itself. Alternate generation, fertilization across several successive generations, and hermaphroditism contradict all we would predict from studies of higher animals. However, these phenomena are just limiting exceptions that show what is true for one group may not be true for another. In some cephalopods, we encounter the remarkable fact that a male's arm can break off and live independently until it finds a female.
Real Exceptions to Supposed Laws.
The exceptions which we have lastly to consider are the most important of all, since they lead to the entire rejection of a law or theory before accepted. No law of nature can fail; there are no such things as real exceptions to real laws. Where contradiction exists it must be in the mind of the experimentalist. Either the law is imaginary or the phenomena which conflict with it; if, then, by our senses we satisfy ourselves of the actual occurrence of the phenomena, the law must be rejected as illusory. The followers of Aristotle held that nature abhors a vacuum, and thus accounted for the rise of water in a pump. When Torricelli pointed out the visible fact that water would not rise more than 33 feet in a pump, nor mercury more than about 30 inches in a glass tube, they attempted to represent these facts as limiting exceptions, saying that nature abhorred a vacuum to a certain extent and no further. But the Academicians del Cimento667 completed their discomfiture by showing that if we remove the pressure of the surrounding air, and in proportion as we remove it, nature’s feelings of abhorrence decrease and finally disappear altogether. Even Aristotelian doctrines could not stand such direct contradiction.
The exceptions we need to consider last are the most significant of all because they can lead to the complete rejection of a previously accepted law or theory. No law of nature can fail; there are no real exceptions to real laws. When there's a contradiction, it must be in the mind of the experimenter. Either the law is false or the phenomena that conflict with it are. If we use our senses to confirm the actual occurrence of the phenomena, we must reject the law as an illusion. The followers of Aristotle believed that nature hates a vacuum, which explained why water rises in a pump. When Torricelli pointed out the observable fact that water wouldn't rise more than 33 feet in a pump, nor mercury more than about 30 inches in a glass tube, they tried to claim these facts as limited exceptions, arguing that nature only hated a vacuum to a certain degree and no more. However, the Academicians del Cimento proved them wrong by showing that as we reduce the pressure of the surrounding air, nature's aversion decreases and eventually disappears altogether. Even Aristotelian ideas couldn’t withstand such a straightforward contradiction.
Lavoisier’s ideas concerning the constitution of acids received complete refutation. He named oxygen the acid generator, because he believed that all acids were compounds of oxygen, a generalisation based on insufficient data. Berthollet, as early as 1789, proved by analysis that hydrogen sulphide and prussic acid, both clearly acting the part of acids, were devoid of oxygen; the former might perhaps have been interpreted as a limiting exception, but when so powerful an acid as hydrogen chloride (muriatic acid) was found to contain no oxygen the theory had to be relinquished. Berzelius’ theory of the dual formation of chemical compounds met a similar fate.
Lavoisier's ideas about what acids are were completely disproven. He called oxygen the acid generator because he thought that all acids were made of oxygen, a conclusion based on too little evidence. As early as 1789, Berthollet showed through analysis that hydrogen sulfide and prussic acid, both clearly acting like acids, did not contain oxygen; the former might have been seen as an exception, but when a strong acid like hydrogen chloride (muriatic acid) was found to have no oxygen, the theory had to be abandoned. Berzelius' theory of dual formation of chemical compounds faced a similar downfall.
It is obvious that all conclusive experimenta crucis constitute real exceptions to the supposed laws of the theory which is overthrown. Newton’s corpuscular theory of light was not rejected on account of its absurdity or inconceivability, for in these respects it is, as we have seen, far superior to the undulatory theory. It was rejected because certain small fringes of colour did not appear in the exact place and of the exact size in which calculation showed that they ought to appear according to the theory (pp. 516–521). One single fact clearly irreconcilable with a theory involves its rejection. In the greater number of cases, what appears to be a fatal exception may be afterwards explained away as a singular or disguised result of the laws with which it seems to conflict, or as due to the interference of extraneous causes; but if we fail thus to reduce the fact to congruity, it remains more powerful than any theories or any dogmas.
It’s clear that all decisive experimenta crucis are true exceptions to the supposed laws of the theory being challenged. Newton’s particle theory of light wasn’t dismissed because it was absurd or unimaginable; in those respects, it is, as we have seen, far better than the wave theory. It was rejected because certain small color fringes did not show up in the exact place and size that calculations indicated they should appear according to the theory (pp. 516–521). One fact that directly contradicts a theory leads to its rejection. In most cases, what seems like a serious exception can later be explained away as a peculiar or hidden result of the laws it appears to contradict, or as caused by outside factors; but if we can’t explain the fact to fit within the theory, it holds more power than any theories or beliefs.
Of late years not a few of the favourite doctrines of geologists have been rudely destroyed. It was the general belief that human remains were to be found only in those deposits which are actually in progress at the present day, so that the creation of man appeared to have taken place in this geological age. The discovery of a single worked flint in older strata and in connexion with the remains of extinct mammals was sufficient to explode such a doctrine.668 Similarly, the opinions of geologists have been altered by the discovery of the Eozoön in the Laurentian rocks of Canada; it was previously held that no remains of life occurred in any older strata than those of the Cambrian system. As the examination of the strata of the globe becomes more complete, our views of the origin and succession of life upon the globe must undergo many changes.
In recent years, many popular theories among geologists have been challenged. It was commonly believed that human remains could only be found in deposits currently being formed, suggesting that humans were created during this geological age. However, the discovery of a single worked flint in older layers, alongside the remains of extinct mammals, was enough to disprove that theory.668 Likewise, geologists' views have changed with the discovery of Eozoön in the Laurentian rocks of Canada; it was previously thought that no signs of life existed in layers older than the Cambrian system. As we continue to study the layers of the Earth more comprehensively, our understanding of the origin and progression of life on the planet will inevitably change.
Unclassed Exceptions.
At every period of scientific progress there will exist a multitude of unexplained phenomena which we know not how to regard. They are the outstanding facts upon which the labours of investigators must be exerted,—the ore from which the gold of future discovery is to be extracted. It might be thought that, as our knowledge of the laws of nature increases, the number of such exceptions should decrease; but, on the contrary, the more we know the more there is yet to explain. This arises from several reasons; in the first place, the principal laws and forces in nature are numerous, so that he who bears in mind the wonderfully large numbers developed in the doctrine of combinations, will anticipate the existence of immensely numerous relations of one law to another. When we are once in possession of a law, we are potentially in possession of all its consequences; but it does not follow that the mind of man, so limited in its powers and capacities, can actually work them all out in detail. Just as the aberration of light was discovered empirically, though it should have been foreseen, so there are multitudes of unexplained facts, the connexion of which with laws of nature already known to us, we should perceive, were we not hindered by the imperfection of our deductive powers. But, in the second place, as will be more fully pointed out, it is not to be supposed that we have approximated to an exhaustive knowledge of nature’s powers. The most familiar facts may teem with indications of forces, now secrets hidden from us, because we have not mind-directed eyes to discriminate them. The progress of science will consist in the discovery from time to time of new exceptional phenomena, and their assignment by degrees to one or other of the heads already described. When a new fact669 proves to be merely a false, apparent, singular, divergent, or accidental exception, we gain a more minute and accurate acquaintance with the effects of laws already known to exist. We have indeed no addition to what was implicitly in our possession, but there is much difference between knowing the laws of nature and perceiving all their complicated effects. Should a new fact prove to be a limiting or real exception, we have to alter, in part or in whole, our views of nature, and are saved from errors into which we had fallen. Lastly, the new fact may come under the sixth class, and may eventually prove to be a novel phenomenon, indicating the existence of new laws and forces, complicating but not otherwise interfering with the effects of laws and forces previously known.
At every stage of scientific advancement, there will be a large number of phenomena that remain unexplained and mystifying. These are the key facts that researchers need to focus on—the raw materials from which future discoveries will be made. One might assume that as our understanding of the laws of nature grows, the number of these exceptions should diminish; however, the opposite is true: the more we learn, the more there is to unravel. This happens for several reasons; first, there are numerous fundamental laws and forces in nature, so anyone aware of the vast combinations that can arise will expect a multitude of connections between one law and another. Once we grasp a law, we potentially understand all its implications, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that our limited human minds can figure out all the details. Just as the bending of light was discovered through observation, even though we could have predicted it, many unexplained phenomena may connect to the laws of nature we currently know, but we can’t see these connections due to the limitations of our reasoning abilities. Moreover, as will be explained further, it’s important to recognize that we have not reached complete knowledge of nature’s capabilities. Even the most familiar facts can hold hints of forces that remain secrets to us because our minds are not equipped to identify them. The advancement of science will involve the gradual discovery of new exceptional phenomena, which will eventually be categorized under the established laws. When a new fact turns out to be just a false or unusual exception, we gain a more detailed understanding of the effects of already known laws. We aren’t actually adding anything new to what we already knew implicitly, but there is a significant difference between understanding the laws of nature and recognizing all their complex effects. If a new fact proves to be a genuine or limiting exception, we have to adjust our perspectives on nature, avoiding past mistakes. Finally, the new fact might fall into a sixth category, potentially revealing a novel phenomenon that suggests the existence of new laws and forces, complicating but not disrupting the effects of laws and forces we already understand.
The best instance which I can find of an unresolved exceptional phenomenon, consists in the anomalous vapour-densities of phosphorus, arsenic, mercury, and cadmium. It is one of the most important laws of chemistry, discovered by Gay-Lussac, that equal volumes of gases exactly correspond to equivalent weights of the substances. Nevertheless phosphorus and arsenic give vapours exactly twice as dense as they should do by analogy, and mercury and cadmium diverge in the other direction, giving vapours half as dense as we should expect. We cannot treat these anomalies as limiting exceptions, and say that the law holds true of substances generally but not of these; for the properties of gases (p. 601), usually admit of the widest generalisations. Besides, the preciseness of the ratio of divergence points to the real observance of the law in a modified manner. We might endeavour to reduce the exceptions by doubling the atomic weights of phosphorus and arsenic, and halving those of mercury and cadmium. But this step has been maturely considered by chemists, and is found to conflict with all the other analogies of the substances and with the principle of isomorphism. One of the most probable explanations is, that phosphorus and arsenic produce vapour in an allotropic condition, which might perhaps by intense heat be resolved into a simpler gas of half the density; but facts are wanting to support this hypothesis, and it cannot be applied to the other two exceptions without supposing that gases and vapours generally are capable of resolution into something simpler.670 In short, chemists can at present make nothing of these anomalies. As Hofmann says, “Their philosophical interpretation belongs to the future.... They may turn out to be typical facts, round which many others of the like kind may come hereafter to be grouped; and they may prove to be allied with special properties, or dependent on particular conditions as yet unsuspected.”557
The best example I can find of an unresolved exceptional phenomenon is the unusual vapor densities of phosphorus, arsenic, mercury, and cadmium. One of the key laws of chemistry, discovered by Gay-Lussac, states that equal volumes of gases correspond to equivalent weights of the substances. However, phosphorus and arsenic produce vapors that are exactly twice as dense as we would expect based on this law, while mercury and cadmium produce vapors that are half as dense. We can't simply dismiss these anomalies as exceptions to the rule, saying that the law is true for most substances but not for these cases; the properties of gases typically allow for broad generalizations. Additionally, the precise ratio of divergence suggests that the law is being observed in a modified form. We could try to reconcile the exceptions by doubling the atomic weights of phosphorus and arsenic, and halving those of mercury and cadmium. However, chemists have thoroughly considered this idea, and it contradicts all other analogies of the substances and the principle of isomorphism. One likely explanation is that phosphorus and arsenic produce vapor in an allotropic form, which might be broken down into a simpler gas of half the density when subjected to intense heat; but there isn't enough evidence to support this hypothesis, and it can't be applied to the other two exceptions without assuming that gases and vapors can generally be simplified further. In short, chemists currently can't make sense of these anomalies. As Hofmann puts it, “Their philosophical interpretation belongs to the future.... They may turn out to be typical facts around which many others like them may be grouped in the future; and they may prove to be linked to special properties or dependent on particular conditions that we haven't yet considered.”557
It would be easy to point out a great number of other unexplained anomalies. Physicists assert, as an absolutely universal law, that in liquefaction heat is absorbed;558 yet sulphur is at least an apparent exception. The two substances, sulphur and selenium, are, in fact, very anomalous in their relations to heat. Sulphur may be said to have two melting points, for, though liquid like water at 120° C., it becomes quite thick and tenacious between 221° and 249°, and melts again at a higher temperature. Both sulphur and selenium may be thrown into several curious states, which chemists conveniently dispose of by calling them allotropic, a term freely used when they are puzzled to know what has happened. The chemical and physical history of iron, again, is full of anomalies; not only does it undergo inexplicable changes of hardness and texture in its alloys with carbon and other elements, but it is almost the only substance which conveys sound with greater velocity at a higher than at a lower temperature, the velocity increasing from 20° to 100° C., and then decreasing. Silver also is anomalous in regard to sound. These are instances of inexplicable exceptions, the bearing of which must be ascertained in the future progress of science.
It would be easy to point out a lot of other unexplained oddities. Physicists claim, as a universally accepted rule, that heat is absorbed during liquefaction;558 yet sulfur is at least an apparent exception. The two substances, sulfur and selenium, are actually quite unusual in how they interact with heat. Sulfur can be described as having two melting points because, while it turns to liquid like water at 120° C, it becomes thick and sticky between 221° and 249°, and melts again at a higher temperature. Both sulfur and selenium can enter several strange states that chemists conveniently refer to as allotropic, a term they use when they're puzzled about what has happened. The chemical and physical history of iron is also full of anomalies; it not only undergoes strange changes in hardness and texture in its alloys with carbon and other elements, but it is almost the only material that transmits sound faster at higher temperatures than at lower ones, with the speed increasing from 20° to 100° C, and then decreasing. Silver is also odd when it comes to sound. These are examples of inexplicable exceptions, the implications of which will need to be understood in the future development of science.
When the discovery of new and peculiar phenomena conflicting with our theories of the constitution of nature is reported to us, it becomes no easy task to steer a philosophically correct course between credulity and scepticism. We are not to assume, on the one hand, that there is any limit to the wonders which nature can present to us. Nothing except the contradictory is really impossible, and many things which we now regard as common-place were considered as little short of the miraculous when first671 perceived. The electric telegraph was a visionary dream among mediæval physicists;559 it has hardly yet ceased to excite our wonder; to our descendants centuries hence it will probably appear inferior in ingenuity to some inventions which they will possess. Now every strange phenomenon may be a secret spring which, if rightly touched, will open the door to new chambers in the palace of nature. To refuse to believe in the occurrence of anything strange would be to neglect the most precious chances of discovery. We may say with Hooke, that “the believing strange things possible may perhaps be an occasion of taking notice of such things as another would pass by without regard as useless.” We are not, therefore, to shut our ears even to such apparently absurd stories as those concerning second-sight, clairvoyance, animal magnetism, ode force, table-turning, or any of the popular delusions which from time to time are current. The facts recorded concerning these matters are facts in some sense or other, and they demand explanation, either as new natural phenomena, or as the results of credulity and imposture. Most of the supposed phenomena referred to have been, or by careful investigation would doubtless be, referred to the latter head, and the absence of scientific ability in many of those who describe them is sufficient to cast a doubt upon their value.
When new and unusual phenomena that challenge our understanding of nature are reported, it can be tricky to find a balanced approach between being too gullible and overly skeptical. We shouldn't assume that there are limits to the wonders that nature can reveal to us. The only thing that is truly impossible is something contradictory, and many things we now see as ordinary were once thought to be almost miraculous when they were first discovered. The electric telegraph was just a wild idea to medieval scientists; it still amazes us today, and to future generations centuries from now, it will probably seem less impressive compared to some inventions they will have. Every strange occurrence could be a hidden key that, if we approach it correctly, will unlock new areas in the realm of nature. Dismissing anything strange would mean overlooking the most valuable opportunities for discovery. We can agree with Hooke that believing in the possibility of strange things might lead us to notice phenomena that others would ignore as insignificant. Therefore, we shouldn't close ourselves off to seemingly ridiculous tales about things like second sight, clairvoyance, animal magnetism, odic force, table-turning, or any of the popular misconceptions that come and go. The facts surrounding these issues are facts in some sense, and they require explanations, either as new natural phenomena or as outcomes of gullibility and fraud. Most of the supposed phenomena associated with these topics have been, or could be through careful investigation, classified under the latter category, and the lack of scientific expertise in many who report these phenomena casts doubt on their validity.
It is to be remembered that according to the principle of the inverse method of probability, the probability of any hypothetical explanation is affected by the probability of each other possible explanation. If no other reasonable explanation could be suggested, we should be forced to look upon spiritualist manifestations as indicating mysterious causes. But as soon as it is shown that fraud has been committed in several important cases, and that in other cases persons in a credulous and excited state of mind have deceived themselves, the probability becomes very considerable that similar explanations may apply to most like manifestations. The performances of conjurors sufficiently prove that it requires no very great skill to perform tricks the modus operandi of which shall entirely escape the672 notice of spectators. It is on these grounds of probability that we should reject the so-called spiritualist stories, and not simply because they are strange.
It should be noted that according to the principle of the inverse method of probability, the likelihood of any hypothetical explanation is influenced by the likelihood of all other possible explanations. If there were no other reasonable explanations available, we would have to consider spiritualist manifestations as indicating mysterious causes. However, once it's demonstrated that fraud has occurred in several important cases, and that in other instances people in a gullible and excited state of mind have misled themselves, the probability increases significantly that similar explanations could apply to most comparable manifestations. The acts of magicians clearly show that it doesn’t take much skill to perform tricks whose methods can completely escape the notice of the audience. Based on these grounds of probability, we should dismiss the so-called spiritualist stories, and not just because they are odd.
Certainly in the obscure phenomena of mind, those relating to memory, dreams, somnambulism, and other peculiar states of the nervous system, there are many inexplicable and almost incredible facts, and it is equally unphilosophical to believe or to disbelieve without clear evidence. There are many facts, too, concerning the instincts of animals, and the mode in which they find their way from place to place, which are at present quite inexplicable. No doubt there are many strange things not dreamt of in our philosophy, but this is no reason why we should believe in every strange thing which is reported to have happened.
Certainly, in the mysterious workings of the mind, especially regarding memory, dreams, sleepwalking, and other unusual states of the nervous system, there are many puzzling and almost unbelievable facts. It's just as unphilosophical to accept or reject these without clear evidence. There are also many facts about animal instincts and how they navigate their surroundings that we currently cannot explain. No doubt, there are many strange things beyond our understanding, but that doesn't mean we should believe in every odd event that's reported.
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CHAPTER XXX.
CLASSIFICATION.
The extensive subject of Classification has been deferred to a late part of this treatise, because it involves questions of difficulty, and did not seem naturally to fall into an earlier place. But it must not be supposed that, in now formally taking up the subject, we are for the first time entertaining the notion of classification. All logical inference involves classification, which is indeed the necessary accompaniment of the action of judgment. It is impossible to detect similarity between objects without thereby joining them together in thought, and forming an incipient class. Nor can we bestow a common name upon objects without implying the existence of a class. Every common name is the name of a class, and every name of a class is a common name. It is evident also that to speak of a general notion or concept is but another way of speaking of a class. Usage leads us to employ the word classification in some cases and not in others. We are said to form the general notion parallelogram when we regard an infinite number of possible four-sided rectilinear figures as resembling each other in the common property of possessing parallel sides. We should be said to form a class, Trilobite, when we place together in a museum a number of specimens resembling each other in certain defined characters. But the logical nature of the operation is the same in both cases. We form a class of figures called parallelograms and we form a general notion of trilobites.
The broad topic of Classification has been put off until later in this work because it raises complex questions and didn’t seem to fit naturally earlier on. However, it shouldn’t be assumed that by formally addressing this topic now, we are considering the idea of classification for the first time. All logical reasoning involves classification, which is an essential part of the process of judgment. It’s impossible to recognize similarities between objects without connecting them in thought and forming an emerging class. We can’t assign a common name to objects without implying that a class exists. Every common name refers to a class, and every class name is a common name. It’s also clear that discussing a general notion or concept is just another way of discussing a class. Usage makes us use the term classification in some situations and not in others. We create the general notion of a parallelogram when we view countless possible four-sided straight figures as similar because they all have parallel sides. We are said to create a class, Trilobite, when we gather several specimens in a museum that share specific defining characteristics. But the logical nature of the process is the same in both scenarios. We create a class of shapes called parallelograms and we create a general notion of trilobites.
Science, it was said at the outset, is the detection of identify, and classification is the placing together, either in674 thought or in actual proximity of space, those objects between which identity has been detected. Accordingly, the value of classification is co-extensive with the value of science and general reasoning. Whenever we form a class we reduce multiplicity to unity, and detect, as Plato said, the one in the many. The result of such classification is to yield generalised knowledge, as distinguished from the direct and sensuous knowledge of particular facts. Of every class, so far as it is correctly formed, the principle of substitution is true, and whatever we know of one object in a class we know of the other objects, so far as identity has been detected between them. The facilitation and abbreviation of mental labour is at the bottom of all mental progress. The reasoning faculties of Newton were not different in nature from those of a ploughman; the difference lay in the extent to which they were exerted, and the number of facts which could be treated. Every thinking being generalises more or less, but it is the depth and extent of his generalisations which distinguish the philosopher. Now it is the exertion of the classifying and generalising powers which enables the intellect of man to cope in some degree with the infinite number of natural phenomena. In the chapters upon combinations and permutations it was made evident, that from a few elementary differences immense numbers of combinations can be produced. The process of classification enables us to resolve these combinations, and refer each one to its place according to one or other of the elementary circumstances out of which it was produced. We restore nature to the simple conditions out of which its endless variety was developed. As Professor Bowen has said,560 “The first necessity which is imposed upon us by the constitution of the mind itself, is to break up the infinite wealth of Nature into groups and classes of things, with reference to their resemblances and affinities, and thus to enlarge the grasp of our mental faculties, even at the expense of sacrificing the minuteness of information which can be acquired only by studying objects in detail. The first efforts in the pursuit of knowledge, then, must be directed to the business of classification.675 Perhaps it will be found in the sequel, that classification is not only the beginning, but the culmination and the end, of human knowledge.”
Science, as it was initially stated, is about discovering identity, and classification involves grouping together, either in thought or physically, those objects between which identity has been recognized. Thus, the significance of classification aligns with the significance of science and logical reasoning. Whenever we create a class, we simplify complexity into unity, and as Plato mentioned, we recognize the one within the many. The outcome of such classification is to produce generalized knowledge, which contrasts with the direct and sensory knowledge of specific facts. For every correctly formed class, the principle of substitution applies, meaning whatever we understand about one object in a class also applies to the other objects, as far as identity has been established among them. The simplification and streamlining of mental work is key to all intellectual advancement. Newton’s reasoning abilities were not fundamentally different from those of a farmer; the distinction lay in how much they were utilized and the variety of facts they were able to process. Every thinking individual generalizes to some degree, but it is the depth and breadth of their generalizations that set apart the philosopher. It is the exercise of classifying and generalizing skills that allows human intellect to manage to some extent the vast array of natural phenomena. In the sections on combinations and permutations, it was made clear that from a few basic differences, a large number of combinations can be created. The classification process helps us break down these combinations and categorize each one according to the basic elements from which it originated. We bring nature back to the simple conditions that led to its endless variety. As Professor Bowen stated, “The first necessity imposed on us by the very structure of the mind is to break down the infinite richness of Nature into groups and classes of things, based on their similarities and connections, thereby expanding the capacity of our mental faculties, even at the cost of losing the detailed information that can only be gained by studying objects closely. Therefore, the initial efforts in the quest for knowledge must focus on classification. It may turn out that classification is not just the starting point, but also the peak and the conclusion of human knowledge.”
Classification Involving Induction.
The purpose of classification is the detection of the laws of nature. However much the process may in some cases be disguised, classification is not really distinct from the process of perfect induction, whereby we endeavour to ascertain the connexions existing between properties of the objects under treatment. There can be no use in placing an object in a class unless something more than the fact of being in the class is implied. If we arbitrarily formed a class of metals and placed therein a selection from the list of known metals made by ballot, we should have no reason to expect that the metals in question would resemble each other in any points except that they are metals, and have been selected by the ballot. But when chemists select from the list the five metals, potassium, sodium, cæsium, rubidium, and lithium and call them the Alkaline metals, a great deal is implied in this classification. On comparing the qualities of these substances they are all found to combine very energetically with oxygen, to decompose water at all temperatures, and to form strongly basic oxides, which are highly soluble in water, yielding powerfully caustic and alkaline hydrates from which water cannot be expelled by heat. Their carbonates are also soluble in water, and each metal forms only one chloride. It may also be expected that each salt of one of the metals will correspond to a salt of each other metal, there being a general analogy between the compounds of these metals and their properties.
The purpose of classification is to uncover the laws of nature. No matter how the process may sometimes appear, classification is essentially the same as perfect induction, where we try to determine the connections between the properties of the objects we're studying. There's no benefit in placing an object in a category unless we imply something more than just its membership in that category. If we randomly created a group of metals and selected some from the list of known metals through a vote, we wouldn’t expect those metals to share any similarities other than being classified as metals and being chosen by chance. But when chemists pick five metals—potassium, sodium, cesium, rubidium, and lithium—and label them as the Alkaline metals, a lot is implied by this classification. When we compare the properties of these substances, we find that they all react very vigorously with oxygen, decompose water at any temperature, and create strongly basic oxides, which dissolve well in water, forming highly caustic alkaline hydrates that can’t lose water when heated. Their carbonates also dissolve in water, and each metal has only one type of chloride. It’s also expected that each salt of one metal will correspond to a salt of each of the other metals, showing a general similarity in the compounds of these metals and their characteristics.
Now in forming this class of alkaline metals, we have done more than merely select a convenient order of statement. We have arrived at a discovery of certain empirical laws of nature, the probability being very considerable that a metal which exhibits some of the properties of alkaline metals will also possess the others. If we discovered another metal whose carbonate was soluble in water, and which energetically combined with water at all temperatures, producing a strongly basic oxide, we should infer that it would form only a single chloride, and that676 generally speaking, it would enter into a series of compounds corresponding to the salts of the other alkaline metals. The formation of this class of alkaline metals then, is no mere matter of convenience; it is an important and successful act of inductive discovery, enabling us to register many undoubted propositions as results of perfect induction, and to make a great number of inferences depending upon the principles of imperfect induction.
Now, in creating this group of alkaline metals, we've done more than just choose a convenient way to explain things. We've made a discovery about certain empirical laws of nature, with a strong likelihood that a metal displaying some of the characteristics of alkaline metals will also have the others. If we found another metal whose carbonate dissolved in water and that reacted vigorously with water at all temperatures to create a strongly basic oxide, we would assume it would only form a single chloride, and generally, it would create a range of compounds that correspond to the salts of the other alkaline metals. Thus, the formation of this group of alkaline metals isn't just a matter of convenience; it represents an important and successful act of inductive discovery, allowing us to document many unquestionable propositions as results of perfect induction and to draw numerous conclusions based on the principles of imperfect induction.
An excellent instance as to what classification can do, is found in Mr. Lockyer’s researches on the sun.561 Wanting some guide as to what more elements to look for in the sun’s photosphere, he prepared a classification of the elements according as they had or had not been traced in the sun, together with a detailed statement of the chief chemical characters of each element. He was then able to observe that the elements found in the sun were for the most part those forming stable compounds with oxygen. He then inferred that other elements forming stable oxides would probably exist in the sun, and he was rewarded by the discovery of five such metals. Here we have empirical and tentative classification leading to the detection of the correlation between existence in the sun, and the power of forming stable oxides and then leading by imperfect induction to the discovery of more coincidences between these properties.
A great example of what classification can achieve is found in Mr. Lockyer’s research on the sun. Wanting some guidance on which additional elements to search for in the sun’s photosphere, he created a classification of the elements based on whether they had or had not been identified in the sun, along with a detailed description of the main chemical characteristics of each element. He then noticed that the elements found in the sun were mostly those that form stable compounds with oxygen. From this, he concluded that other elements capable of forming stable oxides were likely present in the sun, and this led to the discovery of five such metals. Here we see empirical and tentative classification resulting in the identification of a connection between presence in the sun and the ability to form stable oxides, ultimately leading to the discovery of additional correlations between these properties.
Professor Huxley has defined the process of classification in the following terms.562 “By the classification of any series of objects, is meant the actual or ideal arrangement together of those which are like and the separation of those which are unlike; the purpose of this arrangement being to facilitate the operations of the mind in clearly conceiving and retaining in the memory the characters of the objects in question.”
Professor Huxley has defined the process of classification in the following terms.562 “The classification of any group of objects means putting together those that are similar and separating those that are different; the goal of this arrangement is to help the mind clearly understand and remember the characteristics of the objects involved.”
This statement is doubtless correct, so far as it goes, but it does not include all that Professor Huxley himself implicitly treats under classification. He is fully aware that deep correlations, or in other terms deep uniformities or laws of nature, will be disclosed by any well chosen and profound system of classification. I should therefore propose to677 modify the above statement, as follows:—“By the classification of any series of objects, is meant the actual or ideal arrangement together of those which are like and the separation of those which are unlike, the purpose of this arrangement being, primarily, to disclose the correlations or laws of union of properties and circumstances, and, secondarily, to facilitate the operations of the mind in clearly conceiving and retaining in the memory the characters of the objects in question.”
This statement is certainly correct, at least to a point, but it doesn’t cover everything that Professor Huxley implicitly includes under classification. He knows that deep connections, or in other words, fundamental patterns or laws of nature, will be revealed by any well-designed and insightful classification system. I would therefore suggest modifying the above statement as follows:—“The classification of any series of objects refers to the actual or ideal grouping together of similar items and the separation of dissimilar ones; the purpose of this arrangement is primarily to reveal the connections or laws governing the combination of properties and circumstances, and secondarily, to help the mind clearly understand and remember the characteristics of the objects in question.”
Multiplicity of Modes of Classification.
In approaching the question how any given group of objects may be best classified, let it be remarked that there must generally be an unlimited number of modes of classifying a group of objects. Misled, as we shall see, by the problem of classification in the natural sciences, philosophers seem to think that in each subject there must be one essentially natural system of classification which is to be selected, to the exclusion of all others. This erroneous notion probably arises also in part from the limited powers of thought and the inconvenient mechanical conditions under which we labour. If we arrange the books in a library catalogue, we must arrange them in some one order; if we compose a treatise on mineralogy, the minerals must be successively described in some one arrangement; if we treat such simple things as geometrical figures, they must be taken in some fixed order. We shall naturally select that arrangement which appears to be most convenient and instructive for our principal purpose. But it does not follow that this method of arrangement possesses any exclusive excellence, and there will be usually many other possible arrangements, each valuable in its own way. A perfect intellect would not confine itself to one order of thought, but would simultaneously regard a group of objects as classified in all the ways of which they are capable. Thus the elements may be classified according to their atomicity into the groups of monads, dyads, triads, tetrads, pentads, and hexads, and this is probably the most instructive classification; but it does not prevent us from also classifying them according as they are metallic or non-metallic, solid, liquid or gaseous at ordinary temperatures,678 useful or useless, abundant or scarce, ferro-magnetic or diamagnetic, and so on.
When considering how to best classify a group of objects, it's important to note that there are usually countless ways to do so. As we will see, philosophers, misled by the issue of classification in the natural sciences, often believe that there should be one fundamentally natural system of classification for each subject, excluding all others. This mistaken idea likely also stems from the limited capacity of our thoughts and the awkward mechanical conditions we work under. For instance, when organizing books in a library catalog, we must arrange them in a specific order; in writing about mineralogy, we need to describe minerals in a chosen sequence; when dealing with something straightforward like geometric figures, they have to be considered in a fixed order. We will typically choose the arrangement that seems most convenient and helpful for our main goal. However, this doesn't mean that this method of organization is the only excellent one—there are usually many other possible arrangements, each valuable in its own right. A perfect intellect wouldn’t limit itself to just one way of thinking but would view a group of objects as being classified in all their potential arrangements at once. For example, elements can be classified based on their atomic structure into monads, dyads, triads, tetrads, pentads, and hexads, which is probably the most informative classification. Yet, we can also categorize them as metallic or non-metallic, solid, liquid, or gas at standard temperatures, useful or useless, abundant or rare, ferro-magnetic or diamagnetic, and so on. 678
Mineralogists have spent a great deal of labour in trying to discover the supposed natural system of classification for minerals. They have constantly encountered the difficulty that the chemical composition does not run together with the crystallographic form, and the various physical properties of the mineral. Substances identical in the forms of their crystals, especially those belonging to the first or cubical system of crystals, are often found to have no resemblance in chemical composition. The same substance, again, is occasionally found crystallised in two essentially different crystallographic forms; calcium carbonate, for instance, appearing as calc-spar and arragonite. The simple truth is that if we are unable to discover any correspondence, or, as we may call it, any correlation between the properties of minerals, we cannot make any one arrangement which will enable us to treat all these properties in a single system of classification. We must classify minerals in as many different ways as there are different groups of unrelated properties of sufficient importance. Even if, for the purpose of describing minerals successively in a treatise, we select one chief system, that, for instance, having regard to chemical composition, we ought mentally to regard the minerals as classified in all other useful modes.
Mineralogists have put in a lot of effort trying to find a natural way to classify minerals. They've consistently faced the challenge that chemical composition doesn't line up with crystallographic form and the various physical properties of the minerals. Substances that have identical crystal forms, especially those in the first or cubic system of crystals, often have no similarity in their chemical composition. Sometimes, the same substance can also crystallize in two very different crystallographic forms; for example, calcium carbonate can appear as calc-spar or aragonite. The reality is that if we can't find any correlation between the properties of minerals, we can't create a single arrangement that covers all these properties in one classification system. We need to classify minerals in as many different ways as there are distinct groups of unrelated properties that are significant. Even if we choose one main system for describing minerals in a study—like one based on chemical composition—we should still think of the minerals as classified in all other useful ways.
Exactly the same may be said of the classification of plants. An immense number of different modes of classifying plants have been proposed at one time or other, an exhaustive account of which will be found in the article on classification in Rees’s “Cyclopædia,” or in the introduction to Lindley’s “Vegetable Kingdom.” There have been the Fructists, such as Cæsalpinus, Morison, Hermann, Boerhaave or Gaertner, who arranged plants according to the form of the fruit. The Corollists, Rivinus, Ludwig, and Tournefort, paid attention chiefly to the number and arrangement of the parts of the corolla. Magnol selected the calyx as the critical part, while Sauvage arranged plants according to their leaves; nor are these instances more than a small selection from the actual variety of modes of classification which have been tried. Of such attempts it may be said that every system will probably yield some information concerning the relations of plants, and it is only679 after trying many modes that it is possible to approximate to the best.
The same can be said about how we classify plants. A huge number of different ways to categorize plants have been suggested over time, and a detailed overview can be found in the article on classification in Rees’s “Cyclopædia” or in the introduction to Lindley’s “Vegetable Kingdom.” There have been the Fructists, like Cæsalpinus, Morison, Hermann, Boerhaave, or Gaertner, who organized plants based on the shape of the fruit. The Corollists, Rivinus, Ludwig, and Tournefort, focused mainly on the number and arrangement of the corolla parts. Magnol chose the calyx as the key part, while Sauvage categorized plants based on their leaves; these examples represent just a small selection of the numerous classification methods that have been attempted. It can be said that each system will likely provide some insights into the relationships between plants, and it is only after exploring many approaches that we can get close to the best one.
Natural and Artificial Systems of Classification.
It has been usual to distinguish systems of classification as natural and artificial, those being called natural which seemed to express the order of existing things as determined by nature. Artificial methods of classification, on the other hand, included those formed for the mere convenience of men in remembering or treating natural objects.
It has been common to distinguish classification systems as natural and artificial, with natural ones being those that seem to represent the order of things in nature. Artificial classification methods, on the other hand, include those created purely for the convenience of people in remembering or handling natural objects.
The difference, as it is commonly regarded, has been well described by Ampére,563 as follows: “We can distinguish two kinds of classifications, the natural and the artificial. In the latter kind, some characters, arbitrarily chosen, serve to determine the place of each object; we abstract all other characters, and the objects are thus found to be brought near to or to be separated from each other, often in the most bizarre manner. In natural systems of classification, on the contrary, we employ concurrently all the characters essential to the objects with which we are occupied, discussing the importance of each of them; and the results of this labour are not adopted unless the objects which present the closest analogy are brought most near together, and the groups of the several orders which are formed from them are also approximated in proportion as they offer more similar characters. In this way it arises that there is always a kind of connexion, more or less marked, between each group and the group which follows it.”
The difference, as it’s commonly understood, has been well described by Ampère,563 as follows: “We can distinguish two types of classifications, natural and artificial. In the artificial type, some randomly chosen characteristics determine where each object fits; we ignore all other features, leading to objects being grouped or separated in often very strange ways. In natural classification systems, on the other hand, we use all the essential characteristics of the objects we’re studying together, discussing the relevance of each. The results of this work aren’t accepted unless the objects that are most similar are placed close to each other, and the groups formed from them are also organized based on how similar they are. This approach creates a certain level of connection, more or less noticeable, between each group and the one that follows it.”
There is much, however, that is vague and logically false in this and other definitions which have been proposed by naturalists to express their notion of a natural system. We are not informed how the importance of a resemblance is to be determined, nor what is the measure of the closeness of analogy. Until all the words employed in a definition are made clear in meaning, the definition itself is worse than useless. Now if the views concerning classification here upheld are true, there can be no sharp680 and precise distinction between natural and artificial systems. All arrangements which serve any purpose at all must be more or less natural, because, if closely enough scrutinised, they will involve more resemblances than those whereby the class was defined.
There’s a lot that is unclear and logically incorrect in this and other definitions that naturalists have put forward to explain their idea of a natural system. We aren’t told how to assess the importance of a resemblance or what the standard is for measuring the closeness of analogy. Until all the terms used in a definition are clearly understood, the definition itself is worse than pointless. Now, if the ideas about classification presented here are correct, there can be no clear-cut distinction between natural and artificial systems. Any arrangements that serve a purpose must be somewhat natural because, if examined closely, they will show more resemblances than those used to define the class.
It is true that in the biological sciences there would be one arrangement of plants or animals which would be conspicuously instructive, and in a certain sense natural, if it could be attained, and it is that after which naturalists have been in reality striving for nearly two centuries, namely, that arrangement which would display the genealogical descent of every form from the original life germ. Those morphological resemblances upon which the classification of living beings is almost always based are inherited resemblances, and it is evident that descendants will usually resemble their parents and each other in a great many points.
It’s true that in the biological sciences, there’s one way of organizing plants or animals that would be especially informative and, in a way, more natural, if it could be achieved. Naturalists have actually been aiming for this for almost two centuries, which is the organization that would show the genealogical descent of every form from the original life germ. The morphological similarities that are usually the basis for classifying living beings are inherited traits, and it’s clear that descendants typically resemble their parents and each other in many ways.
I have said that a natural is distinguished from an arbitrary or artificial system only in degree. It will be found almost impossible to arrange objects according to any circumstance without finding that some correlation of other circumstances is thus made apparent. No arrangement could seem more arbitrary than the common alphabetical arrangement according to the initial letter of the name. But we cannot scrutinise a list of names of persons without noticing a predominance of Evans’s and Jones’s, under the letters E and J, and of names beginning with Mac under the letter M. The predominance is so great that we could not attribute it to chance, and inquiry would of course show that it arose from important facts concerning the nationality of the persons. It would appear that the Evans’s and Jones’s were of Welsh descent, and those whose names bear the prefix Mac of Keltic descent. With the nationality would be more or less strictly correlated many peculiarities of physical constitution, language, habits, or mental character. In other cases I have been interested in noticing the empirical inferences which are displayed in the most arbitrary arrangements. If a large register of the names of ships be examined it will often be found that a number of ships bearing the same name were built about the same time, a correlation due to the occurrence of some striking incident shortly previous681 to the building of the ships. The age of ships or other structures is usually correlated with their general form, nature of materials, &c., so that ships of the same name will often resemble each other in many points.
I’ve said that a natural system is only different from an arbitrary or artificial one in degree. It’s almost impossible to organize objects based on any circumstance without revealing some connection to other circumstances. No arrangement seems more random than the common alphabetical order by the first letter of names. However, if we look closely at a list of people’s names, we notice a lot of Evanses and Joneses under the letters E and J, and names starting with Mac under M. The number of these names is so significant that we couldn’t just say it’s a coincidence; a closer look would show that this is linked to important facts about their nationality. It seems that the Evanses and Joneses are of Welsh descent, while those with the Mac prefix are of Celtic descent. Along with nationality, various traits related to physical build, language, habits, or mental traits are usually connected. In other cases, I’ve found it interesting to see the empirical conclusions drawn from seemingly random arrangements. When examining a large list of ship names, we often find that multiple ships with the same name were built around the same time, due to a notable event occurring shortly before the ships were constructed. The age of ships or other structures usually connects with their overall design, materials, etc., so ships sharing the same name often have many similarities.
It is impossible to examine the details of some of the so-called artificial systems of classification of plants, without finding that many of the classes are natural in character. Thus in Tournefort’s arrangement, depending almost entirely on the formation of the corolla, we find the natural orders of the Labiatæ, Cruciferæ, Rosaceæ, Umbelliferæ, Liliaceæ, and Papilionaceæ, recognised in his 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, 9th, and 10th classes. Many of the classes in Linnæus’ celebrated sexual system also approximate to natural classes.
It's impossible to look at the details of some of the so-called artificial plant classification systems without realizing that many of the categories are actually natural. For example, in Tournefort’s system, which is mostly based on the structure of the flower, we can see the natural orders of Labiatae, Cruciferae, Rosaceae, Umbelliferae, Liliaceae, and Papilionaceae recognized in his 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, 9th, and 10th classes. Many of the categories in Linnaeus’ famous sexual system also closely resemble natural categories.
Correlation of Properties.
Habits and usages of language are apt to lead us into the error of imagining that when we employ different words we always mean different things. In introducing the subject of classification nominally I was careful to draw the reader’s attention to the fact that all reasoning and all operations of scientific method really involve classification, though we are accustomed to use the name in some cases and not in others. The name correlation requires to be used with the same qualification. Things are correlated (con, relata) when they are so related or bound to each other that where one is the other is, and where one is not the other is not. Throughout this work we have then been dealing with correlations. In geometry the occurrence of three equal angles in a triangle is correlated with the existence of three equal sides; in physics gravity is correlated with inertia; in botany exogenous growth is correlated with the possession of two cotyledons, or the production of flowers with that of spiral vessels. Wherever a proposition of the form A = B is true there correlation exists. But it is in the classificatory sciences especially that the word correlation has been employed.
Habits and ways of using language can easily mislead us into thinking that when we use different words, we always mean different things. When I introduced the topic of classification, I made sure to point out that all reasoning and scientific methods actually involve classification, even though we tend to use the term in some situations and not in others. The term correlation should be treated the same way. Things are correlated (con, relata) when they are linked or connected in such a way that if one exists, the other exists, and if one does not exist, the other does not exist. Throughout this work, we have been dealing with correlations. In geometry, having three equal angles in a triangle is correlated with having three equal sides; in physics, gravity is correlated with inertia; in botany, exogenous growth is correlated with having two cotyledons, or the production of flowers is correlated with the presence of spiral vessels. Whenever a statement of the form A = B is true, correlation is present. However, it is particularly in the classificatory sciences that the term correlation has been used.
We find it stated that in the class Mammalia the possession of two occipital condyles, with a well-ossified basi-occipital, is correlated with the possession of mandibles, each ramus of which is composed of a single piece682 of bone, articulated with the squamosal element of the skull, and also with the possession of mammæ and non-nucleated red blood-corpuscles. Professor Huxley remarks564 that this statement of the character of the class mammalia is something more than an arbitrary definition; it is a statement of a law of correlation or co-existence of animal structures, from which most important conclusions are deducible. It involves a generalisation to the effect that in nature the structures mentioned are always found associated together. This amounts to saying that the formation of the class mammalia involves an act of inductive discovery, and results in the establishment of certain empirical laws of nature. Professor Huxley has excellently expressed the mode in which discoveries of this kind enable naturalists to make deductions or predictions with considerable confidence, but he has also pointed out that such inferences are likely from time to time to prove mistaken. I will quote his own words:
We find it stated that in the class Mammalia, having two occipital condyles with a well-formed basi-occipital is linked to having mandibles, each ramus made from a single piece of bone that connects to the squamosal part of the skull, as well as having mammary glands and non-nucleated red blood cells. Professor Huxley notes564 that this description of the characteristics of the class Mammalia is more than just an arbitrary definition; it reflects a law of correlation or co-existence of animal structures, from which significant conclusions can be drawn. This suggests a generalization that in nature, the mentioned structures are always found together. Essentially, this means that defining the class Mammalia involves an act of inductive reasoning, leading to the establishment of certain empirical laws of nature. Professor Huxley has explained well how discoveries like this allow naturalists to make deductions or predictions with a fair amount of confidence, but he also pointed out that such conclusions may sometimes be incorrect. I will quote his own words:
“If a fragmentary fossil be discovered, consisting of no more than a ramus of a mandible, and that part of the skull with which it articulated, a knowledge of this law may enable the palæontologist to affirm, with great confidence, that the animal of which it formed a part suckled its young, and had non-nucleated red blood-corpuscles; and to predict that should the back part of that skull be discovered, it will exhibit two occipital condyles and a well-ossified basi-occipital bone.
“If a partial fossil is found, just a piece of a jawbone and the part of the skull it connects to, understanding this rule can help the paleontologist confidently assert that the animal it belonged to nursed its young and had non-nucleated red blood cells. They could also predict that if the back part of that skull were discovered, it would show two occipital condyles and a fully formed basi-occipital bone.”
“Deductions of this kind, such as that made by Cuvier in the famous case of the fossil opossum of Montmartre, have often been verified, and are well calculated to impress the vulgar imagination; so that they have taken rank as the triumphs of the anatomist. But it should carefully be borne in mind, that, like all merely empirical laws, which rest upon a comparatively narrow observational basis, the reasoning from them may at any time break down. If Cuvier, for example, had had to do with a fossil Thylacinus instead of a fossil Opossum, he would not have found the marsupial bones, though the inflected angle of the jaw would have been obvious enough. And683 so, though, practically, any one who met with a characteristically mammalian jaw would be justified in expecting to find the characteristically mammalian occiput associated with it; yet, he would be a bold man indeed, who should strictly assert the belief which is implied in this expectation, viz., that at no period of the world’s history did animals exist which combined a mammalian occiput with a reptilian jaw, or vice versâ.”
"Deductions like the one made by Cuvier in the well-known case of the fossil opossum in Montmartre have often been confirmed and tend to impress the average person, allowing them to be seen as major successes of anatomists. However, it’s important to remember that, like all purely empirical laws that rely on a somewhat limited observational foundation, the reasoning behind them can collapse at any moment. For instance, if Cuvier had dealt with a fossil Thylacinus instead of a fossil opossum, he wouldn’t have found the marsupial bones, despite the clearly visible inflected angle of the jaw. And so, while anyone who encounters a characteristically mammalian jaw would be justified in expecting to find the characteristically mammalian occiput with it; still, it would take a very bold person to strictly claim the belief implied in this expectation, that at no point in the world’s history did animals exist that had a mammalian occiput paired with a reptilian jaw, or vice versa."
One of the most distinct and remarkable instances of correlation in the animal world is that which occurs in ruminating animals, and which could not be better stated than in the following extract from the classical work of Cuvier:565
One of the most unique and notable examples of correlation in the animal kingdom is found in ruminating animals, and it could not be better expressed than in the following excerpt from Cuvier's classic work:565
“I doubt if any one would have divined, if untaught by observation, that all ruminants have the foot cleft, and that they alone have it. I doubt if any one would have divined that there are frontal horns only in this class: that those among them which have sharp canines for the most part lack horns.
“I doubt anyone would have figured out, without learning through observation, that all ruminants have split hooves, and that they are the only ones with them. I doubt anyone would have guessed that only this group has frontal horns: that those in this group with sharp canines mostly don’t have horns."
“However, since these relations are constant, they must have some sufficient cause; but since we are ignorant of it, we must make good the defect of the theory by means of observation: it enables us to establish empirical laws which become almost as certain as rational laws when they rest on sufficiently repeated observations; so that now whoso sees merely the print of a cleft foot may conclude that the animal which left this impression ruminated, and this conclusion is as certain as any other in physics or morals. This footprint alone then, yields, to him who observes it, the form of the teeth, the form of the jaws, the form of the vertebræ, the form of all the bones of the legs, of the thighs, of the shoulders, and of the pelvis of the animal which has passed by: it is a surer mark than all those of Zadig.”
“However, since these relationships are constant, there must be some sufficient cause behind them; but since we're unaware of it, we need to compensate for the shortcomings in the theory through observation: this allows us to establish empirical laws that become almost as certain as rational laws when based on sufficiently repeated observations. So now, anyone who sees just the imprint of a cleft foot can conclude that the animal that made this mark was a ruminant, and this conclusion is as certain as any other in physics or ethics. That single footprint, then, provides the observer with information about the shape of the teeth, the jaws, the vertebrae, and all the bones of the legs, thighs, shoulders, and pelvis of the animal that passed by: it’s a clearer indication than anything from Zadig.”
We meet with a good instance of the purely empirical correlation of circumstances when we classify the planets according to their densities and periods of axial rotation.566 If we examine a table specifying the usual astronomical elements of the solar system, we find that four planets684 resemble each other very closely in the period of axial rotation, and the same four planets are all found to have high densities, thus:—
We see a clear example of the purely empirical connection of circumstances when we categorize the planets based on their densities and rotation periods.566 If we look at a table outlining the typical astronomical elements of the solar system, we discover that four planets684 are very similar in their rotation periods, and those same four planets all have high densities, like this:—
Name of Planet. |
Period of Axial Rotation. |
Density. |
|||
Mercury | 24 |
hours |
5 |
minutes |
7·94 |
Venus | 23 |
" |
21 |
" |
5·33 |
Earth | 23 |
" |
56 |
" |
5·67 |
Mars | 24 |
" |
37 |
" |
5·84 |
A similar table for the other larger planets, is as follows:—
A similar table for the other larger planets is as follows:—
Jupiter | 9 | hours | 55 | minutes | 1·36 |
Saturn | 10 | " | 29 | " | ·74 |
Uranus | 9 | " | 30 | " | ·97 |
Neptune | — | " | — | 1·02 |
It will be observed that in neither group is the equality of the rotational period or the density more than rudely approximate; nevertheless the difference of the numbers in the first and second group is so very well marked, the periods of the first being at least double and the densities four or five times those of the second, that the coincidence cannot be attributed to accident. The reader will also notice that the first group consists of the planets nearest to the sun; that with the exception of the earth none of them possess satellites; and that they are all comparatively small. The second group are furthest from the sun, and all of them possess several satellites, and are comparatively great. Therefore, with but slight exceptions, the following correlations hold true:—
It can be seen that in neither group is the equality of the rotational period or the density more than roughly similar; however, the differences in the numbers between the first and second group are very clear, with the periods of the first being at least double and the densities four to five times those of the second, so the similarity can't be just a coincidence. The reader will also notice that the first group includes the planets closest to the sun; that, except for Earth, none of them have satellites; and that they are all relatively small. The second group is farthest from the sun, and all of them have several satellites and are relatively large. Therefore, with only a few exceptions, the following correlations hold true:—
Interior planets. | Long period. | Small size. | High Density. | No satellites. |
Exterior " | Short " | Great " | Low " | Many " |
These coincidences point with much probability to a difference in the origin of the two groups, but no further explanation of the matter is yet possible.
These coincidences strongly suggest that the two groups have different origins, but no further explanation is possible at this time.
The classification of comets according to their periods by Mr. Hind and Mr. A. S. Davies, tends to establish the conclusion that distinct groups of comets have been brought into the solar system by the attractive powers of Jupiter, Uranus, or other planets.567 The classification of nebulæ as commenced by the two Herschels, and continued685 by Lord Rosse, Mr. Huggins, and others, will probably lead at some future time to the discovery of important empirical laws concerning the constitution of the universe. The minute examination and classification of meteorites, as carried on by Mr. Sorby and others, seems likely to afford us an insight into the formation of the heavenly bodies.
The way comets are classified based on their orbits by Mr. Hind and Mr. A. S. Davies suggests that different groups of comets have been pulled into the solar system by the gravitational forces of Jupiter, Uranus, or other planets.567 The classification of nebulae, started by the two Herschels and further explored by Lord Rosse, Mr. Huggins, and others, will likely lead to significant discoveries about the fundamental laws governing the universe in the future. The detailed study and classification of meteorites by Mr. Sorby and others seems promising for gaining insights into how celestial bodies are formed.
We should never fail to remember the slightest and most inexplicable correlations, for they may prove of importance in the future. Discoveries begin when we are least expecting them. It is a significant fact, for instance, that the greater number of variable stars are of a reddish colour. Not all variable stars are red, nor all red stars variable; but considering that only a small fraction of the observed stars are known to be variable, and only a small fraction are red, the number which fall into both classes is too great to be accidental.568 It is also remarkable that the greater number of stars possessing great proper motion are double stars, the star 61 Cygni being especially noticeable in this respect.569 The correlation in these cases is not without exception, but the preponderance is so great as to point to some natural connexion, the exact nature of which must be a matter for future investigation. Herschel remarked that the two double stars 61 Cygni and α Centauri of which the orbits were well ascertained, evidently belonged to the same family or genus.570
We should always remember the smallest and most puzzling connections because they might be important later on. Discoveries often happen when we least expect them. For example, it's significant that most variable stars are reddish. Not every variable star is red, and not all red stars are variable; however, since only a tiny fraction of the observed stars are known to be variable and just a small percentage are red, the number that fits both categories is too high to be mere coincidence.568 It's also interesting that most stars with high proper motion are double stars, especially the star 61 Cygni.569 While there are exceptions to these correlations, the prevalence is strong enough to suggest some natural connection, the exact nature of which needs to be investigated further. Herschel noted that the two double stars 61 Cygni and α Centauri, which had well-determined orbits, clearly belonged to the same family or type.570
Classification in Crystallography.
Perhaps the most perfect and instructive instance of classification which we can find is furnished by the science of crystallography (p. 133). The system of arrangement now generally adopted is conspicuously natural, and is even mathematically perfect. A crystal consists in every part of similar molecules similarly related to the adjoining molecules, and connected with them by forces the nature of which we can only learn by their apparent effects. But these forces are exerted in space of three dimensions, so that there is a limited number of suppositions which can be entertained as to the relations of these forces. In one686 case each molecule will be similarly related to all those which are next to it; in a second case, it will be similarly related to those in a certain plane, but differently related to those not in that plane. In the simpler cases the arrangement of molecules is rectangular; in the remaining cases oblique either in one or two planes.
Maybe the best and most educational example of classification we can find comes from the science of crystallography (p. 133). The arrangement system that is widely used today is strikingly natural and even mathematically perfect. A crystal consists of similar molecules in every part that are similarly related to the neighboring molecules, and they are connected by forces that we can only understand through their visible effects. However, these forces act in three-dimensional space, so there’s a limited number of assumptions we can make about the relationships of these forces. In one case, each molecule is similarly related to all those next to it; in another case, it will be similarly related to those in a specific plane, but differently related to those not in that plane. In simpler cases, the arrangement of molecules is rectangular; in more complex cases, it’s oblique in one or two planes.
In order to simplify the explanation and conception of the complicated phenomena which crystals exhibit, an hypothesis has been invented which is an excellent instance of the Descriptive Hypotheses before mentioned (p. 522). Crystallographers imagine that there are within each crystal certain axes, or lines of direction, by the comparative length and the mutual inclination of which the nature of the crystal is determined. In one class of crystals there are three such axes lying in one plane, and a fourth perpendicular to that plane; but in all the other classes there are imagined to be only three axes. Now these axes can be varied in three ways as regards length: they may be (1) all equal, or (2) two equal and one unequal, or (3) all unequal. They may also be varied in four ways as regards direction: (1) they may be all at right angles to each other; (2) two axes may be oblique to each other and at right angles to the third; (3) two axes may be at right angles to each other and the third oblique to both; (4) the three axes may be all oblique. Now, if all the variations as regards length were combined with those regarding direction, it would seem to be possible to have twelve classes of crystals in all, the enumeration being then logically and geometrically complete. But as a matter of empirical observation, many of these classes are not found to occur, oblique axes being seldom or never equal. There remain seven recognised classes of crystals, but even of these one class is not positively known to be represented in nature.
To make the explanation and understanding of the complex phenomena exhibited by crystals simpler, a hypothesis has been created that serves as a great example of the previously mentioned Descriptive Hypotheses (p. 522). Crystallographers propose that within each crystal, there are certain axes or directional lines that determine the crystal's nature based on their relative lengths and angles. In one type of crystal, three of these axes lie in one plane with a fourth axis perpendicular to that plane; however, in all other types, only three axes are thought to exist. These axes can be changed in three ways regarding their length: (1) all equal, (2) two equal and one unequal, or (3) all unequal. They can also vary in four ways regarding their direction: (1) all at right angles to one another, (2) two axes oblique to each other and perpendicular to the third, (3) two axes at right angles to each other with the third being oblique to both, or (4) all three axes being oblique. If all variations of length are combined with those of direction, it might be possible to have twelve total classes of crystals, making the classification logically and geometrically complete. However, through empirical observation, many of these classes are rarely or never seen, with oblique axes seldom or never being equal. There are seven recognized classes of crystals, but even within these, one class is not confirmed to exist in nature.
The first class of crystals is defined by possessing three equal rectangular axes, and equal elasticity in all directions. The primary or simple form of the crystals is the cube, but by the removal of the corners of the cube by planes variously inclined to the axes, we have the regular octohedron, the dodecahedron, and various combinations of these forms. Now it is a law of this class of crystals that as each axis is exactly like each other axis, every modification of any corner of a crystal must be repeated symmetrically with687 regard to the other axes; thus the forms produced are symmetrical or regular, and the class is called the Regular System of crystals. It includes a great variety of substances, some of them being elements, such as carbon in the form of diamond, others more or less complex compounds, such as rock-salt, potassium iodide and bromide, the several kinds of alum, fluor-spar, iron bisulphide, garnet, spinelle, &c. No correlation then is apparent between the form of crystallisation and the chemical composition. But what we have to notice is that the physical properties of the crystallised substances with regard to light, heat, electricity, &c., are closely similar. Light and heat undulations, wherever they enter a crystal of the regular system, spread with equal rapidity in all directions, just as they would in a uniform fluid. Crystals of the regular system accordingly do not in any case exhibit the phenomena of double refraction, unless by mechanical compression we alter the conditions of elasticity. These crystals, again, expand equally in all directions when heated, and if we could cut a sufficiently large plate from a cubical crystal, and examine the sound vibrations of which it is capable, we should find that they indicated an equal elasticity in every direction. Thus we see that a great number of important properties are correlated with that of crystallisation in the regular system, and as soon as we know that the primary form of a substance is the cube, we are able to infer with approximate certainty that it possesses all these properties. The class of regular crystals is then an eminently natural class, one disclosing many general laws connecting together the physical and mechanical properties of the substances classified.
The first class of crystals is characterized by having three equal rectangular axes and the same elasticity in all directions. The simplest form of these crystals is the cube, but by cutting off the corners of the cube with planes at different angles to the axes, we get the regular octahedron, the dodecahedron, and various combinations of these shapes. A key rule for this class of crystals is that since each axis is identical to the others, any modification made to one corner of a crystal must be symmetrically repeated concerning the other axes; therefore, the resulting shapes are symmetrical or regular, and this class is referred to as the Regular System of crystals. It includes a wide range of substances, some of which are elements like carbon in the form of diamond, while others are more complex compounds like rock salt, potassium iodide and bromide, various types of alum, fluorite, iron bisulfide, garnet, spinel, etc. There doesn’t seem to be any clear relationship between the crystallization form and the chemical composition. However, what we should note is that the physical properties of these crystallized substances concerning light, heat, electricity, etc., are quite similar. Light and heat waves, when they enter a crystal from the regular system, spread equally fast in all directions, just like they would in a uniform liquid. Therefore, crystals from the regular system do not show the effects of double refraction unless their elasticity conditions are changed by mechanical pressure. Additionally, these crystals expand evenly in all directions when heated, and if we could cut a sufficiently large plate from a cubical crystal and examine the sound vibrations it can produce, we would find that they demonstrate equal elasticity in every direction. Thus, it's clear that many significant properties are linked to crystallization in the regular system, and once we identify that a substance's primary form is the cube, we can reasonably conclude that it possesses all these properties. The class of regular crystals is, therefore, a very natural classification, revealing many general laws that connect the physical and mechanical properties of the substances within it.
In the second class of crystals, called the dimetric, square prismatic, or pyramidal system, there are also three axes at right angles to each other; two of the axes are equal, but the third or principal axis is unequal, being either greater or less than either of the other two. In such crystals accordingly the elasticity and other properties are alike in all directions perpendicular to the principal axis, but vary in all other directions. If a point within a crystal of this system be heated, the heat spreads with equal rapidity in planes perpendicular to the principal axis, but more or less rapidly in the direction of this axis, so that the isothermal surface is an ellipsoid of revolution round that axis.
In the second group of crystals, known as the dimetric, square prismatic, or pyramidal system, there are also three axes that meet at right angles to each other; two of the axes are the same length, while the third, or main axis, is a different length, either longer or shorter than the other two. In these crystals, the elasticity and other properties are consistent in all directions that are perpendicular to the main axis, but they change in other directions. If you heat a point inside a crystal of this type, the heat spreads evenly in planes that are perpendicular to the main axis, but it spreads more quickly or slowly along this axis, making the isothermal surface an ellipsoid of revolution around that axis.
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Nearly the same statement may be made concerning the third or hexagonal or rhombohedral system of crystals, in which there are three axes lying in one plane and meeting at angles of 60°, while the fourth axis is perpendicular to the other three. The hexagonal prism and rhombohedron are the commonest forms assumed by crystals of this system, and in ice, quartz, and calc-spar, we have abundance of beautiful specimens of the various shapes produced by the modification of the primitive form. Calc-spar alone is said to crystallise in at least 700 varieties of form. Now of all the crystals belonging both to this and the dimetric class, we know that a ray of light passing in the direction of the principal axis will be refracted singly as in a crystal of the regular system; but in every other direction the light will suffer double refraction being separated into two rays, one of which obeys the ordinary law of refraction, but the other a much more complicated law. The other physical properties vary in an analogous manner. Thus calc-spar expands by heat in the direction of the principal axis, but contracts a little in directions perpendicular to it. So closely are the physical properties correlated that Mitscherlich, having observed the law of expansion in calc-spar, was enabled to predict that the double refracting power of the substance would be decreased by a rise of temperature, as was proved by experiment to be the case.
A similar statement can be made about the third or hexagonal or rhombohedral system of crystals, which has three axes in one plane that meet at angles of 60°, while the fourth axis is perpendicular to the other three. The hexagonal prism and rhombohedron are the most common forms found in crystals of this system, and ice, quartz, and calcite provide plenty of beautiful examples of the different shapes created by modifying the basic form. Calcite alone is said to crystallize in at least 700 different forms. Now, for all the crystals in both this and the dimetric class, we know that a ray of light traveling along the principal axis will be refracted singly, just like in a regular crystal; however, in every other direction, the light will experience double refraction, splitting into two rays—one following the usual law of refraction and the other following a much more complex law. Other physical properties vary similarly. For example, calcite expands with heat in the direction of the principal axis but contracts slightly in directions that are perpendicular to it. The physical properties are so closely related that Mitscherlich, after observing the law of expansion in calcite, was able to predict that the double refractive power of the substance would decrease with a rise in temperature, which experiments later confirmed.
In the fourth system, called the trimetric, rhombic, or right prismatic system, there are three axes, at right angles, but all unequal in length. It may be asserted in general terms that the mechanical properties vary in such crystals in every direction, and heat spreads so that the isothermal surface is an ellipsoid with three unequal axes.
In the fourth system, known as the trimetric, rhombic, or right prismatic system, there are three axes that are perpendicular to each other but are all different in length. Generally speaking, it's safe to say that the mechanical properties in these crystals vary in every direction, and heat disperses in such a way that the isothermal surface forms an ellipsoid with three unequal axes.
In the remaining three classes, called the monoclinic, diclinic, and triclinic, the axes are more or less oblique, and at the same time unequal. The complication of phenomena is therefore greatly increased, and it need only be stated that there are always two directions in which a ray is singly refracted, but that in all other directions double refraction takes place. The conduction of heat is unequal in all directions, the isothermal surface being an ellipsoid of three unequal axes. The relations of such crystals to other phenomena are often very complicated,689 and hardly yet reduced to law. Some crystals, called pyro-electric, manifest vitreous electricity at some points of their surface, and resinous electricity at other points when rising in temperature, the character of the electricity being changed when the temperature sinks again. This production of electricity is believed to be connected with the hemihedral character of the crystals exhibiting it. The crystalline structure of a substance again influences its magnetic behaviour, the general law being that the direction in which the molecules of a crystal are most approximated tends to place itself axially or equatorially between the poles of a magnet, respectively as the body is magnetic or diamagnetic. Further questions arise if we apply pressure to crystals. Thus doubly refracting crystals with one principal axis acquire two axes when the pressure is perpendicular in direction to the principal axis.
In the last three types, known as monoclinic, diclinic, and triclinic, the axes are mostly slanted and unequal. This adds a lot more complexity to the phenomena involved, and it's important to note that there are always two directions where a ray is singly refracted, while in all other directions, double refraction occurs. Heat conduction is uneven in all directions, with the isothermal surface forming an ellipsoid with three unequal axes. The relationships between these crystals and other phenomena are often very complex,689 and not yet fully understood. Some crystals, referred to as pyro-electric, show vitreous electricity at certain points on their surfaces and resinous electricity at other points when heated, with the type of electricity changing again when the temperature cools down. This generation of electricity is thought to be linked to the hemihedral nature of the crystals that show it. The crystalline structure of a substance also affects its magnetic properties, with the general rule being that the direction where the molecules of a crystal are closest tends to align axially or equatorially between the poles of a magnet, depending on whether the material is magnetic or diamagnetic. More questions come up when we apply pressure to crystals. For instance, doubly refracting crystals with one main axis gain two axes when pressure is applied perpendicular to the main axis.
All the phenomena peculiar to crystalline bodies are thus closely correlated with the formation of the crystal, or will almost certainly be found to be so as investigation proceeds. It is upon empirical observation indeed that the laws of connexion are in the first place founded, but the simple hypothesis that the elasticity and approximation of the particles vary in the directions of the crystalline axes allows of the application of deductive reasoning. The whole of the phenomena are gradually being proved to be consistent with this hypothesis, so that we have in this subject of crystallography a beautiful instance of successful classification, connected with a nearly perfect physical hypothesis. Moreover this hypothesis was verified experimentally as regards the mechanical vibrations of sound by Savart, who found that the vibrations in a plate of biaxial crystal indicated the existence of varying elasticity in varying directions.
All the unique characteristics of crystalline materials are closely linked to how crystals form, and this connection will likely be confirmed as research continues. The principles of this relationship are primarily based on empirical observation, but the simple idea that the elasticity and closeness of the particles change in the directions of the crystal axes allows for deductive reasoning. All the observed phenomena are gradually being shown to align with this idea, making crystallography a great example of successful classification combined with a nearly perfect physical theory. Additionally, this theory was experimentally confirmed regarding the mechanical vibrations of sound by Savart, who discovered that the vibrations in a biaxial crystal plate demonstrated varying elasticity in different directions.
Classification an Inverse and Tentative Operation.
If attempts at so-called natural classification are really attempts at perfect induction, it follows that they are subject to the remarks which were made upon the inverse character of the inductive process, and upon the difficulty of every inverse operation (pp. 11, 12, 122, &c.). There will be no royal road to the discovery of the best system,690 and it will even be impossible to lay down rules of procedure to assist those who are in search of a good arrangement. The only logical rule would be as follows:—Having given certain objects, group them in every way in which they can be grouped, and then observe in which method of grouping the correlation of properties is most conspicuously manifested. But this method of exhaustive classification will in almost every case be impracticable, owing to the immensely great number of modes in which a comparatively small number of objects may be grouped together. About sixty-three elements have been classified by chemists in six principal groups as monad, dyad, triad, &c., elements, the numbers in the classes varying from three to twenty elements. Now if we were to calculate the whole number of ways in which sixty-three objects can be arranged in six groups, we should find the number to be so great that the life of the longest lived man would be wholly inadequate to enable him to go through these possible groupings. The rule of exhaustive arrangement, then, is absolutely impracticable. It follows that mere haphazard trial cannot as a general rule give any useful result. If we were to write the names of the elements in succession upon sixty-three cards, throw them into a ballot-box, and draw them out haphazard in six handfuls time after time, the probability is excessively small that we should take them out in a specified order, that for instance at present adopted by chemists.
If efforts at what’s called natural classification are really attempts at perfect induction, it means they're affected by the issues discussed regarding the reverse nature of the inductive process, and the challenges of every inverse operation (pp. 11, 12, 122, etc.). There won't be an easy path to finding the best system,690 and it will even be impossible to set down rules to help those looking for a good arrangement. The only logical guideline would be: Take certain objects, group them in every possible way, and then see which grouping shows the relationships of properties most clearly. However, this thorough classification method will usually be impractical, due to the incredibly large number of ways a relatively small number of objects can be grouped together. Chemists have classified about sixty-three elements into six main groups: monad, dyad, triad, etc., with the numbers in the classes ranging from three to twenty elements. If we were to calculate all the different ways sixty-three objects can be arranged into six groups, we'd find that the number is so huge that a person’s entire lifetime wouldn’t be enough to go through all these possible groupings. Therefore, the rule of exhaustive arrangement is completely impractical. It follows that random trials generally won't yield any useful results. If we were to write the names of the elements on sixty-three cards, toss them into a ballot box, and randomly draw them out into six handfuls repeatedly, the chances of pulling them out in a specific order, like the one currently used by chemists, would be extremely low.
The usual mode in which an investigator proceeds to form a classification of a new group of objects seems to consist in tentatively arranging them according to their most obvious similarities. Any two objects which present a close resemblance to each other will be joined and formed into the rudiment of a class, the definition of which will at first include all the apparent points of resemblance. Other objects as they come to our notice will be gradually assigned to those groups with which they present the greatest number of points of resemblance, and the definition of a class will often have to be altered in order to admit them. The early chemists could hardly avoid classing together the common metals, gold, silver, copper, lead, and iron, which present such conspicuous points of similarity as regards density, metallic lustre, malleability,691 &c. With the progress of discovery, however, difficulties began to present themselves in such a grouping. Antimony, bismuth, and arsenic are distinctly metallic as regards lustre, density, and some chemical properties, but are wanting in malleability. The recently discovered tellurium presents greater difficulties, for it has many of the physical properties of metal, and yet all its chemical properties are analogous to those of sulphur and selenium, which have never been regarded as metals. Great chemical differences again are discovered by degrees between the five metals mentioned; and the class, if it is to have any chemical validity, must be made to include other elements, having none of the original properties on which the class was founded. Hydrogen is a transparent colourless gas, and the least dense of all substances; yet in its chemical analogies it is a metal, as suggested by Faraday571 in 1838, and almost proved by Graham;572 it must be placed in the same class as silver. In this way it comes to pass that almost every classification which is proposed in the early stages of a science will be found to break down as the deeper similarities of the objects come to be detected. The most obvious points of difference will have to be neglected. Chlorine is a gas, bromine a liquid, and iodine a solid, and at first sight these might have seemed formidable circumstances to overlook; but in chemical analogy the substances are closely united. The progress of organic chemistry, again, has yielded wholly new ideas of the similarities of compounds. Who, for instance, would recognise without extensive research a close similarity between glycerine and alcohol, or between fatty substances and ether? The class of paraffins contains three substances gaseous at ordinary temperatures, several liquids, and some crystalline solids. It required much insight to detect the analogy which exists between such apparently different substances.
The typical approach an investigator takes to classify a new group of objects usually involves tentatively organizing them based on their most obvious similarities. Any two objects that closely resemble each other will be grouped together to form the basic idea of a class, which initially includes all the visible points of similarity. As other objects come to our attention, they will gradually be placed into those groups where they share the most similarities, and the definition of a class will often need to change to accommodate them. Early chemists could hardly avoid grouping the common metals like gold, silver, copper, lead, and iron, which share noticeable traits like density, metallic luster, malleability, 691 and so on. However, as discoveries progressed, challenges began to arise in such groupings. Antimony, bismuth, and arsenic are clearly metallic in terms of luster, density, and some chemical properties, but they lack malleability. The newly discovered tellurium is even more problematic, as it has many physical properties of metals, yet its chemical properties are similar to those of sulfur and selenium, which have never been considered metals. Significant chemical differences gradually emerge between the five metals mentioned; to maintain any chemical validity, the class must include other elements that do not share any of the original properties on which it was based. Hydrogen is a transparent, colorless gas and the least dense substance known; yet, in terms of its chemical characteristics, it aligns with metals, as suggested by Faraday571 in 1838 and nearly proven by Graham.572 It must be classified alongside silver. This is how almost every classification proposed in the early stages of a science tends to break down as deeper similarities among the objects are recognized. The most apparent points of difference often have to be set aside. Chlorine is a gas, bromine is a liquid, and iodine is a solid, and at first glance, these might seem like significant differences to ignore; however, in chemical terms, these substances are closely related. The advancement of organic chemistry has also led to entirely new perspectives on the similarities between compounds. For example, who would recognize without thorough investigation a close similarity between glycerin and alcohol, or between fatty substances and ether? The class of paraffins includes three gaseous substances at normal temperatures, several liquids, and some crystalline solids. It took considerable insight to uncover the similarities that exist among such seemingly different substances.
The science of chemistry now depends to a great extent on a correct classification of the elements, as will be learnt by consulting the able article on Classification by Professor G. C. Foster in Watts’ Dictionary of Chemistry. But the present system of chemical classification was not692 reached until at least three previous false systems had been long entertained. And though there is much reason to believe that the present mode of classification according to atomicity is substantially correct, errors may yet be discovered in the details of the grouping.
The science of chemistry heavily relies on accurately classifying the elements, as you can learn from the insightful article on Classification by Professor G. C. Foster in Watts’ Dictionary of Chemistry. However, the current system of chemical classification was developed only after at least three earlier incorrect systems had been widely accepted. While there is good reason to believe that the current classification based on atomicity is mostly correct, there may still be errors in the specifics of the grouping.
Symbolic Statement of the Theory of Classification.
The theory of classification can be explained in the most complete and general manner, by reverting for a time to the use of the Logical Alphabet, which was found to be of supreme importance in Formal Logic. That form expresses the necessary classification of all objects and ideas as depending on the laws of thought, and there is no point concerning the purpose and methods of classification which may not be stated precisely by the use of letter combinations, the only inconvenience being the abstract form in which the subject is thus represented.
The theory of classification can be explained in a thorough and general way by briefly returning to the use of the Logical Alphabet, which is crucial in Formal Logic. This form shows the necessary classification of all objects and ideas based on the laws of thought, and there’s no aspect of classification’s purpose and methods that can’t be clearly articulated through letter combinations, with the only downside being the abstract way in which the topic is presented.
If we pay regard only to three qualities in which things may resemble each other, namely, the qualities A, B, C, there are according to the laws of thought eight possible classes of objects, shown in the fourth column of the Logical Alphabet (p. 94). If there exist objects belonging to all these eight classes, it follows that the qualities A, B, C, are subject to no conditions except the primary laws of thought and things (p. 5). There is then no special law of nature to discover, and, if we arrange the objects in any one order rather than another, it must be for the purpose of showing that the combinations are logically complete.
If we focus on just three qualities that things can share, specifically qualities A, B, and C, there are eight possible types of objects according to the laws of thought, as shown in the fourth column of the Logical Alphabet (p. 94). If there are objects in all these eight types, it means that qualities A, B, and C aren't limited by anything except the fundamental laws of thought and reality (p. 5). Therefore, there’s no specific law of nature to find, and if we organize the objects in one way or another, it must be to demonstrate that the combinations are logically complete.
Suppose, however, that there are but four kinds of objects possessing the qualities A, B, C, and that these kinds are represented by the combinations ABC, AbC, aBc, abc. The order of arrangement will now be of importance; for if we place them in the order
Suppose, however, that there are only four types of objects with qualities A, B, and C, and these types are represented by the combinations ABC, AbC, aBc, abc. The order in which we arrange them will now matter; because if we put them in the order
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ABC | ![]() |
AbC |
aBc | abc |
placing the B’s first and those which are b’s last, we shall perhaps overlook the law of correlation of properties involved. But if we arrange the combinations as follows
placing the B’s first and those which are b’s last, we might miss the law of correlation of properties involved. But if we arrange the combinations like this—
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ABC | ![]() |
aBc |
AbC | abc |
it becomes apparent at once that where A is, and only where A is, the property C is to be found, B being693 indifferently present and absent. The second arrangement then would be called a natural one, as rendering manifest the conditions under which the combinations exist.
It becomes clear right away that property C is found only where A is, while B can be either present or absent. The second arrangement would then be considered a natural one, as it clearly shows the conditions under which the combinations exist.
As a further instance, let us suppose that eight objects are presented to us for classification, which exhibit combinations of the five properties, A, B, C, D, E, in the following manner:—
As another example, let's imagine that eight items are given to us for classification, showing combinations of the five properties, A, B, C, D, E, in the following way:—
ABCdE | aBCdE |
ABcde | aBcde |
AbCDE | abCDE |
AbcDe | abcDe |
They are now classified, so that those containing A stand first, and those devoid of A second, but no other property seems to be correlated with A. Let us alter this arrangement and group the combinations thus:—
They are now sorted, so that those with A come first, and those without A come second, but no other feature seems to be linked to A. Let's change this setup and organize the combinations like this:—
ABCdE | AbCDE |
ABcde | AbcDe |
aBCdE | abCDE |
aBcde | abcDe |
It requires little examination to discover that in the first group B is always present and D absent, whereas in the second group, B is always absent and D present. This is the result which follows from a law of the form B = d (p. 136), so that in this mode of arrangement we readily discover correlation between two letters. Altering the groups again as follows:—
It takes only a little investigation to see that in the first group, B is always there and D is not, while in the second group, B is always missing and D is present. This outcome comes from a law of the form B = d (p. 136), allowing us to easily identify a correlation between the two letters. Changing the groups again as follows:—
ABCdE | ABcde |
aBCdE | aBcde |
AbCDE | AbcDe |
abCDE | abcDe, |
we discover another evident correlation between C and E. Between A and the other letters, or between the two pairs of letters B, D and C, E, there is no logical connexion.
we discover another clear connection between C and E. There is no logical relationship between A and the other letters, or between the two pairs of letters B, D and C, E.
This example may seem tedious, but it will be found instructive in this way. We are classifying only eight objects or combinations, in each of which only five qualities are considered. There are only two laws of correlation between four of those five qualities, and those laws are of the simplest logical character. Yet the reader would hardly discover what those laws are, and confidently assign them by rapid contemplation of the combinations, as given in the first group. Several tentative classifications must694 probably be made before we can resolve the question. Let us now suppose that instead of eight objects and five qualities, we have, say, five hundred objects and fifty qualities. If we were to attempt the same method of exhaustive grouping which we before employed, we should have to arrange the five hundred objects in fifty different ways, before we could be sure that we had discovered even the simpler laws of correlation. But even the successive grouping of all those possessing each of the fifty properties would not necessarily give us all the laws. There might exist complicated relations between several properties simultaneously, for the detection of which no rule of procedure whatever can be given.
This example might seem boring, but it will actually be helpful in this way. We're only classifying eight objects or combinations, considering just five qualities in each case. There are only two correlation laws between four of those five qualities, and those laws are pretty straightforward. However, the reader would likely struggle to figure out what those laws are and quickly identify them just by looking at the combinations presented in the first group. We might need to make several tentative classifications before we can answer the question. Now, let's imagine that instead of eight objects and five qualities, we have, say, five hundred objects and fifty qualities. If we tried to use the same thorough grouping method we used before, we'd have to organize the five hundred objects in fifty different ways before we could be sure we found even the simpler correlation laws. But even grouping all those that share each of the fifty properties wouldn't necessarily reveal all the laws. There could be complex relationships between several properties at the same time, for which no procedure can be provided.
Bifurcate Classification.
Every system of classification ought to be formed on the principles of the Logical Alphabet. Each superior class should be divided into two inferior classes, distinguished by the possession and non-possession of a single specified difference. Each of these minor classes, again, is divisible by any other quality whatever which can be suggested, and thus every classification logically consists of an infinitely extended series of subaltern genera and species. The classifications which we form are in reality very small fragments of those which would correctly and fully represent the relations of existing things. But if we take more than four or five qualities into account, the number of subdivisions grows impracticably large. Our finite minds are unable to treat any complex group exhaustively, and we are obliged to simplify and generalise scientific problems, often at the risk of overlooking particular conditions and exceptions.
Every classification system should be based on the principles of the Logical Alphabet. Each major class should be split into two minor classes, defined by the presence or absence of a specific difference. Each of these smaller classes can further divide based on any other quality that comes to mind, leading to a classification that logically consists of an infinite series of subordinate genera and species. The classifications we create are actually just small pieces of those that would accurately and completely represent the relationships of existing things. However, if we consider more than four or five qualities, the number of subdivisions becomes unmanageably large. Our limited minds can't fully analyze any complex group, and we're forced to simplify and generalize scientific problems, often risking the loss of particular conditions and exceptions.
Every system of classes displayed in the manner of the Logical Alphabet may be called bifurcate, because every class branches out at each step into two minor classes, existent or imaginary. It would be a great mistake to regard this arrangement as in any way a peculiar or special method; it is not only a natural and important one, but it is the inevitable and only system which is logically perfect, according to the fundamental laws of thought. All other arrangements of classes correspond to the bifurcate arrangement, with the implication that some695 of the minor classes are not represented among existing things. If we take the genus A and divide it into the species AB and AC, we imply two propositions, namely that in the class A, the properties of B and C never occur together, and that they are never both absent; these propositions are logically equivalent to one, namely AB = Ac. Our classification is then identical with the following bifurcate one:—
Every system of classes shown in the way of the Logical Alphabet can be called bifurcate because every class splits into two smaller classes at each step, whether they exist or are just imaginary. It would be a big mistake to see this setup as something unusual or special; it's not only a natural and significant approach, but it’s also the only method that is logically perfect according to the basic laws of thought. All other arrangements of classes relate back to the bifurcate arrangement, suggesting that some of the smaller classes might not be represented among existing things. If we take the genus A and split it into the species AB and AC, we imply two statements: that in class A, the properties of B and C never happen at the same time, and that they're never both absent; these statements are logically equivalent to one, which is AB = Ac. Our classification is then the same as the following bifurcate one:—
A | |||||||
AB |
Ab |
||||||
ABC = 0 |
ABc |
AbC |
Abc = 0 |
If, again, we divide the genus A into three species, AB, AC, AD, we are either logically in error, or else we must be understood to imply that, as regards the other letters, there exist only three combinations containing A, namely ABcd, AbCd, and AbcD.
If we divide the category A into three types, AB, AC, and AD, we’re either making a logical mistake or we mean to suggest that, concerning the other letters, there are only three combinations that include A, specifically ABcd, AbCd, and AbcD.
The logical necessity of bifurcate classification has been clearly and correctly stated in the Outline of a New System of Logic by George Bentham, the eminent botanist, a work of which the logical value has been quite overlooked until lately. Mr. Bentham points out, in p. 113, that every classification must be essentially bifurcate, and takes, as an example, the division of vertebrate animals into four sub-classes, as follows:—
The essential need for bifurcate classification has been clearly articulated in the Outline of a New System of Logic by George Bentham, the renowned botanist, a work whose logical significance has largely been ignored until recently. Mr. Bentham notes, on p. 113, that every classification must fundamentally be bifurcate, and uses the example of dividing vertebrate animals into four sub-classes, as follows:—
Mammifera— | endowed with mammæ and lungs. |
Birds | without mammæ but with lungs and wings. |
Fish | deprived of lungs. |
Reptiles | deprived of mammæ and wings but with lungs. |
We have, then, as Mr. Bentham says, three bifid divisions, thus represented:—
We have, as Mr. Bentham says, three split divisions, represented like this:—
Vertebrata |
|||||||
Endowed with lungs |
deprived of lungs = Fish. |
||||||
Endowed with mammæ = Mammifera. |
deprived of mammæ |
||||||
with wings = Birds. |
without wings = Reptiles. |
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It is quite evident that according to the laws of thought even this arrangement is incomplete. The sub-class mammifera must either have wings or be deprived of them; we must either subdivide this class, or assume that none of the mammifera have wings, which is, as a matter of fact, the case, the wings of bats not being true wings in the meaning of the term as applied to birds. Fish, again, ought to be considered with regard to the possession of mammæ and wings; and in leaving them undivided we really imply that they never have mammæ nor wings, the wings of the flying-fish, again, being no exception. If we resort to the use of our letters and define them as follows—
It’s clear that, based on the laws of thought, this arrangement is incomplete. The subclass Mammalia must either have wings or not; we have to either break this class down further or accept that none of the mammals have wings, which is actually true since bat wings aren't true wings in the same sense as bird wings. Fish, too, should be considered in terms of having mammary glands and wings; by not categorizing them properly, we’re suggesting that they don’t have either, with flying fish being a special case. If we decide to use our letters and define them like this—
B = having lungs,
C = having mammæ,
D = having wings,
then there are four existent classes of vertebrata which appear to be thus described—
then there are four existing classes of vertebrates that seem to be described like this—
But in reality the combinations are implied to be
But in reality, the combinations are meant to be
ABcD = Birds,
ABcd = Reptiles,
Abcd = Fish,
and we imply at the same time that the other four conceivable combinations containing B, C, or D, namely ABCD, AbCD, AbCd, and AbcD, do not exist in nature.
and we suggest at the same time that the other four possible combinations containing B, C, or D, namely ABCD, AbCD, AbCd, and AbcD, do not occur in nature.
Mr. Bentham points out573 that it is really this method of classification which was employed by Lamarck and De Candolle in their so-called analytical arrangement of the French Flora. He gives as an example a table of the principal classes of De Candolle’s system, as also a bifurcate arrangement of animals after the method proposed by Duméril in his Zoologie Analytique, this naturalist being distinguished by his clear perception of the logical importance of the method. A bifurcate classification of the animal kingdom may also be found in Professor Reay Greene’s Manual of the Cœlenterata, p. 18.
Mr. Bentham points out573 that it is actually this classification method that Lamarck and De Candolle used in their so-called analytical arrangement of the French Flora. He provides an example of a table of the main classes in De Candolle’s system, as well as a bifurcated arrangement of animals based on the method proposed by Duméril in his Zoologie Analytique, this naturalist being recognized for his clear understanding of the logical significance of the method. A bifurcated classification of the animal kingdom can also be found in Professor Reay Greene’s Manual of the Cœlenterata, p. 18.
The bifurcate form of classification seems to be needless when the quality according to which we classify any group697 of things admits of numerical discrimination. It would seem absurd to arrange things according as they have one degree of the quality or not one degree, two degrees or not two degrees, and so on. The elements are classified according as the atom of each saturates one, two, three, or more atoms of a monad element, such as chlorine, and they are called accordingly monad, dyad, triad, tetrad elements, and so on. It would be useless to apply the bifid arrangement, thus:—
The two-part classification system seems unnecessary when the quality we use to categorize any group of things can be measured numerically. It would be ridiculous to sort things based on whether they have a certain degree of quality or not—one degree or not one degree, two degrees or not two degrees, and so on. The elements are classified based on how many atoms of each saturate one or more atoms of a monad element like chlorine. They are then referred to as monad, dyad, triad, tetrad elements, and so on. It would be pointless to use the two-part arrangement like this:—
Element |
|||||||||||
Monad |
not-Monad | ||||||||||
Dyad |
not-Dyad | ||||||||||
Triad |
not-Triad | ||||||||||
Tetrad |
not-Tetrad. |
The reason of this is that, by the nature of number (p. 157) every number is logically discriminated from every other number. There can thus be no logical confusion in a numerical arrangement, and the series of numbers indefinitely extended is also exhaustive. Every thing admitting of a quality expressible in numbers must find its place somewhere in the series of numbers. The chords in music correspond to the simpler numerical ratios and must admit of complete exhaustive classification in respect to the complexity of the ratios forming them. Plane rectilinear figures may be classified according to the numbers of their sides, as triangles, quadrilateral figures, pentagons, hexagons, heptagons, &c. The bifurcate arrangement is not false when applied to such series of objects; it is even necessarily involved in the arrangement which we do apply, so that its formal statement is needless and tedious. The same may be said of the division of portions of space. Reid and Kames endeavoured to cast ridicule on the bifurcate arrangement574 by proposing to classify the parts of England into Middlesex and what is not Middlesex, dividing the latter again into Kent and what is not Kent, Sussex and698 what is not Sussex; and so on. This is so far, however, from being an absurd proceeding that it is requisite to assure us that we have made an exhaustive enumeration of the parts of England.
The reason for this is that, by the nature of numbers (p. 157), every number is logically distinct from every other number. Therefore, there can be no logical confusion in a numerical arrangement, and the series of numbers can be extended indefinitely and is also exhaustive. Anything that can be expressed numerically must fit somewhere in the series of numbers. The chords in music correspond to simpler numerical ratios and can be completely classified based on the complexity of the ratios that form them. Plane geometric figures can be categorized by the number of their sides, such as triangles, quadrilaterals, pentagons, hexagons, heptagons, etc. The bifurcate arrangement isn’t incorrect when applied to such series of objects; it’s actually inherent in the arrangement we do apply, making its formal statement unnecessary and tedious. The same can be said about dividing areas of space. Reid and Kames tried to mock the bifurcate arrangement574 by suggesting classifying parts of England into Middlesex and everything that isn’t Middlesex, dividing the latter again into Kent and what is not Kent, Sussex and what is not Sussex; and so on. However, this is so far from being absurd that it actually helps ensure we have made a complete enumeration of the parts of England.
The Five Predicables.
As a rule it is highly desirable to consign to oblivion the ancient logical names and expressions, which have infested the science for many centuries past. If logic is ever to be a useful and progressive science, logicians must distinguish between logic and the history of logic. As in the case of any other science it may be desirable to examine the course of thought by which logic has, before or since the time of Aristotle, been brought to its present state; the history of a science is always instructive as giving instances of the mode in which discoveries take place. But at the same time we ought carefully to disencumber the statement of the science itself of all names and other vestiges of antiquity which are not actually useful at the present day.
As a general rule, it's best to forget the old logical terms and expressions that have cluttered the field for centuries. If logic is to be a helpful and advancing discipline, logicians need to separate logic from its history. Just like with any other field, it can be beneficial to look back at the thought processes that have shaped logic, both before and since Aristotle's time, to understand how it reached its current form; the history of a science always provides valuable examples of how discoveries happen. However, we must also make sure to keep the discussion of the science itself free from outdated names and remnants of the past that aren't actually useful today.
Among the ancient expressions which may well be excepted from such considerations and retained in use, are the “Five Words” or “Five Predicables” which were described by Porphyry in his introduction to Aristotle’s Organum. Two of them, Genus and Species, are the most venerable names in philosophy, having probably been first employed in their present logical meanings by Socrates. In the present day it requires some mental effort, as remarked by Grote, to see anything important in the invention of notions now so familiar as those of Genus and Species. But in reality the introduction of such terms showed the rise of the first germs of logic and scientific method; it showed that men were beginning to analyse their processes of thought.
Among the ancient terms that might be excluded from such considerations and still used today are the “Five Words” or “Five Predicables,” which Porphyry described in his introduction to Aristotle’s Organum. Two of them, Genus and Species, are some of the most respected names in philosophy, likely first used in their current logical meanings by Socrates. Nowadays, as noted by Grote, it takes some mental effort to see anything significant in the invention of concepts as familiar as Genus and Species. However, the introduction of these terms actually represented the beginning of the first seeds of logic and scientific method; it indicated that people were starting to analyze their thinking processes.
The Five Predicables are Genus, Species, Difference, Property, and Accident, or in the original Greek, γένος, εἶδος, διαφορά, ἴδιον, συμβεβηκός. Of these, Genus may be taken to mean any class of objects which is regarded as broken up into two minor classes, which form Species of it. The genus is defined by a certain number of qualities or circumstances which belong to all objects included in the class, and which are sufficient to mark out these objects699 from all others which we do not intend to include. Interpreted as regards intension, then, the genus is a group of qualities; interpreted as regards extension, it is a group of objects possessing those qualities. If another quality be taken into account which is possessed by some of the objects and not by the others, this quality becomes a difference which divides the genus into two species. We may interpret the species either in intension or extension; in the former respect it is more than the genus as containing one more quality, the difference: in the latter respect it is less than the genus as containing only a portion of the group constituting the genus. We may say, then, with Aristotle, that in one sense the genus is in the species, namely in intension, and in another sense the species is in the genus, namely in extension. The difference, it is evident, can be interpreted in intension only.
The Five Predicables are Genus, Species, Difference, Property, and Accident, or in the original Greek, γένος, εἶδος, διαφορά, ἴδιον, συμβεβηκός. Genus can be understood as any class of objects that is divided into two smaller classes, which are its Species. The genus is characterized by a specific set of qualities or conditions that apply to all objects in the class, which are enough to distinguish these objects from others that we do not want to include. When interpreted in terms of intension, the genus is a collection of qualities; when interpreted in terms of extension, it is a collection of objects that have those qualities. If we consider another quality that is present in some objects but not in others, this quality becomes a difference that separates the genus into two species. We can interpret species in either intension or extension; in the first case, it is broader than the genus because it includes one additional quality, the difference; in the second case, it is narrower than the genus because it includes only part of the group that makes up the genus. So, we can agree with Aristotle that, in one sense, the genus is found in the species, specifically in intension, and in another sense, the species is included in the genus, particularly in extension. The difference, evidently, can only be understood in intension.
A Property is a quality which belongs to the whole of a class, but does not enter into the definition of that class. A generic property belongs to every individual object contained in the genus. It is a property of the genus parallelogram that the opposite angles are equal. If we regard a rectangle as a species of parallelogram, the difference being that one angle is a right angle, it follows as a specific property that all the angles are right angles. Though a property in the strict logical sense must belong to each of the objects included in the class of which it is a property, it may or may not belong to other objects. The property of having the opposite angles equal may belong to many figures besides parallelograms, for instance, regular hexagons. It is a property of the circle that all triangles constructed upon the diameter with the apex upon the circumference are right-angled triangles, and vice versâ, all curves of which this is true must be circles. A property which thus belongs to the whole of a class and only to that class, corresponds to the ἴδιον of Aristotle and Porphyry; we might conveniently call it a peculiar property. Every such property enables us to make a statement in the form of a simple identity (p. 37). Thus we know it to be a peculiar property of the circle that for a given length of perimeter it encloses a greater area than any other possible curve; hence we may say—
A property is a characteristic that applies to an entire class but isn’t part of the class’s definition. A generic property applies to every individual object within the genus. For example, it’s a property of the genus parallelogram that the opposite angles are equal. If we consider a rectangle as a type of parallelogram, with the distinction that one angle is a right angle, it follows that all angles are right angles as a specific property. While a property in the strict logical sense must apply to each object included in the class it represents, it may not apply to other objects. The property of having equal opposite angles may belong to many shapes besides parallelograms, like regular hexagons. It’s a property of a circle that all triangles formed on the diameter with the apex on the circumference are right triangles, and conversely, all curves that meet this condition must be circles. A property that belongs exclusively to a class corresponds to what Aristotle and Porphyry referred to as ἴδιον; we could simply call it a peculiar property. Each such property allows us to create a statement in the form of a simple identity (p. 37). For instance, it is a peculiar property of the circle that, for a given perimeter length, it encloses a larger area than any other possible curve; therefore, we can say—
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It is a peculiar property of equilateral triangles that they are equiangular, and vice versâ, it is a peculiar property of equiangular triangles that they are equilateral. It is a property of crystals of the regular system that they are devoid of the power of double refraction, but this is not a property peculiar to them, because liquids and gases are devoid of the same property.
It’s an interesting characteristic of equilateral triangles that they are also equiangular, and vice versa; equiangular triangles are also equilateral. Crystals of the regular system have the property of lacking double refraction, but this isn’t unique to them, as liquids and gases also share this same characteristic.
An Accident, the fifth and last of the Predicables, is any quality which may or may not belong to certain objects, and which has no connexion with the classification adopted. The particular size of a crystal does not in the slightest degree affect the form of the crystal, nor does the manner in which it is grouped with other crystals; these, then, are accidents as regards a crystallographic classification. With respect to the chemical composition of a substance, again, it is an accident whether the substance be crystallised or not, or whether it be organised or not. As regards botanical classification the absolute size of a plant is an accident. Thus we see that a logical accident is any quality or circumstance which is not known to be correlated with those qualities or circumstances forming the definition of the species.
An Accident, the fifth and final category of the Predicables, is any quality that may or may not belong to certain objects and doesn’t relate to the classification used. The specific size of a crystal doesn’t affect its shape at all, nor does how it’s grouped with other crystals; these are considered accidents in terms of crystallographic classification. When it comes to the chemical makeup of a substance, it doesn’t matter if the substance is crystallized or not, or if it’s organized or not. In terms of botanical classification, the absolute size of a plant is also an accident. Thus, we see that a logical accident is any quality or circumstance that isn't known to be linked to the qualities or circumstances that define the species.
The meanings of the Predicables can be clearly explained by our symbols. Let A be any definite group of qualities and B another quality or group of qualities; then A will constitute a genus, and AB, Ab will be species of it, B being the difference. Let C, D and E be other qualities or groups of qualities, and on examining the combinations in which A, B, C, D, E occur let them be as follows:—
The meanings of the Predicables can be clearly explained using our symbols. Let A be any specific set of qualities and B another quality or set of qualities; then A will serve as a genus, and AB, Ab will be its species, with B being the difference. Let C, D, and E be other qualities or sets of qualities, and when examining the combinations in which A, B, C, D, and E occur, let them be as follows:—
ABCDE | AbCdE |
ABCDe | AbCde. |
Here we see that wherever A is we also find C, so that C is a generic property; D occurs always with B, so that it constitutes a specific property, while E is indifferently present and absent, so as not to be related to any other letter; it represents, therefore, an accident. It will now be seen that the Logical Alphabet represents an interminable series of subordinate genera and species; it is but a concise symbolic statement of what was involved in the ancient doctrine of the Predicables.
Here we see that wherever A is, we also find C, meaning that C is a general property; D always occurs with B, making it a specific property, while E can be present or absent without being linked to any other letter; it therefore represents an accident. It will now be clear that the Logical Alphabet represents an endless series of subordinate genera and species; it is simply a brief symbolic statement of what was included in the ancient doctrine of the Predicables.
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Summum Genus and Infima Species.
As a genus means any class whatever which is regarded as composed of minor classes or species, it follows that the same class will be a genus in one point of view and a species in another. Metal is a genus as regards alkaline metal, a species as regards element, and any extensive system of classes consists of a series of subordinate, or as they are technically called, subaltern genera and species. The question, however, arises, whether such a chain of classes has a definite termination at either end. The doctrine of the old logicians was to the effect that it terminated upwards in a genus generalissimum or summum genus, which was not a species of any wider class. Some very general notion, such as substance, object, or thing, was supposed to be so comprehensive as to include all thinkable objects, and for all practical purposes this might be so. But as I have already explained (p. 74), we cannot really think of any object or class without thereby separating it from what is not that object or class. All thinking is relative, and implies discrimination, so that every class and every logical notion must have its negative. If so, there is no such thing as a summum genus; for we cannot frame the requisite notion of a class forming it without implying the existence of another class discriminated from it; add this new negative class to the supposed summum genus, and we form a still higher genus, which is absurd.
As a genus refers to any category that is seen as made up of smaller categories or species, it follows that the same category can be considered a genus from one perspective and a species from another. Metal is a genus in relation to alkaline metal and a species in terms of element. Any broad system of categories consists of a series of subordinate, or technically, subaltern genera and species. The question, though, arises whether such a chain of categories has a clear endpoint on either side. The belief of the old logicians was that it ended upwards in a genus generalissimum or summum genus, which was not a species of any broader category. Some very general idea, like substance, object, or thing, was thought to be so extensive that it could include all imaginable objects, and for practical purposes, this might hold true. But as I have already explained (p. 74), we can't truly think of any object or category without separating it from what is not that object or category. All thinking is relative and involves discrimination, meaning that every category and every logical idea must have its negative. If that's the case, there is no such thing as a summum genus; because we cannot create the necessary idea of a category forming it without implying the existence of another category distinguished from it. Adding this new negative category to the supposed summum genus leads us to create an even higher genus, which is nonsensical.
Although there is no absolute summum genus, nevertheless relatively to any branch of knowledge or any particular argument, there is always some class or notion which bounds our horizon as it were. The chemist restricts his view to material substances and the forces manifested in them; the mathematician extends his view so as to comprehend all notions capable of numerical discrimination. The biologist, on the other hand, has a narrower sphere containing only organised bodies, and of these the botanist and the zoologist take parts. In other subjects there may be a still narrower summum genus, as when the lawyer regards only reasoning beings of his own country together with their property.
Although there isn't a definitive overarching category, there is always some class or concept that limits our perspective in relation to any area of knowledge or specific argument. The chemist focuses on material substances and the forces that act on them; the mathematician broadens his scope to include all concepts that can be measured numerically. Conversely, the biologist has a more limited field, which includes only living organisms, with the botanist and the zoologist specializing in specific areas within that. In other fields, there may be an even narrower top category, like when a lawyer only considers reasoning individuals in their own country and their property.
In the description of the Logical Alphabet it was pointed out (p. 93) that every series of combinations is really the702 development of a single class, denoted by X, which letter was accordingly placed in the first column of the table on p. 94. This is the formal acknowledgment of the principle clearly stated by De Morgan, that all reasoning proceeds within an assumed summum genus. But at the same time the fact that X as a logical term must have its negative x, shows that it cannot be an absolute summum genus.
In the description of the Logical Alphabet, it was noted (p. 93) that every series of combinations is actually the702 development of a single class, represented by X, which letter was placed in the first column of the table on p. 94. This is the formal recognition of the principle clearly stated by De Morgan, that all reasoning operates within an assumed summum genus. However, the fact that X as a logical term must have its negative x indicates that it cannot be an absolute summum genus.
There arises, again, the question whether there be any such thing as an infima species, which cannot be divided into minor species. The ancient logicians were of opinion that there always was some assignable class which could only be divided into individuals, but this doctrine appears to be theoretically incorrect, as Mr. George Bentham long ago stated.575 We may put an arbitrary limit to the subdivision of our classes at any point convenient to our purpose. The crystallographer would not generally treat as different species crystalline forms which differ only in the degree of development of the faces. The naturalist overlooks innumerable slight differences between animals which he refers to the same species. But in a strictly logical point of view classification might be carried on as long as there is a difference, however minute, between two objects, and we might thus go on until we arrive at individual objects which are numerically distinct in the logical sense attributed to that expression in the chapter upon Number. Either, then, we must call the individual the infima species or allow that there is no such thing at all.
There’s still the question of whether there is such a thing as an infima species that can't be broken down into smaller species. Ancient logicians believed there was always a specific class that could only be divided into individuals, but this idea seems to be theoretically incorrect, as Mr. George Bentham pointed out a long time ago.575 We can set an arbitrary limit on how we subdivide our classes at any point that suits our needs. For example, a crystallographer usually wouldn’t categorize crystalline forms that only vary in the degree of development of their faces as different species. Similarly, a naturalist may overlook countless slight differences between animals and categorize them as the same species. However, from a strictly logical perspective, classification could continue as long as there is a difference, no matter how tiny, between two objects, and we could keep going until we reach individual objects that are numerically distinct in the logical sense defined in the chapter about Number. So, we must either consider the individual as the infima species or accept that there isn't such a thing at all.
The Tree of Porphyry.
Both Aristotle and Plato were acquainted with the value of bifurcate classification, which they occasionally employed in an explicit manner. It is impossible too that Aristotle should state the laws of thought, and employ the predicables without implicitly recognising the logical necessity of that method. It is, however, in Porphyry’s remarkable and in many respects excellent Introduction to the Categories of Aristotle that we find the most distinct account of it. Porphyry not only fully and accurately describes the Predicables, but incidentally introduces an example for703 illustrating those predicables, which constitutes a good specimen of bifurcate classification. Translating his words576 freely we may say that he takes Substance as the genus to be divided, under which are successively placed as Species—Body, Animated Body, Animal, Rational Animal, and Man. Under Man, again, come Socrates, Plato, and other particular men. Now of these notions Substance is the genus generalissimum, and is a genus only, not a species. Man, on the other hand, is the species specialissima (infima species), and is a species only, not a genus. Body is a species of substance, but a genus of animated body, which, again, is a species of body but a genus of animal. Animal is a species of animated body, but a genus of rational animal, which, again, is a species of animal, but a genus of man. Finally, man is a species of rational animal, but is a species merely and not a genus, being divisible only into particular men.
Both Aristotle and Plato understood the importance of bifurcate classification, which they sometimes used explicitly. It's also unlikely that Aristotle would discuss the laws of thought and employ predicables without implicitly acknowledging the logical necessity of that method. However, in Porphyry’s remarkable and, in many aspects, excellent Introduction to the Categories of Aristotle, we find the clearest explanation of it. Porphyry not only fully and accurately describes the Predicables but also casually provides an example that illustrates those predicables, serving as a good example of bifurcate classification. To paraphrase his words, we might say that he considers Substance as the genus to be divided, under which are successively categorized as Species—Body, Animated Body, Animal, Rational Animal, and Man. Under Man, we further categorize Socrates, Plato, and other individual men. Of these concepts, Substance is the most general genus and is a genus only, not a species. Man, on the other hand, is the most specific species (the lowest species) and is a species only, not a genus. Body is a species of substance, but it acts as a genus of animated body, which is itself a species of body but a genus of animal. Animal is a species of animated body, but a genus of rational animal, which is a species of animal but a genus of man. Finally, man is a species of rational animal, but is merely a species and not a genus, since he can only be divided into individual men.
Porphyry proceeds at some length to employ his example in further illustration of the predicables. We do not find in Porphyry’s own work any scheme or diagram exhibiting this curious specimen of classification, but some of the earlier commentators and epitome writers drew what has long been called the Tree of Porphyry. This diagram, which may be found in most elementary works on Logic,577 is also called the Ramean Tree, because Ramus insisted much upon the value of Dichotomy. With the exception of Jeremy Bentham578 and George Bentham, hardly any modern logicians have shown an appreciation of the value of bifurcate classification. The latter author has treated the subject, both in his Outline of a New System of Logic (pp. 105–118), and in his earlier work entitled Essai sur la Nomenclature et la Classification des Principales Branches d’Art-et-Science (Paris, 1823), which consists of a free translation or improved version of his uncle’s Essay on Classification in the Chrestomathia. Some interest attaches to the history of the Tree of Porphyry and Ramus, because it is the prototype of the Logical Alphabet which lies at the basis of logical method. Jeremy Bentham speaks truly704 of “the matchless beauty of the Ramean Tree.” After fully showing its logical value as an exhaustive method of classification, and refuting the objections of Reid and Kames, on a wrong ground, as I think, he proceeds to inquire to what length it may be carried. He correctly points out two objections to the extensive use of bifid arrangements, (1) that they soon become impracticably extensive and unwieldy, and (2) that they are uneconomical. In his day the recorded number of different species of plants was 40,000, and he leaves the reader to estimate the immense number of branches and the enormous area of a bifurcate table which should exhibit all these species in one scheme. He also points out the apparent loss of labour in making any large bifurcate classification; but this he considers to be fully recompensed by the logical value of the result, and the logical training acquired in its execution. Jeremy Bentham, then, fully recognises the value of the Logical Alphabet under another name, though he apprehends also the limit to its use placed by the finiteness of our mental and manual powers.
Porphyry goes into detail to use his example to further illustrate the predicables. We don’t find any diagram or scheme in Porphyry’s own work showing this interesting classification, but some early commentators and summary writers created what has long been known as the Tree of Porphyry. This diagram, which is found in most basic works on Logic,577 is also called the Ramean Tree because Ramus emphasized the importance of Dichotomy. Aside from Jeremy Bentham578 and George Bentham, few modern logicians have recognized the significance of bifurcate classification. The latter has discussed the topic in his Outline of a New System of Logic (pp. 105–118) and in his earlier work titled Essai sur la Nomenclature et la Classification des Principales Branches d’Art-et-Science (Paris, 1823), which is mostly a free translation or enhanced version of his uncle’s Essay on Classification in the Chrestomathia. The history of the Tree of Porphyry and Ramus is interesting because it serves as the prototype of the Logical Alphabet that underpins logical method. Jeremy Bentham rightly remarks on “the unmatched beauty of the Ramean Tree.” After thoroughly demonstrating its logical value as a comprehensive classification method and countering the objections of Reid and Kames on what I believe is a false basis, he explores how far it can be taken. He accurately identifies two objections to using bifid arrangements extensively: (1) they quickly become impractically large and cumbersome, and (2) they are inefficient. In his time, the recorded number of different plant species was 40,000, and he encourages the reader to contemplate the vast number of branches and the enormous size of a bifurcate table that would need to encompass all these species in one scheme. He also highlights the apparent inefficiency in constructing any large bifurcate classification; however, he considers this to be more than compensated by the logical value of the outcome and the logical training gained in its creation. Thus, Jeremy Bentham fully acknowledges the importance of the Logical Alphabet under another name, while also recognizing the limits to its use imposed by the finiteness of our mental and manual abilities.
Does Abstraction imply Generalisation?
Before we can acquire a sound comprehension of the subject of classification we must answer the very difficult question whether logical abstraction does or does not imply generalisation. It comes to exactly the same thing if we ask whether a species may be coextensive with its genus, or whether, on the other hand, the genus must contain more than the species. To abstract logically is (p. 27), to overlook or withdraw our notice from some point of difference. Whenever we form a class we abstract, for the time being, the differences of the objects so united in respect of some common quality. If we class together a great number of objects as dwelling-houses, we overlook the fact that some dwelling-houses are constructed of stone, others of brick, wood, iron, &c. Often at least the abstraction of a circumstance increases the number of objects included under a class according to the law of the inverse relation of the quantities of extension and intension (p. 26). Dwelling-house is a wider term than brick-dwelling-house. House is more general than dwelling-house. But the705 question before us is, whether abstraction always increases the number of objects included in a class, which amounts to asking whether the law of the inverse relation of logical quantities is always true. The interest of the question partly arises from the fact, that so high a philosophical authority as Mr. Herbert Spencer has denied that generalisation is implied in abstraction,579 making this doctrine the ground for rejecting previous methods of classifying the sciences, and for forming an ingenious but peculiar method of his own. The question is also a fundamental one of the highest logical importance, and involves subtle difficulties which have made me long hesitate in forming a decisive opinion.
Before we can fully understand the topic of classification, we need to tackle the challenging question of whether logical abstraction implies generalization. It’s the same as asking if a species can be the same as its genus or if the genus must include more than the species. To logically abstract is to ignore or set aside a point of difference. Whenever we create a class, we temporarily overlook the differences among the objects grouped together based on some shared quality. For instance, if we classify various objects as dwelling-houses, we ignore the fact that some are made of stone, others of brick, wood, metal, etc. Sometimes, the act of abstraction actually increases the number of objects within a class based on the inverse relationship between the breadth (extension) and depth (intension) of logical qualities. A dwelling-house is a broader term than a brick dwelling-house. The term house is more general than dwelling-house. However, the question we face is whether abstraction *always* increases the number of objects included in a class, which leads us to ask if the law of inverse relation of logical quantities is *always* valid. This question is interesting partly because a prominent philosopher like Mr. Herbert Spencer has argued that generalization does not necessarily come from abstraction, using this belief to challenge previous methods of classifying the sciences and to develop an innovative yet unconventional method of his own. This question is also fundamentally significant in logic and involves complex difficulties that have made me hesitate in reaching a conclusive opinion.
Let us attempt to answer the question by examination of a few examples. Compare the two classes gun and iron gun. It is certain that there are many guns which are not made of iron, so that abstraction of the circumstance “made of iron” increases the extent of the notion. Next compare gun and metallic gun. All guns made at the present day consist of metal, so that the two notions seem to be coextensive; but guns were at first made of pieces of wood bound together like a tub, and as the logical term gun takes no account of time, it must include all guns that have ever existed. Here again extension increases as intension decreases. Compare once more “steam-locomotive engine” and “locomotive engine.” In the present day, as far as I am aware, all locomotives are worked by steam, so that the omission of that qualification might seem not to widen the term; but it is quite possible that in some future age a different motive power may be used in locomotives; and as there is no limitation of time in the use of logical terms, we must certainly assume that there is a class of locomotives not worked by steam, as well as a class that is worked by steam. When the natural class of Euphorbiaceæ was originally formed, all the plants known to belong to it were devoid of corollas; it would have seemed therefore that the two classes “Euphorbiaceæ,” and “Euphorbiaceæ devoid of Corollas,” were of equal extent. Subsequently a number of plants plainly belonging to the same class were found in tropical countries, and they possessed bright706 coloured corollas. Naturalists believe with the utmost confidence that “Ruminants” and “Ruminants with cleft feet” are identical terms, because no ruminant has yet been discovered without cleft feet. But we can see no impossibility in the conjunction of rumination with uncleft feet, and it would be too great an assumption to say that we are certain that an example of it will never be met with. Instances can be quoted, without end, of objects being ultimately discovered combining properties which had never before been seen together. In the animal kingdom the Black Swan, the Ornithorhynchus Paradoxus, and more recently the singular fish called Ceratodus Forsteri, all discovered in Australia, have united characters never previously known to coexist. At the present time deep-sea dredging is bringing to light many animals of an unprecedented nature. Singular exceptional discoveries may certainly occur in other branches of science. When Davy first discovered metallic potassium, it was a well established empirical law that all metallic substances possessed a high specific gravity, the least dense of the metals then known being zinc, of which the specific gravity is 7·1. Yet to the surprise of chemists, potassium was found to be an undoubted metal of less density than water, its specific gravity being 0·865.
Let's try to answer the question by looking at a few examples. Compare the two categories gun and iron gun. Clearly, there are many guns that aren’t made of iron, so removing the detail “made of iron” broadens the concept. Next, compare gun and metallic gun. Nowadays, all guns are made from metal, which means these two concepts seem to overlap; however, guns were originally made from pieces of wood tied together like a tub, and since the logical term gun doesn’t consider time, it must encompass all guns that have ever existed. Here, the broadness increases as precision decreases. Now compare “steam-locomotive engine” and “locomotive engine.” Currently, to my knowledge, all locomotives are powered by steam, so dropping that qualification may seem like it won’t expand the term; but it’s possible that in the future, locomotives might use a different power source, and since logical terms have no time limit, we must assume there exists a category of locomotives not powered by steam, alongside those that are. When the natural class Euphorbiaceæ was first created, all the plants known to belong to it lacked corollas; therefore, it would have seemed that the two categories “Euphorbiaceæ” and “Euphorbiaceæ devoid of Corollas” were equivalent. Later, many plants clearly belonging to the same class were discovered in tropical regions, and they featured bright706 colored corollas. Naturalists confidently believe that “Ruminants” and “Ruminants with cleft feet” are the same thing, because no ruminant has been found without cleft feet. However, there's no impossibility in the idea of a ruminant with solid feet, and it would be a big assumption to claim we’re certain that one will never be found. There are countless examples of objects ultimately found to combine properties that had never been seen together before. In the animal kingdom, the Black Swan, the Ornithorhynchus Paradoxus, and more recently the unusual fish called Ceratodus Forsteri, all discovered in Australia, exhibit traits that had never previously been known to coexist. Today, deep-sea dredging is revealing many animals of an unprecedented nature. Unique discoveries may certainly happen in other areas of science. When Davy first discovered metallic potassium, it was a well-known empirical law that all metallic substances had a high specific gravity, with zinc being the least dense of the known metals, having a specific gravity of 7.1. Yet, to the surprise of chemists, potassium was found to be a genuine metal with a density less than that of water, its specific gravity being 0.865.
It is hardly requisite to prove by further examples that our knowledge of nature is incomplete, so that we cannot safely assume the non-existence of new combinations. Logically speaking, we ought to leave a place open for animals which ruminate but are without cleft feet, and for every possible intermediate form of animal, plant, or mineral. A purely logical classification must take account not only of what certainly does exist, but of what may in after ages be found to exist.
It’s hardly necessary to provide more examples to show that our understanding of nature is incomplete, so we can’t confidently rule out the possibility of new combinations. Logically, we should allow for animals that chew cud but don’t have split hooves and for every potential intermediate form of animal, plant, or mineral. A purely logical classification must consider not only what definitely exists but also what might be discovered in the future.
I will go a step further, and say that we must have places in our scientific classifications for purely imaginary existences. A large proportion of the mathematical functions which are conceivable have no application to the circumstances of this world. Physicists certainly do investigate the nature and consequences of forces which nowhere exist. Newton’s Principia is full of such investigations. In one chapter of his Mécanique Céleste Laplace indulges in a remarkable speculation as to what the laws of motion707 would have been if momentum, instead of varying simply as the velocity, had been a more complicated function of it. I have already mentioned (p. 223) that Airy contemplated the existence of a world in which the laws of force should be such that a perpetual motion would be possible, and the Law of Conservation of Energy would not hold true.
I’ll take it a step further and say that we need to have spaces in our scientific classifications for purely imaginary entities. A significant number of mathematical functions we can conceive don’t actually apply to the realities of this world. Physicists definitely explore the nature and effects of forces that don’t exist anywhere. Newton’s Principia is full of such explorations. In one chapter of his Mécanique Céleste, Laplace engages in some fascinating speculation about what the laws of motion707 would have looked like if momentum, instead of simply changing with velocity, had been a more complex function of it. I’ve already noted (p. 223) that Airy considered the possibility of a world where the laws of force would allow for perpetual motion, meaning the Law of Conservation of Energy wouldn’t apply.
Thought is not bound down to the limits of what is materially existent, but is circumscribed only by those Fundamental Laws of Identity, Contradiction and Duality, which were laid down at the outset. This is the point at which I should differ from Mr. Spencer. He appears to suppose that a classification is complete if it has a place for every existing object, and this may perhaps seem to be practically sufficient; but it is subject to two profound objections. Firstly, we do not know all that exists, and therefore in limiting our classes we are erroneously omitting multitudes of objects of unknown form and nature which may exist either on this earth or in other parts of space. Secondly, as I have explained, the powers of thought are not limited by material existences, and we may, or, for some purposes, must imagine objects which probably do not exist, and if we imagine them we ought to find places for them in the classifications of science.
Thought isn’t confined to just what physically exists; it’s only restricted by the Fundamental Laws of Identity, Contradiction, and Duality that were established from the beginning. This is where I would disagree with Mr. Spencer. He seems to believe that a classification is complete if it can categorize every existing object, which might seem practically sufficient; however, it faces two major objections. First, we don’t know everything that exists, so by limiting our classifications, we accidentally leave out countless objects of unknown form and nature that could exist either on this planet or elsewhere in the universe. Second, as I’ve mentioned, the powers of thought aren’t bound by physical realities. We can, and for certain purposes must, imagine objects that probably don’t exist, and if we do imagine them, we should account for them in the classifications of science.
The chief difficulty of this subject, however, consists in the fact that mathematical or other certain laws may entirely forbid the existence of some combinations. The circle may be defined as a plane curve of equal curvature, and it is a property of the circle that it contains the greatest area within the least possible perimeter. May we then contemplate mentally a circle not a figure of greatest possible area? Or, to take a still simpler example, a parallelogram possesses the property of having the opposite angles equal. May we then mentally divide parallelograms into two classes according as they do or do not have their opposite angles equal? It might seem absurd to do so, because we know that one of the two species of parallelogram would be non-existent. But, then, unless the student had previously contemplated the existence of both species as possible, what is the meaning of the thirty-fourth proposition of Euclid’s first book? We cannot deny or disprove the existence of a certain combination without thereby in708 a certain way recognising that combination as an object of thought.
The main challenge of this topic is that certain mathematical laws can completely rule out the existence of some combinations. A circle can be defined as a plane curve with constant curvature, and one property of a circle is that it encloses the largest area for the smallest perimeter. Can we then imagine a circle that doesn’t have the largest possible area? Or, to simplify even further, a parallelogram has the property of having equal opposite angles. Can we then mentally categorize parallelograms into two groups based on whether or not they have equal opposite angles? It might seem ridiculous to do this, because we know that one type of parallelogram wouldn’t exist. However, unless the student has previously considered the possibility of both types existing, what does the thirty-fourth proposition of Euclid’s first book really mean? We cannot deny or disprove the existence of a specific combination without, in some way, recognizing that combination as an idea to think about.
The conclusion at which I arrive is in opposition to that of Mr. Spencer. I think that whenever we abstract a quality or circumstance we do generalise or widen the notion from which we abstract. Whatever the terms A, B, and C may be, I hold that in strict logic AB is mentally a wider term than ABC, because AB includes the two species ABC and ABc. The term A is wider still, for it includes the four species ABC, ABc, AbC, Abc. The Logical Alphabet, in short, is the only limit of the classes of objects which we must contemplate in a purely logical point of view. Whatever notions be brought before us, we must mentally combine them in all the ways sanctioned by the laws of thought and exhibited in the Logical Alphabet, and it is a matter for after consideration to determine how many of these combinations exist in outward nature, or how many are actually forbidden by the conditions of space. A classification is essentially a mental, not a material thing.
The conclusion I've reached is the opposite of Mr. Spencer's. I believe that whenever we abstract a quality or circumstance, we actually generalize or broaden the concept from which we abstract. Regardless of what terms A, B, and C are, I argue that in strict logic, AB represents a broader term than ABC, because AB includes the two categories ABC and ABc. The term A is even broader, as it includes the four categories ABC, ABc, AbC, and Abc. In short, the Logical Alphabet is the only limit to the classes of objects we need to consider from a purely logical perspective. Whatever concepts we encounter, we must mentally combine them in every way allowed by the laws of thought and shown in the Logical Alphabet. It’s up to us later to figure out how many of these combinations exist in the real world, or how many are actually restricted by the conditions of space. A classification is fundamentally a mental, not a material thing.
Discovery of Marks or Characteristics.
Although the chief purpose of classification is to disclose the deepest and most general resemblances of the objects classified, yet the practical value of a system will depend partly upon the ease with which we can refer an object to its proper class, and thus infer concerning it all that is known generally of that class. This operation of discovering to which class of a system a certain specimen or case belongs, is generally called Diagnosis, a technical term familiarly used by physicians, who constantly require to diagnose or determine the nature of the disease from which a patient is suffering. Now every class is defined by certain specified qualities or circumstances, the whole of which are present in every object contained in the class, and not all present in any object excluded from it. These defining circumstances ought to consist of the deepest and most important circumstances, by which we vaguely mean those probably forming the conditions with which the minor circumstances are correlated. But it will often happen that the so-called important points of an object are not those which can709 most readily be observed. Thus the two great classes of phanerogamous plants are defined respectively by the possession of two cotyledons or seed-leaves, and one cotyledon. But when a plant comes to our notice and we want to refer it to the right class, it will often happen that we have no seed at all to examine, in order to discover whether there be one seed-leaf or two in the germ. Even if we have a seed it will often be small, and a careful dissection under the microscope will be requisite to ascertain the number of cotyledons. Occasionally the examination of the germ would mislead us, for the cotyledons may be obsolete, as in Cuscuta, or united together, as in Clintonia. Botanists therefore seldom actually refer to the seed for such information. Certain other characters of a plant are correlated with the number of seed-leaves; thus monocotyledonous plants almost always possess leaves with parallel veins like those of grass, while dicotyledonous plants have leaves with reticulated veins like those of an oak leaf. In monocotyledonous plants, too, the parts of the flower are most often three or some multiple of three in number, while in dicotyledonous plants the numbers four and five and their multiples prevail. Botanists, therefore, by a glance at the leaves and flowers can almost certainly refer a plant to its right class, and can infer not only the number of cotyledons which would be found in the seed or young plant, but also the structure of the stem and other general characters.
Although the main goal of classification is to reveal the deepest and most general similarities among the categorized objects, the practical usefulness of a system depends partly on how easily we can categorize an object and thus infer everything that is generally known about that category. This process of identifying which class a specific specimen or case belongs to is commonly referred to as Diagnosis, a technical term often used by doctors who need to diagnose or determine the nature of an illness affecting a patient. Each class is defined by certain specific qualities or conditions, all of which are present in every object within the class and not all present in any object excluded from it. These defining traits should consist of the most significant and fundamental aspects, which we generally consider to be those that probably establish the conditions with which the lesser traits are connected. However, it frequently occurs that the so-called important characteristics of an object are not those that can be observed most easily. For example, the two main classes of flowering plants are defined by the presence of either two seed leaves (dicots) or one seed leaf (monocots). But when we encounter a plant and want to classify it correctly, it's common that we have no seeds to examine to determine whether it has one or two seed leaves in its embryo. Even when we do have a seed, it’s often small, and careful dissection under a microscope is necessary to identify the number of cotyledons. Sometimes, examining the seed might mislead us, as the cotyledons could be absent, like in Cuscuta, or fused together, like in Clintonia. Therefore, botanists rarely rely on the seed for such information. Certain other features of a plant are linked to the number of seed leaves; for instance, monocotyledonous plants almost always have leaves with parallel veins, like grass, while dicotyledonous plants have leaves with branched veins, like an oak leaf. In monocotyledonous plants, the flower parts are typically in threes or multiples of three, while in dicotyledonous plants, the numbers four and five and their multiples are more common. Hence, with just a glance at the leaves and flowers, botanists can almost certainly place a plant into its correct category and can deduce not only the number of cotyledons present in the seed or young plant, but also the structure of the stem and other general characteristics.
Any conspicuous and easily discriminated property which we thus select for the purpose of deciding to which class an object belongs, may be called a characteristic. The logical conditions of a good characteristic mark are very simple, namely, that it should be possessed by all objects entering into a certain class, and by none others. Every characteristic should enable us to assert a simple identity; if A is a characteristic, and B, viewed intensively, the class of objects of which it is the mark, then A = B ought to be true. The characteristic may consist either of a single quality or circumstance, or of a group of such, provided that they all be constant and easily detected. Thus in the classification of mammals the teeth are of the greatest assistance, not because a slight variation in the number and form of the teeth is of importance in the general710 economy of the animal, but because such variations are proved by empirical observation to coincide with most important differences in the general affinities. It is found that the minor classes and genera of mammals can be discriminated accurately by their teeth, especially by the foremost molars and the hindmost pre-molars. Some teeth, indeed, are occasionally missing, so that zoologists prefer to trust to those characteristic teeth which are most constant,580 and to infer from them not only the arrangement of the other teeth, but the whole conformation of the animal.
Any noticeable and easily distinguishable feature that we use to determine which class an object belongs to can be called a characteristic. The logical requirements for a good characteristic are straightforward: it should be present in all objects of a specific class and absent in all others. Each characteristic should allow us to confirm a simple identity; if A is a characteristic and B, considered in detail, is the class of objects signified by it, then A = B should hold true. The characteristic can be made up of either a single quality or condition, or a set of such qualities, as long as they are all consistent and easily identifiable. For example, in the classification of mammals, teeth are extremely helpful, not because small differences in the number or shape of the teeth matter in the overall biology of the animal, but because empirical observation shows that such variations align with significant distinctions in overall relationships. It turns out that the smaller classes and genera of mammals can be accurately identified by their teeth, especially the front molars and the back pre-molars. Some teeth may occasionally be absent, leading zoologists to rely on those characteristic teeth that are most consistent and to infer not just the arrangement of the other teeth, but the entire structure of the animal.
It is a very difficult matter to mark out a boundary-line between the animal and vegetable kingdoms, and it may even be doubted whether a rigorous boundary can be established. The most fundamental and important difference of a vegetable as compared with an animal substance probably consists in the absence of nitrogen from the constituent membranes. Supposing this to be the case, the difficulty arises that in examining minute organisms we cannot ascertain directly whether they contain nitrogen or not. Some minor but easily detected circumstance is therefore needed to discriminate between animals and vegetables, and this is furnished to some extent by the fact that the production of starch granules is restricted to the vegetable kingdom. Thus the Desmidiaceæ may be safely assigned to the vegetable kingdom, because they contain starch. But we must not employ this characteristic negatively; the Diatomaceæ are probably vegetables, though they do not produce starch.
It’s quite challenging to draw a line between the animal and plant kingdoms, and it’s even questionable whether a strict boundary can be set. The most basic and significant difference between a plant and an animal substance likely lies in the lack of nitrogen in the plant membranes. If this is accurate, the problem arises because, when examining tiny organisms, we can’t directly determine if they contain nitrogen. Therefore, some minor but easily identified feature is needed to differentiate between animals and plants, and one such feature is the fact that the production of starch granules is limited to the plant kingdom. So, we can confidently classify the Desmidiaceæ as part of the plant kingdom because they contain starch. However, we shouldn’t use this characteristic in a negative way; the Diatomaceæ are likely plants, even though they do not produce starch.
Diagnostic Systems of Classification.
We have seen that diagnosis is the process of discovering the place in any system of classes, to which an object has been referred by some previous investigation, the object being to avail ourselves of the information relating to such an object which has been accumulated and recorded. It is obvious that this is a matter of great importance, for, unless we can recognise, from time to time, objects or substances which have been investigated, recorded discoveries would lose their value. Even a single investigator711 must have means of recording and systematising his observations of any large groups of objects like the vegetable and animal kingdoms.
We have seen that diagnosis is the process of identifying where an object fits within a system of categories, based on prior research. The goal is to use the information that has been gathered and documented about that object. It's clear that this is really important because, unless we can recognize objects or substances that have been studied, recorded discoveries would become meaningless. Even an individual researcher711 needs a way to document and organize their observations of large groups of objects, like the plant and animal kingdoms.
Now whenever a class has been properly formed, a definition must have been laid down, stating the qualities and circumstances possessed by all the objects which are intended to be included in the class, and not possessed completely by any other objects. Diagnosis, therefore, consists in comparing the qualities of a certain object with the definitions of a series of classes; the absence in the object of any one quality stated in the definition excludes it from the class thus defined; whereas, if we find every point of a definition exactly fulfilled in the specimen, we may at once assign it to the class in question. It is of course by no means certain that everything which has been affirmed of a class is true of all objects afterwards referred to the class; for this would be a case of imperfect inference, which is never more than matter of probability. A definition can only make known a finite number of the qualities of an object, and it always remains possible that objects agreeing in those assigned qualities will differ in others. An individual cannot be defined, and can only be made known by the exhibition of the individual itself, or by a material specimen exactly representing it. But this and other questions relating to definition must be treated when I am able to take up the subject of language in another work.
Now, whenever a class has been properly defined, a clear definition must state the qualities and characteristics that all objects in that class share, which are not shared completely by any other objects. Diagnosis, then, involves comparing the qualities of a specific object with the definitions of several classes; if the object lacks any quality mentioned in the definition, it is excluded from that class. Conversely, if the object meets all the criteria of the definition, we can classify it accordingly. However, it's important to note that just because something has been stated about a class doesn't mean it applies to all objects within that class; that would be an example of imperfect inference, which is mostly a matter of probability. A definition can only specify a limited number of qualities of an object, and it's always possible that objects sharing those qualities will differ in other respects. An individual cannot be fully defined and can only be understood through direct representation of the individual itself or a material sample that accurately represents it. However, this and other questions about definitions will need to be addressed when I can discuss language in another work.
Diagnostic systems of classification should, as a general rule, be arranged on the bifurcate method explicitly. Any quality may be chosen which divides the whole group of objects into two distinct parts, and each part may be sub-divided successively by any prominent and well-marked circumstance which is present in a large part of the genus and not in the other. To refer an object to its proper place in such an arrangement we have only to note whether it does or does not possess the successive critical differentiæ. Dana devised a classification of this kind581 by which to refer a crystal to its place in the series of six or seven classes already described. If a crystal has all its edges modified alike or the angles replaced by three or six similar planes,712 it belongs to the monometric system; if not, we observe whether the number of similar planes at the extremity of the crystal is three or some multiple of three, in which case it is a crystal of the hexagonal system; and so we proceed with further successive discriminations. To ascertain the name of a mineral by examination with the blow-pipe, an arrangement more or less evidently on the bifurcate plan, has been laid down by Von Kobell.582 Minerals are divided according as they possess or do not possess metallic lustre; as they are fusible or not fusible, according as they do or do not on charcoal give a metallic bead, and so on.
Diagnostic classification systems should generally be set up using a clear bifurcation method. Any characteristic can be selected that divides the entire group of objects into two distinct categories, and each category can be further subdivided based on any significant and recognizable trait that is present in a large part of the group but absent in the other. To assign an object to its correct position in this classification, we simply need to identify whether it meets the successive critical differences. Dana created a classification of this type581 so that a crystal can be categorized within the six or seven classes already outlined. If a crystal has all its edges modified in the same way or if the angles are replaced by three or six identical planes,712 it is placed in the monometric system. If not, we check whether the number of similar planes at the ends of the crystal is three or a multiple of three, in which case it belongs to the hexagonal system; we then continue with more successive distinctions. To identify a mineral using blow-pipe analysis, a classification that is clearly based on the bifurcation method has been established by Von Kobell.582 Minerals are divided based on whether they have metallic luster or not, whether they are fusible or not, and whether they produce a metallic bead on charcoal, among other criteria.
Perhaps the best example to be found of an arrangement devised simply for the purpose of diagnosis, is Mr. George Bentham’s Analytical Key to the Natural Orders and Anomalous Genera of the British Flora, given in his Handbook of the British Flora.583 In this scheme, the great composite family of plants, together with the closely approximate genus Jasione, are first separated from all other flowering plants by the compound character of their flowers. The remaining plants are sub-divided according as the perianth is double or single. Since no plants are yet known in which the perianth can be said to have three or more distinct rings, this division becomes practically the same as one into double and not-double. Flowers with a double perianth are next discriminated according as the corolla does or does not consist of one piece; according as the ovary is free or not free; as it is simple or not simple; as the corolla is regular or irregular; and so on. On looking over this arrangement, it will be found that numerical discriminations often occur, the numbers of petals, stamens, capsules, or other parts being the criteria, in which cases, as already explained (p. 697), the actual exhibition of the bifid division would be tedious.
Perhaps the best example of a system created specifically for diagnosis is Mr. George Bentham’s Analytical Key to the Natural Orders and Anomalous Genera of the British Flora, found in his Handbook of the British Flora.583 In this system, the large composite family of plants, along with the closely related genus Jasione, are separated from all other flowering plants based on the complex nature of their flowers. The remaining plants are divided based on whether the perianth is double or single. Since no plants are currently known to have three or more distinct rings in the perianth, this classification effectively becomes a division into double and not-double. Flowers with a double perianth are then differentiated based on whether the corolla is a single piece or not; whether the ovary is free or not; whether it is simple or not; whether the corolla is regular or irregular; and so on. Reviewing this arrangement, you will notice that numerical distinctions frequently come into play, with the counts of petals, stamens, capsules, or other parts serving as criteria, where, as previously mentioned (p. 697), the actual display of the bifid division would be cumbersome.
Linnæus appears to have been perfectly acquainted with the nature and uses of diagnostic classification, which he describes under the name of Synopsis, saying:584—“Synopsis713 tradit Divisiones arbitrarias, longiores aut breviores, plures aut pauciores: a Botanicis in genere non agnoscenda. Synopsis est dichotomia arbitraria, quæ instar viæ ad Botanicem ducit. Limites autem non determinat.”
Linnæus seems to have had a solid understanding of the nature and uses of diagnostic classification, which he refers to as Synopsis, stating:584—“Synopsis713 presents arbitrary divisions, either longer or shorter, more or fewer: generally not recognized by botanists. Synopsis is an arbitrary dichotomy that serves as a pathway for the botanist. However, it does not set clear boundaries.”
The rules and tables drawn out by chemists to facilitate the discovery of the nature of a substance in qualitative analysis are usually arranged on the bifurcate method, and form excellent examples of diagnostic classification, the qualities of the substances produced in testing being in most cases merely characteristic properties of little importance in other respects. The chemist does not detect potassium by reducing it to the state of metallic potassium, and then observing whether it has all the principal qualities belonging to potassium. He selects from among the whole number of compounds of potassium that salt, namely the compound of platinum tetra-chloride, and potassium chloride, which has the most distinctive appearance, as it is comparatively insoluble and produces a peculiar yellow and highly crystalline precipitate. Accordingly, potassium is present whenever this precipitate can be produced by adding platinum chloride to a solution. The fine purple or violet colour which potassium salts communicate to the blowpipe flame, had long been used as a characteristic mark. Some other elements were readily detected by the colouring of the blowpipe flame, barium giving a pale yellowish green, and salts of strontium a bright red. By the use of the spectroscope the coloured light given off by an incandescent vapour is made to give perfectly characteristic marks of the elements contained in the vapour.
The rules and charts created by chemists to help identify the nature of a substance in qualitative analysis are usually organized using a branching method, and they provide great examples of diagnostic classification. The properties of the substances produced during testing are generally just distinctive traits that aren't very significant in other contexts. A chemist doesn't find potassium by reducing it to metallic potassium and then checking if it has all the main qualities of potassium. Instead, they choose from the various compounds of potassium the one that stands out the most, specifically the compound of platinum tetrachloride and potassium chloride, which has a unique appearance, as it is relatively insoluble and forms a distinctive yellow and highly crystalline precipitate. Thus, potassium is present whenever this precipitate appears after adding platinum chloride to a solution. The fine purple or violet color that potassium salts give to the blowpipe flame has long been used as a recognizable indicator. Some other elements can be easily detected by the color they produce in the blowpipe flame, with barium providing a pale yellowish green and strontium salts producing a bright red. Using a spectroscope, the colored light emitted by incandescent vapor can be analyzed to give clear indicators of the elements present in the vapor.
Diagnosis seems to be identical with the process termed by the ancient logicians abscissio infiniti, the cutting off of the infinite or negative part of a genus when we discover by observation that an object possesses a particular difference. At every step in a bifurcate division, some objects possessing the difference will fall into the affirmative part or species; all the remaining objects in the world fall into the negative part, which will be infinite in extent. Diagnosis consists in the successive rejection from further notice of those infinite classes with which the specimen in question does not agree.
Diagnosis is basically the same as what ancient logicians called abscissio infiniti, which means cutting off the infinite or negative aspects of a category when we find through observation that an object has a specific trait. At every step in a branching classification, some objects with that trait will be categorized in the affirmative part or species; all the other objects in the world will fall into the negative part, which is infinitely large. Diagnosis involves progressively eliminating those infinite categories that the specimen in question does not match.
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Index Classifications.
Under classification we may include all arrangements of objects or names, which we make for saving labour in the discovery of an object. Even alphabetical indices are real classifications. No such arrangement can be of use unless it involves some correlation of circumstances, so that knowing one thing we learn another. If we merely arrange letters in the pigeon-holes of a secretaire we establish a correlation, for all letters in the first hole will be written by persons, for instance, whose names begin with A, and so on. Knowing then the initial letter of the writer’s name, we know also the place of the letter, and the labour of search is thus reduced to one twenty-sixth part of what it would be without arrangement.
Under classification, we can include all the ways we organize objects or names to make it easier to find something. Even alphabetical lists are real classifications. No arrangement is helpful unless it connects related circumstances, so that by knowing one thing, we can discover another. If we just organize letters in the compartments of a filing cabinet, we create a correlation; for example, all letters in the first compartment will be from people whose names start with A, and so on. So, if we know the first letter of the writer's name, we also know where the letter is located, which reduces the search effort to one twenty-sixth of what it would be without that organization.
Now the purpose of a catalogue is to discover the place in which an object is to be found; but the art of cataloguing involves logical considerations of some importance. We want to establish a correlation between the place of an object and some circumstance about the object which shall enable us readily to refer to it; this circumstance therefore should be that which will most readily dwell in the memory of the searcher. A piece of poetry will be best remembered by the first line of the piece, and the name of the author will be the next most definite circumstance; a catalogue of poetry should therefore be arranged alphabetically according to the first word of the piece, or the name of the author, or, still better, in both ways. It would be impossible to arrange poems according to their subjects, so vague and mixed are these found to be when the attempt is made.
Now, the purpose of a catalog is to identify where an object can be found, but the process of cataloging involves some important logical considerations. We want to create a connection between the location of an object and some detail about it that makes it easy to reference; this detail should be something that sticks in the memory of the person searching. A poem is often best remembered by its first line, and the author's name is the next most definitive detail; therefore, a poetry catalog should be organized alphabetically by either the first word of the poem or the author's name, or even better, both. It would be impossible to organize poems by their subjects because they tend to be too vague and mixed when you try to do so.
It is a matter of considerable literary importance to decide upon the best mode of cataloguing books, so that any required book in a library shall be most readily found. Books may be classified in a great number of ways, according to subject, language, date, or place of publication, size, the initial words of the text or title-page, or colophon, the author’s name, the publisher’s name, the printer’s name, the character of the type, and so on. Every one of these modes of arrangement may be useful, for we may happen to remember one circumstance about a book715 when we have forgotten all others; but as we cannot usually go to the expense of forming more than two or three indices, we must select those circumstances which will lead to the discovery of a book most frequently. Many of the criteria mentioned are evidently inapplicable.
It's really important to figure out the best way to organize books so that any needed book in a library can be found quickly. Books can be sorted in many ways: by subject, language, publication date, or place, size, the first words of the text or title page, the colophon, the author's name, the publisher's name, the printer's name, the type of font, and more. Every one of these sorting methods can be helpful because we might remember one detail about a book when we’ve forgotten everything else; however, since we usually can't afford to create more than two or three indexes, we need to choose the factors that will most often help us find a book. Many of the criteria listed clearly don't apply.
The language in which a book is written is definite enough, provided that the whole book is written in the same language; but it is obvious that language gives no means for the subdivision and arrangement of the literature of any one people. Classification by subjects would be an exceedingly useful method if it were practicable, but experience shows it to be a logical absurdity. It is a very difficult matter to classify the sciences, so complicated are the relations between them. But with books the complication is vastly greater, since the same book may treat of different sciences, or it may discuss a problem involving many branches of knowledge. A good account of the steam-engine will be antiquarian, so far as it traces out the earliest efforts at discovery; purely scientific, as regards the principles of thermodynamics involved; technical, as regards the mechanical means of applying those principles; economical, as regards the industrial results of the invention; biographical, as regards the lives of the inventors. A history of Westminster Abbey might belong either to the history of architecture, the history of the Church, or the history of England. If we abandon the attempt to carry out an arrangement according to the natural classification of the sciences, and form comprehensive practical groups, we shall be continually perplexed by the occurrence of intermediate cases, and opinions will differ ad infinitum as to the details. If, to avoid the difficulty about Westminster Abbey, we form a class of books devoted to the History of Buildings, the question will then arise whether Stonehenge is a building, and if so, whether cromlechs, mounds, and monoliths are so. We shall be uncertain whether to include lighthouses, monuments, bridges, &c. In regard to literary works, rigorous classification is still less possible. The same work may partake of the nature of poetry, biography, history, philosophy, or if we form a comprehensive class of Belles-lettres, nobody can say exactly what does or does not come under the term.
The language a book is written in is clear enough as long as the whole book is in the same language. However, it’s clear that language doesn’t provide a way to break down and organize the literature of a specific culture. Classifying by topics would be really helpful if it were doable, but experience shows it to be logically impossible. Classifying the sciences is already tough because the relationships between them are so complicated. With books, it's even more complex because a single book can cover different sciences or discuss a problem that involves many areas of knowledge. A thorough account of the steam engine might be historical when tracing the earliest discoveries, strictly scientific when dealing with the principles of thermodynamics, technical when discussing how to apply those principles, economic when looking at the industrial impact, and biographical when mentioning the lives of the inventors. A history of Westminster Abbey could fit into architecture history, church history, or English history. If we give up trying to arrange things based on the natural classification of the sciences and instead create broad practical groups, we’ll constantly be confused by examples that don’t fit perfectly, leading to endless debates about the specifics. If, to avoid the confusion about Westminster Abbey, we create a category for the History of Buildings, we’ll then face questions about whether Stonehenge counts as a building, and if it does, do cromlechs, mounds, and monoliths also count? We'll be unsure whether to include lighthouses, monuments, bridges, etc. When it comes to literary works, strict classification is even less possible. The same work can have elements of poetry, biography, history, philosophy, or if we create a broad category for Belles-lettres, nobody can say for certain what fits into that term.
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My own experience entirely bears out the opinion of De Morgan, that classification according to the name of the author is the only one practicable in a large library, and this method has been admirably carried out in the great catalogue of the British Museum. The name of the author is the most precise circumstance concerning a book, which usually dwells in the memory. It is a better characteristic of the book than anything else. In an alphabetical arrangement we have an exhaustive classification, including a place for every name. The following remarks585 of De Morgan seem therefore to be entirely correct. “From much, almost daily use, of catalogues for many years, I am perfectly satisfied that a classed catalogue is more difficult to use than to make. It is one man’s theory of the subdivision of knowledge, and the chances are against its suiting any other man. Even if all doubtful works were entered under several different heads, the frontier of the dubious region would itself be a mere matter of doubt. I never turn from a classed catalogue to an alphabetical one without a feeling of relief and security. With the latter I can always, by taking proper pains, make a library yield its utmost; with the former I can never be satisfied that I have taken proper pains, until I have made it, in fact, as many different catalogues as there are different headings, with separate trouble for each. Those to whom bibliographical research is familiar, know that they have much more frequently to hunt an author than a subject: they know also that in searching for a subject, it is never safe to take another person’s view, however good, of the limits of that subject with reference to their own particular purposes.”
My own experience completely supports De Morgan's view that organizing by the author's name is the only practical method for a large library. This approach has been excellently implemented in the extensive catalogue of the British Museum. The author's name is the most precise detail about a book and is usually what we remember best. It serves as a better identifier for the book than anything else. With an alphabetical arrangement, we have a comprehensive classification that accommodates every name. The following comments585 from De Morgan seem to be entirely accurate: "After using catalogues almost every day for many years, I am fully convinced that a classified catalogue is harder to navigate than to create. It's based on one person's understanding of how knowledge should be divided, and it's unlikely to fit anyone else’s view. Even if all uncertain works were listed under multiple headings, the borders of those uncertain areas would still be ambiguous. I always feel relief and reassurance when I switch from a classified catalogue to an alphabetical one. With the latter, I can usually, with a bit of effort, make the library yield its full potential; with the former, I can never be sure I've put in enough effort until I've created as many different catalogues as there are headings, each requiring its own work. Those familiar with bibliographical research know they often have to look for an author more than a subject: they also understand that when searching for a subject, it’s never safe to rely on someone else's perspective, no matter how good it is, regarding the boundaries of that subject in relation to their specific needs."
It is often desirable, however, that a name catalogue should be accompanied by a subordinate subject catalogue, but in this case no attempt should be made to devise a theoretically complete classification. Every principal subject treated in a book should be entered separately in an alphabetical list, under the name most likely to occur717 to the searcher, or under several names. This method was partially carried out in Watts’ Bibliotheca Britannica, but it was excellently applied in the admirable subject index to the British Catalogue of Books, and equally well in the Catalogue of the Manchester Free Library at Campfield, drawn up under the direction of Mr. Crestadoro, this latter being the most perfect model of a printed catalogue with which I am acquainted. The Catalogue of the London Library is also in the right form, and has a useful index of subjects, though it is too much condensed and abbreviated. The public catalogue of the British Museum is arranged as far as possible according to the alphabetical order of the authors’ names, but in writing the titles for this catalogue several copies are simultaneously produced by a manifold writer, so that a catalogue according to the order of the books on the shelves, and another according to the first words of the title-page, are created by a mere rearrangement of the spare copies. In the English Cyclopædia it is suggested that twenty copies of the book titles might readily have been utilised in forming additional catalogues, arranged according to the place of publication, the language of the book, the general nature of the subject, and so forth.586 An excellent suggestion has also been made to the effect that each book when published should have a fly-leaf containing half a dozen printed copies of the title, drawn up in a form suitable for insertion in catalogues. Every owner of a library could then easily make accurate printed catalogues to suit his own purposes, by merely cutting out these titles and pasting them in books in any desirable order.
It's often useful for a name catalog to be paired with a supporting subject catalog, but in this case, there shouldn't be an attempt to create a theoretically complete classification. Every main subject covered in a book should be listed separately in an alphabetical list, under the name most likely to be used by the person searching, or under several names. This approach was partially implemented in Watts’ Bibliotheca Britannica, but it was excellently executed in the great subject index of the British Catalogue of Books, and just as well in the Catalogue of the Manchester Free Library at Campfield, which was put together under the guidance of Mr. Crestadoro; this latter is the best model of a printed catalog I know of. The Catalogue of the London Library is also well-formatted and includes a useful subject index, although it is somewhat condensed and abbreviated. The public catalog of the British Museum is organized as much as possible in alphabetical order by the authors’ names, but when writing the titles for this catalog, several copies are created at the same time by a multiple writer, resulting in a catalog that follows the order of the books on the shelves and another based on the first words of the title page, simply through rearranging the extra copies. In the English Cyclopædia, it’s suggested that twenty copies of the book titles could have easily been used to create additional catalogs, organized by the place of publication, the language of the book, the general subject matter, and so on. An excellent suggestion has also been made that each book, when published, should come with a fly-leaf containing several printed copies of the title, prepared for insertion in catalogs. Every library owner could then easily create accurate printed catalogs tailored to their needs by simply cutting out these titles and pasting them into books in any order they prefer.
It will hardly be a digression to point out the enormous saving of labour, or, what comes to the same thing, the enormous increase in our available knowledge, both literary and scientific, which arises from the formation of extensive indices. The “State Papers,” containing the whole history of the nation, were practically sealed to literary inquirers until the Government undertook the task of calendaring and indexing them. The British Museum Catalogue is another national work, of which the importance in advancing knowledge cannot be overrated. The Royal718 Society is doing great service in publishing a complete catalogue of memoirs upon physical science. The time will perhaps come when our views upon this subject will be extended, and either Government or some public society will undertake the systematic cataloguing and indexing of masses of historical and scientific information which are now almost closed against inquiry.
It’s not really a distraction to highlight the huge savings in labor, or, in other words, the massive boost in our accessible knowledge, both in literature and science, that comes from creating extensive indexes. The “State Papers,” which hold the entire history of the nation, were practically off-limits to literary researchers until the Government took on the job of organizing and indexing them. The British Museum Catalogue is another national effort, and its role in advancing knowledge cannot be overstated. The Royal718 Society is making a significant contribution by publishing a comprehensive catalog of papers on physical science. There may come a time when our perspective on this matter will broaden, and either the Government or a public organization will take on the systematic cataloging and indexing of vast amounts of historical and scientific information that is currently nearly inaccessible to inquiry.
Classification in the Biological Sciences.
The great generalisations established in the works of Herbert Spencer and Charles Darwin have thrown much light upon other sciences, and have removed several difficulties out of the way of the logician. The subject of classification has long been studied in almost exclusive reference to the arrangement of animals and plants. Systematic botany and zoology have been commonly known as the Classificatory Sciences, and scientific men seemed to suppose that the methods of arrangement, which were suitable for living creatures, must be the best for all other classes of objects. Several mineralogists, especially Mohs, have attempted to arrange minerals in genera and species, just as if they had been animals capable of reproducing their kind with variations. This confusion of ideas between the relationship of living forms and the logical relationship of things in general prevailed from the earliest times, as manifested in the etymology of words. We familiarly speak of a kind of things meaning a class of things, and the kind consists of those things which are akin, or come of the same race. When Socrates and his followers wanted a name for a class regarded in a philosophical light, they adopted the analogy in question, and called it a γένος, or race, the root γεν- being connected with the notion of generation.
The broad concepts put forth by Herbert Spencer and Charles Darwin have shed a lot of light on other sciences and have cleared up several challenges for logicians. For a long time, classification has been studied mainly in relation to organizing animals and plants. Systematic botany and zoology have often been referred to as the Classificatory Sciences, and scientists seemed to believe that the methods used to classify living things must also be the best for other types of objects. A number of mineralogists, particularly Mohs, have tried to categorize minerals into genera and species, as if they were animals that could reproduce with variations. This mix-up of ideas between the relationships of living forms and the logical connections of objects has existed since ancient times, as seen in the origins of words. We commonly refer to a kind of things to mean a class of things, and the kind includes those things that are akin or come from the same origin. When Socrates and his followers needed a term for a class viewed in a philosophical way, they used this analogy and called it a γένος, or race, with the root γεν- linked to the idea of generation.
So long as species of plants and animals were believed to proceed from distinct acts of Creation, there was no apparent reason why methods of classification suitable to them should not be treated as a guide to the classification of other objects generally. But when once we regard these resemblances as hereditary in their origin, we see that the sciences of systematic botany and zoology have a special character of their own. There is no reason to719 suppose that the same kind of natural classification which is best in biology will apply also in mineralogy, in chemistry, or in astronomy. The logical principles which underlie all classification are of course the same in natural history as in the sciences of lifeless matter, but the special resemblances which arise from the relation of parent and offspring will not be found to prevail between different kinds of crystals or mineral bodies.
As long as people believed that different species of plants and animals were created in separate acts, there seemed to be no reason why their classification methods couldn't also guide the classification of other things. However, once we view these similarities as inherited, we recognize that the fields of systematic botany and zoology have their own unique characteristics. There's no reason to think that the natural classification that works best in biology will also work in mineralogy, chemistry, or astronomy. While the basic logical principles behind all classifications are the same in natural history as they are in the sciences dealing with non-living matter, the specific similarities that come from parent-child relationships won't be found among different kinds of crystals or mineral substances.
The genealogical view of the relations of animals and plants leads us to discard all notions of a regular progression of living forms, or any theory as to their symmetrical relations. It was at one time a question whether the ultimate scheme of natural classification would lead to arrangement in a simple line, or a circle, or a combination of circles. Macleay’s once celebrated system was a circular one, and each class-circle was composed of five order-circles, each of which was composed again of five tribe-circles, and so on, the subdivision being at each step into five minor circles. Macleay held that in the animal kingdom there are five sub-kingdoms—the Vertebrata, Annulosa, Radiata, Acrita, and Mollusca. Each of these was again divided into five—the Vertebrata, consisting of Mammalia, Reptilia, Pisces, Amphibia, and Aves.587 It is evident that in such a symmetrical system the animals were made to suit themselves to the classes instead of the classes being suited to the animals.
The genealogical perspective on the relationships between animals and plants leads us to dismiss any idea of a straightforward progression of living forms or any theory about their symmetrical relationships. At one point, there was debate on whether the ultimate framework for natural classification would result in a simple line, a circle, or a mix of circles. Macleay's once-famous system was circular, with each class-circle made up of five order-circles, and each of those again divided into five tribe-circles, and so on, with the subdivisions consisting of five smaller circles at every level. Macleay argued that there are five sub-kingdoms in the animal kingdom—the Vertebrata, Annulosa, Radiata, Acrita, and Mollusca. Each of these was further divided into five—Vertebrata includes Mammalia, Reptilia, Pisces, Amphibia, and Aves.587 It's clear that in such a symmetrical system, the animals had to conform to the classes instead of the classes being adapted to fit the animals.
We now perceive that the ultimate system will have the form of an immensely extended genealogical tree, which will be capable of representation by lines on a plane surface of sufficient extent. Strictly speaking, this genealogical tree ought to represent the descent of each individual living form now existing or which has existed. It should be as personal and minute in its detail of relations, as the Stemma of the Kings of England. We must not assume that any two forms are exactly alike, and in any case they are numerically distinct. Every parent then must be represented at the apex of a series of divergent lines, representing the generation of so many children. Any complete system of classification must regard individuals as the infimæ species. But as in the lower races of animals720 and plants the differences between individuals are slight and apparently unimportant, while the numbers of such individuals are immensely great, beyond all possibility of separate treatment, scientific men have always stopped at some convenient but arbitrary point, and have assumed that forms so closely resembling each other as to present no constant difference were all of one kind. They have, in short, fixed their attention entirely upon the main features of family difference. In the genealogical tree which they have been unconsciously aiming to construct, diverging lines meant races diverging in character, and the purpose of all efforts at so-called natural classification was to trace out the descents between existing groups of plants or animals.
We now see that the ultimate system will take the form of a hugely expanded genealogical tree, which can be represented by lines on a sufficiently large flat surface. Strictly speaking, this genealogical tree should represent the lineage of every individual living organism that exists now or has ever existed. It should be as detailed and personal in its relationships as the Stemma of the Kings of England. We shouldn’t assume that any two forms are exactly the same, and in any case, they are numerically distinct. Every parent must be represented at the top of a series of divergent lines, showing the generation of many children. Any complete classification system must consider individuals as the smallest species. However, since in the lower races of animals and plants the differences between individuals are slight and seem unimportant, while the numbers of such individuals are extremely large—far beyond practical individual treatment—scientists have always stopped at some convenient yet arbitrary point, assuming that forms that closely resemble each other and show no constant difference are all of one kind. In short, they have focused solely on the main features of family differences. In the genealogical tree they have been unconsciously trying to construct, the diverging lines represent races diverging in character, and the goal of all efforts at so-called natural classification was to trace the lineages between existing groups of plants or animals.
Now it is evident that hereditary descent may have in different cases produced very different results as regards the problem of classification. In some cases the differentiation of characters may have been very frequent, and specimens of all the characters produced may have been transmitted to the present time. A living form will then have, as it were, an almost infinite number of cousins of various degrees, and there will be an immense number of forms finely graduated in their resemblances. Exact and distinct classification will then be almost impossible, and the wisest course will be not to attempt arbitrarily to distinguish forms closely related in nature, but to allow that there exist transitional forms of every degree, to mark out if possible the extreme limits of the family relationship, and perhaps to select the most generalised form, or that which presents the greatest number of close resemblances to others of the family, as the type of the whole.
Now it’s clear that hereditary descent can lead to very different outcomes when it comes to classification. In some cases, the variation of traits may have happened frequently, and examples of all the traits produced might have been passed down to today. A living form will then have, in a sense, an almost endless number of cousins at various levels, resulting in a huge number of forms that gradually resemble each other. Accurate and clear classification will be nearly impossible, and the best approach will be not to try to arbitrarily separate forms that are closely related but to recognize that there are transitional forms everywhere. It's important to outline the extreme limits of family relationships and maybe choose the most generalized form, or the one that closely resembles the most others from the family, as the type of the entire group.
Mr. Darwin, in his most interesting work upon Orchids, points out that the tribe of Malaxeæ are distinguished from Epidendreæ by the absence of a caudicle to the pollinia; but as some of the Malaxeæ have a minute caudicle, the division really breaks down in the most essential point. “This is a misfortune,” he remarks,588 “which every naturalist encounters in attempting to classify a largely developed or so-called natural group, in which, relatively721 to other groups, there has been little extinction. In order that the naturalist may be enabled to give precise and clear definitions of his divisions, whole ranks of intermediate or gradational forms must have been utterly swept away: if here and there a member of the intermediate ranks has escaped annihilation, it puts an effectual bar to any absolutely distinct definition.”
Mr. Darwin, in his very engaging work on Orchids, notes that the Malaxeæ tribe is different from Epidendreæ because it lacks a caudicle for the pollinia; however, since some Malaxeæ do have a tiny caudicle, this division ultimately fails at its most critical point. “This is an unfortunate situation,” he comments,588 “which every naturalist faces when trying to classify a well-developed or supposedly natural group, where, compared to other groups, there has been little extinction. For a naturalist to provide precise and clear definitions of his categories, entire ranks of intermediate or gradational forms must be completely eliminated: if just a few members of the intermediate ranks survive, it creates a significant obstacle to any truly distinct definition.”
In other cases a particular plant or animal may perhaps have transmitted its form from generation to generation almost unchanged, or, what comes to the same result, those forms which diverged in character from the parent stock may have proved unsuitable to their circumstances, and perished. We shall then find a particular form standing apart from all others, and marked by many distinct characters. Occasionally we may meet with specimens of a race which was formerly far more common but is now undergoing extinction, and is nearly the last of its kind. Thus we explain the occurrence of exceptional forms such as are found in the Amphioxus. The Equisetaceæ perplex botanists by their want of affinity to other orders of Acrogenous plants. This doubtless indicates that their genealogical connection with other plants must be sought for in the most distant ages of geological development.
In some cases, a specific plant or animal may have kept its form almost unchanged from one generation to the next, or, similarly, those forms that developed differently from the original may have been unable to adapt to their environment and vanished. As a result, we may find a particular form that stands apart from all others and is marked by many unique characteristics. Sometimes, we may encounter specimens of a species that used to be much more common but is now facing extinction and is nearly the last of its kind. This helps explain the existence of unusual forms like those found in the Amphioxus. The Equisetaceæ confuse botanists because they lack a clear connection to other groups of Acrogenous plants. This likely suggests that their evolutionary link to other plants goes back to the most ancient times of geological history.
Constancy of character, as Mr. Darwin has said,589 is what is chiefly valued and sought after by naturalists; that is to say, naturalists wish to find some distinct family mark, or group of characters, by which they may clearly recognise the relationship of descent between a large group of living forms. It is accordingly a great relief to the mind of the naturalist when he comes upon a definitely marked group, such as the Diatomaceæ, which are clearly separated from their nearest neighbours the Desmidiaceæ by their siliceous framework and the absence of chlorophyll. But we must no longer think that because we fail in detecting constancy of character the fault is in our classificatory sciences. Where gradation of character really exists, we must devote ourselves to defining and registering the degrees and limits of that gradation. The ultimate natural arrangement will often be devoid of strong lines of demarcation.
Constancy of character, as Mr. Darwin has said,589 is what is primarily valued and sought after by naturalists; in other words, naturalists want to identify some unique family mark or group of traits that allows them to clearly recognize the relationship of descent among a broad range of living forms. Thus, it’s a significant relief for naturalists when they find a well-defined group, like the Diatomaceæ, which is distinctly separated from its closest relatives, the Desmidiaceæ, by its silica structure and lack of chlorophyll. However, we should no longer assume that our inability to identify constancy of character indicates a flaw in our classification systems. Where gradation of character truly exists, we need to focus on defining and documenting the degrees and limits of that gradation. The final natural arrangement will often lack clear boundaries.
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Let naturalists, too, form their systems of natural classification with all care they can, yet it will certainly happen from time to time that new and exceptional forms of animals or vegetables will be discovered and will require the modification of the system. A natural system is directed, as we have seen, to the discovery of empirical laws of correlation, but these laws being purely empirical will frequently be falsified by more extensive investigation. From time to time the notions of naturalists have been greatly widened, especially in the case of Australian animals and plants, by the discovery of unexpected combinations of organs, and such events must often happen in the future. If indeed the time shall come when all the forms of plants are discovered and accurately described, the science of Systematic Botany will then be placed in a new and more favourable position, as remarked by Alphonse Decandolle.590
Let naturalists create their systems of natural classification with as much care as they can, but from time to time, new and unusual species of animals or plants will be discovered that will necessitate changes to the system. A natural system aims to uncover empirical laws of correlation, but since these laws are purely empirical, they will often be disproven through more extensive research. Occasionally, naturalists’ understanding has expanded significantly, especially regarding Australian animals and plants, due to the discovery of unexpected organ combinations, and such discoveries will likely continue in the future. If the day comes when all species of plants are discovered and accurately described, the field of Systematic Botany will be in a new and more beneficial position, as noted by Alphonse Decandolle.590
It ought to be remembered that though the genealogical classification of plants or animals is doubtless the most instructive of all, it is not necessarily the best for all purposes. There may be correlations of properties important for medicinal, or other practical purposes, which do not correspond to the correlations of descent. We must regard the bamboo as a tree rather than a grass, although it is botanically a grass. For legal purposes we may continue with advantage to treat the whale, seal, and other cetaceæ, as fish. We must also class plants according as they belong to arctic, alpine, temperate, sub-tropical or tropical regions. There are causes of likeness apart from hereditary relationship, and we must not attribute exclusive excellence to any one method of classification.
It should be noted that while the genealogical classification of plants and animals is definitely the most informative, it isn't always the best for every situation. There may be connections between properties that are crucial for medicinal or other practical purposes, which don’t align with their ancestral relationships. We need to consider bamboo as a tree instead of a grass, even though it's technically a grass. For legal reasons, we can still treat whales, seals, and other cetaceans as fish. We should also categorize plants based on whether they belong to arctic, alpine, temperate, subtropical, or tropical regions. There are similarities that exist beyond genetic relationships, and we must not give exclusive superiority to any single classification method.
Classification by Types.
Perplexed by the difficulties arising in natural history from the discovery of intermediate forms, naturalists have resorted to what they call classification by types. Instead of forming one distinct class defined by the invariable possession of certain assigned properties, and rigidly including or excluding objects according as they do or do not723 possess all these properties, naturalists select a typical specimen, and they group around it all other specimens which resemble this type more than any other selected type. “The type of each genus,” we are told,591 “should be that species in which the characters of its group are best exhibited and most evenly balanced.” It would usually consist of those descendants of a form which had undergone little alteration, while other descendants had suffered slight differentiation in various directions.
Confused by the challenges that arise in natural history from finding intermediate forms, naturalists have turned to what they call classification by types. Instead of creating one clear class defined by the consistent possession of certain assigned traits and strictly including or excluding objects based on whether they possess all these traits, naturalists choose a typical specimen and group around it all other specimens that resemble this type more than any other selected type. “The type of each genus,” we are told,591 “should be that species in which the characteristics of its group are best exhibited and most evenly balanced.” It usually consists of those descendants of a form that have undergone little change, while other descendants have experienced slight differentiation in various ways.
It would be a great mistake to suppose that this classification by types is a logically distinct method. It is either not a real method of classification at all, or it is merely an abbreviated mode of representing a complicated system of arrangement. A class must be defined by the invariable presence of certain common properties. If, then, we include an individual in which one of these properties does not appear, we either fall into logical contradiction, or else we form a new class with a new definition. Even a single exception constitutes a new class by itself, and by calling it an exception we merely imply that this new class closely resembles that from which it diverges in one or two points only. Thus in the definition of the natural order of Rosaceæ, we find that the seeds are one or two in each carpel, but that in the genus Spiræa there are three or four; this must mean either that the number of seeds is not a part of the fixed definition of the class, or else that Spiræa does not belong to that class, though it may closely approximate to it. Naturalists continually find themselves between two horns of a dilemma; if they restrict the number of marks specified in a definition so that every form intended to come within the class shall possess all those marks, it will then be usually found to include too many forms; if the definition be made more particular, the result is to produce so-called anomalous genera, which, while they are held to belong to the class, do not in all respects conform to its definition. The practice has hence arisen of allowing considerable latitude in the definition of natural orders. The family of Cruciferæ, for instance, forms an exceedingly well-marked natural order, and among its characters we find it724 specified that the fruit is a pod, divided into two cells by a thin partition, from which the valves generally separate at maturity; but we are also informed that, in a few genera, the pod is one-celled, or indehiscent, or separates transversely into several joints.592 Now this must either mean that the formation of the pod is not an essential point in the definition of the family, or that there are several closely associated families.
It would be a big mistake to think that this classification by types is a clearly different method. It is either not a real classification method at all, or it’s just a shorter way of representing a complicated arrangement system. A class must be defined by the consistent presence of certain common properties. If we include an individual that doesn’t have one of these properties, we either create a logical contradiction or we establish a new class with a new definition. Even one exception forms a new class by itself, and by calling it an exception, we suggest that this new class closely resembles the one from which it diverges in just one or two ways. For example, in the definition of the natural order of Rosaceae, we find that there are one or two seeds in each carpel, but in the genus Spiræa, there are three or four. This must mean either that the number of seeds isn’t a fixed part of the class definition or that Spiræa doesn’t belong to that class, even if it’s very similar to it. Naturalists often find themselves in a dilemma; if they limit the number of characteristics in a definition so that every form intended to fit in the class has all those characteristics, it usually ends up including too many forms. If the definition is made more specific, the result is so-called anomalous genera, which, while considered part of the class, don’t fully conform to its definition. This has led to the practice of allowing a lot of flexibility in defining natural orders. For instance, the family of Cruciferae makes a very well-defined natural order, and among its characteristics, it specifies that the fruit is a pod, divided into two cells by a thin partition, from which the valves typically separate at maturity; but we also learn that in a few genera, the pod is one-celled, or indehiscent, or separates transversely into several segments. Now this must either mean that the formation of the pod isn’t an essential point in the definition of the family, or that there are several closely related families.
The same holds true of typical classification. The type itself is an individual, not a class, and no other object can be exactly like the type. But as soon as we abstract the individual peculiarities of the type and thus specify a finite number of qualities in which other objects may resemble the type, we immediately constitute a class. If some objects resemble the type in some points, and others in other points, then each definite collection of points of resemblance constitutes intensively a separate class. The very notion of classification by types is in fact erroneous in a logical point of view. The naturalist is constantly occupied in endeavouring to mark out definite groups of living forms, where the forms themselves do not in many cases admit of such rigorous lines of demarcation. A certain laxity of logical method is thus apt to creep in, the only remedy for which will be the frank recognition of the fact, that, according to the theory of hereditary descent, gradation of characters is probably the rule, and precise demarcation between groups the exception.
The same is true for typical classification. The type itself is an individual, not a class, and no other object can be exactly like the type. However, as soon as we abstract the individual characteristics of the type and specify a finite number of qualities that other objects may share, we create a class. If some objects share certain points with the type, and others share different points, then each specific set of shared characteristics forms a separate class. The very idea of classification by types is actually flawed from a logical perspective. Naturalists are continuously trying to identify clear groups of living forms, even though the forms themselves often don't allow for such strict boundaries. This can lead to a certain looseness in logical reasoning, and the only solution is to honestly acknowledge that, according to the theory of hereditary descent, a gradual shift in traits is likely the norm and clear boundaries between groups are the exception.
Natural Genera and Species.
One important result of the establishment of the theory of evolution is to explode all notions about natural groups constituting separate creations. Naturalists long held that every plant belongs to some species, marked out by invariable characters, which do not change by difference of soil, climate, cross-breeding, or other circumstances. They were unable to deny the existence of such things as sub-species, varieties, and hybrids, so that a species of plants was often subdivided and classified within itself. But then the differences upon which this sub-classification725 depended were supposed to be variable, and thus distinguished from the invariable characters imposed upon the whole species at its creation. Similarly a natural genus was a group of species, and was marked out from other genera by eternal differences of still greater importance.
One key outcome of establishing the theory of evolution is that it shatters all ideas about natural groups being separate creations. Naturalists long believed that every plant belonged to a specific species, defined by unchanging traits that were not affected by differences in soil, climate, cross-breeding, or other factors. They couldn't deny the existence of sub-species, varieties, and hybrids, so a species of plants was often divided and classified within itself. However, the differences that guided this sub-classification725 were thought to be variable, distinguishing them from the unchanging traits assigned to the entire species at its creation. In the same way, a natural genus was a group of species, set apart from other genera by permanent differences of even greater significance.
We now, however, perceive that the existence of any such groups as genera and species is an arbitrary creation of the naturalist’s mind. All resemblances of plants are natural so far as they express hereditary affinities; but this applies as well to the variations within the species as to the species itself, or to the larger groups. All is a matter of degree. The deeper differences between plants have been produced by the differentiating action of circumstances during millions of years, so that it would naturally require millions of years to undo this result, and prove experimentally that the forms can be approximated again. Sub-species may sometimes have arisen within historical times, and varieties approaching to sub-species may often be produced by the horticulturist in a few years. Such varieties can easily be brought back to their original forms, or, if placed in the original circumstances, will themselves revert to those forms; but according to Darwin’s views all forms are capable of unlimited change, and it might possibly be, unlimited reversion if suitable circumstances and sufficient time be granted.
We now realize that the existence of groups like genera and species is just a construct of the naturalist's mind. All the similarities among plants are natural as they reflect hereditary relationships; this applies to variations within a species as much as to the species itself or larger groups. It’s all a matter of degree. The significant differences between plants have developed due to varying conditions over millions of years, so it would naturally take millions of years to reverse this and experimentally show that the forms can come close together again. Sub-species may sometimes have emerged within historical times, and horticulturists can often create varieties that resemble sub-species in just a few years. These varieties can easily revert to their original forms, or, if they are placed back in the original conditions, they will return to those forms themselves; but according to Darwin’s theories, all forms can change indefinitely, and possibly revert infinitely if given the right conditions and enough time.
Many fruitless attempts have been made to establish a rigorous criterion of specific and generic difference, so that these classes might have a definite value and rank in all branches of biology. Linnæus adopted the view that the species was to be defined as a distinct creation, saying,593 “Species tot numeramus, quot diversæ formæ in principio sunt creatæ;” or again, “Species tot sunt, quot diversas formas ab initio produxit Infinitum Ens; quæ formæ, secundum generationis inditas leges, produxere plures, at sibi semper similes.” Of genera he also says,594 “Genus omne est naturale, in primordio tale creatum.” It was a common doctrine added to and essential to that of distinct creation that these species could not produce intermediate and variable forms, so that we find Linnæus obliged by the ascertained existence of hybrids to take a different view726 in another work; he says,595 “Novas species immo et genera ex copula diversarum specierum in regno vegetabilium oriri primo intuitu paradoxum videtur; interim observationes sic fieri non ita dissuadent.” Even supposing in the present day that we could assent to the notion of a certain number of distinct creational acts, this notion would not help us in the theory of classification. Naturalists have never pointed out any method of deciding what are the results of distinct creations, and what are not. As Darwin says,596 “the definition must not include an element which cannot possibly be ascertained, such as an act of creation.” It is, in fact, by investigation of forms and classification that we should ascertain what were distinct creations and what were not; this information would be a result and not a means of classification.
Many unproductive attempts have been made to create a strict criterion for distinguishing between specific and generic differences, so that these categories could have a clear value and rank in all areas of biology. Linnæus believed that a species should be defined as a distinct creation, stating,593 “We count species as many as there are different forms created at the beginning;” and again, “There are as many species as there are different forms produced by the Infinite Being from the start; which forms, according to the laws of generation, produce many, but are always similar to themselves.” Regarding genera, he also stated,594 “Every genus is natural, created as such from the beginning.” It was a widely accepted doctrine, essential to the idea of distinct creation, that these species could not produce intermediate or variable forms. Therefore, we see Linnæus, faced with the established existence of hybrids, having to reconsider his position in another work; he states,595 “The emergence of new species or even genera from the union of different species in the plant kingdom initially seems paradoxical; however, observations do not dissuade this from happening.” Even if we were to agree today with the idea of a certain number of distinct acts of creation, this notion wouldn’t assist us in classification theory. Naturalists have never provided a method for determining which results are from distinct creations and which are not. As Darwin states,596 “the definition must not include an element that cannot possibly be ascertained, such as an act of creation.” In fact, it is through the investigation of forms and classification that we should determine what were distinct creations and what were not; this understanding would be a result, not a method of classification.
Agassiz seemed to consider that he had discovered an important principle, to the effect that general plan or structure is the true ground for the discrimination of the great classes of animals, which may be called branches of the animal kingdom.597 He also thought that genera are definite and natural groups. “Genera,” he says,598 “are most closely allied groups of animals, differing neither in form, nor in complication of structure, but simply in the ultimate structural peculiarities of some of their parts; and this is, I believe, the best definition which can be given of genera.” But it is surely apparent that there are endless degrees both of structural peculiarity and of complication of structure. It is impossible to define the amount of structural peculiarity which constitutes the genus as distinguished from the species.
Agassiz believed he had discovered an important principle: that the general plan or structure is the real basis for distinguishing the major classes of animals, which can be referred to as branches of the animal kingdom.597 He also thought that genera are distinct and natural groups. “Genera,” he states,598 “are the most closely related groups of animals, differing not in form or complexity of structure, but just in the specific structural features of certain parts; and this, I believe, is the best definition we can give for genera.” However, it’s clear that there are countless variations in structural features and complexity of structure. It is impossible to pinpoint the level of structural peculiarity that separates a genus from a species.
The form which any classification of plants or animals tends to take is that of an unlimited series of subaltern classes. Originally botanists confined themselves for the most part to a small number of such classes. Linnæus adopted Class, Order, Genus, Species, and Variety, and even seemed to think that there was something essentially natural in a five-fold arrangement of groups.599
The way we classify plants and animals usually results in an endless series of subordinate categories. At first, botanists mostly focused on a limited number of these categories. Linnæus used the terms Class, Order, Genus, Species, and Variety, and seemed to believe that there was something fundamentally natural about having a five-part system for organizing these groups.599
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With the progress of botany intermediate and additional groups have gradually been introduced. According to the Laws of Botanical Nomenclature adopted by the International Botanical Congress, held at Paris600 in August 1867, no less than twenty-one names of classes are recognised—namely, Kingdom, Division, Sub-division, Class, Sub-class, Cohort, Sub-cohort, Order, Sub-order, Tribe, Sub-tribe, Genus, Sub-genus, Section, Sub-section, Species, Sub-species, Variety, Sub-variety, Variation, Sub-variation. It is allowed by the authors of this scheme, that the rank or degree of importance to be attributed to any of these divisions may vary in a certain degree according to individual opinion. The only point on which botanists are not allowed discretion is as to the order of the successive sub-divisions; any inversion of the arrangement, such as division of a genus into tribes, or of a tribe into orders, is quite inadmissible. There is no reason to suppose that even the above list is complete and inextensible. The Botanical Congress itself recognised the distinction between variations according as they are Seedlings, Half-breeds, or Lusus Naturæ. The complication of the inferior classes is increased again by the existence of hybrids, arising from the fertilisation of one species by another deemed a distinct species, nor can we place any limit to the minuteness of discrimination of degrees of breeding short of an actual pedigree of individuals.
As botany has advanced, new intermediate and additional groups have been gradually introduced. According to the Laws of Botanical Nomenclature adopted by the International Botanical Congress, held in Paris in August 1867, a total of twenty-one class names are recognized—these are Kingdom, Division, Sub-division, Class, Sub-class, Cohort, Sub-cohort, Order, Sub-order, Tribe, Sub-tribe, Genus, Sub-genus, Section, Sub-section, Species, Sub-species, Variety, Sub-variety, Variation, and Sub-variation. The creators of this system allow for some variation in the importance attributed to these divisions based on individual opinion. However, botanists have no discretion regarding the order of these subdivisions; any reversal of this arrangement, such as dividing a genus into tribes or a tribe into orders, is not acceptable. There is also no reason to believe that the list above is exhaustive or unchangeable. The Botanical Congress itself acknowledged the differences between variations, depending on whether they are Seedlings, Half-breeds, or Lusus Naturæ. The complexity of the lower classes is further increased by the existence of hybrids, which result from the fertilization of one species by another considered a distinct species, and we cannot limit the detail of breeding distinctions short of an actual pedigree for individuals.
It will be evident to the reader that in the remarks upon classification as applied to the Natural Sciences, given in this and the preceding sections, I have not in the least attempted to treat the subject in a manner adequate to its extent and importance. A volume would be insufficient for tracing out the principles of scientific method specially applicable to these branches of science. What more I may be able to say upon the subject will be better said, if ever, when I am able to take up the closely-connected subjects of Scientific Nomenclature, Terminology, and Descriptive Representation. In the meantime, I have wished to show, in a negative point of view, that natural classification in the animal and vegetable kingdoms is a special problem, and that the particular methods and728 difficulties to which it gives rise are not those common to all cases of classification, as so many physicists have supposed. Genealogical resemblances are only a special case of resemblances in general.
It should be clear to the reader that in the discussions about classification as it relates to the Natural Sciences, presented in this and the previous sections, I haven’t tried to address the topic in a way that fully captures its scope and significance. A single volume wouldn’t be enough to lay out the principles of scientific methods specifically relevant to these branches of science. Whatever more I can say on the topic will be better discussed, if ever, when I can focus on the closely-related topics of Scientific Nomenclature, Terminology, and Descriptive Representation. For now, I wanted to demonstrate, from a negative standpoint, that natural classification in the animal and plant kingdoms is a unique problem, and that the specific methods and challenges it presents are not the same as those found in all classification cases, as many physicists have assumed. Genealogical similarities are just one specific type of similarity in general.
Unique or Exceptional Objects.
In framing a system of classification in almost any branch of science, we must expect to meet with unique or peculiar objects, which stand alone, having comparatively few analogies with other objects. They may also be said to be sui generis, each unique object forming, as it were, a genus by itself; or they are called nondescript, because from thus standing apart it is difficult to find terms in which to describe their properties. The rings of Saturn, for instance, form a unique object among the celestial bodies. We have indeed considered this and many other instances of unique objects in the preceding chapter on Exceptional Phenomena. Apparent, Singular, and Divergent Exceptions especially, are analogous to unique objects.
In creating a classification system in almost any field of science, we should anticipate encountering unique or unusual objects that stand alone and have relatively few similarities with other objects. They can also be referred to as sui generis, with each unique object effectively being its own genus; or they can be called nondescript, because their distinctiveness makes it challenging to find the right terms to describe their characteristics. For example, the rings of Saturn represent a unique object among celestial bodies. We have indeed discussed this and many other examples of unique objects in the earlier chapter on Exceptional Phenomena. Apparent, Singular, and Divergent Exceptions, in particular, are similar to unique objects.
In the classification of the elements, Carbon stands apart as a substance entirely unique in its powers of producing compounds. It is considered to be a quadrivalent element, and it obeys all the ordinary laws of chemical combination. Yet it manifests powers of affinity in such an exalted degree that the substances in which it appears are more numerous than all the other compounds known to chemists. Almost the whole of the substances which have been called organic contain carbon, and are probably held together by the carbon atoms, so that many chemists are now inclined to abandon the name Organic Chemistry, and substitute the name Chemistry of the Carbon Compounds. It used to be believed that the production of organic compounds could be effected only by the action of vital force, or of some inexplicable cause involved in the phenomena of life; but it is now found that chemists are able to commence with the elementary materials, pure carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen, and by strictly chemical operations to combine these so as to form complicated organic compounds. So many substances have already been formed that we might be inclined to generalise and infer that all organic compounds might ultimately729 be produced without the agency of living beings. Thus the distinction between the organic and the inorganic kingdoms seems to be breaking down, but our wonder at the peculiar powers of carbon must increase at the same time.
In the classification of elements, Carbon stands out as a substance completely unique in its ability to produce compounds. It is considered a tetravalent element, following all the usual laws of chemical combination. However, it shows such a high degree of affinity that the substances it forms are more numerous than all the other compounds known to chemists. Almost all substances classified as organic contain carbon and are likely held together by carbon atoms, which has led many chemists to suggest replacing the term Organic Chemistry with Chemistry of Carbon Compounds. It was once believed that organic compounds could only be created through vital force or some mysterious cause related to life; however, it is now known that chemists can start with basic materials like pure carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen, and through strictly chemical processes, combine these elements to form complex organic compounds. So many substances have already been synthesized that we might be tempted to conclude that all organic compounds could eventually be produced without the involvement of living organisms. Consequently, the distinction between organic and inorganic kingdoms appears to be fading, but our amazement at the unique properties of carbon continues to grow.
In considering generalisation, the law of continuity was applied chiefly to physical properties capable of mathematical treatment. But in the classificatory sciences, also, the same important principle is often beautifully exemplified. Many objects or events seem to be entirely exceptional and abnormal, and in regard to degree or magnitude they may be so termed; but it is often easy to show that they are connected by intermediate links with ordinary cases. In the organic kingdoms there is a common groundwork of similarity running through all classes, but particular actions and processes present themselves conspicuously in particular families and classes. Tenacity of life is most marked in the Rotifera, and some other kinds of microscopic organisms, which can be dried and boiled without loss of life. Reptiles are distinguished by torpidity, and the length of time they can live without food. Birds, on the contrary, exhibit ceaseless activity and high muscular power. The ant is as conspicuous for intelligence and size of brain among insects as the quadrumana and man among vertebrata. Among plants the Leguminosæ are distinguished by a tendency to sleep, folding their leaves at the approach of night. In the genus Mimosa, especially the Mimosa pudica, commonly called the sensitive plant, the same tendency is magnified into an extreme irritability, almost resembling voluntary motion. More or less of the same irritability probably belongs to vegetable forms of every kind, but it is of course to be investigated with special ease in such an extreme case. In the Gymnotus and Torpedo, we find that organic structures can act like galvanic batteries. Are we to suppose that such animals are entirely anomalous exceptions; or may we not justly expect to find less intense manifestations of electric action in all animals?
When considering generalization, the law of continuity was mainly applied to physical properties that could be mathematically analyzed. However, this important principle is also beautifully illustrated in the classification sciences. Many objects or events might seem completely unique and abnormal, and in terms of degree or magnitude, they can be classified as such; but it's often easy to demonstrate that they are linked by intermediate connections to common cases. In the organic kingdoms, there is a foundational similarity that runs through all classes, yet specific actions and processes stand out in particular families and classes. The ability to survive is most pronounced in the Rotifera and some other types of microscopic organisms, which can be dried and boiled without dying. Reptiles are characterized by their sluggishness and their ability to live for extended periods without food. In contrast, birds display constant activity and impressive muscular strength. The ant stands out for its intelligence and brain size among insects, much like primates and humans do among vertebrates. Among plants, the Leguminosæ are known for their tendency to "sleep," folding their leaves at night. The genus Mimosa, especially Mimosa pudica, commonly known as the sensitive plant, exemplifies this tendency with an extreme irritability that almost mimics voluntary movement. Variations of this irritability likely exist in all plant life, but it can be investigated more readily in such an extreme example. In the Gymnotus and Torpedo, we see that organic structures can function like electric batteries. Should we assume that these animals are entirely anomalous exceptions, or is it reasonable to expect to find milder expressions of electrical activity in all animals?
Some extraordinary differences between the modes of reproduction of animals have been shown to be far less than was at first sight apparent. The lower animals seem to differ entirely from the higher ones in the power of reproducing730 lost limbs. A kind of crab has the habit of casting portions of its claws when much frightened, but they soon grow again. There are multitudes of smaller animals which, like the Hydra, may be cut in two and yet live and develop into new complete individuals. No mammalian animal can reproduce a limb, and in appearance there is no analogy. But it was suggested by Blumenbach that the healing of a wound in the higher animals really represents in a lower degree the power of reproducing a limb. That this is true may be shown by adducing a multitude of intermediate cases, each adjoining pair of which are clearly analogous, so that we pass gradually from one extreme to the other. Darwin holds, moreover, that any such restoration of parts is closely connected with that perpetual replacement of the particles which causes every organised body to be after a time entirely new as regards its constituent substance. In short, we approach to a great generalisation under which all the phenomena of growth, restoration, and maintenance of organs are effects of one and the same power.601 It is perhaps still more surprising to find that the complicated process of reproduction in the higher animals may be gradually traced down to a simpler and simpler form, which at last becomes undistinguishable from the budding out of one plant from the stem of another. By a great generalisation we may regard all the modes of reproduction of organic life as alike in their nature, and varying only in complexity of development.602
Some surprising differences between how animals reproduce are actually much less distinct than they first appear. Lower animals seem to differ completely from higher ones in their ability to regenerate lost limbs. A type of crab has a habit of shedding parts of its claws when it's scared, but they quickly grow back. There are many smaller animals, like the Hydra, that can be cut in half and still live and develop into two complete individuals. No mammal can regenerate a limb, and there doesn’t seem to be any similarity. However, Blumenbach suggested that the healing of wounds in higher animals is really a lesser form of the ability to regenerate limbs. This can be shown by presenting numerous intermediate cases, each pair of which shows a clear analogy, allowing a gradual transition from one extreme to another. Darwin also argues that any restoration of body parts is closely linked to the continuous replacement of particles, which causes every organized body to eventually become completely new in terms of its material composition. In short, we can arrive at a significant generalization under which all the processes of growth, restoration, and upkeep of organs are effects of the same fundamental power. It is perhaps even more intriguing to find that the complex process of reproduction in higher animals can be traced back to simpler forms, which eventually become indistinguishable from a plant budding from another plant’s stem. Through broad generalization, we may see all modes of reproduction in organic life as fundamentally similar, differing only in their complexity of development.
Limits of Classification.
Science can extend only so far as the power of accurate classification extends. If we cannot detect resemblances, and assign their exact character and amount, we cannot have that generalised knowledge which constitutes science; we cannot infer from case to case. Classification is the opposite process to discrimination. If we feel that two tastes differ, the tastes of two kinds of wine for instance, the mere fact of difference existing prevents inference. The detection of the difference saves us, indeed, from false731 inference, because so far as difference exists, inference is impossible. But classification consists in detecting resemblances of all degrees of generality, and ascertaining exactly how far such resemblances extend, while assigning precisely the points at which difference begins. It enables us, then, to generalise, and make inferences where it is possible, and it saves us at the same time from going too far. A full classification constitutes a complete record of all our knowledge of the objects or events classified, and the limits of exact knowledge are identical with the limits of classification.
Science can only go as far as our ability to accurately classify things. If we can't recognize similarities and determine their exact nature and degree, we can't achieve the kind of generalized knowledge that defines science; we can't draw conclusions from one case to another. Classification is the opposite of discrimination. For instance, if we notice that two types of wine taste different, the very fact that they differ stops us from making assumptions. Detecting the difference actually protects us from making incorrect conclusions because as long as differences exist, making inferences is impossible. But classification involves identifying similarities of all levels of generality and determining precisely how far those similarities go, while also pinpointing where the differences start. This allows us to generalize and draw conclusions where it's appropriate, while also preventing us from overstepping. A thorough classification provides a complete record of everything we know about the classified objects or events, and the boundaries of exact knowledge are the same as the boundaries of classification.
It must by no means be supposed that every group of natural objects will be found capable of rigorous classification. There may be substances which vary by insensible degrees, consisting, for instance, in varying mixtures of simpler substances. Granite is a mixture of quartz, felspar, and mica, but there are hardly two specimens in which the proportions of these three constituents are alike, and it would be impossible to lay down definitions of distinct species of granite without finding an infinite variety of intermediate species. The only true classification of granites, then, would be founded on the proportions of the constituents present, and a chemical or microscopic analysis would be requisite, in order that we might assign a specimen to its true position in the series. Granites vary, again, by insensible degrees, as regards the magnitude of the crystals of felspar and mica. Precisely similar remarks might be made concerning the classification of other plutonic rocks, such as syenite, basalt, pumice-stone, lava.
It shouldn’t be assumed that every group of natural objects can be classified strictly. Some substances might vary in subtle ways, for example, through different mixtures of simpler substances. Granite is a mix of quartz, feldspar, and mica, but there are barely two samples where the proportions of these three components are the same, making it impossible to create clear definitions for distinct types of granite without encountering an endless variety of intermediate types. Therefore, the only accurate classification of granites would be based on the proportions of the components present, and a chemical or microscopic analysis would be necessary to determine the correct position of a sample in the classification. Granites also vary subtly in the size of the crystals of feldspar and mica. Similar points can be made about the classification of other plutonic rocks, like syenite, basalt, pumice stone, and lava.
The nature of a ray of homogeneous light is strictly defined, either by its place in the spectrum or by the corresponding wave-length, but a ray of mixed light admits of no simple classification; any of the infinitely numerous rays of the continuous spectrum may be present or absent, or present in various intensities, so that we can only class and define a mixed colour by defining the intensity and wave-length of each ray of homogeneous light which is present in it. Complete spectroscopic analysis and the determination of the intensity of every part of the spectrum yielded by a mixed ray is requisite for its accurate classification. Nearly the same may be said of complex732 sounds. A simple sound undulation, if we could meet with such a sound, would admit of precise and exhaustive classification as regards pitch, the length of wave, or the number of waves reaching the ear per second being a sufficient criterion. But almost all ordinary sounds, even those of musical instruments, consist of complex aggregates of undulations of different pitches, and in order to classify the sound we should have to measure the intensities of each of the constituent sounds, a work which has been partially accomplished by Helmholtz, as regards the vowel sounds. The different tones of voice distinctive of different individuals must also be due to the intermixture of minute waves of various pitch, which are yet quite beyond the range of experimental investigation. We cannot, then, at present attempt to classify the different kinds or timbres of sound.
The nature of a ray of uniform light is clearly defined by its position in the spectrum or by its corresponding wavelength, but a ray of mixed light cannot be classified easily; any of the countless rays from the continuous spectrum can be present, absent, or present in different intensities. This means we can only classify and define a mixed color by identifying the intensity and wavelength of each ray of uniform light within it. A complete spectroscopic analysis and the measurement of the intensity of each part of the spectrum generated by a mixed ray are necessary for accurate classification. The same can almost be said for complex sounds. A simple sound wave, if we encountered one, could be classified precisely regarding pitch, with wave length or the number of waves hitting the ear per second serving as clear criteria. However, nearly all everyday sounds, even those from musical instruments, are made up of complex mixtures of waves of different pitches. To classify these sounds, we would need to measure the intensities of each component sound, a task that has been partially addressed by Helmholtz in relation to vowel sounds. The distinctive tones of voice found in different individuals must also arise from the combination of tiny waves of various pitches, which are currently beyond our experimental reach. Therefore, we cannot yet classify the various types or timbres of sound.
The difficulties of classification are still greater when a varying phenomenon cannot be shown to be a mixture of simpler phenomena. If we attempt to classify tastes, we may rudely group them according as they are sweet, bitter, saline, alkaline, acid, astringent or fiery; but it is evident that these groups are bounded by no sharp lines of definition. Tastes of mixed or intermediate character may exist almost ad infinitum, and what is still more troublesome, the tastes clearly united within one class may differ more or less from each other, without our being able to arrange them in subordinate genera and species. The same remarks may be made concerning the classification of odours, which may be roughly grouped according to the arrangement of Linnæus as, aromatic, fragrant, ambrosiac, alliaceous, fetid, virulent, nauseous. Within each of these vague classes, however, there would be infinite shades of variety, and each class would graduate into other classes. The odours which can be discriminated by an acute nose are infinite; every rock, stone, plant, or animal has some slight smell, and it is well known that dogs, or even blind men, can discriminate persons by a slight distinctive odour which usually passes unnoticed.
The challenges of classification become even more complicated when a changing phenomenon can't be proven to be a mix of simpler ones. If we try to classify tastes, we might roughly group them as sweet, bitter, salty, alkaline, sour, astringent, or spicy; but it's clear that these groups aren't defined by sharp boundaries. Mixed or intermediate tastes may exist almost endlessly, and what's even more frustrating is that tastes clearly within one category can vary significantly from one another, making it difficult for us to organize them into subcategories. The same observations apply to the classification of odors, which can be broadly grouped according to Linnæus's system as aromatic, fragrant, ambrosial, onion-like, foul, poisonous, or nauseating. However, within each of these vague classes, there are countless shades of variety, and each class blends into others. The smells that a sensitive nose can distinguish are infinite; every rock, stone, plant, or animal has a slight scent, and it's well known that dogs, or even blind individuals, can identify people by a subtle, distinctive odor that usually goes unnoticed.
Similar remarks may be made concerning the feelings of the human mind, called emotions. We know what is anger, grief, fear, hatred, love; and many systems for classifying these feelings have been proposed. They may733 be roughly distinguished according as they are pleasurable or painful, prospective or retrospective, selfish or sympathetic, active or passive, and possibly in many other ways; but each mode of arrangement will be indefinite and unsatisfactory when followed into details. As a general rule, the emotional state of the mind at any moment will be neither pure anger nor pure fear, nor any one pure feeling, but an indefinite and complex aggregate of feelings. It may be that the state of mind is really a sum of several distinct modes of agitation, just as a mixed colour is the sum of the several rays of the spectrum. In this case there may be more hope of some method of analysis being successfully applied at a future time. But it may be found that states of mind really graduate into each other so that rigorous classification would be hopeless.
Similar comments can be made about the feelings of the human mind, known as emotions. We understand what anger, grief, fear, hatred, and love are, and many methods for categorizing these feelings have been suggested. They can be roughly categorized as pleasurable or painful, looking forward or looking back, selfish or compassionate, active or passive, and perhaps in many other ways; however, each method of organization will be vague and unsatisfactory when examined closely. Generally speaking, the emotional state of the mind at any given moment is not just pure anger or pure fear, nor is it any one specific feeling, but rather a vague and complex mix of feelings. It's possible that the emotional state is actually a combination of several distinct forms of agitation, similar to how a mixed color is the combination of various rays of the spectrum. In this case, there might be more hope for successfully applying some method of analysis in the future. However, it may also turn out that states of mind really blend into one another, making strict classification impossible.
A little reflection will show that there are whole worlds of existences which in like manner are incapable of logical analysis and classification. One friend may be able to single out and identify another friend by his countenance among a million other countenances. Faces are capable of infinite discrimination, but who shall classify and define them, or say by what particular shades of feature he does judge? There are of course certain distinct types of face, but each type is connected with each other type by infinite intermediate specimens. We may classify melodies according to the major or minor key, the character of the time, and some other distinct points; but every melody has, independently of such circumstances, its own distinctive character and effect upon the mind. We can detect differences between the styles of literary, musical, or artistic compositions. We can even in some cases assign a picture to its painter, or a symphony to its composer, by a subtle feeling of resemblances or differences which may be felt, but cannot be described.
A little thought will show that there are entire realms of existence that similarly resist logical analysis and classification. One friend might be able to recognize another friend’s face among a million others. Faces allow for endless distinctions, but who can categorize and define them, or explain the specific features by which they judge? There are, of course, certain clear types of faces, but each type is linked to every other type through countless intermediary variations. We can categorize melodies by major or minor keys, their time signatures, and some other specific elements; however, each melody has its own unique character and impact on the mind, regardless of these factors. We can spot differences in the styles of literary, musical, or artistic works. In some cases, we can even attribute a painting to its artist or a symphony to its composer through a subtle sense of similarities and differences that can be felt but not articulated.
Finally, it is apparent that in human character there is unfathomable and inexhaustible diversity. Every mind is more or less like every other mind; there is always a basis of similarity, but there is a superstructure of feelings, impulses, and motives which is distinctive for each person. We can sometimes predict the general character of the feelings and actions which will be produced by a given external event in an individual well known to us; but734 we also know that we are often inexplicably at fault in our inferences. No one can safely generalise upon the subtle variations of temper and emotion which may arise even in a person of ordinary character. As human knowledge and civilisation progress, these characteristic differences tend to develop and multiply themselves, rather than decrease. Character grows more many-sided. Two well educated Englishmen are far better distinguished from each other than two common labourers, and these are better distinguished than two Australian aborigines. The complexities of existing phenomena probably develop themselves more rapidly than scientific method can overtake them. In spite of all the boasted powers of science, we cannot really apply scientific method to our own minds and characters, which are more important to us than all the stars and nebulæ.
Finally, it's clear that human character is filled with deep and endless diversity. Every mind is somewhat similar to every other mind; there’s always a foundation of commonality, but each person has their unique mix of feelings, impulses, and motivations. We can sometimes anticipate the general character of the feelings and actions that a familiar individual might show in response to a specific event; however, we also know that we can often be bafflingly wrong in our assumptions. No one can reliably generalize about the subtle differences in temperament and emotions that can arise, even in someone with an average personality. As human knowledge and civilization evolve, these distinctive differences tend to grow and multiply rather than diminish. Character becomes more multifaceted. Two well-educated Englishmen are much more clearly differentiated from each other than two ordinary laborers are, and these laborers stand out more than two Australian aborigines. The complexities of existing phenomena likely develop faster than scientific methods can keep up with them. Despite all the claimed capabilities of science, we can't genuinely apply scientific methods to our own minds and characters, which matter more to us than all the stars and nebulae.
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BOOK VI.
BOOK VI.
CHAPTER XXXI.
THOUGHTS ON THE OUTCOMES AND LIMITATIONS OF
SCIENTIFIC METHOD.
Before concluding a work on the Principles of Science, it will not be inappropriate to add some remarks upon the limits and ultimate bearings of the knowledge which we may acquire by the employment of scientific method. All science consists, it has several times been stated, in the detection of identities in the action of natural agents. The purpose of inductive inquiry is to ascertain the apparent existence of necessary connection between causes and effects, expressed in the form of natural laws. Now so far as we thus learn the invariable course of nature, the future becomes the necessary sequel of the present, and we are brought beneath the sway of powers with which nothing can interfere.
Before finishing a discussion on the Principles of Science, it’s fitting to add some thoughts on the limits and ultimate implications of the knowledge we can gain through the scientific method. All science, as has been mentioned multiple times, involves identifying patterns in the behavior of natural forces. The goal of inductive research is to establish the apparent existence of a necessary connection between causes and effects, represented as natural laws. As we learn the consistent patterns of nature, the future inevitably follows the present, placing us under the influence of forces that are unchangeable.
By degrees it is found, too, that the chemistry of organised substances is not entirely separated from, but is continuous with, that of earth and stones. Life seems to be nothing but a special form of energy which is manifested in heat and electricity and mechanical force. The time may come, it almost seems, when the tender mechanism of the brain will be traced out, and every thought reduced to the expenditure of a determinate weight of736 nitrogen and phosphorus. No apparent limit exists to the success of scientific method in weighing and measuring, and reducing beneath the sway of law, the phenomena both of matter and of mind. And if mental phenomena be thus capable of treatment by the balance and the micrometer, can we any longer hold that mind is distinct from matter? Must not the same inexorable reign of law which is apparent in the motions of brute matter be extended to the subtle feelings of the human heart? Are not plants and animals, and ultimately man himself, merely crystals, as it were, of a complicated form? If so, our boasted free will becomes a delusion, moral responsibility a fiction, spirit a mere name for the more curious manifestations of material energy. All that happens, whether right or wrong, pleasurable or painful, is but the outcome of the necessary relations of time and space and force.
Gradually, it becomes clear that the chemistry of living organisms is not completely separate from, but is connected to, the chemistry of the earth and stones. Life appears to be just a specific form of energy that shows up as heat, electricity, and mechanical force. It seems that there might come a time when we’ll map out the delicate workings of the brain and every thought could be linked to a specific weight of nitrogen and phosphorus. There seems to be no real limit to how successful scientific methods can be in measuring, weighing, and explaining the behaviors of both matter and mind under the rules of law. If mental phenomena can be analyzed by balance scales and micrometers, can we still claim that the mind is separate from matter? Mustn’t the same undeniable laws that govern physical matter also apply to the complex emotions of the human heart? Aren’t plants and animals, and ultimately humans themselves, simply complex forms of crystals? If that’s the case, our claimed free will might be an illusion, moral responsibility a made-up concept, and spirit just a term for the more intriguing expressions of material energy. Everything that occurs, whether right or wrong, pleasurable or painful, is simply a result of the necessary relationships of time, space, and force.
Materialism seems, then, to be the coming religion, and resignation to the nonentity of human will the only duty. Such may not generally be the reflections of men of science, but I believe that we may thus describe the secret feelings of fear which the constant advance of scientific investigation excites in the minds of many. Is science, then, essentially atheistic and materialistic in its tendency? Does the uniform action of material causes, which we learn with an ever-increasing approximation to certainty, preclude the hypothesis of a benevolent Creator, who has not only designed the existing universe, but who still retains the power to alter its course from time to time?
Materialism seems to be the emerging belief system, and accepting the insignificance of human will the only obligation. This might not be the typical viewpoint of scientists, but I think it captures the underlying fear that the ongoing progress of scientific research brings to many people. Is science, then, fundamentally atheistic and materialistic in nature? Does the consistent behavior of material causes, which we are learning with greater accuracy, rule out the idea of a caring Creator who not only designed the current universe but still has the ability to change its direction periodically?
To enter upon actual theological discussions would be evidently beyond the scope of this work. It is with the scientific method common to all the sciences, and not with any of the separate sciences, that we are concerned. Theology therefore would be at least as much beyond my scope as chemistry or geology. But I believe that grave misapprehensions exist as regards the very nature of scientific method. There are scientific men who assert that the interposition of Providence is impossible, and prayer an absurdity, because the laws of nature are inductively proved to be invariable. Inferences are drawn not so much from particular sciences as from the logical nature of science itself, to negative the impulses and737 hopes of men. Now I may state that my own studies in logic lead me to call in question such negative inferences. Laws of nature are uniformities observed to exist in the action of certain material agents, but it is logically impossible to show that all other agents must behave as these do. The too exclusive study of particular branches of physical science seems to generate an over-confident and dogmatic spirit. Rejoicing in the success with which a few groups of facts are brought beneath the apparent sway of laws, the investigator hastily assumes that he is close upon the ultimate springs of being. A particle of gelatinous matter is found to obey the ordinary laws of chemistry; yet it moves and lives. The world is therefore asked to believe that chemistry can resolve the mysteries of existence.
Engaging in actual theological discussions is clearly outside the scope of this work. We're focused on the scientific method that applies across all sciences, not any specific one. Theology is just as much beyond my scope as chemistry or geology. However, I believe there are serious misunderstandings about the true nature of scientific method. Some scientists argue that divine intervention is impossible and that prayer is absurd because the laws of nature have been inductively proven to be unchanging. These conclusions are based not just on specific sciences but on the logical nature of science itself, which serves to dismiss the hopes and desires of people. I want to express that my studies in logic lead me to question these negative conclusions. The laws of nature are uniformities observed in the behavior of certain material agents, but it's logically impossible to prove that all other agents must act the same way. An overly narrow focus on specific areas of physical science seems to create an unwarranted and dogmatic mindset. Celebrating the success of organizing a few sets of facts under what appear to be laws, researchers quickly conclude they are close to unraveling the ultimate mysteries of existence. A piece of gelatinous matter may follow the ordinary laws of chemistry, yet it moves and lives. Therefore, we are asked to believe that chemistry can explain the mysteries of existence.
The Meaning of Natural Law.
Pindar speaks of Law as the Ruler of the Mortals and the Immortals, and it seems to be commonly supposed that the so-called Laws of Nature, in like manner, rule man and his Creator. The course of nature is regarded as being determined by invariable principles of mechanics which have acted since the world began, and will act for evermore. Even if the origin of all things is attributed to an intelligent creative mind, that Being is regarded as having yielded up arbitrary power, and as being subject like a human legislator to the laws which he has himself enacted. Such notions I should describe as superficial and erroneous, being derived, as I think, from false views of the nature of scientific inference, and the degree of certainty of the knowledge which we acquire by inductive investigation.
Pindar refers to Law as the Ruler of both Mortals and Immortals, and it seems to be widely believed that the so-called Laws of Nature similarly govern humanity and its Creator. The course of nature is seen as governed by unchanging principles of mechanics that have been in effect since the beginning of time and will continue indefinitely. Even if we attribute the origin of everything to an intelligent creator, that Being is viewed as having surrendered arbitrary power and is subject, like a human lawmaker, to the laws that it has established. I would describe such ideas as shallow and incorrect, stemming, in my opinion, from misguided views of the nature of scientific reasoning and the level of certainty of the knowledge we gain through inductive inquiry.
A law of nature, as I regard the meaning of the expression, is not a uniformity which must be obeyed by all objects, but merely a uniformity which is as a matter of fact obeyed by those objects which have come beneath our observation. There is nothing whatever incompatible with logic in the discovery of objects which should prove exceptions to any law of nature. Perhaps the best established law is that which asserts an invariable correlation to exist between gravity and inertia, so that all gravitating bodies are found to possess inertia, and all738 bodies possessing inertia are found to gravitate. But it would be no reproach to our scientific method, if something were ultimately discovered to possess gravity without inertia. Strictly defined and correctly interpreted, the law itself would acknowledge the possibility; for with the statement of every law we ought properly to join an estimate of the number of instances in which it has been observed to hold true, and the probability thence calculated, that it will hold true in the next case. Now, as we found (p. 259), no finite number of instances can warrant us in expecting with certainty that the next instance will be of like nature; in the formulas yielded by the inverse method of probabilities a unit always appears to represent the probability that our inference will be mistaken. I demur to the assumption that there is any necessary truth even in such fundamental laws of nature as the Indestructibility of Matter, the Conservation of Energy, or the Laws of Motion. Certain it is that men of science have recognised the conceivability of other laws, and even investigated their mathematical consequences. Airy investigated the mathematical conditions of a perpetual motion (p. 223), and Laplace and Newton discussed imaginary laws of forces inconsistent with those observed to operate in the universe (pp. 642, 706).
A law of nature, as I understand it, isn’t a rule that all objects must follow, but rather a pattern that, as a matter of fact, is followed by the objects we’ve observed. There’s nothing illogical about discovering objects that might be exceptions to any natural law. Maybe the most well-established law is the one stating a consistent relationship between gravity and inertia, where all gravitational bodies have inertia and all bodies with inertia are found to gravitate. However, it wouldn't be a criticism of our scientific method if we were to find something that has gravity but lacks inertia. When properly defined and interpreted, the law itself would accept this possibility; as with every law, we should include an estimate of how many times it has been observed to hold true and calculate the likelihood that it will apply to the next case. As we found (p. 259), there’s no finite number of instances that can guarantee we’ll expect the next one to behave the same way; in the formulas from the inverse method of probabilities, a unit always represents the chance that our inference could be wrong. I disagree with the idea that there’s any necessary truth even in fundamental natural laws like the Indestructibility of Matter, the Conservation of Energy, or the Laws of Motion. It’s clear that scientists have acknowledged the possibility of other laws and even explored their mathematical implications. Airy looked into the mathematical conditions for perpetual motion (p. 223), and Laplace and Newton considered imaginary laws of forces that contradict those we’ve observed in the universe (pp. 642, 706).
The laws of nature, as I venture to regard them, are simply general propositions concerning the correlation of properties which have been observed to hold true of bodies hitherto observed. On the assumption that our experience is of adequate extent, and that no arbitrary interference takes place, we are then able to assign the probability, always less than certainty, that the next object of the same apparent nature will conform to the same laws.
The laws of nature, as I see them, are just general statements about the relationships of properties that we’ve seen to be true for bodies we’ve observed so far. Assuming our experience is broad enough and there’s no random interference, we can then estimate the probability, which is always less than certainty, that the next object of a similar nature will follow the same laws.
Infiniteness of the Universe.
We may safely accept as a satisfactory scientific hypothesis the doctrine so grandly put forth by Laplace, who asserted that a perfect knowledge of the universe, as it existed at any given moment, would give a perfect knowledge of what was to happen thenceforth and for ever after. Scientific inference is impossible, unless we may739 regard the present as the outcome of what is past, and the cause of what is to come. To the view of perfect intelligence nothing is uncertain. The astronomer can calculate the positions of the heavenly bodies when thousands of generations of men shall have passed away, and in this fact we have some illustration, as Laplace remarks, of the power which scientific prescience may attain. Doubtless, too, all efforts in the investigation of nature tend to bring us nearer to the possession of that ideally perfect power of intelligence. Nevertheless, as Laplace with profound wisdom adds,603 we must ever remain at an infinite distance from the goal of our aspirations.
We can confidently accept as a solid scientific idea the concept presented by Laplace, who claimed that complete knowledge of the universe at any given moment would allow for complete knowledge of everything that happens afterward. Scientific reasoning is impossible unless we can view the present as the result of the past and the cause of the future. From the perspective of perfect understanding, nothing is uncertain. An astronomer can predict the positions of celestial bodies even thousands of generations from now, illustrating, as Laplace points out, the power that scientific foresight can achieve. Certainly, all efforts in exploring nature bring us closer to that ideally perfect intelligence. However, as Laplace wisely notes, we will always remain infinitely far from achieving our aspirations.
Let us assume, for a time at least, as a highly probable hypothesis, that whatever is to happen must be the outcome of what is; there then arises the question, What is? Now our knowledge of what exists must ever remain imperfect and fallible in two respects. Firstly, we do not know all the matter that has been created, nor the exact manner in which it has been distributed through space. Secondly, assuming that we had that knowledge, we should still be wanting in a perfect knowledge of the way in which the particles of matter will act upon each other. The power of scientific prediction extends at the most to the limits of the data employed. Every conclusion is purely hypothetical and conditional upon the non-interference of agencies previously undetected. The law of gravity asserts that every body tends to approach towards every other body, with a certain determinate force; but, even supposing the law to hold true, it does not assert that the body will approach. No single law of nature can warrant us in making an absolute prediction. We must know all the laws of nature and all the existing agents acting according to those laws before we can say what will happen. To assume, then, that scientific method can take everything within its cold embrace of uniformity, is to imply that the Creator cannot outstrip the intelligence of his creatures, and that the existing Universe is not infinite in extent and complexity, an assumption for which I see no logical basis whatever.
Let’s assume, at least for now, as a likely hypothesis, that everything that happens is the result of what already exists; this leads us to the question, What is? Our understanding of what exists will always be imperfect and fallible in two ways. First, we don’t know all the matter that has been created or exactly how it’s distributed in space. Second, even if we had that knowledge, we would still lack a complete understanding of how particles of matter interact with each other. The power of scientific prediction is limited to the data we have. Every conclusion is purely hypothetical and dependent on the absence of unknown factors. The law of gravity states that every body tends to move towards every other body with a certain determined force; however, even if we assume that the law is accurate, it doesn’t guarantee that a body will actually move closer. No single law of nature can allow us to make absolute predictions. We must know all the laws of nature and all the existing agents acting by those laws before we can say what will happen. Assuming that scientific method can encompass everything in its uniformity implies that the Creator cannot exceed the intelligence of His creatures and that the Universe we know is not infinite in scope and complexity, an assumption for which I see no logical foundation.
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The Indeterminate Problem of Creation.
A second and very serious misapprehension concerning the import of a law of nature may now be pointed out. It is not uncommonly supposed that a law determines the character of the results which shall take place, as, for instance, that the law of gravity determines what force of gravity shall act upon a given particle. Surely a little reflection must render it plain that a law by itself determines nothing. It is law plus agents obeying law which has results, and it is no function of law to govern or define the number and place of its own agents. Whether a particle of matter shall gravitate, depends not only upon the law of Newton, but also upon the distribution of surrounding particles. The theory of gravitation may perhaps be true throughout all time and in all parts of space, and the Creator may never find occasion to create those possible exceptions to it which I have asserted to be conceivable. Let this be as it may; our science cannot certainly determine the question. Certain it is, that the law of gravity does not alone determine the forces which may be brought to bear at any point of space. The force of gravitation acting upon any particle depends upon the mass, distance, and relative position of all the other particles of matter within the bounds of space at the instant in question. Even assuming that all matter when once distributed through space at the Creation was thenceforth to act in an invariable manner without subsequent interference, yet the actual configuration of matter at any moment, and the consequent results of the law of gravitation, must have been entirely a matter of free choice.
A second and very serious misunderstanding about the meaning of a law of nature can now be addressed. It's often assumed that a law dictates the nature of the outcomes that will occur, such as how the law of gravity determines the force acting on a particular particle. However, with a bit of thought, it becomes clear that a law by itself determines nothing. It's law plus agents following the law that produces results, and it's not the role of the law to control or specify the number and location of its own agents. Whether a particle of matter will gravitate depends not only on Newton's law but also on the arrangement of surrounding particles. The theory of gravitation might indeed hold true throughout all time and in every part of space, and the Creator might never need to create those possible exceptions that I have claimed are conceivable. Regardless, our science cannot definitively answer this question. It is clear that the law of gravity does not alone determine the forces that can act at any specific point in space. The gravitational force on any particle depends on the mass, distance, and relative position of all other matter particles in the surrounding space at that moment. Even if we assume that all matter, once distributed throughout space at Creation, was to act in a consistent manner without any future interference, the actual arrangement of matter at any moment, along with the resulting implications of the law of gravitation, would still have been entirely a matter of free choice.
Chalmers has most distinctly pointed out that the existing collocations of the material world are as important as the laws which the objects obey. He remarks that a certain class of writers entirely overlook the distinction, and forget that mere laws without collocations would have afforded no security against a turbid and disorderly chaos.604 Mill has recognised605 the truth of Chalmers’ statement, without drawing the proper inferences from741 it. He says606 of the distribution of matter through space, “We can discover nothing regular in the distribution itself; we can reduce it to no uniformity, to no law.” More lately the Duke of Argyll in his well-known work on the Reign of Law has drawn attention to the profound distinction between laws and collocations of causes.
Chalmers has clearly pointed out that the current collocations of the material world are just as important as the laws that the objects follow. He notes that some writers completely overlook this distinction and forget that mere laws without collocations wouldn’t provide any protection against a chaotic and turbulent disorder.604 Mill has acknowledged605 the validity of Chalmers’ statement, but hasn’t drawn the right conclusions from it. He mentions606 regarding the distribution of matter through space, “We can find nothing regular in the distribution itself; we can’t reduce it to any uniformity, to any law.” More recently, the Duke of Argyll in his well-known book on the Reign of Law has highlighted the significant difference between laws and collocations of causes.
The original conformation of the material universe, as far as we can tell, was free from all restriction. There was unlimited space in which to frame it, and an unlimited number of material particles, each of which could be placed in any one of an infinite number of different positions. It should be added, that each particle might be endowed with any one of an infinite number of quantities of vis viva acting in any one of an infinite number of different directions. The problem of Creation was, then, what a mathematician would call an indeterminate problem, and it was indeterminate in a great number of ways. Infinitely numerous and various universes might then have been fashioned by the various distribution of the original nebulous matter, although all the particles of matter should obey the law of gravity.
The original makeup of the material universe, as far as we know, had no limitations. There was endless space to shape it in, and an uncountable number of material particles, each of which could be positioned in any one of an infinite number of different places. It's also worth noting that each particle could possess any one of an endless number of quantities of vis viva acting in any one of an infinite number of different directions. The challenge of Creation was, therefore, what a mathematician would refer to as an indeterminate problem, and it was indeterminate in many ways. Countless and diverse universes could have been created by the different arrangements of the original nebulous matter, even though all the particles of matter would have to follow the law of gravity.
Lucretius tells us how in the original rain of atoms some of these little bodies diverged from the rectilinear direction, and coming into contact with other atoms gave rise to the various combinations of substances which exist. He omitted to tell us whence the atoms came, or by what force some of them were caused to diverge; but surely these omissions involve the whole question. I accept the Lucretian conception of creation when properly supplemented. Every atom which existed in any point of space must have existed there previously, or must have been created there by a previously existing Power. When placed there it must have had a definite mass and a definite energy. Now, as before remarked, an unlimited number of atoms can be placed in unlimited space in an unlimited number of modes of distribution. Out of infinitely infinite choices which were open to the Creator, that one choice must have been made which has yielded the Universe as it now exists.
Lucretius tells us how, in the original rain of atoms, some of these tiny particles veered off from a straight path and, by colliding with other atoms, created the various combinations of substances that exist. He didn't explain where the atoms came from or what force made some of them change direction, but these gaps are crucial to the entire question. I accept the Lucretian idea of creation when it's properly expanded upon. Every atom that exists at any point in space must have either existed there before or been created there by a previously existing force. When it was placed there, it must have had a specific mass and a specific energy. As mentioned earlier, an unlimited number of atoms can be positioned in unlimited space in countless ways. Out of the infinitely many options available to the Creator, one particular choice must have been made that resulted in the Universe as it currently exists.
It would be a mistake, indeed, to suppose that the law742 of gravity, when it holds true, is no restriction on the distribution of force. That law is a geometrical law, and it would in many cases be mathematically impossible, as far as we can see, that the force of gravity acting on one particle should be small while that on a neighbouring particle is great. We cannot conceive that even Omnipotent Power should make the angles of a triangle greater than two right angles. The primary laws of thought and the fundamental notions of the mathematical sciences do not seem to admit of error or alteration. Into the metaphysical origin and meaning of the apparent necessity attaching to such laws I have not attempted to inquire in this work, and it is not requisite for my present purpose. If the law of gravity were the only law of nature and the Creator had chosen to render all matter obedient to that law, there would doubtless be restrictions upon the effects derivable from any one distribution of matter.
It would indeed be a mistake to think that the law of gravity, when it applies, doesn't limit how force is distributed. That law is a geometrical law, and in many cases, it would be mathematically impossible for the force of gravity acting on one particle to be small while that on a neighboring particle is large. We can't imagine that even an all-powerful being could make the angles of a triangle add up to more than two right angles. The basic laws of thought and the core concepts of mathematics don't seem to allow for mistakes or changes. I haven't tried to explore the metaphysical origin and meaning of the necessity that seems to come with such laws in this work, and it's not needed for my current purpose. If the law of gravity were the only natural law and the Creator had chosen to make all matter follow that law, there would certainly be limits on the effects that could come from any one arrangement of matter.
Hierarchy of Natural Laws.
A further consideration presents itself. A natural law like that of gravity expresses a certain uniformity in the action of agents submitted to it, and this produces, as we have seen, certain geometrical restrictions upon the effects which those agents may produce. But there are other forces and laws besides gravity. One force may override another, and two laws may each be obeyed and may each disguise the action of the other. In the intimate constitution of matter there may be hidden springs which, while acting in accordance with their own fixed laws, may lead to sudden and unexpected changes. So at least it has been found from time to time in the past, and so there is every reason to believe it will be found in the future. To the ancients it seemed incredible that one lifeless stone could make another leap towards it. A piece of iron while it obeys the magnetic force of the loadstone does not the less obey the law of gravity. A plant gravitates downwards as regards every constituent cell or fibre, and yet it persists in growing upwards. Life is altogether an exception to the simpler phenomena of mineral substances, not in the sense of disproving those laws, but in superadding forces of new and inexplicable character. Doubtless no743 law of chemistry is broken by the action of the nervous cells, and no law of physics by the pulses of the nervous fibres, but something requires to be added to our sciences in order that we may explain these subtle phenomena.
Another point to consider is that a natural law like gravity shows a certain consistency in how subjects behave under it, resulting in specific geometric limitations on the effects those subjects can create. However, there are other forces and laws beyond gravity. One force can overpower another, and two laws can coexist, each masking the effect of the other. Deep within the structure of matter, there might be hidden mechanisms that, while following their own strict laws, can cause sudden and unexpected changes. History has demonstrated this from time to time, and there is every reason to think it will occur again in the future. The ancients found it hard to believe that one lifeless rock could cause another to move toward it. A piece of iron, while responding to the magnetic force of a magnet, still obeys the law of gravity. A plant grows downward as its individual cells or fibers are drawn by gravity, yet it continues to grow upward. Life is fundamentally different from the simpler behaviors of inanimate substances, not because it disproves those laws, but because it introduces new and unexplained forces. Certainly, the actions of nerve cells don't violate any chemical laws, and the signals of nerve fibers don't break any physical laws, but we need to expand our sciences to better explain these intricate phenomena.
Now there is absolutely nothing in science or in scientific method to warrant us in assigning a limit to this hierarchy of laws. When in many undoubted cases we find law overriding law, and at certain points in our experience producing unexpected results, we cannot venture to affirm that we have exhausted the strange phenomena which may have been provided for in the original constitution of matter. The Universe might have been so designed that it should go for long intervals through the same round of unvaried existence, and yet that events of exceptional character should be produced from time to time. Babbage showed in that most profound and eloquent work, The Ninth Bridgewater Treatise, that it was theoretically possible for human artists to design a machine, consisting of metallic wheels and levers, which should work invariably according to a simple law of action during any finite number of steps, and yet at a fixed moment, however distant, should manifest a single breach of law. Such an engine might go on counting, for instance, the natural numbers until they would reach a number requiring for its expression a hundred million digits. “If every letter in the volume now before the reader’s eyes,” says Babbage,607 “were changed into a figure, and if all the figures contained in a thousand such volumes were arranged in order, the whole together would yet fall far short of the vast induction the observer would have had in favour of the truth of the law of natural numbers.... Yet shall the engine, true to the prediction of its director, after the lapse of myriads of ages, fulfil its task, and give that one, the first and only exception to that time-sanctioned law. What would have been the chances against the appearance of the excepted case, immediately prior to its occurrence?”
Now, there’s absolutely nothing in science or the scientific method to justify placing a limit on this hierarchy of laws. When we see law overriding law in many clear cases, and at certain points in our experience producing unexpected outcomes, we can’t confidently say that we’ve seen all the strange phenomena that might be inherent in the original makeup of matter. The Universe might have been designed to go through long stretches of unchanged existence, only to have exceptional events occur from time to time. Babbage demonstrated in his profound and eloquent work, The Ninth Bridgewater Treatise, that it was theoretically possible for human creators to design a machine made of metal wheels and levers that could operate consistently according to a simple law for any finite number of steps, yet at a specific moment—no matter how far off—could show a single break in that law. Such a machine could, for instance, continue counting natural numbers until it reached a number requiring a hundred million digits to express. “If every letter in the volume now before the reader’s eyes,” says Babbage,607 “were changed into a figure, and if all the figures contained in a thousand such volumes were arranged in order, the whole together would yet fall far short of the vast induction the observer would have had in favour of the truth of the law of natural numbers.... Yet shall the engine, true to the prediction of its director, after the lapse of myriads of ages, fulfil its task, and give that one, the first and only exception to that time-sanctioned law. What would have been the chances against the appearance of the excepted case, immediately prior to its occurrence?”
As Babbage further showed,608 a calculating engine, after proceeding through any required number of motions according to a first law, may be made suddenly to suffer a change, so that it shall then commence to calculate744 according to a wholly new law. After giving the natural numbers for a finite time, it might suddenly begin to give triangular, or square, or cube numbers, and these changes might be conceived theoretically as occurring time after time. Now if such occurrences can be designed and foreseen by a human artist, it is surely within the capacity of the Divine Artist to provide for analogous changes of law in the mechanism of the atom, or the construction of the heavens.
As Babbage further demonstrated,608 a calculating engine, after going through any required number of operations according to an initial rule, can suddenly change, allowing it to start calculating744 based on a completely new rule. After generating natural numbers for a certain period, it might abruptly switch to producing triangular, square, or cube numbers, and these changes could be theoretically imagined to happen repeatedly. If a human designer can plan and anticipate such occurrences, it's certainly within the realm of the Divine Designer to account for similar changes in the laws governing atomic structures or the formation of the cosmos.
Physical science, so far as its highest speculations can be trusted, gives some indication of a change of law in the past history of the Universe. According to Sir W. Thomson’s deductions from Fourier’s Theory of Heat, we can trace down the dissipation of heat by conduction and radiation to an infinitely distant time when all things will be uniformly cold. But we cannot similarly trace the heat-history of the Universe to an infinite distance in the past. For a certain negative value of the time the formulæ give impossible values, indicating that there was some initial distribution of heat which could not have resulted, according to known laws of nature,609 from any previous distribution.610 There are other cases in which a consideration of the dissipation of energy leads to the conception of a limit to the antiquity of the present order of things.611 Human science, of course, is fallible, and some oversight or erroneous simplification in these theoretical calculations may afterwards be discovered; but as the present state of scientific knowledge is the only ground on which erroneous inferences from the uniformity of nature and the supposed reign of law are founded, I am right in appealing to the present state of science in opposition to these inferences. Now the theory of heat places us in the dilemma either of745 believing in Creation at an assignable date in the past, or else of supposing that some inexplicable change in the working of natural laws then took place. Physical science gives no countenance to the notion of infinite duration of matter in one continuous course of existence. And if in time past there has been a discontinuity of law, why may there not be a similar event awaiting the world in the future? Infinite ingenuity could have implanted some agency in matter so that it might never yet have made its tremendous powers manifest. We have a very good theory of the conservation of energy, but the foremost physicists do not deny that there may possibly be forms of energy, neither kinetic nor potential, and therefore of unknown nature.612
Physical science, as far as we can trust its most advanced theories, suggests there has been a change in the laws governing the Universe's past. According to Sir W. Thomson’s conclusions from Fourier’s Theory of Heat, we can track the loss of heat through conduction and radiation back to an infinitely distant time when everything will be evenly cold. However, we can't trace the heat history of the Universe back infinitely. For a certain negative time value, the equations yield impossible results, indicating that there was some initial heat distribution that couldn't logically have arisen, according to known natural laws, from any previous distribution. There are other instances where examining energy loss leads us to the idea that there’s a limit to how old our current system can be. Human science is certainly fallible, and future discoveries may reveal mistakes or oversimplifications in these theoretical calculations; however, since our current scientific understanding is the only basis for the flawed inferences drawn from the uniformity of nature and the assumed dominance of law, I’m justified in referencing the current state of science against those inferences. The heat theory confronts us with a choice: we either accept that Creation happened at a specific time in the past or we suggest that there was some inexplicable change in how natural laws operated at that time. Physical science does not support the idea of matter having existed infinitely in a continuous timeline. If there were a break in the law in the past, why couldn’t there be a similar occurrence waiting for us in the future? It’s conceivable that some intelligence could have instilled a force in matter that hasn’t yet revealed its enormous potential. We have a solid theory regarding energy conservation, but leading physicists acknowledge that there could be types of energy that are neither kinetic nor potential, and thus of an unknown nature.
We can imagine reasoning creatures dwelling in a world where the atmosphere was a mixture of oxygen and inflammable gas like the fire-damp of coal-mines. If devoid of fire, they might have lived through long ages unconscious of the tremendous forces which a single spark would call into play. In the twinkling of an eye new laws might come into action, and the poor reasoning creatures, so confident about their knowledge of the reign of law in their world, would have no time to speculate upon the overthrow of all their theories. Can we with our finite knowledge be sure that such an overthrow of our theories is impossible?
We can imagine intelligent beings living in a world where the air was a mix of oxygen and flammable gas, similar to the fire-damp found in coal mines. If they had no fire, they might have existed for ages without realizing the incredible forces that a single spark could unleash. In an instant, new laws might come into effect, and these beings, so sure of their understanding of the laws governing their world, would have no time to ponder the collapse of all their theories. With our limited knowledge, can we be certain that such a collapse of our theories is impossible?
The Ambiguous Expression, “Uniformity of Nature.”
I have asserted that serious misconception arises from an erroneous interpretation of the expression Uniformity of Nature. Every law of nature is the statement of a certain uniformity observed to exist among phenomena, and since the laws of nature are invariably obeyed, it seems to follow that the course of nature itself is uniform, so that we can safely judge of the future by the present. This inference is supported by some of the results of physical astronomy. Laplace proved that the planetary system is stable, so that no perturbation which planet produces upon planet can become so great as to cause disruption and permanent alteration of the planetary orbits. A full comprehension746 of the law of gravity shows that all such disturbances are essentially periodic, so that after the lapse of millions of years the planets will return to the same relative positions, and a new cycle of disturbances will then commence.
I've argued that a serious misunderstanding comes from misinterpreting the phrase "Uniformity of Nature." Every natural law expresses a specific uniformity observed in phenomena, and since these laws of nature are consistently followed, it seems logical to assume that nature itself behaves uniformly, allowing us to predict the future based on the present. This conclusion is backed by some findings in physical astronomy. Laplace demonstrated that the planetary system is stable, meaning that no disturbance a planet causes on another can become so significant as to lead to disruption and permanent change in the planetary orbits. A complete understanding of the law of gravity reveals that all such disturbances are essentially periodic, so after millions of years, the planets will return to the same relative positions, and a new cycle of disturbances will then begin.
As other branches of science progress, we seem to gain assurance that no great alteration of the world’s condition is to be expected. Conflict with a comet has long been the cause of fear, but now it is credibly asserted that we have passed through a comet’s tail without the fact being known at the time, or manifested by any more serious a phenomenon than a slight luminosity of the sky. More recently still the earth is said to have touched the comet Biela, and the only result was a beautiful and perfectly harmless display of meteors. A decrease in the heating power of the sun seems to be the next most probable circumstance from which we might fear the extinction of life on the earth. But calculations founded on reasonable physical data show that no appreciable change can be going on, and experimental data to indicate a change are wholly wanting. Geological investigations show indeed that there have been extensive variations of climate in past times; vast glaciers and icebergs have swept over the temperate regions at one time, and tropical vegetation has flourished near the poles at another time. But here again the vicissitudes of climate assume a periodic character, so that the stability of the earth’s condition does not seem to be threatened.
As other branches of science advance, we seem to feel more confident that no major changes in the world’s condition are expected. Fear of a collision with a comet has been a long-standing worry, but it’s now credible that we’ve passed through a comet's tail without anyone knowing at the time, and it only resulted in a slight glow in the sky. More recently, it’s said that Earth grazed the comet Biela, and the only outcome was a stunning and completely harmless display of meteors. The next concern that might lead us to fear the extinction of life on Earth is a decrease in the sun’s heat. However, calculations based on solid physical data indicate that no significant change is occurring, and there is no experimental evidence to suggest otherwise. Geological studies show that there have indeed been significant climate variations in the past; massive glaciers and icebergs have once covered temperate regions, while tropical plants have thrived near the poles at different times. Yet, in this case, climate changes appear to be periodic, which suggests that the stability of the Earth’s condition isn't under threat.
All these statements may be reasonable, but they do not establish the Uniformity of Nature in the sense that extensive alterations or sudden catastrophes are impossible. In the first place, Laplace’s theory of the stability of the planetary system is of an abstract character, as paying regard to nothing but the mutual gravitation of the planetary bodies and the sun. It overlooks several physical causes of change and decay in the system which were not so well known in his day as at present, and it also presupposes the absence of any interruption of the course of things by conflict with foreign astronomical bodies.
All these statements might make sense, but they don’t prove that the nature of the universe is uniform in a way that makes significant changes or sudden disasters impossible. First off, Laplace’s theory about the stability of the planetary system is quite abstract. It only considers the gravitational interactions between the planets and the sun. It ignores several physical factors that can cause changes and decay in the system, which weren't as well understood in his time as they are now, and it also assumes that there’s no interference from external astronomical bodies.
It is now acknowledged by astronomers that there are at least two ways in which the vis viva of the planets and satellites may suffer loss. The friction of the tides upon the earth produces a small quantity of heat which is radiated into space, and this loss of energy must result in a747 decrease of the rotational velocity, so that ultimately the terrestrial day will become identical with the year, just as the periods of revolution of the moon upon its axis and around the earth have already become equal. Secondly, there can be little doubt that certain manifestations of electricity upon the earth’s surface depend upon the relative motions of the planets and the sun, which give rise to periods of increased intensity. Such electrical phenomena must result in the production and dissipation of heat, the energy of which must be drawn, partially at least, from the moving bodies. This effect is probably identical (p. 570) with the loss of energy of comets attributed to the so-called resisting medium. But whatever be the theoretical explanation of these phenomena, it is almost certain that there exists a tendency to the dissipation of the energy of the planetary system, which will, in the indefinite course of time, result in the fall of the planets into the sun.
Astronomers now recognize that there are at least two ways the vis viva of planets and satellites can be lost. The friction of the tides on Earth generates a small amount of heat that radiates into space, and this energy loss must lead to a decrease in rotational speed, meaning that eventually, a day on Earth will match its year, similar to how the moon's rotation on its axis and its orbit around Earth have already synchronized. Additionally, it’s clear that some electrical activities on Earth depend on the relative movements of the planets and the sun, producing periods of increased intensity. These electrical phenomena must create and dissipate heat, drawing at least some of that energy from the moving bodies. This effect is likely similar (p. 570) to the energy loss of comets attributed to the so-called resisting medium. Regardless of the theoretical explanation for these phenomena, it’s almost certain that there is a tendency for energy dissipation in the planetary system, which will, over an indefinite period, lead to the planets eventually falling into the sun.
It is hardly probable, however, that the planetary system will be left undisturbed throughout the enormous interval of time required for the dissipation of its energy in this way. Conflict with other bodies is so far from being improbable, that it becomes approximately certain when we take very long intervals of time into account. As regards cometary conflicts, I am by no means satisfied with the negative conclusions drawn from the remarkable display on the evening of the 27th of November, 1872. We may often have passed through the tail of a comet, the light of which is probably an electrical manifestation no more substantial than the aurora borealis. Every remarkable shower of shooting stars may also be considered as proceeding from a cometary body, so that we may be said to have passed through the thinner parts of innumerable comets. But the earth has probably never passed, in times of which we have any record, through the nucleus of a comet, which consists perhaps of a dense swarm of small meteorites. We can only speculate upon the effects which might be produced by such a conflict, but it would probably be a much more serious event than any yet registered in history. The probability of its occurrence, too, cannot be assigned; for though the probability of conflict with any one cometary nucleus is almost infinitesimal, yet the number of comets is immensely great (p. 408).
It’s highly unlikely that the planetary system will remain undisturbed over the vast amount of time it takes for its energy to dissipate this way. Conflicts with other bodies are not just possible; they become nearly certain when we consider very long time spans. Regarding collisions with comets, I’m not at all convinced by the negative conclusions based on the impressive display on the evening of November 27, 1872. We might often have passed through the tail of a comet, which is probably just an electrical phenomenon no more solid than the Northern Lights. Every significant meteor shower could also originate from a comet, meaning we have likely traversed the more diluted parts of countless comets. However, the Earth has likely never passed through the core of a comet, which is possibly a dense cluster of small meteorites, during any recorded period. We can only guess at the effects that such a conflict might cause, but it would probably be a much more serious event than any recorded in history. The likelihood of it happening is hard to define; while the chance of encountering any single comet nucleus is almost negligible, the sheer number of comets is tremendously high (p. 408).
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It is far from impossible, again, that the planetary system may be invaded by bodies of greater mass than comets. The sun seems to be placed in so extensive a portion of empty space that its own proper motion would not bring it to the nearest known star (α Centauri) in less than 139,200 years. But in order to be sure that this interval of undisturbed life is granted to our globe, we must prove that there are no stars moving so as to meet us, and no dark bodies of considerable size flying through intervening space unknown to us. The intrusion of comets into our system, and the fact that many of them have hyperbolic paths, is sufficient to show that the surrounding parts of space are occupied by multitudes of dark bodies of some size. It is quite probable that small suns may have cooled sufficiently to become non-luminous; for even if we discredit the theory that the variation of brightness of periodic stars is due to the revolution of dark companion stars, yet there is in our own globe an unquestionable example of a smaller body which has cooled below the luminous point.
It’s definitely not impossible that our planetary system could be visited by larger bodies than comets. The sun seems to be situated in such a vast area of empty space that its own movement wouldn’t take it to the nearest known star (α Centauri) for at least 139,200 years. However, to be sure that our planet has this long period of undisturbed life, we need to confirm that there are no stars moving toward us and no large dark bodies flying through the space we can’t see. The entry of comets into our system, and the fact that many of them follow hyperbolic paths, indicates that the surrounding space is filled with many dark bodies of some size. It’s quite likely that small suns may have cooled enough to stop shining; even if we reject the idea that the brightness changes of periodic stars are due to dark companion stars orbiting them, we have a clear example on our own planet of a smaller body that has cooled below its luminous point.
Altogether, then, it is a mere assumption that the uniformity of nature involves the unaltered existence of our own globe. There is no kind of catastrophe which is too great or too sudden to be theoretically consistent with the reign of law. For all that our science can tell, human history may be closed in the next instant of time. The world may be dashed to pieces against a wandering star; it may be involved in a nebulous atmosphere of hydrogen to be exploded a second afterwards; it may be scorched up or dissipated into vapour by some great explosion in the sun; there might even be within the globe itself some secret cause of disruption, which only needs time for its manifestation.
So, it’s just an assumption that the consistency of nature means our planet will stay the same. There’s no disaster too massive or sudden that wouldn’t theoretically fit into the law of nature. For all we know, human history could end in the next moment. The Earth could be shattered by a passing star; it could get caught in a cloud of hydrogen and explode a second later; it could get burned up or vaporized by a huge explosion from the sun; there might even be some hidden cause of destruction within the planet itself, just waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.
There are some indications, as already noticed (p. 660), that violent disturbances have actually occurred in the history of the solar system. Olbers sought for the minor planets on the supposition that they were fragments of an exploded planet, and he was rewarded with the discovery of some of them. The retrograde motion of the satellites of the more distant planets, the abnormal position of the poles of Uranus and the excessive distance of Neptune, are other indications of some violent event, of which we have749 no other evidence. I adduce all these facts and arguments, not to show that there is any considerable probability, as far as we can judge, of interruption within the scope of human history, but to prove that the Uniformity of Nature is theoretically consistent with the most unexpected events of which we can form a conception.
There are signs, as previously noted (p. 660), that violent disturbances have actually happened in the history of the solar system. Olbers looked for minor planets thinking they were pieces of a planet that had exploded, and he found some. The backward motion of the moons of the more distant planets, the strange position of Uranus's poles, and Neptune's great distance are other signs of some violent event, for which we have749 no other evidence. I present all these facts and arguments not to suggest that there’s any significant likelihood, as far as we can tell, of a disruption within human history, but to demonstrate that the Uniformity of Nature can theoretically accommodate the most unexpected events we can imagine.
Possible States of the Universe.
When we give the rein to scientific imagination, it becomes apparent that conflict of body with body must not be regarded as the rare exception, but as the general rule and the inevitable fate of each star system. So far as we can trace out the results of the law of gravitation, and of the dissipation of energy, the universe must be regarded as undergoing gradual condensation into a single cold solid body of gigantic dimensions. Those who so frequently use the expression Uniformity of Nature seem to forget that the Universe might exist consistently with the laws of nature in the most diverse conditions. It might consist, on the one hand, of a glowing nebulous mass of gaseous substances. The heat might be so intense that all elements, even carbon and silicon, would be in the state of gas, and all atoms, of whatever nature, would be flying about in chemical independence, diffusing themselves almost uniformly in the neighbouring parts of space. There would then be no life, unless we can apply that name to the passage through each part of space of similar average trains of atoms, the particular succession of atoms being governed only by the theory of probability, and the law of divergence from a mean exhibited in the Arithmetical Triangle. Such a universe would correspond partially to the Lucretian rain of atoms, and to that nebular hypothesis out of which Laplace proposed philosophically to explain the evolution of the planetary system.
When we let scientific imagination run wild, it becomes clear that the conflict between bodies isn't a rare exception but the usual state of affairs and the unavoidable destiny of each star system. As we can trace the consequences of the law of gravitation and the dissipation of energy, we must see the universe as gradually condensing into a single cold solid mass of immense size. Those who often talk about the Uniformity of Nature seem to overlook that the Universe could exist in many different conditions while still adhering to the laws of nature. It could, for instance, be a glowing, nebulous mass of gas. The heat might be so intense that all elements, even carbon and silicon, would exist in gas form, with all types of atoms zipping around freely, spreading themselves almost evenly throughout the surrounding space. In such a scenario, there would be no life unless we could call the movement of similar average groups of atoms through each area of space 'life,' with the specific sequence of atoms determined solely by probability and the law of divergence from an average shown in the Arithmetical Triangle. This kind of universe would be similar in some ways to the Lucretian theory of atom rain and the nebular hypothesis that Laplace proposed as a philosophical explanation for the development of the planetary system.
According to another extreme supposition, the intense heat-energy of this nebulous mass might be radiated away into the unknown regions of outer space. The attraction of gravity would exert itself between each two particles, and the energy of motion thence arising would, by incessant conflicts, be resolved into heat and dissipated.750 Inconceivable ages might be required for the completion of this process, but the dissipation of energy thus proceeding could end only in the production of a cold and motionless universe. The relation of cause and effect, as we see it manifested in life and growth, would degenerate into the constant existence of every particle in a fixed position relative to every other particle. Logical and geometrical resemblances would still exist between atoms, and between groups of atoms crystallised in their appropriate forms for evermore. But time, the great variable, would bring no variation, and as to human hopes and troubles, they would have gone to eternal rest.
According to another extreme theory, the intense heat energy of this cloud of gas could radiate away into the unknown areas of outer space. Gravity would pull between every two particles, and the motion that resulted would, through constant collisions, turn into heat and be lost. Unimaginable ages might be needed for this process to complete, but the energy loss happening this way could only lead to a cold and motionless universe. The relationship between cause and effect, as we observe in life and growth, would deteriorate into the constant presence of each particle in a fixed position relative to every other particle. Logical and geometric similarities would still exist between atoms, as well as between groups of atoms that formed their appropriate structures forever. But time, the great variable, would bring no change, and as for human hopes and troubles, they would have faded into eternal rest.750
Science is not really adequate to proving that such is the inevitable fate of the universe, for we can seldom trust our best-established theories far from their data. Nevertheless, the most probable speculations which we can form as to the history, especially of our own planetary system, is that it originated in a heated revolving nebulous mass of gas, and is in a state of excessively slow progress towards the cold and stony condition. Other speculative hypotheses might doubtless be entertained. Every hypothesis is pressed by difficulties. If the whole universe be cooling, whither does the heat go? If we are to get rid of it entirely, outer space must be infinite in extent, so that it shall never be stopped and reflected back. But not to speak of metaphysical difficulties, if the medium of heat undulations be infinite in extent, why should not the material bodies placed in it be infinite also in number and aggregate mass? It is apparent that we are venturing into speculations which surpass our powers of scientific inference. But then I am arguing negatively; I wish to show that those who speak of the uniformity of nature, and the reign of law, misinterpret the meaning involved in those expressions. Law is not inconsistent with extreme diversity, and, so far as we can read the history of this planetary system, it did probably originate in heated nebulous matter, and man’s history forms but a brief span in its progress towards the cold and stony condition. It is by doubtful and speculative hypotheses alone that we can avoid such a conclusion, and I depart least from undoubted facts and well-established laws when I assert that, whatever uniformities may underlie the phenomena of nature,751 constant variety and ever-progressing change is the real outcome.
Science isn't really enough to prove that this is the inevitable fate of the universe, since we can rarely trust our most established theories far from their data. Still, the most likely idea we can form about the history, particularly of our own planetary system, is that it started from a heated, rotating cloud of gas and is slowly moving toward a cold and rocky state. Other potential theories could certainly be considered. Every theory faces challenges. If the entire universe is cooling down, where does the heat go? If we are to get rid of it completely, outer space must be infinite, so it can't be stopped or reflected back. Not to mention, if the medium of heat waves is infinite, why shouldn’t the material bodies within it be infinite in number and mass as well? It's clear that we are diving into speculations that go beyond our capabilities for scientific reasoning. However, I'm arguing against a point; I want to show that those who talk about the uniformity of nature and the rule of law misunderstand the meaning behind those terms. Law is not at odds with extreme diversity, and as far as we can understand the history of this planetary system, it likely began from heated, nebulous matter, with human history being just a brief moment in its journey toward a cold and rocky condition. We can only avoid this conclusion with questionable and speculative theories, and I stray least from undeniable facts and well-established laws when I assert that, regardless of the uniformities that may underlie natural phenomena,751 constant variety and ongoing change is the true outcome.
Speculations on the Reconcentration of Energy.
There are unequivocal indications, as I have said, that the material universe, as we at present see it, is progressing from some act of creation, or some discontinuity of existence of which the date may be approximately fixed by scientific inference. It is progressing towards a state in which the available energy of matter will be dissipated through infinite surrounding space, and all matter will become cold and lifeless. This constitutes, as it were, the historical period of physical science, that over which our scientific foresight may more or less extend. But in this, as in other cases, we have no right to interpret our experience negatively, so as to infer that because the present state of things began at a particular time, there was no previous existence. It may be that the present period of material existence is but one of an indefinite series of like periods. All that we can see, and feel, and infer, and reason about may be, as it were, but a part of one single pulsation in the existence of the universe.
There are clear signs, as I've mentioned, that the material universe, as we currently understand it, is evolving from a certain act of creation, or some break in existence which can be roughly dated through scientific reasoning. It is moving toward a state where the energy available in matter will be spread out across infinite surrounding space, and all matter will become cold and lifeless. This represents, in a sense, the historical phase of physical science, the one over which our scientific prediction can extend to some degree. However, in this, as in other scenarios, we shouldn't interpret our experiences negatively, implying that because the current state of affairs started at a specific time, there was no existence before it. It's possible that the current period of material existence is just one of an endless series of similar periods. Everything we can see, feel, infer, and reason about may just be, in a way, part of a single pulse in the existence of the universe.
After Sir W. Thomson had pointed out the preponderating tendency which now seems to exist towards the conversion of all energy into heat-energy, and its equal diffusion by radiation throughout space, the late Professor Rankine put forth a remarkable speculation.613 He suggested that the ethereal, or, as I have called it, the adamantine medium in which all the stars exist, and all radiation takes place, may have bounds, beyond which only empty space exists. All heat undulations reaching this boundary will be totally reflected, according to the theory of undulations, and will be reconcentrated into foci situated in various parts of the medium. Whenever a cold and extinct star happens to pass through one of these foci, it will be instantly ignited and resolved by intense heat into its constituent elements. Discontinuity will occur in the history of that portion of matter, and the star will begin its history afresh with a renewed store of energy.
After Sir W. Thomson pointed out the strong tendency that now seems to exist for all energy to be converted into heat energy and evenly spread out by radiation throughout space, the late Professor Rankine proposed an interesting idea.613 He suggested that the ethereal, or what I’ve referred to as the adamantine medium where all the stars exist and all radiation happens might have limits, beyond which there's just empty space. All heat waves reaching this boundary will be completely reflected, according to the theory of waves, and will focus back into points in various parts of the medium. Whenever a cold and dead star passes through one of these points, it will be instantly reignited and broken down by intense heat into its basic elements. A break will happen in the history of that piece of matter, and the star will start its journey again with a renewed supply of energy.
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This is doubtless a mere speculation, practically incapable of verification by observation, and almost free from restrictions afforded by present knowledge. We might attribute various shapes to the adamantine medium, and the consequences would be various. But there is this value in such speculations, that they draw attention to the finiteness of our knowledge. We cannot deny the possible truth of such an hypothesis, nor can we place a limit to the scientific imagination in the framing of other like hypotheses. It is impossible, indeed, to follow out our scientific inferences without falling into speculation. If heat be radiated into outward space, it must either proceed ad infinitum, or it must be stopped somewhere. In the latter case we fall upon Rankine’s hypothesis. But if the material universe consist of a finite collection of heated matter situated in a finite portion of an infinite adamantine medium, then either this universe must have existed for a finite time, or else it must have cooled down during the infinity of past time indefinitely near to the absolute zero of temperature. I objected to Lucretius’ argument against the destructibility of matter, that we have no knowledge whatever of the laws according to which it would undergo destruction. But we do know the laws according to which the dissipation of heat appears to proceed, and the conclusion inevitably is that a finite heated material body placed in a perfectly cold infinitely extended medium would in an infinite time sink to zero of temperature. Now our own world is not yet cooled down near to zero, so that physical science seems to place us in the dilemma of admitting either the finiteness of past duration of the world, or else the finiteness of the portion of medium in which we exist. In either case we become involved in metaphysical and mechanical difficulties surpassing our mental powers.
This is probably just speculation, nearly impossible to verify through observation, and mostly unrestrained by our current knowledge. We could assign different shapes to the unbreakable medium, which would lead to different outcomes. However, there's a benefit to such speculations: they highlight the limits of what we know. We can't dismiss the potential truth of such a hypothesis, nor can we constrain scientific imagination in creating similar hypotheses. It's actually impossible to follow our scientific inferences without veering into speculation. If heat radiates into space, it must either go on forever or stop at some point. In the latter case, we encounter Rankine’s hypothesis. But if the material universe is made up of a finite collection of heated matter within a finite portion of an infinite unbreakable medium, then this universe must have either existed for a finite time or cooled down for an infinite amount of past time, getting indefinitely close to absolute zero temperature. I challenged Lucretius’ argument against the destructibility of matter by saying we have no knowledge of the laws governing its destruction. However, we do understand the laws that seem to govern heat dissipation, leading us to the conclusion that a finite heated object in an infinitely large cold medium would eventually reach zero temperature over an infinite time. Our world has not yet cooled down near to zero, so physical science presents us with the dilemma of either accepting the finiteness of the world’s past duration or the finiteness of the medium in which we exist. In both cases, we encounter metaphysical and mechanical challenges that exceed our mental capabilities.
The Divergent Scope for New Discovery.
In the writings of some recent philosophers, especially of Auguste Comte, and in some degree John Stuart Mill, there is an erroneous and hurtful tendency to represent our knowledge as assuming an approximately complete character. At least these and many other writers fail to753 impress upon their readers a truth which cannot be too constantly borne in mind, namely, that the utmost successes which our scientific method can accomplish will not enable us to comprehend more than an infinitesimal fraction of what there doubtless is to comprehend.614 Professor Tyndall seems to me open to the same charge in a less degree. He remarks615 that we can probably never bring natural phenomena completely under mathematical laws, because the approach of our sciences towards completeness may be asymptotic, so that however far we may go, there may still remain some facts not subject to scientific explanation. He thus likens the supply of novel phenomena to a convergent series, the earlier and larger terms of which have been successfully disposed of, so that comparatively minor groups of phenomena alone remain for future investigators to occupy themselves upon.
In the writings of some recent philosophers, especially Auguste Comte, and to some extent John Stuart Mill, there's a misleading and harmful tendency to suggest that our knowledge is nearly complete. These writers, along with many others, fail to emphasize a truth that should always be remembered: that even the greatest successes of our scientific methods will only allow us to understand an incredibly small fraction of what there is to know. Professor Tyndall seems to fall into the same trap, though to a lesser extent. He points out that we probably can never fully explain natural phenomena with mathematical laws because our sciences may only approach completeness asymptotically, meaning that no matter how far we advance, there will likely still be some facts that can't be scientifically explained. He compares the discovery of new phenomena to a convergent series, where the earlier and larger cases have been successfully addressed, leaving just a few lesser groups of phenomena for future researchers to explore.
On the contrary, as it appears to me, the supply of new and unexplained facts is divergent in extent, so that the more we have explained, the more there is to explain. The further we advance in any generalisation, the more numerous and intricate are the exceptional cases still demanding further treatment. The experiments of Boyle, Mariotte, Dalton, Gay-Lussac, and others, upon the physical properties of gases, might seem to have exhausted that subject by showing that all gases obey the same laws as regards temperature, pressure, and volume. But in reality these laws are only approximately true, and the divergences afford a wide and quite unexhausted field for further generalisation. The recent discoveries of Professor Andrews have summed up some of these exceptional facts under a wider generalisation, but in reality they have opened to us vast new regions of interesting inquiry, and they leave wholly untouched the question why one gas behaves differently from another.
On the other hand, it seems to me that the availability of new and unexplained facts is vast, so that the more we understand, the more there is to figure out. As we make progress in any generalization, the number and complexity of the exceptional cases that still need attention only increase. The experiments conducted by Boyle, Mariotte, Dalton, Gay-Lussac, and others on the physical properties of gases might seem to have covered that topic by demonstrating that all gases follow the same laws concerning temperature, pressure, and volume. However, these laws are only roughly accurate, and the discrepancies present a large and totally unexplored area for further generalization. The recent findings of Professor Andrews have summarized some of these exceptional facts under a broader generalization, but in reality, they have opened up vast new areas of fascinating inquiry and leave the question of why one gas behaves differently from another completely unanswered.
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The science of crystallography is that perhaps in which the most precise and general laws have been detected, but it would be untrue to assert that it has lessened the area of future discovery. We can show that each one of the seven or eight hundred forms of calcite is derivable by geometrical modifications from an hexagonal prism; but who has attempted to explain the molecular forces producing these modifications, or the chemical conditions in which they arise? The law of isomorphism is an important generalisation, for it establishes a general resemblance between the forms of crystallisation of natural classes of elements. But if we examine a little more closely we find that these forms are only approximately alike, and the divergence peculiar to each substance is an unexplained exception.
The science of crystallography is one where we've detected some of the most precise and broad laws, but it wouldn't be accurate to say it has reduced the potential for future discoveries. We can demonstrate that each of the seven or eight hundred forms of calcite can be derived through geometric modifications from a hexagonal prism. However, who has tried to explain the molecular forces that cause these modifications, or the chemical conditions in which they occur? The law of isomorphism is an important concept, as it establishes a general similarity between the crystallization forms of natural classes of elements. Yet, if we look a little closer, we find that these forms are only approximately similar, and the unique differences of each substance are still unexplained exceptions.
By many similar illustrations it might readily be shown that in whatever direction we extend our investigations and successfully harmonise a few facts, the result is only to raise up a host of other unexplained facts. Can any scientific man venture to state that there is less opening now for new discoveries than there was three centuries ago? Is it not rather true that we have but to open a scientific book and read a page or two, and we shall come to some recorded phenomenon of which no explanation can yet be given? In every such fact there is a possible opening for new discoveries, and it can only be the fault of the investigator’s mind if he can look around him and find no scope for the exercise of his faculties.
Through many similar examples, it can easily be shown that whenever we delve into our investigations and manage to link a few facts together, it only leads to a whole bunch of other unexplained facts. Can any scientist honestly say that there are fewer opportunities for new discoveries now than there were three centuries ago? Isn’t it more accurate to say that if we just open a scientific book and read a page or two, we will come across some documented phenomenon that still lacks an explanation? In every such fact, there exists a potential pathway for new discoveries, and it’s solely the investigator’s mindset that determines whether they can look around and find opportunities to use their skills.
Infinite Incompleteness of the Mathematical Sciences.
There is one privilege which a certain amount of knowledge should confer; it is that of becoming aware of the weakness of our powers compared with the tasks which they might undertake if stronger. To the poor savage who cannot count twenty the arithmetical accomplishments of the schoolboy are miraculously great. The schoolboy cannot comprehend the vastly greater powers of the student, who has acquired facility in algebraic processes. The student can but look with feelings of surprise and reverence at the powers of a Newton or a Laplace. But the question at once suggests itself, Do the powers of the highest human intellect bear a finite ratio to the things which are to be755 understood and calculated? How many further steps must we take in the rise of mental ability and the extension of mathematical methods before we begin to exhaust the knowable?
There’s one privilege that a decent amount of knowledge should give us: the understanding of how limited our abilities are compared to what they could achieve if they were stronger. To the uneducated person who can’t count to twenty, a schoolboy’s math skills seem incredibly advanced. The schoolboy can't grasp the much greater skills of a student who has mastered algebra. The student can only look in awe at the capabilities of a Newton or a Laplace. But immediately, a question arises: do the abilities of the most brilliant human minds relate in a finite way to the things we need to understand and calculate? How many more advancements in mental capacity and mathematical techniques must we achieve before we start to exhaust what is knowable?
I am inclined to find fault with mathematical writers because they often exult in what they can accomplish, and omit to point out that what they do is but an infinitely small part of what might be done. They exhibit a general inclination, with few exceptions, not to do so much as mention the existence of problems of an impracticable character. This may be excusable as far as the immediate practical result of their researches is in question, but the custom has the effect of misleading the general public into the fallacious notion that mathematics is a perfect science, which accomplishes what it undertakes in a complete manner. On the contrary, it may be said that if a mathematical problem were selected by chance out of the whole number which might be proposed, the probability is infinitely slight that a human mathematician could solve it. Just as the numbers we can count are nothing compared with the numbers which might exist, so the accomplishments of a Laplace or a Lagrange are, as it were, the little corner of the multiplication-table, which has really an infinite extent.
I'm often critical of math writers because they tend to boast about their achievements while neglecting to mention that their work represents only a tiny fraction of what could potentially be done. With a few exceptions, they generally avoid even acknowledging the existence of impractical problems. This might be understandable when considering the immediate practical outcomes of their research, but it misleads the public into believing that mathematics is a perfect science, capable of fully solving every problem it takes on. In reality, if you randomly picked a mathematical problem from all those that could be proposed, the chances are extremely low that a human mathematician would be able to solve it. Just as the numbers we can count are minuscule compared to the total possible numbers, the achievements of someone like Laplace or Lagrange are merely a small corner of what is essentially an infinite multiplication table.
I have pointed out that the rude character of our observations prevents us from being aware of the greater number of effects and actions in nature. It must be added that, if we perceive them, we should usually be incapable of including them in our theories from want of mathematical power. Some persons may be surprised that though nearly two centuries have elapsed since the time of Newton’s discoveries, we have yet no general theory of molecular action. Some approximations have been made towards such a theory. Joule and Clausius have measured the velocity of gaseous atoms, or even determined the average distance between the collisions of atom and atom. Thomson has approximated to the number of atoms in a given bulk of substance. Rankine has formed some reasonable hypotheses as to the actual constitution of atoms. It would be a mistake to suppose that these ingenious results of theory and experiment form any appreciable approach to a complete solution of molecular motions.756 There is every reason to believe, judging from the spectra of the elements, their atomic weights and other data, that chemical atoms are very complicated structures. An atom of pure iron is probably a far more complicated system than that of the planets and their satellites. A compound atom may perhaps be compared with a stellar system, each star a minor system in itself. The smallest particle of solid substance will consist of a great number of such stellar systems united in regular order, each bounded by the other, communicating with it in some manner yet wholly incomprehensible. What are our mathematical powers in comparison with this problem?
I’ve pointed out that the rough nature of our observations keeps us from recognizing the larger number of effects and actions in nature. Additionally, even if we did notice them, we would often lack the mathematical skills to fit them into our theories. Some people might be surprised that nearly two centuries after Newton’s discoveries, we still don’t have a general theory of molecular action. Some progress has been made toward such a theory. Joule and Clausius have measured the speed of gas atoms and even figured out the average distance between atom collisions. Thomson has estimated the number of atoms in a given amount of substance. Rankine has proposed reasonable hypotheses about the actual structure of atoms. It would be a mistake to think that these clever results from theory and experiment get us anywhere near a complete understanding of molecular motions.756 There’s strong reason to believe, based on the spectra of elements, their atomic weights, and other data, that chemical atoms are very complex structures. An atom of pure iron is probably a much more complicated system than the planets and their satellites. A compound atom might be compared to a star system, with each star being a smaller system on its own. The tiniest particle of solid material will consist of a large number of these star systems arranged in an orderly fashion, each one bounded by the others and somehow interacting with them in a way that we can't fully understand. What are our mathematical abilities compared to this problem?
After two centuries of continuous labour, the most gifted men have succeeded in calculating the mutual effects of three bodies each upon the other, under the simple hypothesis of the law of gravity. Concerning these calculations we must further remember that they are purely approximate, and that the methods would not apply where four or more bodies are acting, and all produce considerable effects upon each other. There is reason to believe that each constituent of a chemical atom goes through an orbit in the millionth part of the twinkling of an eye. In each revolution it is successively or simultaneously under the influence of many other constituents, or possibly comes into collision with them. It is no exaggeration to say that mathematicians have the least notion of the way in which they could successfully attack so difficult a problem of forces and motions. As Herschel has remarked,616 each of these particles is for ever solving differential equations, which, if written out in full, might belt the earth.
After two hundred years of continuous work, the most talented people have managed to calculate how three bodies interact with each other, based on the simple idea of gravity. It's important to keep in mind that these calculations are only rough estimates, and the methods wouldn't work when four or more bodies are involved and have significant effects on one another. There’s reason to believe that each part of a chemical atom moves in an orbit in the millionth of a second. In each orbit, it is either influenced by many other parts at the same time or might even collide with them. It’s no exaggeration to say that mathematicians have very little idea of how they could effectively tackle such a challenging problem of forces and motions. As Herschel noted,616 each of these particles is constantly solving differential equations, which, if written out completely, could wrap around the earth.
Some of the most extensive calculations ever made were those required for the reduction of the measurements executed in the course of the Trigonometrical Survey of Great Britain. The calculations arising out of the principal triangulation occupied twenty calculators during three or four years, in the course of which the computers had to solve simultaneous equations involving seventy-seven unknown quantities. The reduction of the levellings required the solution of a system of ninety-one equations. But these vast calculations present no approach whatever to757 what would be requisite for the complete treatment of any one physical problem. The motion of glaciers is supposed to be moderately well understood in the present day. A glacier is a viscid, slowly yielding mass, neither absolutely solid nor absolutely rigid, but it is expressly remarked by Forbes,617 that not even an approximate solution of the mathematical conditions of such a moving mass can yet be possible. “Every one knows,” he says, “that such problems are beyond the compass of exact mathematics;” but though mathematicians may know this, they do not often enough impress that knowledge on other people.
Some of the most extensive calculations ever performed were those needed for the reduction of the measurements taken during the Trigonometrical Survey of Great Britain. The calculations from the main triangulation took twenty mathematicians three to four years, during which they had to solve simultaneous equations with seventy-seven unknowns. The reduction of the leveling required solving a system of ninety-one equations. However, these massive calculations are still far from what would be needed for a thorough understanding of any one physical problem. The movement of glaciers is thought to be fairly well understood today. A glacier is a thick, slowly flowing mass, not completely solid or totally rigid, but Forbes specifically points out that not even an approximate solution to the mathematical conditions of such a moving mass can currently be achieved. “Everyone knows,” he states, “that such problems are beyond the reach of exact mathematics;” yet, even though mathematicians may be aware of this, they don't often communicate that understanding to others.
The problems which are solved in our mathematical books consist of a small selection of those which happen from peculiar conditions to be solvable. But the very simplest problem in appearance will often give rise to impracticable calculations. Mr. Todhunter618 seems to blame Condorcet, because in one of his memoirs he mentions a problem to solve which would require a great and impracticable number of successive integrations. Now, if our mathematical sciences are to cope with the problems which await solution, we must be prepared to effect an unlimited number of successive integrations; yet at present, and almost beyond doubt for ever, the probability that an integration taken haphazard will come within our powers is exceedingly small.
The problems in our math books are just a small sample of those that, due to specific conditions, can actually be solved. However, the simplest-looking problem can often lead to calculations that are impossible to manage. Mr. Todhunter618 seems to criticize Condorcet for mentioning a problem in one of his papers that would require an enormous and unmanageable number of successive integrations to solve. If our mathematical fields are to tackle the problems that need solving, we have to be ready to handle an unlimited number of successive integrations; yet right now, and likely forever, the chances of randomly picking an integration that is within our reach are extremely low.
In some passages of that remarkable work, the Ninth Bridgewater Treatise (pp. 113–115), Babbage has pointed out that if we had power to follow and detect the minutest effects of any disturbance, each particle of existing matter would furnish a register of all that has happened. “The track of every canoe—of every vessel that has yet disturbed the surface of the ocean, whether impelled by manual force or elemental power, remains for ever registered in the future movement of all succeeding particles which may occupy its place. The furrow which it left is, indeed, instantly filled up by the closing waters; but they draw after them other and larger portions of the surrounding element, and these again, once moved, communicate motion to others in endless succession.” We may even say that “The air itself is one vast library, on whose pages are for ever written all that758 man has ever said or even whispered. There, in their mutable but unerring characters, mixed with the earliest as well as the latest sighs of mortality, stand for ever recorded, vows unredeemed, promises unfulfilled, perpetuating in the united movements of each particle the testimony of man’s changeful will.”
In some sections of that remarkable work, the Ninth Bridgewater Treatise (pp. 113–115), Babbage pointed out that if we had the ability to track and detect the tiniest effects of any disturbance, each particle of existing matter would provide a record of everything that has ever happened. “The path of every canoe—of every vessel that has ever disturbed the ocean's surface, whether driven by human strength or natural forces, is forever recorded in the future movement of all subsequent particles that may take its place. The trench it leaves is quickly filled in by the closing waves; however, they carry along with them other and larger parts of the surrounding water, and these, in turn, once moved, transfer motion to others in an endless chain.” We might even say that “The air itself is one vast library, where every word humanity has ever spoken or even whispered is forever written. There, in their variable but accurate characters, mixed with the earliest and the most recent sighs of existence, vows unfulfilled and promises unmet are permanently recorded, preserving in the combined movements of each particle the testament of mankind’s ever-changing will.”
When we read reflections such as these, we may congratulate ourselves that we have been endowed with minds which, rightly employed, can form some estimate of their incapacity to trace out and account for all that proceeds in the simpler actions of material nature. It ought to be added that, wonderful as is the extent of physical phenomena open to our investigation, intellectual phenomena are yet vastly more extensive. Of this I might present one satisfactory proof were space available by pointing out that the mathematical functions employed in the calculations of physical science form an infinitely small fraction of the functions which might be invented. Common trigonometry consists of a great series of useful formulæ, all of which arise out of the relation of the sine and cosine expressed in one equation, sin 2x + cos 2x = 1. But this is not the only trigonometry which may exist; mathematicians also recognise hyperbolic trigonometry, of which the fundamental equation is cos 2x - sin 2x = 1. De Morgan has pointed out that the symbols of ordinary algebra form but three of an interminable series of conceivable systems.619 As the logarithmic operation is to addition or addition to multiplication, so is the latter to a higher operation, and so on without limit.
When we read reflections like these, we might feel proud that we have been gifted with minds that, when used properly, can appreciate their inability to fully understand and explain everything that happens in the simpler actions of the physical world. It should also be noted that, while the range of physical phenomena we can study is impressive, intellectual phenomena are even more vast. I could provide a clear example of this if I had the space by showing that the mathematical functions used in physical science calculations are just a tiny fraction of the functions that could be created. Basic trigonometry includes a long list of useful formulas, all of which come from the relationship between sine and cosine in one equation: sin 2x + cos 2x = 1. But this isn’t the only type of trigonometry that exists; mathematicians also recognize hyperbolic trigonometry, which is based on the equation cos 2x - sin 2x = 1. De Morgan pointed out that the symbols of standard algebra are just three of an endless series of possible systems.619 Just as the logarithmic operation relates to addition or addition relates to multiplication, the latter relates to even higher operations, and this process continues indefinitely.
We may rely upon it that immense, and to us inconceivable, advances will be made by the human intellect, in the absence of any catastrophe to the species or the globe. Within historical periods we can trace the rise of mathematical science from its simplest germs. We can prove our descent from ancestors who counted only on their fingers. How infinitely is a Newton or a Laplace above those simple savages. Pythagoras is said to have sacrificed a hecatomb when he discovered the forty-seventh proposition of Euclid, and the occasion was worthy of the sacrifice. Archimedes was beside himself when he first perceived759 his beautiful mode of determining specific gravities. Yet these great discoveries are the commonplaces of our school books. Step by step we can trace upwards the acquirement of new mental powers. What could be more wonderful than Napier’s discovery of logarithms, a new mode of calculation which has multiplied perhaps a hundredfold the working powers of every computer, and has rendered easy calculations which were before impracticable? Since the time of Newton and Leibnitz worlds of problems have been solved which before were hardly conceived as matters of inquiry. In our own day extended methods of mathematical reasoning, such as the system of quaternions, have been brought into existence. What intelligent man will doubt that the recondite speculations of a Cayley, a Sylvester, or a Clifford may lead to some new development of new mathematical power, at the simplicity of which a future age will wonder, and yet wonder more that to us they were so dark and difficult. May we not repeat the words of Seneca: “Veniet tempus, quo ista quæ nunc latent, in lucem dies extrahat, et longioris ævi diligentia: ad inquisitionem tantorum ætas una non sufficit. Veniet tempus, quo posteri nostri tam aperta nos nescisse mirentur.”
We can count on the fact that there will be huge, unimaginable advancements made by human intelligence, as long as there isn't any catastrophe affecting humanity or the planet. Throughout history, we can see how mathematical science has developed from its most basic forms. We can trace our lineage back to ancestors who only counted on their fingers. The difference between someone like Newton or Laplace and those early humans is staggering. Pythagoras is said to have made a significant sacrifice when he discovered the forty-seventh proposition of Euclid, and it was indeed a worthy occasion. Archimedes was ecstatic when he first figured out how to determine specific gravities. Yet, these groundbreaking discoveries are now just standard fare in our textbooks. Step by step, we can follow the progression of new mental capabilities. What could be more amazing than Napier's discovery of logarithms, a new way of calculating that has perhaps multiplied the capabilities of every calculator a hundredfold, making possible operations that were once unmanageable? Since the time of Newton and Leibniz, countless problems have been solved that were barely even considered as possible areas of inquiry. In our own time, advanced methods of mathematical reasoning, like quaternions, have come into existence. What intelligent person would doubt that the complex ideas of Cayley, Sylvester, or Clifford might lead to some new breakthrough in mathematical power, which future generations will marvel at, and find it even more astounding that we found them so obscure and challenging? Can we not echo Seneca’s words: “A time will come when things that are currently hidden will be brought to light, and the diligence of a longer age: one lifetime is not enough to uncover such matters. A time will come when our descendants will be amazed that we were so unaware of such clear things.”
The Reign of Law in Mental and Social Phenomena.
After we pass from the so-called physical sciences to those which attempt to investigate mental and social phenomena, the same general conclusions will hold true. No one will be found to deny that there are certain uniformities of thinking and acting which can be detected in reasoning beings, and so far as we detect such laws we successfully apply scientific method. But those who attempt to establish social or moral sciences soon become aware that they are dealing with subjects of enormous perplexity. Take as an instance the science of political economy. If a science at all, it must be a mathematical science, because it deals with quantities of commodities. But as soon as we attempt to draw out the equations expressing the laws of demand and supply, we discover that they have a complexity entirely surpassing our powers of mathematical treatment. We may lay down the general form of the equations, expressing the demand and supply760 for two or three commodities among two or three trading bodies, but all the functions involved are so complicated in character that there is not much fear of scientific method making rapid progress in this direction. If such be the prospects of a comparatively formal science, like political economy, what shall we say of moral science? Any complete theory of morals must deal with quantities of pleasure and pain, as Bentham pointed out, and must sum up the general tendency of each kind of action upon the good of the community. If we are to apply scientific method to morals, we must have a calculus of moral effects, a kind of physical astronomy investigating the mutual perturbations of individuals. But as astronomers have not yet fully solved the problem of three gravitating bodies, when shall we have a solution of the problem of three moral bodies?
After we move from the so-called physical sciences to those that study mental and social phenomena, the same general conclusions remain true. No one can deny that there are certain consistent patterns in thinking and behavior that can be observed in reasoning beings, and as far as we identify such laws, we can effectively apply the scientific method. However, those who try to establish social or moral sciences soon realize they're dealing with incredibly complex subjects. Take political economy, for example. If it is indeed a science, it should be a mathematical one because it deals with quantities of goods. But as soon as we try to develop the equations representing the laws of demand and supply, we find that they are far too complex for our mathematical capabilities. We can outline the general structure of the equations that express the demand and supply for a couple of products among a few trading entities, but the various functions involved are so intricate that there’s little chance for scientific methods to advance quickly in this area. If the outlook for a relatively formal science like political economy is like this, what can we say about moral science? Any comprehensive theory of morals must address quantities of pleasure and pain, as Bentham noted, and must evaluate the overall impact of each type of action on the well-being of the community. If we want to apply the scientific method to morals, we need a calculus of moral effects, a sort of physical astronomy studying the interactions of individuals. But just as astronomers have not yet fully solved the problem of three gravitational bodies, when will we find a solution for the problem of three moral entities?
The sciences of political economy and morality are comparatively abstract and general, treating mankind from simple points of view, and attempting to detect general principles of action. They are to social phenomena what the abstract sciences of chemistry, heat, and electricity are to the concrete science of meteorology. Before we can investigate the actions of any aggregate of men, we must have fairly mastered all the more abstract sciences applying to them, somewhat in the way that we have acquired a fair comprehension of the simpler truths of chemistry and physics. But all our physical sciences do not enable us to predict the weather two days hence with any great probability, and the general problem of meteorology is almost unattempted as yet. What shall we say then of the general problem of social science, which shall enable us to predict the course of events in a nation?
The fields of political economy and ethics are pretty abstract and broad, looking at humanity from straightforward perspectives and trying to identify basic principles of behavior. They relate to social phenomena in the same way that the abstract sciences of chemistry, heat, and electricity relate to the more specific field of meteorology. Before we can analyze the actions of any group of people, we need to have a good grasp of all the more abstract sciences that apply to them, similar to how we have a decent understanding of the simpler truths in chemistry and physics. However, none of our physical sciences can reliably predict the weather two days in advance, and the overall challenge of meteorology is still largely unexplored. So, what can we say about the overarching question of social science, which would allow us to forecast the course of events in a nation?
Several writers have proposed to lay the foundations of the science of history. Buckle undertook to write the History of Civilisation in England, and to show how the character of a nation could be explained by the nature of the climate and the fertility of the soil. He omitted to explain the contrast between the ancient Greek nation and the present one; there must have been an extraordinary revolution in the climate or the soil. Auguste Comte detected the simple laws of the course of development through which nations pass. There are always three761 phases of intellectual condition,—the theological, the metaphysical, and the positive; applying this general law of progress to concrete cases, Comte was enabled to predict that in the hierarchy of European nations, Spain would necessarily hold the highest place. Such are the parodies of science offered to us by the positive philosophers.
Several writers have tried to establish the foundations of history as a science. Buckle set out to write the History of Civilisation in England and aimed to show how a nation's character could be explained by its climate and soil fertility. He failed to address the differences between ancient Greece and modern times; there must have been a significant change in either the climate or the soil. Auguste Comte identified the straightforward laws governing nations' development. There are always three stages of intellectual development— the theological, the metaphysical, and the positive. By applying this general principle of progress to specific cases, Comte predicted that Spain would inevitably rank the highest among European nations. Such are the mockeries of science presented to us by the positive philosophers.
A science of history in the true sense of the term is an absurd notion. A nation is not a mere sum of individuals whom we can treat by the method of averages; it is an organic whole, held together by ties of infinite complexity. Each individual acts and re-acts upon his smaller or greater circle of friends, and those who acquire a public position exert an influence on much larger sections of the nation. There will always be a few great leaders of exceptional genius or opportunities, the unaccountable phases of whose opinions and inclinations sway the whole body. From time to time arise critical situations, battles, delicate negotiations, internal disturbances, in which the slightest incidents may change the course of history. A rainy day may hinder a forced march, and change the course of a campaign; a few injudicious words in a despatch may irritate the national pride; the accidental discharge of a gun may precipitate a collision the effects of which will last for centuries. It is said that the history of Europe depended at one moment upon the question whether the look-out man upon Nelson’s vessel would or would not descry a ship of Napoleon’s expedition to Egypt which was passing not far off. In human affairs, then, the smallest causes may produce the greatest effects, and the real application of scientific method is out of the question.
A true science of history is a ridiculous idea. A nation isn’t just a collection of individuals that we can analyze through averages; it’s a complex entity, connected by ties of endless intricacy. Each person influences and is influenced by their circle of friends, and those in public positions impact much larger segments of the nation. There will always be a few exceptional leaders with unique talents or opportunities, whose unpredictable views and preferences can sway the entire populace. Critical situations, battles, sensitive negotiations, and internal conflicts will periodically arise, where the smallest events can alter the course of history. A rainy day might disrupt a rapid advance and change the outcome of a campaign; a few careless words in a message could offend national pride; the accidental firing of a gun might trigger a conflict with consequences lasting for centuries. It’s said that the fate of Europe once hinged on whether the lookout on Nelson’s ship spotted a vessel from Napoleon’s expedition to Egypt, passing nearby. In human affairs, then, even the tiniest causes can lead to the greatest effects, making the genuine use of scientific methods impossible.
The Theory of Evolution.
Profound philosophers have lately generalised concerning the production of living forms and the mental and moral phenomena regarded as their highest development. Herbert Spencer’s theory of evolution purports to explain the origin of all specific differences, so that not even the rise of a Homer or a Beethoven would escape from his broad theories. The homogeneous is unstable and must differentiate itself, says Spencer, and hence comes the variety of human762 institutions and characters. In order that a living form shall continue to exist and propagate its kind, says Darwin, it must be suitable to its circumstances, and the most suitable forms will prevail over and extirpate those which are less suitable. From these fruitful ideas are developed theories of evolution and natural selection which go far towards accounting for the existence of immense numbers of living creatures—plants, and animals. Apparent adaptations of organs to useful purposes, which Paley regarded as distinct products of creative intelligence, are now seen to follow as natural effects of a constantly acting tendency. Even man, according to these theories, is no distinct creation, but rather an extreme case of brain development. His nearest cousins are the apes, and his pedigree extends backwards until it joins that of the lowliest zoophytes.
Recently, deep thinkers have generalized about the creation of living beings and the mental and moral experiences considered their peak development. Herbert Spencer's theory of evolution aims to explain the origins of all specific differences, suggesting that even the emergence of a Homer or a Beethoven fits within his broad theories. Spencer argues that the homogeneous is unstable and must differentiate itself, leading to the variety of human762 institutions and personalities. Darwin adds that for a living being to persist and reproduce, it must be suited to its environment, and the most suited forms will outlast and eliminate those that are less adapted. From these insightful ideas emerge theories of evolution and natural selection that help explain the vast numbers of living creatures—plants and animals. The apparent adaptations of organs for useful purposes, which Paley considered the result of creative intelligence, are now understood as natural outcomes of an ongoing process. According to these theories, even humans are not a separate creation but rather a notable example of advanced brain development. Our closest relatives are apes, and our lineage traces back to the simplest zoophytes.
The theories of Darwin and Spencer are doubtless not demonstrated; they are to some extent hypothetical, just as all the theories of physical science are to some extent hypothetical, and open to doubt. Judging from the immense numbers of diverse facts which they harmonise and explain, I venture to look upon the theories of evolution and natural selection in their main features as two of the most probable hypotheses ever proposed. I question whether any scientific works which have appeared since the Principia of Newton are comparable in importance with those of Darwin and Spencer, revolutionising as they do all our views of the origin of bodily, mental, moral, and social phenomena.
The theories of Darwin and Spencer are definitely not proven; they are somewhat hypothetical, just like all theories in physical science have a degree of speculation and are open to skepticism. Considering the vast number of diverse facts they bring together and clarify, I dare to see the theories of evolution and natural selection in their main aspects as two of the most likely hypotheses ever put forward. I doubt that any scientific works published since Newton's Principia can match the significance of those by Darwin and Spencer, as they completely transform our understanding of the origins of physical, mental, moral, and social phenomena.
Granting all this, I cannot for a moment admit that the theory of evolution will destroy theology. That theory embraces several laws or uniformities which are observed to be true in the production of living forms; but these laws do not determine the size and figure of living creatures, any more than the law of gravitation determines the magnitudes and distances of the planets. Suppose that Darwin is correct in saying that man is descended from the Ascidians: yet the precise form of the human body must have been influenced by an infinite train of circumstances affecting the reproduction, growth, and health of the whole chain of intermediate beings. No doubt, the circumstances being what they were, man could not be otherwise than he is, and if in any other part of the universe an exactly similar earth,763 furnished with exactly similar germs of life, existed, a race must have grown up there exactly similar to the human race.
Granting all this, I can’t accept for a moment that the theory of evolution will destroy theology. This theory includes several laws or patterns that are observed to be true in the creation of living forms, but these laws don’t dictate the size and shape of living beings, just like the law of gravity doesn’t determine the sizes and distances of the planets. Let’s say Darwin is right in suggesting that humans descended from the Ascidians; still, the exact form of the human body must have been influenced by countless circumstances affecting the reproduction, growth, and health of all the intermediate beings. No doubt, given the circumstances, humans couldn’t be anything other than they are, and if there was an exactly similar Earth in another part of the universe, filled with exactly similar life forms, a race would have developed there just like the human race.
By a different distribution of atoms in the primeval world a different series of living forms on this earth would have been produced. From the same causes acting according to the same laws, the same results will follow; but from different causes acting according to the same laws, different results will follow. So far as we can see, then, infinitely diverse living creatures might have been created consistently with the theory of evolution, and the precise reason why we have a backbone, two hands with opposable thumbs, an erect stature, a complex brain, about 223 bones, and many other peculiarities, is only to be found in the original act of creation. I do not, any less than Paley, believe that the eye of man manifests design. I believe that the eye was gradually developed, and we can in fact trace its gradual development from the first germ of a nerve affected by light-rays in some simple zoophyte. In proportion as the eye became a more accurate instrument of vision, it enabled its possessor the better to escape destruction, but the ultimate result must have been contained in the aggregate of the causes, and these causes, as far as we can see, were subject to the arbitrary choice of the Creator.
If atoms had been arranged differently in the early world, a different variety of living things would have emerged on this planet. The same causes, acting under the same laws, will produce the same outcomes; however, different causes under the same laws lead to different outcomes. Therefore, it seems that an infinite range of living creatures could have been created in line with the theory of evolution. The specific reasons we have a backbone, two hands with opposable thumbs, an upright posture, a complex brain, about 223 bones, and various other traits can only be traced back to the original act of creation. Like Paley, I believe that the human eye shows evidence of design. I think the eye developed gradually, and we can actually track its evolution from the first nerve cells that responded to light in some simple marine creature. As the eye became a more precise tool for seeing, it allowed its owner to better avoid danger, but the final outcome must have been included in the overall causes, which, as far as we can see, were subject to the Creator's arbitrary choices.
Although Agassiz was clearly wrong in holding that every species of living creature appeared on earth by the immediate intervention of the Creator, which would amount to saying that no laws of connection between forms are discoverable, yet he seems to be right in asserting that living forms are distinct from those produced by purely physical causes. “The products of what are commonly called physical agents,” he says,620 “are everywhere the same (i.e. upon the whole surface of the earth), and have always been the same (i.e. during all geological periods); while organised beings are everywhere different and have differed in all ages. Between two such series of phenomena there can be no causal or genetic connection.” Living forms as we now regard them are essentially variable, but from constant mechanical causes constant effects would ensue. If vegetable cells are formed on geometrical principles764 being first spherical, and then by mutual compression dodecahedral, then all cells should have similar forms. In the Foraminifera and some other lowly organisms, we seem to observe the production of complex forms on geometrical principles. But from similar causes acting according to similar laws only similar results could be produced. If the original life germ of each creature is a simple particle of protoplasm, unendowed with any distinctive forces, then the whole of the complex phenomena of animal and vegetable life are effects without causes. Protoplasm may be chemically the same substance, and the germ-cell of a man and of a fish may be apparently the same, so far as the microscope can decide; but if certain cells produce men, and others as uniformly produce a species of fish, there must be a hidden constitution determining the extremely different results. If this were not so, the generation of every living creature from the uniform germ would have to be regarded as a distinct act of creation.
Although Agassiz was clearly mistaken in claiming that every species of living creature appeared on Earth through the direct intervention of the Creator, which would imply that no connections between forms can be understood, he does seem to be correct in stating that living forms are different from those produced solely by physical causes. “The products of what are commonly called physical agents,” he says,620 “are everywhere the same (i.e. across the whole surface of the Earth), and have always been the same (i.e. throughout all geological periods); while organized beings are always different and have varied in all ages. Between these two series of phenomena, there can be no causal or genetic connection.” Living forms, as we now see them, are fundamentally variable, but with consistent mechanical causes, consistent effects would follow. If plant cells are formed based on geometric principles—first being spherical, and then turning dodecahedral through mutual compression—then all cells should have similar forms. In Foraminifera and some other simple organisms, we seem to observe the emergence of complex forms based on geometric principles. Yet, if similar causes act according to similar laws, only similar outcomes could be generated. If the original life germ of each creature is a simple particle of protoplasm, lacking any distinctive forces, then all the complex phenomena of animal and plant life would be effects without causes. Protoplasm may be chemically identical, and the germ cell of a human and a fish may look the same under a microscope; however, if certain cells produce humans, while others uniformly produce a specific type of fish, there must be an underlying structure determining these vastly different outcomes. If this weren't the case, the generation of every living creature from the uniform germ would need to be viewed as a separate act of creation.
Theologians have dreaded the establishment of the theories of Darwin and Huxley and Spencer, as if they thought that those theories could explain everything upon the purest mechanical and material principles, and exclude all notions of design. They do not see that those theories have opened up more questions than they have closed. The doctrine of evolution gives a complete explanation of no single living form. While showing the general principles which prevail in the variation of living creatures, it only points out the infinite complexity of the causes and circumstances which have led to the present state of things. Any one of Mr. Darwin’s books, admirable though they all are, consists but in the setting forth of a multitude of indeterminate problems. He proves in the most beautiful manner that each flower of an orchid is adapted to some insect which frequents and fertilises it, and these adaptations are but a few cases of those immensely numerous ones which have occurred in the lives of plants and animals. But why orchids should have been formed so differently from other plants, why anything, indeed, should be as it is, rather than in some of the other infinitely numerous possible modes of existence, he can never show. The origin of everything that exists is wrapped up in the past history of the universe. At some one or more points in past time there765 must have been arbitrary determinations which led to the production of things as they are.
Theologians have feared the theories put forward by Darwin, Huxley, and Spencer, as if they believe those theories could explain everything purely through mechanical and material principles, excluding any ideas of design. They fail to recognize that these theories have raised more questions than they answer. The theory of evolution doesn't provide a complete explanation for any single living form. While it highlights the general principles that govern the variation among living creatures, it merely points to the endless complexity of the causes and circumstances that have contributed to the current state of existence. Any of Mr. Darwin’s books, though remarkable, only lay out a multitude of unresolved issues. He elegantly demonstrates that each flower of an orchid is suited to a specific insect that visits and fertilizes it, but these adaptations are just a small sample of the countless ones that have occurred in the lives of plants and animals. However, he can never explain why orchids have developed so differently from other plants, or why anything is the way it is rather than one of the other countless potential forms of existence. The origin of everything that exists is tied up in the historical events of the universe. At some point in the past, there must have been arbitrary decisions that led to the creation of things as they are.
Possibility of Divine Interference.
I will now draw the reader’s attention to pages 149 to 152. I there pointed out that all inductive inference involves the assumption that our knowledge of what exists is complete, and that the conditions of things remain unaltered between the time of our experience and the time to which our inferences refer. Recurring to the illustration of a ballot-box, employed in the chapter on the inverse method of probabilities, we assume when predicting the probable nature of the next drawing, firstly, that our previous drawings have been sufficiently numerous to give us knowledge of the contents of the box; and, secondly, that no interference with the ballot-box takes place between the previous and the next drawings. The results yielded by the theory of probability are quite plain. No finite number of casual drawings can give us sure knowledge of the contents of the box, so that, even in the absence of all disturbance, our inferences are merely the best which can be made, and do not approach to infallibility. If, however, interference be possible, even the theory of probability ceases to be applicable, for, the amount and nature of that interference being arbitrary and unknown, there ceases to be any connection between premises and conclusion. Many years of reflection have not enabled me to see the way of avoiding this hiatus in scientific certainty. The conclusions of scientific inference appear to be always of a hypothetical and provisional nature. Given certain experience, the theory of probability yields us the true interpretation of that experience and is the surest guide open to us. But the best calculated results which it can give are never absolute probabilities; they are purely relative to the extent of our information. It seems to be impossible for us to judge how far our experience gives us adequate information of the universe as a whole, and of all the forces and phenomena which can have place therein.
I will now draw the reader’s attention to pages 149 to 152. I pointed out there that all inductive reasoning assumes that our understanding of what exists is complete and that the conditions of things remain unchanged between our experience and the time to which our conclusions refer. Referring back to the example of a ballot box from the chapter on the inverse method of probabilities, when we predict the likely outcome of the next draw, we assume firstly that our previous draws have been enough to give us knowledge of the box's contents, and secondly that no interference with the ballot box occurs between the previous and next draws. The results obtained from probability theory are quite clear. No finite number of random drawings can provide us with certain knowledge of the box's contents, so even without any disturbances, our conclusions are merely the best we can make and do not approach infallibility. If interference is possible, even probability theory loses its applicability, because the amount and nature of that interference are arbitrary and unknown, severing the connection between premises and conclusion. Many years of reflection have not helped me find a way to avoid this gap in scientific certainty. The conclusions of scientific reasoning always seem to be hypothetical and tentative. Given certain experiences, probability theory offers the correct interpretation of that experience and is our best guide. However, the most carefully calculated results it can provide are never absolute probabilities; they are entirely relative to the extent of our information. It seems impossible for us to determine how far our experiences give us sufficient information about the universe as a whole and all the forces and phenomena that can occur within it.
I feel that I cannot in the space remaining at my command in the present volume, sufficiently follow out the lines of thought suggested, or define with precision my766 own conclusions. This chapter contains merely Reflections upon subjects of so weighty a character that I should myself wish for many years—nay for more than a lifetime of further reflection. My purpose, as I have repeatedly said, is the purely negative one of showing that atheism and materialism are no necessary results of scientific method. From the preceding reviews of the value of our scientific knowledge, I draw one distinct conclusion, that we cannot disprove the possibility of Divine interference in the course of nature. Such interference might arise, so far as our knowledge extends, in two ways. It might consist in the disclosure of the existence of some agent or spring of energy previously unknown, but which effects a given purpose at a given moment. Like the pre-arranged change of law in Babbage’s imaginary calculating machine, there may exist pre-arranged surprises in the order of nature, as it presents itself to us. Secondly, the same Power, which created material nature, might, so far as I can see, create additions to it, or annihilate portions which do exist. Such events are in a certain sense inconceivable to us; yet they are no more inconceivable than the existence of the world as it is. The indestructibility of matter, and the conservation of energy, are very probable scientific hypotheses, which accord satisfactorily with experiments of scientific men during a few years past, but it would be gross misconception of scientific inference to suppose that they are certain in the sense that a proposition in geometry is certain. Philosophers no doubt hold that de nihilo nihil fit, that is to say, their senses give them no means of imagining to the mind how creation can take place. But we are on the horns of a trilemma; we must either deny that anything exists, or we must allow that it was created out of nothing at some moment of past time, or that it existed from eternity. The first alternative is absurd; the other two seem to me equally conceivable.
I feel that I can't, within the limited space I have in this volume, fully explore the ideas suggested or clearly define my own conclusions. This chapter contains just some reflections on topics that are so significant that I would wish for many years—indeed, more than a lifetime—of further thought. As I've said repeatedly, my goal is simply to show that atheism and materialism do not have to be the inevitable outcomes of scientific methods. From my previous evaluations of the value of our scientific knowledge, I've drawn one clear conclusion: we cannot disprove the possibility of Divine intervention in the natural order. Such intervention could occur, as far as our knowledge allows, in two ways. It could reveal the existence of an agent or source of energy that was previously unknown but achieves a specific purpose at a certain moment. Like the pre-arranged change of law in Babbage’s imagined calculating machine, there may be unexpected events built into the natural order as we perceive it. Secondly, the same Power that created material nature could also create additions to it or eliminate existing portions. These events are, in a way, inconceivable for us; however, they are no more inconceivable than the existence of the world as it is. The indestructibility of matter and the conservation of energy are very likely scientific hypotheses that fit well with the experiments conducted by scientists in recent years, but it would be a serious misunderstanding of scientific reasoning to think that they are as certain as a mathematical proposition. Philosophers might believe that de nihilo nihil fit, meaning their senses provide no way to imagine how creation can happen. We're facing a dilemma; we can either deny that anything exists, accept that it was created from nothing at some point in the past, or acknowledge that it has existed eternally. The first option is absurd; the other two seem equally plausible to me.
Conclusion.
It may seem that there is one point where our speculations must end, namely where contradiction begins. The laws of Identity and Difference and Duality were the767 foundations from which we started, and they are, so far as I can see, the foundations which we can never quit without tottering. Scientific Method must begin and end with the laws of thought, but it does not follow that it will save us from encountering inexplicable, and at least apparently contradictory results. The nature of continuous quantity leads us into extreme difficulties. Any finite space is composed of an infinite number of infinitely small spaces, each of which, again, is composed of an infinite number of spaces of a second order of smallness; these spaces of the second order are composed, again, of infinitely small spaces of the third order. Even these spaces of the third order are not absolute geometrical points answering to Euclid’s definition of a point, as position without magnitude. Go on as far as we will, in the subdivision of continuous quantity, yet we never get down to the absolute point. Thus scientific method leads us to the inevitable conception of an infinite series of successive orders of infinitely small quantities. If so, there is nothing impossible in the existence of a myriad universes within the compass of a needle’s point, each with its stellar systems, and its suns and planets, in number and variety unlimited. Science does nothing to reduce the number of strange things that we may believe. When fairly pursued it makes absurd drafts upon our powers of comprehension and belief.
It might seem that there's a point where our theories have to stop, specifically where contradictions arise. The principles of Identity, Difference, and Duality were the foundations we began with, and as far as I can tell, they're the foundations we can't abandon without losing our footing. Scientific Method must start and end with the laws of reasoning, but that doesn't mean it will protect us from facing inexplicable or seemingly contradictory results. The nature of continuous quantity leads us into serious challenges. Any finite space consists of an infinite number of infinitely small spaces, each of which is made up of an infinite number of second-order small spaces; and these second-order spaces are, in turn, made of infinitely small spaces of a third order. Even these third-order spaces are not absolute geometric points as defined by Euclid, which describes a point as location without size. No matter how far we go in dividing continuous quantity, we never reach the absolute point. Therefore, scientific method inevitably brings us to the idea of an infinite series of successive orders of infinitely small quantities. If that's the case, then it's not impossible for there to be countless universes within the size of a needle's point, each with its own star systems, suns, and planets, in numbers and varieties that are limitless. Science doesn’t lessen the number of strange things we can believe. When pursued properly, it makes incredible demands on our ability to understand and accept.
Some of the most precise and beautiful theorems in mathematical science seem to me to involve apparent contradiction. Can we imagine that a point moving along a perfectly straight line towards the west would ever get round to the east and come back again, having performed, as it were, a circuit through infinite space, yet without ever diverging from a perfectly straight direction? Yet this is what happens to the intersecting point of two straight lines in the same plane, when one line revolves. The same paradox is exhibited in the hyperbola regarded as an infinite ellipse, one extremity of which has passed to an infinite distance and come back in the opposite direction. A varying quantity may change its sign by passing either through zero or through infinity. In the latter case there must be one intermediate value of the variable for which the variant is indifferently negative infinity and positive768 infinity. Professor Clifford tells me that he has found a mathematical function which approaches infinity as the variable approaches a certain limit; yet at the limit the function is finite! Mathematicians may shirk difficulties, but they cannot make such results of mathematical principles appear otherwise than contradictory to our common notions of space.
Some of the most precise and beautiful theorems in mathematical science seem to involve contradictions. Can we imagine that a point moving perfectly straight towards the west would eventually circle around to the east and come back again, having gone, in a way, on a journey through infinite space, yet without ever straying from a perfectly straight path? Yet this is what happens to the point where two straight lines intersect in the same plane when one line rotates. The same paradox appears in the hyperbola viewed as an infinite ellipse, where one end has moved to an infinite distance and returned from the opposite direction. A changing quantity can switch its sign by passing either through zero or infinity. In the latter case, there must be one intermediate value of the variable for which the change is simultaneously negative infinity and positive infinity. Professor Clifford tells me he's found a mathematical function that approaches infinity as the variable nears a certain limit; yet at that limit, the function is finite! Mathematicians may avoid challenges, but they can't make these outcomes of mathematical principles seem anything other than contradictory to our common understanding of space.
The hypothesis that there is a Creator at once all-powerful and all-benevolent is pressed, as it must seem to every candid investigator, with difficulties verging closely upon logical contradiction. The existence of the smallest amount of pain and evil would seem to show that He is either not perfectly benevolent, or not all-powerful. No one can have lived long without experiencing sorrowful events of which the significance is inexplicable. But if we cannot succeed in avoiding contradiction in our notions of elementary geometry, can we expect that the ultimate purposes of existence shall present themselves to us with perfect clearness? I can see nothing to forbid the notion that in a higher state of intelligence much that is now obscure may become clear. We perpetually find ourselves in the position of finite minds attempting infinite problems, and can we be sure that where we see contradiction, an infinite intelligence might not discover perfect logical harmony?
The idea that there is a Creator who is both all-powerful and all-good presents challenges that almost seem like logical contradictions. The fact that any amount of pain and evil exists suggests that He is either not completely benevolent or not all-powerful. Everyone has experienced sorrowful events that seem to have no clear meaning. But if we struggle to resolve contradictions in our basic understanding of geometry, can we really expect the ultimate purposes of existence to be perfectly clear to us? I see no reason to rule out the possibility that in a higher state of intelligence, many things that are currently unclear might become clear. We often find ourselves as limited minds trying to tackle infinite problems, and can we be certain that what we perceive as contradictions might not reveal perfect logical harmony to an infinite intelligence?
From science, modestly pursued, with a due consciousness of the extreme finitude of our intellectual powers, there can arise only nobler and wider notions of the purpose of Creation. Our philosophy will be an affirmative one, not the false and negative dogmas of Auguste Comte, which have usurped the name, and misrepresented the tendencies of a true positive philosophy. True science will not deny the existence of things because they cannot be weighed and measured. It will rather lead us to believe that the wonders and subtleties of possible existence surpass all that our mental powers allow us clearly to perceive. The study of logical and mathematical forms has convinced me that even space itself is no requisite condition of conceivable existence. Everything, we are told by materialists, must be here or there, nearer or further, before or after. I deny this, and point to logical relations as my proof.
From science, explored with a humble understanding of the limits of our intellect, we can develop broader and more noble ideas about the purpose of Creation. Our philosophy will be affirmative, not the false and negative doctrines of Auguste Comte, which have taken on that name and misrepresented the true tendencies of a genuine positive philosophy. True science won't dismiss the existence of things simply because they can't be measured or quantified. Instead, it will lead us to believe that the wonders and complexities of possible existence go far beyond what our minds can fully grasp. Studying logical and mathematical forms has convinced me that even space is not a necessary condition for conceivable existence. Materialists tell us that everything must be here or there, closer or farther, before or after. I reject this and point to logical relations as my evidence.
There formerly seemed to me to be something mysterious769 in the denominators of the binomial expansion (p. 190), which are reproduced in the natural constant ε, or
There used to be something mysterious to me about the denominators of the binomial expansion (p. 190), which are reflected in the natural constant ε, or
and in many results of mathematical analysis. I now perceive, as already explained (pp. 33, 160, 383), that they arise out of the fact that the relations of space do not apply to the logical conditions governing the numbers of combinations as contrasted to those of permutations. So far am I from accepting Kant’s doctrine that space is a necessary form of thought, that I regard it as an accident, and an impediment to pure logical reasoning. Material existences must exist in space, no doubt, but intellectual existences may be neither in space nor out of space; they may have no relation to space at all, just as space itself has no relation to time. For all that I can see, then, there may be intellectual existences to which both time and space are nullities.
and in many findings of mathematical analysis. I now see, as already explained (pp. 33, 160, 383), that they come from the fact that spatial relationships do not apply to the logical conditions governing combinations compared to those of permutations. I am far from accepting Kant’s belief that space is a necessary way of thinking; I see it as a coincidence and a barrier to pure logical reasoning. Material existences must exist in space, no doubt, but intellectual existences may not be confined to space or anything outside it; they may have no connection to space at all, just as space itself has no connection to time. For all I can see, there may be intellectual existences for which both time and space are irrelevant.
Now among the most unquestionable rules of scientific method is that first law that whatever phenomenon is, is. We must ignore no existence whatever; we may variously interpret or explain its meaning and origin, but, if a phenomenon does exist, it demands some kind of explanation. If then there is to be competition for scientific recognition, the world without us must yield to the undoubted existence of the spirit within. Our own hopes and wishes and determinations are the most undoubted phenomena within the sphere of consciousness. If men do act, feel, and live as if they were not merely the brief products of a casual conjunction of atoms, but the instruments of a far-reaching purpose, are we to record all other phenomena and pass over these? We investigate the instincts of the ant and the bee and the beaver, and discover that they are led by an inscrutable agency to work towards a distant purpose. Let us be faithful to our scientific method, and investigate also those instincts of the human mind by which man is led to work as if the approval of a Higher Being were the aim of life.
Now, one of the undeniable principles of the scientific method is the first law that whatever exists, exists. We should not dismiss any existence at all; we can interpret or explain its meaning and origin in different ways, but if a phenomenon does exist, it requires some form of explanation. If there is to be competition for scientific acknowledgment, the world around us must recognize the undeniable existence of the spirit within us. Our hopes, wishes, and determinations are the most undeniable phenomena within our consciousness. If people act, feel, and live as if they are not just temporary products of a random arrangement of atoms, but as instruments of a greater purpose, should we document all other phenomena and ignore these? We study the instincts of ants, bees, and beavers, and find that they are guided by an unknown force toward a distant goal. Let’s remain true to our scientific method and investigate the instincts of the human mind, which lead us to work as if the approval of a Higher Being is the purpose of life.
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INDEX.
- A
- Abacus, logical, 104;
- arithmetical, 107;
- Panchrestus, 182.
- Aberration of light, 561;
- systematic, 547.
- Abscissio infiniti, 79, 713.
- Abstract terms, 27;
- number, 159.
- Abstraction, 704;
- logical, 25;
- numerical, 158;
- of indifferent circumstances, 97.
- Accademia del Cimento, 427, 432, 436, 527.
- Accident, logical, 700.
- Accidental discovery, 529.
- Achromatic lenses, 432.
- Actinometer, 337.
- Adamantine medium, 605, 751.
- Adjectives, 14, 30, 31, 35;
- indeterminate, 41.
- Adrain, of New Brunswick, 375.
- Affirmation, 44.
- Agassiz, on genera, 726;
- on creation of species, 763.
- Agreement, 44.
- Airy, Sir George Biddell, on perpetual motion, 223;
- new property of sphere, 232;
- pendulum experiments, 291, 304, 348, 567;
- standard clock, 353;
- book on Errors of Observation, 395;
- tides, 488;
- extra-polation, 495;
- Thales’ eclipse, 537;
- interference of light, 539;
- density of earth, 291.
- Alchemists, 505;
- how misled, 428.
- Algebra, 123, 155, 164;
- Diophantine, 631.
- Algebraic, equations, 123;
- geometry, 633.
- Allotropic state, 663, 670.
- Alloys, possible number, 191;
- properties, 528.
- Alphabet, the Logical, 93, 104, 125;
- Morse, 193.
- Alphabet, permutations of letters of the, 174, 179.
- Alphabetic indexes, 714.
- Alternative relations, 67;
- exclusive and unexclusive, 205.
- Ampère, electricity, 547;
- classification, 679.
- Anagrams, 128.
- Analogy, 627;
- of logical and numerical terms, 160;
- and generalisation, 596;
- in mathematical sciences, 631;
- in theory of undulations, 635;
- in astronomy, 638;
- failure of, 641.
- Analysis, logical, 122.
- Andrews, Prof. Thomas, experiments on gaseous state, 71, 613, 665, 753.
- Angström, on spectrum, 424.
- Angular magnitude, 305, 306, 326.
- Antecedent defined, 225.
- Anticipation of Nature, 509.
- Anticipations, of Principle of Substitution, 21;
- of electric telegraph, 671.
- Apparent, equality, 275;
- sequence of events, 409.
- Approximation, theory of, 456;
- to exact laws, 462;
- mathematical principles of, 471;
- arithmetic of, 481.
- Aqueous vapour, 500.
- Aquinas, on disjunctive propositions, 69.772
- Arago, photometer, 288;
- rotating disc, 535;
- his philosophic character, 592.
- Archimedes, De Arenæ Numero, 195;
- centre of gravity, 363.
- Arcual unit, 306, 330.
- Argyll, Duke of, 741.
- Aristarchus on sun’s and moon’s distances, 294.
- Aristotelian doctrines, 666.
- Aristotle, dictum, 21;
- singular terms, 39;
- overlooked simple identities, 40;
- order of premises, 114;
- logical error, 117;
- definition of time, 307;
- on science, 595;
- on white swans, 666.
- Arithmetic, reasoning in, 167;
- of approximate quantities, 481.
- Arithmetical triangle, 93, 143, 182, 202, 378, 383;
- diagram of, 184;
- connection with Logical Alphabet, 189;
- in probability, 208.
- Asteroids, discovery of, 412, 748.
- Astronomy, physical, 459.
- Atmospheric tides, 553.
- Atomic theory, 662.
- Atomic weights, 563.
- Atoms, size of, 195;
- impossibility of observing, 406.
- Augustin on time, 307.
- Average, 359, 360;
- divergence from, 188;
- etymology of, 363.
- Axes of crystals, 686.
- Axioms of algebra, 164.
- B
- Babbage, Charles, calculating machine, 107, 231, 743;
- lighthouse signals, 194;
- natural constants, 329;
- Mosaic history, 412;
- universal and general truths, 646;
- change of law, 230;
- persistence of effects, 757.
- Bacon, Francis Lord, Novum Organum, 107;
- on induction, 121;
- biliteral cipher, 193;
- First Aphorism, 219;
- on causes, 221;
- Copernican system, 249, 638;
- deficient powers of senses, 278;
- observation, 402;
- Natural History, 403;
- use of hypothesis, 506;
- his method, 507;
- experimentum crucis, 519;
- error of his method, 576;
- ostensive, clandestine instances, &c., 608, 610;
- latens precessus, 619.
- Bacon, Roger, on the rainbow, 526, 598.
- Baily, Francis, 272;
- density of earth, 342, 566;
- experiments with torsion balance, 370, 397, 432, 567–8;
- motions of stars, 572.
- Bain, Alexander, on powers of mind, 4;
- Mill’s reform of logic, 227.
- Baker’s poem, The Universe, 621.
- Balance, use of the chemical, 292, 351, 354, 369;
- delicacy of, 304;
- vibrations of, 369.
- Ballot, Buys, experiment on sound, 541.
- Ballot-box, simile of, 150, 251–6, 765.
- Barbara, 55, 57, 88, 105, 141.
- Baroko, 85.
- Barometer, 659;
- Gay Lussac’s standard, 346;
- variations, 337, 346, 349.
- Bartholinus on double refraction, 585.
- Base-line, measurement of, 304.
- Bauhusius, verses of, 175.
- Baxendell, Joseph, 552.
- Beneke, on substitution, 21.
- Bennet, momentum of light, 435.
- Bentham, George, 15;
- bifurcate classification, 695;
- infima species, 702;
- works on classification, 703;
- analytical key to flora, 712.
- Bentham, Jeremy, on analogy, 629;
- bifurcate classification, 703.
- Benzenberg’s experiment, 388.
- Bernoulli, Daniel, planetary orbits, 250;
- resisting media and projectiles, 467;
- vibrations, 476.
- Bernoulli, James, 154;
- numbers of, 124;
- Protean verses, 175;
- De Arte Conjectandi quoted, 176, 183;
- on figurate numbers, 183;
- theorem of, 209;
- false solution in probability, 213;
- solution of inverse problem, 261.
- Bessel, F. W., 375;
- law of error, 384;
- formula for periodic variations, 488;
- use of hypothesis, 506;
- solar parallax, 560–2;
- ellipticity of earth, 565;
- pendulum experiments, 604.
- Bias, 393, 402.
- Biela’s comet, 746.
- Bifurcate classification, 694.773
- Binomial theorem, 190;
- discovery of, 231.
- Biot, on tension of vapour, 500.
- Blind experiments, 433.
- Bode’s law, 147, 257, 660.
- Boethius, quoted, 33;
- on kinds of mean, 360.
- Boiling point, 442, 659.
- Bonnet’s theory of reproduction, 621.
- Boole, George, on sign of equality, 15;
- his calculus of logic, 23, 113, 634;
- on logical terms, 33;
- law of commutativeness, 35;
- use of some, 41–2;
- disjunctive propositions, 70;
- Venn on his method, 90;
- Laws of Thought, 155;
- statistical conditions, 168;
- propositions numerically definite, 172;
- on probability, 199;
- general method in probabilities, 206;
- Laplace’s solution of inverse problem, 256;
- law of error, 377.
- Borda, his repeating circle, 290.
- Boscovich’s hypothesis, 512.
- Botany, 666, 678, 681;
- modes of classification, 678;
- systematic, 722;
- nomenclature of, 727.
- Bowen, Prof. Francis, on inference, 118;
- classification, 674.
- Boyle’s, Robert, law of gaseous pressure, 468, 470, 619;
- on hypothesis, 510;
- barometer, 659.
- Bradley, his observations, 384;
- accuracy of, 271;
- aberration of light, 535.
- Bravais, on law of error, 375.
- Brewer, W. H., 142.
- Brewster, Sir David, iridescent colours, 419;
- spectrum, 429;
- Newton’s theory of colours, 518;
- refractive indices, 10, 527;
- optic axes, 446.
- British Museum, catalogue of, 717.
- Brodie, Sir B. C., on errors of experiment, 388, 464;
- ozone, 663.
- Brown, Thomas, on cause, 224.
- Buckle, Thomas, on constancy of average, 656;
- science of history, 760.
- Buffon, on probability, 215;
- definition of genius, 576.
- Bunsen, Robert, spectrum, 244;
- photometrical researches, 273, 324, 441;
- calorimeter, 343.
- Butler, Bishop, on probability, 197.
- C
- Calorescence, 664.
- Camestres, 84.
- Canton, on compressibility of water, 338.
- Carbon, 640, 728;
- conductibility of, 442.
- Cardan, on inclined plane, 501.
- Cards, combinations of, 190.
- Carlini, pendulum experiments, 567.
- Carnot’s law, 606.
- Carpenter, Dr. W. B., 412.
- Catalogues, art of making, 714.
- Cauchy, undulatory theory, 468.
- Cause, 220;
- definition of, 224.
- Cavendish’s experiment, 272, 566.
- Cayley, Professor, 145;
- on mathematical tables, 331;
- numbers of chemical compounds, 544.
- Celarent, 55.
- Centre of gravity, 363, 524;
- of oscillation, gyration, &c., 364.
- Centrobaric bodies, 364.
- Certainty, 235, 266.
- Cesare, 85.
- Chalmers, on collocations, 740.
- Chance, 198.
- Character, human, 733.
- Characteristics, 708.
- Chauvenet, Professor W., on treatment of observations, 391.
- Chemical affinity, 614;
- analysis, 713.
- Chladni, 446.
- Chloroform, discovery of, 531.
- Chronoscope, 616.
- Cipher, 32;
- Bacon’s, 193.
- Circle, circumference of, 389.
- Circumstances, indifferent, 419.
- Circumstantial evidence, 264.
- Clairaut, 650, 651;
- on gravity, 463.
- Classes, 25;
- problem of common part of three, 170.
- Classification, 673;
- involving induction, 675;
- multiplicity of modes, 677;
- natural and artificial systems, 679;
- in crystallography, 685;
- symbolic statement of, 692;
- bifurcate, 694;
- an inverse and tentative operation, 689;
- diagnostic, 710;
- by indexes, 714;
- of books, 715;
- in biological sciences, 718;
- genealogical, 719;
- by types, 722;
- limits of, 730.
- Clifford, Professor, on types of774 compound statements, 143, 529;
- first and last catastrophe, 744;
- mathematical function, 768.
- Clocks, astronomical, 340, 353.
- Clouds, 447;
- cirrous, 411.
- Coincidences, 128;
- fortuitous, 261;
- measurement by, 292;
- method of, 291.
- Collective terms, 29, 39.
- Collocations of matter, 740.
- Colours, iridescent, 419;
- natural, 518;
- perception of, 437;
- of spectrum, 584.
- Combinations, 135, 142;
- doctrine of, 173;
- of letters of alphabet, 174;
- calculations of, 180;
- higher orders of, 194.
- Combinatorial analysis, 176.
- Comets, 449;
- number of, 408;
- hyperbolic, 407;
- classification of, 684;
- conflict with, 746–7;
- Halley’s comet, 537;
- Lexell’s comet, 651.
- Commutativeness, law of, 35, 72, 177.
- Comparative use of instruments, 299.
- Compass, variations of, 281.
- Complementary statements, 144.
- Compossible alternatives, 69.
- Compound statements, 144;
- events, 204.
- Compounds, chemical, 192.
- Comte, Auguste, on probability, 200, 214;
- on prevision, 536;
- his positive philosophy, 752, 760, 768.
- Concrete number, 159.
- Conditions, of logical symbols, 32;
- removal of usual, 426;
- interference of unsuspected, 428;
- maintenance of similar, 443;
- approximation to natural, 465.
- Condorcet, 2;
- his problem, 253.
- Confusion of elements, 237.
- Conical refraction, 653.
- Conjunction of planets, 293, 657.
- Consequent, definition of, 225.
- Conservation of energy, 738.
- Constant numbers of nature, 328;
- mathematical, 330;
- physical, 331;
- astronomical, 332;
- terrestrial, 333;
- organic, 333;
- social, 334.
- Continuity, law of, 615, 729;
- sense of, 493;
- detection of, 610;
- failure of, 619.
- Continuous quantity, 274, 485.
- Contradiction, law of, 31, 74.
- Contrapositive, proposition, 84, 136;
- conversion, 83.
- Conversion of propositions, 46, 118.
- Copernican theory, 522, 625, 638, 647.
- Copula, 16.
- Cornu, velocity of light, 561.
- Corpuscular theory, 520, 538, 667.
- Correction, method of, 346.
- Correlation, 678, 681.
- Cotes, Roger, use of mean, 359;
- method of least squares, 377.
- Coulomb, 272.
- Couple, mechanical, 653.
- Creation, problem of, 740.
- Crookes’ radiometer, 435.
- Cross divisions, 144.
- Crystallography, 648, 654, 658, 678, 754;
- systems of, 133;
- classification in, 685.
- Crystals, 602;
- Dana’s classification of, 711;
- pseudomorphic, 658.
- Curves, use of, 392, 491, 496;
- of various degrees, 473.
- Cuvier, on experiment, 423;
- on inferences, 682.
- Cyanite, 609.
- Cycloid, 633.
- Cycloidal pendulum, 461.
- Cypher, 124.
- D
- D’Alembert, blunders in probability, 213, 214;
- on gravity, 463.
- Dalton, laws of, 464, 471;
- atomic theory, 662.
- Darapti, 59.
- Darii, 56.
- Darwin, Charles, his works, 131;
- negative results of observation, 413;
- arguments against his theory, 437;
- cultivated plants, 531;
- his influence, 575;
- classification, 718;
- constancy of character in classification, 720–1;
- on definition, 726;
- restoration of limbs, 730;
- tendency of his theory, 762, 764.
- Davy, Sir H., on new instruments, 270;
- nature of heat, 343, 417;
- detection of salt in electrolysis, 428.
- Day, sidereal, 310;
- length of, 289.
- Decandolle, on classification, 696.775
- Decyphering, 124.
- Deduction, 11, 49.
- Deductive reasoning, 534;
- miscellaneous forms of, 60;
- probable, 209.
- Definition, 39, 62, 711, 723;
- purpose of, 54;
- of cause and power, 224.
- De Morgan, Augustus, negative terms, 14;
- Aristotle’s logic, 18;
- relatives, 23;
- logical universe, 43;
- complex propositions, 75;
- contraposition, 83;
- formal logic quoted, 101;
- error of his system, 117;
- anagram of his name, 128;
- numerically definite reasoning, 168–172;
- probability, 198;
- belief, 199;
- experiments in probability, 207;
- probable deductive arguments, 209–210;
- trisection of angle, 233;
- probability of inference, 259;
- arcual unit, 306;
- mathematical tables, 331;
- personal error, 348;
- average, 363;
- his works on probability, 394–395;
- apparent sequence, 409;
- sub-equality, 480;
- rule of approximation, 481;
- negative areas, 529;
- generalisation, 600;
- double algebra, 634;
- bibliography, 716;
- catalogues, 716;
- extensions of algebra, 758.
- Density, unit of, 316;
- of earth, 387;
- negative, 642.
- Descartes, vortices, 517;
- geometry, 632.
- Description, 62.
- Design, 762–763.
- Determinants, inference by, 50.
- Development, logical, 89, 97.
- Diagnosis, 708.
- Dichotomy, 703.
- Difference, 44;
- law of, 5;
- sign of, 17;
- representation of, 45;
- inference with, 52, 166;
- form of, 158.
- Differences of numbers, 185.
- Differential calculus, 477.
- Differential thermometer, 345.
- Diffraction of light, 420.
- Dimensions, theory of, 325.
- Dip-needle, observation of, 355.
- Direct deduction, 49.
- Direction of motion, 47.
- Discontinuity, 620.
- Discordance, of theory and experiment, 558;
- of theories, 587.
- Discoveries, accidental, 529;
- predicted, 536;
- scope for, 752.
- Discrimination, 24;
- power of, 4.
- Disjunctive, terms, 66;
- conjunction, 67;
- propositions, 66;
- syllogism, 77;
- argument, 106.
- Dissipation of energy, 310.
- Distance of statements, 144.
- Divergence from average, 188.
- Diversity, 156.
- Divine interference, 765.
- Dollond, achromatic lenses, 608.
- Donkin, Professor, 375;
- on probability, 199, 216;
- principle of inverse method, 244.
- Double refraction, 426.
- Dove’s law of winds, 534.
- Draper’s law, 606.
- Drobitsch, 15.
- Duality, 73, 81;
- law of, 5, 45, 92, 97.
- Dulong and Petit, 341, 471.
- Duration, 308.
- E
- ε, 330, 769.
- Earth, density of, 387;
- ellipticity, 565.
- Eclipses, 656;
- Egyptian records of, 246;
- of Jupiter’s satellites, 294, 372;
- solar, 486.
- Electric, sense, 405;
- acid, 428;
- fluid, 523.
- Electric telegraph, anticipations of, 671.
- Electricity, theories of, 522;
- duality of, 590.
- Electrolysis, 428, 530.
- Electro-magnet, use of, 423.
- Elements, confusion of, 237;
- definition, 427;
- classification, 676, 677, 690.
- Elimination, 58.
- Ellicott, observation on clocks, 455.
- Ellipsis, 41;
- of terms, 57.
- Elliptic variation, 474.
- Ellipticity of earth, 565.
- Ellis, A. J., contributions to formal logic, 172.
- Ellie, Leslie, 23, 375.
- Ellis, W., on moon’s influence, 410.
- Emanation, law of, 463.
- Emotions, 732.
- Empirical, knowledge, 505, 525–526;
- measurement, 552.
- Encke, on mean, 386, 389;
- his comet, 570, 605;
- on resisting medium, 523;776
- solar parallax, 562.
- Energy, unit of, 322;
- conservation of, 465;
- reconcentration of, 751.
- English language, words in, 175.
- Eözoon canadense, 412, 668.
- Equality, sign of, 14;
- axiom, 163;
- four meanings of, 479.
- Equations, 46, 53, 160;
- solution of, 123.
- Equilibrium, unstable, 276, 654.
- Equisetaceæ, 721.
- Equivalence of propositions, 115, 120, 132;
- remarkable case of, 529, 657.
- Eratosthenes, sieve of, 82, 123, 139;
- measurement of degree, 293.
- Error, function, 330, 376, 381;
- elimination of, 339, 353;
- personal, 347;
- law of, 374;
- origin of law, 383;
- verification of law, 383;
- probable, 386;
- mean, 387;
- constant, 396;
- variation of small errors, 479.
- Ether, luminiferous, 512, 514, 605.
- Euclid, axioms, 51, 163;
- indirect proof, 84;
- 10th book, 117th proposition, 275;
- on analogy, 631.
- Euler, on certainty of inference, 238;
- corpuscular theory, 435;
- gravity, 463;
- on ether, 514.
- Everett, Professor, unit of angle, 306;
- metric system, 328.
- Evolution, theory of, 761.
- Exact science, 456.
- Exceptions, 132, 644, 728;
- classification of, 645;
- imaginary, 647;
- apparent, 649;
- singular, 652;
- divergent, 655;
- accidental, 658;
- novel, 661;
- limiting, 663;
- real, 666;
- unclassed, 668.
- Excluded middle, law of, 6.
- Exclusive alternatives, 68.
- Exhaustive investigation, 418.
- Expansion, of bodies, 478;
- of liquids, 488.
- Experiment, 400, 416;
- in probability, 208;
- test or blind, 433;
- negative results of, 434;
- limits of, 437;
- collective, 445;
- simplification of, 422;
- failure in simplification, 424.
- Experimentalist, character of, 574, 592.
- Experimentum crucis, 518, 667.
- Explanation, 532.
- Extent of meaning, 26;
- of terms, 48.
- Extrapolation, 495.
- F
- Factorials, 179.
- Facts, importance of false, 414;
- conformity with, 516.
- Fallacies, 62;
- analysed by indirect method, 102;
- of observation, 408.
- Faraday, Michael, measurement of gold-leaf, 296;
- on gravity, 342, 589;
- magnetism of gases, 352;
- vibrating plate, 419;
- electric poles, 421;
- circularly polarised light, 424, 588, 630;
- freezing mixtures, 427;
- magnetic experiments, 431, 434;
- lines of magnetic force, 446, 580;
- errors of experiment, 465;
- electrolysis, 502;
- velocity of light, 520;
- prediction, 543;
- relations of physical forces, 547;
- character of, 578, 587;
- ray vibrations, 579;
- mathematical power, 580;
- philosophic reservation of opinion, 592;
- use of heavy glass, 609;
- electricity, 612;
- radiant matter, 642;
- hydrogen, 691.
- Fatality, belief in, 264.
- Ferio, 56.
- Figurate numbers, 183, 186.
- Figure of earth, 459, 565.
- Fizeau, use of Newton’s rings, 297, 582;
- fixity of properties, 313;
- velocity of light, 441, 561.
- Flamsteed, use of wells, 294;
- standard stars, 301;
- parallax of pole-star, 338;
- selection of observations, 358;
- astronomical instruments, 391;
- solar eclipses, 486.
- Fluorescence, 664.
- Fontenelle on the senses, 405.
- Forbes, J. D., 248.
- Force, unit of, 322, 326;
- emanating, 464;
- representation of, 633.
- Formulæ, empirical, 487;
- rational, 489.
- Fortia, Traité des Progressions, 183.
- Fortuitous coincidences, 261.
- Fossils, 661.
- Foster, G. C., on classification, 691.
- Foucault, rotating mirror, 299;
- pendulum, 342, 431, 522;777
- on velocity of light, 441, 521, 561.
- Fourier, Joseph, theory of dimensions, 325;
- theory of heat, 469, 744.
- Fowler, Thomas, on method of difference, 439;
- reasoning from case to case, 227.
- Frankland, Professor Edward, on spectrum of gases, 606.
- Franklin’s experiments on heat, 424.
- Fraunhofer, dark lines of spectrum, 429.
- Freezing-point, 546.
- Freezing mixtures, 546.
- Fresnel, inflexion of light, 420;
- corpuscular theory, 521;
- on use of hypothesis, 538;
- double refraction, 539.
- Friction, 417;
- determination of, 347.
- Function, definitions of, 489.
- Functions, discovery of, 496.
- G
- Galileo, 626;
- on cycloid, 232, 235;
- differential method of observation, 344;
- projectiles, 447, 466;
- use of telescope, 522;
- gravity, 604;
- principle of continuity, 617.
- Gallon, definition of, 318.
- Galton, Francis, divergence from mean, 188;
- works by, 188, 655;
- on hereditary genius, 385, 655.
- Galvanometer, 351.
- Ganières, de, 182.
- Gases, 613;
- properties of, 601, 602;
- perfect, 470;
- liquefiable, 665.
- Gauss, pendulum experiments, 316;
- law of error, 375–6;
- detection of error, 396;
- on gravity, 463.
- Gay Lussac, on boiling point, 659;
- law of, 669.
- Genealogical classification, 680, 719.
- General, terms, 29;
- truths, 647;
- notions, 673.
- Generalisation, 2, 594, 704;
- mathematical, 168;
- two meanings of, 597;
- value of, 599;
- hasty, 623.
- Genius, nature of, 575.
- Genus, 433, 698;
- generalissimum, 701;
- natural, 724.
- Geology, 667;
- records in, 408;
- slowness of changes, 438;
- exceptions in, 660.
- Geometric mean, 361.
- Geometric reasoning, 458;
- certainty of, 267.
- Giffard’s injector, 536.
- Gilbert, on rotation of earth, 249;
- magnetism of silver, 431;
- experimentation, 443.
- Gladstone, J. H., 445.
- Glaisher, J. W. L., on mathematical tables, 331;
- law of error, 375, 395.
- Gold, discovery of, 413.
- Gold-assay process, 434.
- Gold-leaf, thickness of, 296.
- Graham, Professor Thomas, on chemical affinity, 614;
- continuity, 616;
- nature of hydrogen, 691.
- Grammar, 39;
- rules of, 31.
- Grammatical, change, 119;
- equivalence, 120.
- Gramme, 317.
- Graphical method, 492.
- Gravesande, on inflection of light, 420.
- Gravity, 422, 512, 514, 604, 740;
- determination of, 302;
- elimination of, 427;
- law of, 458, 462, 474;
- inconceivability of, 510;
- Newton’s theory, 555;
- variation of, 565;
- discovery of law, 581;
- Faraday on, 589;
- discontinuity in, 620;
- Aristotle on, 649;
- Hooke’s experiment, 436.
- Grimaldi on the spectrum, 584.
- Grove, Mr. Justice, on ether, 514;
- electricity, 615.
- Guericke, Otto von, 432.
- H
- Habit, formation of, 618.
- Halley, trade-winds, 534.
- Halley’s comet, 537, 570.
- Hamilton, Sir William, disjunctive propositions, 69;
- inference, 118;
- free-will, 223.
- Hamilton, Sir W. Rowan, on conical refraction, 540;
- quaternions, 634.
- Harley, Rev. Robert, on Boole’s logic, 23, 155.
- Harris, standards of length, 312.
- Hartley, on logic, 7.
- Hatchett, on alloys, 191.
- Haughton, Professor, on tides, 450;
- muscular exertion, 490.
- Haüy, on crystallography, 529.
- Hayward, R. B., 142.
- Heat, unit of, 324;
- measurement of, 349;778
- experiments on, 444;
- mechanical equivalent of, 568.
- Heavy glass, 588, 609.
- Helmholtz, on microscopy, 406;
- undulations, 414;
- sound, 476.
- Hemihedral crystals, 649.
- Herschel, Sir John, on rotation of plane of polarisation of light, 129, 630;
- quartz crystals, 246;
- numerical precision, 273;
- photometry, 273;
- light of stars, 302;
- actinometer, 337;
- mean and average, 363;
- eclipses of Jupiter’s satellites, 372;
- law of error, 377;
- error in observations, 392;
- on observation, 400;
- moon’s influence on clouds, 410;
- comets, 411;
- spectrum analysis, 429;
- collective instances, 447;
- principle of forced vibrations, 451, 663;
- meteorological variations, 489;
- double stars, 499, 685;
- direct action, 502;
- use of theory, 508;
- ether, 515;
- experimentum crucis, 519;
- interference of light, 539;
- interference of sound, 540;
- density of earth, 567;
- residual phenomena, 569;
- helicoidal dissymmetry, 630;
- fluorescence, 664.
- Hindenburg, on combinatorial analysis, 176.
- Hipparchus, used method of repetition, 289;
- longitudes of stars, 294.
- Hippocrates, area of lunule, 480.
- History, science of, 760.
- Hobbes, Thomas, definition of cause, 224;
- definition of time, 307;
- on hypothesis, 510.
- Hofmann, unit called crith, 321;
- on prediction, 544;
- on anomalies, 670.
- Homogeneity, law of, 159, 327.
- Hooke, on gravitation, 436, 581;
- philosophical method, 507;
- on strange things, 671.
- Hopkinson, John, 194;
- method of interpolation, 497.
- Horrocks, use of mean, 358;
- use of hypothesis, 507.
- Hume on perception, 34.
- Hutton, density of earth, 566.
- Huxley, Professor Thomas, 764;
- on hypothesis, 509;
- classification, 676;
- mammalia, 682;
- palæontology, 682.
- Huyghens, theory of pendulum, 302;
- pendulum standard, 315;
- cycloidal pendulum, 341;
- differential method, 344;
- distant stars, 405;
- use of hypothesis, 508;
- philosophical method of, 585;
- on analogy, 639.
- Hybrids, 727.
- Hydrogen, expansion of, 471;
- refractive power, 527;
- metallic nature of, 691.
- Hygrometry, 563.
- Hypotheses, use of, 265, 504;
- substitution of simple hypotheses, 458;
- working hypotheses, 509;
- requisites of, 510;
- descriptive, 522, 686;
- representative, 524;
- probability of, 559.
- I
- Identical propositions, 119.
- Identities, simple, 37;
- partial, 40;
- limited, 42;
- simple and partial, 111;
- inference from, 51, 55.
- Identity, law of, 5, 6, 74;
- expression of, 14;
- propagating power, 20;
- reciprocal, 46.
- Illicit process, of major term, 65, 103;
- of minor term, 65.
- Immediate inference, 50, 61.
- Imperfect induction, 146, 149.
- Inclusion, relation of, 40.
- Incommensurable quantities, 275.
- Incompossible events, 205.
- Independence of small effects, 475.
- Independent events, 204.
- Indestructibility of matter, 465.
- Indexes, classification by, 714;
- formation of, 717.
- India-rubber, properties of, 545.
- Indirect method of deduction, 49, 81;
- illustrations of, 98;
- fallacies analysed by, 102;
- the test of equivalence, 115.
- Induction, 11, 121;
- symbolic statement of, 131;
- perfect, 146;
- imperfect, 149;
- philosophy of, 218;
- grounds of, 228;
- illustrations of, 229;
- quantitative, 483;
- problem of two classes, 134;
- problem of three classes, 137.
- Inductive truths, classes of, 219.
- Inequalities, reasoning by, 47, 163, 165–166.
- Inference, 9;
- general formula of, 17;
- immediate, 50;
- with two simple identities, 51;
- from simple and partial identity, 53;779
- with partial identities, 55;
- by sum of predicates, 61;
- by disjunctive propositions, 76;
- indirect method of, 81;
- nature of, 118;
- principle of mathematical, 162;
- certainty of, 236.
- Infima species, 701, 702.
- Infiniteness of universe, 738.
- Inflection of light, 420.
- Instantiæ, citantes, evocantes, radii, curriculi, 270;
- monodicæ, irregulares, heteroclitæ, 608;
- clandestinæ, 610.
- Instruments of measurement, 284.
- Insufficient enumeration, 176.
- Integration, 123.
- Intellect, etymology of, 5.
- Intension of logical terms, 26, 48;
- of propositions, 47.
- Interchangeable system, 20.
- Interpolation, 495;
- in meteorology, 497.
- Inverse, process, 12;
- operation, 122, 689;
- problem of two classes, 134;
- problem of three classes, 137;
- problem of probability, 240, 251;
- rules of inverse method, 257;
- simple illustrations, 253;
- general solution, 255.
- Iodine, the substance X, 523.
- Iron, properties of, 528, 670.
- Is, ambiguity of verb, 16, 41.
- Isomorphism, 662.
- Ivory, 375.
- J
- James, Sir H., on density of earth, 567.
- Jenkin, Professor Fleming, 328.
- Jevons, W. S., on use of mean, 361;
- on pedesis or molecular movement of microscopic particles, 406, 549;
- cirrous clouds, 411;
- spectrum analysis, 429;
- elevated rain-gauges, 430;
- experiments on clouds, 447;
- on muscular exertion, 490;
- resisting medium, 570;
- anticipations of the electric telegraph, 671.
- Jones, Dr. Bence, Life of Faraday, 578.
- Jordanus, on the mean, 360.
- Joule, 545;
- on thermopile, 299, 300;
- mechanical equivalent of heat, 325, 347, 568;
- temperature of air, 343;
- rarefaction, 444;
- on Thomson’s prediction, 543;
- molecular theory of gases, 548;
- friction, 549;
- thermal phenomena of fluids, 557.
- Jupiter, satellites of, 372, 458, 638, 656;
- long inequality of, 455;
- figure of, 556.
- K
- Kames, Lord, on bifurcate classification, 697.
- Kant, disjunctive propositions, 69;
- analogy, 597;
- doctrine of space, 769.
- Kater’s pendulum, 316.
- Keill, law of emanating forces, 464;
- axiom of simplicity, 625.
- Kepler, on star-discs, 390;
- comets, 408;
- laws of, 456;
- refraction, 501;
- character of, 578.
- Kinds of things, 718.
- King Charles and the Royal Society, 647.
- Kirchhoff, on lines of spectrum, 245.
- Kohlrausch, rules of approximate calculation, 479.
- L
- Lagrange, formula for interpolation, 497;
- accidental discovery, 531;
- union of algebra and geometry, 633.
- Lambert, 15.
- Lamont, 452.
- Language, 8, 628, 643.
- Laplace, on probability, 200, 216;
- principles of inverse method, 242;
- solution of inverse problem, 256;
- planetary motions, 249, 250;
- conjunctions of planets, 293;
- observation of tides, 372;
- atmospheric tides, 367;
- law of errors, 378;
- dark stars, 404;
- hyperbolic comets, 407;
- his works on probability, 395;
- velocity of gravity, 435;
- stability of planetary system, 448, 746;
- form of Jupiter, 556;
- corpuscular theory, 521;
- ellipticity of earth, 565;
- velocity of sound, 571;
- analogy, 597;
- law of gravity, 615;
- inhabitants of planets, 640;
- laws of motion, 706;
- power of science, 739.
- Lavoisier, mistaken inference of, 238;
- pyrometer, 287;
- on experiments, 423;
- prediction of, 544;
- theory, 611;
- on acids, 667
- Law, 3;
- of simplicity, 33, 72, 161;780
- commutativeness, 35, 160;
- disjunctive relation, 71;
- unity, 72, 157, 162;
- identity, 74;
- contradiction, 74, 82;
- duality, 73, 74, 81, 97, 169;
- homogeneity, 159;
- error, 374;
- continuity, 615;
- of Boyle, 619;
- natural, 737.
- Laws, of thought, 6;
- empirical mathematical, 487;
- of motion, 617;
- of botanical nomenclature, 727;
- natural hierarchy of, 742.
- Least squares, method of, 386, 393.
- Legendre, on geometry, 275;
- rejection of observations, 391;
- method of least squares, 377.
- Leibnitz, 154, 163;
- on substitution, 21;
- propositions, 42;
- blunder in probability, 213;
- on Newton, 515;
- continuity, 618.
- Leslie, differential thermometer, 345;
- radiating power, 425;
- on affectation of accuracy, 482.
- Letters, combinations of, 193.
- Leverrier, on solar parallax, 562.
- Lewis, Sir G. C., on time, 307.
- Life is change, 173.
- Light, intensity of, 296;
- unit, 324;
- velocity, 535, 560, 561;
- science of, 538;
- total reflection, 650;
- waves of, 637;
- classification of, 731.
- Lighthouses, Babbage on, 194.
- Limited identities, 42;
- inference of 59.
- Lindsay, Prof. T. M., 6, 21.
- Linear variation, 474.
- Linnæus on synopsis, 712;
- genera and species, 725.
- Liquid state, 601, 614.
- Locke, John, on induction, 121;
- origin of number, 157;
- on probability, 215;
- the word power, 221.
- Lockyer, J. Norman, classification of elements, 676.
- Logarithms, 148;
- errors in tables, 242.
- Logic, etymology of name, 5.
- Logical abacus, 104.
- Logical alphabet, 93, 116, 173, 417, 701;
- table of, 94;
- connection with arithmetical triangle, 189;
- in probability, 205.
- Logical conditions, numerical meaning of, 171.
- Logical machine, 107.
- Logical relations, number of, 142.
- Logical slate, 95.
- Logical truths, certainty of, 153.
- Lottery, the infinite, 2.
- Lovering, Prof., on ether, 606.
- Lubbock and Drinkwater-Bethune, 386, 395.
- Lucretius, rain of atoms, 223, 741;
- indestructibility of matter, 622.
- M
- Machine, logical, 107.
- Macleay, system of classification, 719.
- Magnetism of gases, 352.
- Mallet, on earthquakes, 314.
- Malus, polarised light, 530.
- Mammalia, characters of, 681.
- Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society, papers quoted, 137, 143, 168.
- Mansel, on disjunctive propositions, 69.
- Mars, white spots of, 596.
- Maskelyne, on personal error, 347;
- deviation of plumbline, 369;
- density of earth, 566.
- Mass, unit of, 317, 325.
- Mathematical science, 767;
- incompleteness of, 754.
- Matter, uniform properties of, 603;
- variable properties, 606.
- Matthiessen, 528.
- Maximum points, 371.
- Maxwell, Professor Clerk, on the balance, 304;
- natural system of standards, 311, 319;
- velocity of electricity, 442;
- on Faraday, 580;
- his book on Matter and Motion, 634.
- Mayer, proposed repeating circle, 290;
- on mechanical equivalent of heat, 568, 572.
- Mean, etymology of, 359–360;
- geometric, 362;
- fictitious, 363;
- precise, 365;
- probable, 385;
- rejection of, 389;
- method of, 357, 554.
- Mean error, 387.
- Meaning, of names, 25;
- of propositions, 47.
- Measurement, of phenomena, 270;
- methods of, 282;
- instruments, 284;
- indirect, 296;
- accuracy of, 303;
- units and standards of, 305;
- explained results of, 554;
- agreement of modes of, 564.
- Mediate statements, 144.
- Melodies, possible number of, 191.781
- Melvill, Thomas, on the spectrum, 429.
- Membra dividentia, 68.
- Metals, probable character of new, 258;
- transparency, 548;
- classification, 675;
- density, 706.
- Method, indirect, 98;
- of avoidance of error, 340;
- differential, 344;
- correction, 346;
- compensation, 350;
- reversal, 354;
- means, 357;
- least squares, 377, 386, 393;
- variations, 439;
- graphical, 492;
- Baconian, 507.
- Meteoric streams, 372.
- Meteoric cycle, 537.
- Metre, 349;
- error of, 314.
- Metric system, 318, 323.
- Michell, speculations, 212;
- on double stars, 247;
- Pleiades, 248;
- torsion balance, 566.
- Middle term undistributed, 64.
- Mill, John Stuart, disjunctive propositions, 69;
- induction, 121, 594;
- music, 191;
- probability, 200–201, 222;
- supposed reform of logic, 227;
- deductive method, 265, 508;
- elimination of chance, 385;
- joint method of agreement and difference, 425;
- method of variations, 484;
- on collocations, 740;
- erroneous tendency of his philosophy, 752.
- Miller, Prof. W. H., kilogram, 318.
- Mind, powers of, 4;
- phenomena of, 672.
- Minerals, classification of, 678.
- Minor term, illicit process of, 65.
- Mistakes, 7.
- Modus, tolendo ponens, 77;
- ponendo tollens, 78.
- Molecular movement, or pedesis, 406.
- Molecules, number of, 195.
- Momentum, 322, 326.
- Monro, C. J., correction by, 172;
- on Comte, 753.
- Monstrous productions, 657.
- Moon, supposed influence on clouds, 410;
- atmosphere of, 434;
- motions, 485;
- fall towards earth, 555.
- Morse alphabet, 193.
- Mother of pearl, 419.
- Müller, Max, on etymology of intellect, 5.
- Multiplication in logic, 161.
- Murphy, J. J., on disjunctive relation, 71.
- Murray, introduced use of ice, 343.
- Muscular susurrus, 298.
- Music, possible combinations of, 191.
- N
- Names, 25;
- of persons, ships, &c., 680.
- Nature, 1;
- laws of, 737;
- uniformity of, 745.
- Nebular theory, 427.
- Negation, 44.
- Negative arguments, 621.
- Negative density, 642.
- Negative premises, 63, 103.
- Negative propositions, 43.
- Negative results of experiment, 434.
- Negative terms, 14, 45, 54, 74.
- Neil on use of hypothesis, 509.
- Neptune, discovery of, 537, 660.
- Newton, Sir Isaac, binomial theorem, 231;
- spectrum, 262, 418, 420, 424, 583;
- rings of, 288, 470;
- velocity of sound, 295;
- wave-lengths, 297;
- use of pendulum, 303;
- on time, 308;
- definition of matter, 316;
- pendulum experiment, 348, 443, 604;
- centrobaric bodies, 365;
- on weight, 422;
- achromatic lenses, 432;
- resistance of space, 435;
- absorption of light, 445;
- planetary motions, 249, 457, 463, 466, 467;
- infinitesimal calculus, 477;
- as an alchemist, 505;
- his knowledge of Bacon’s works, 507;
- hypotheses non fingo, 515;
- on vortices, 517;
- theory of colours, 518;
- corpuscular theory of light, 520;
- fits of easy reflection, &c., 523;
- combustible substances, 527;
- gravity, 555, 650;
- density of earth, 566;
- velocity of sound, 571;
- third law of motion, 622;
- his rules of philosophising, 625;
- fluxions, 633;
- theory of sound, 636;
- negative density, 642;
- rays of light having sides, 662.
- Newtonian Method, 581.
- Nicholson, discovery of electrolysis, 530.
- Ninth Bridgewater Treatise quoted, 743, 757.
- Nipher, Professor, on muscular exertion, 490.782
- Noble, Captain, chronoscope, 308, 616.
- Nomenclature, laws of botanical, 727.
- Non-observation, arguments from, 411.
- Norwood’s measurement of a degree, 272.
- Nothing, 32.
- Number, nature of, 153, 156;
- concrete and abstract, 159, 305.
- Numbers, prime, 123;
- of Bernoulli, 124;
- figurate, 183;
- triangular, &c., 185.
- Numerical abstraction, 158.
- O
- Observation, 399;
- mental conditions, 402;
- instrumental and sensual conditions, 404;
- external conditions, 407.
- Obverse statements, 144.
- Ocean, depth of, 297.
- Odours, 732.
- Oersted, on electro-magnetism, 530, 535.
- Or, meaning of, 70.
- Order, of premises, 114;
- of terms, 33.
- Orders of combinations, 194.
- Original research, 574.
- Oscillation, centre of, 364.
- Ostensive instances, 608.
- Ozone, 663.
- P
- π, value of, 234, 529.
- Pack of cards, arrangement of, 241.
- Paley on design, 762, 763.
- Parallax, of stars, 344;
- of sun, 560.
- Parallel forces, 652.
- Paralogism, 62.
- Parity of reasoning, 268.
- Partial identities, 40, 55, 57, 111;
- induction of, 130.
- Particular quantity, 56.
- Particulars, reasoning from, 227.
- Partition, 29.
- Pascal, 176;
- arithmetical machine, 107;
- arithmetical triangle, 182;
- binomial formula, 182;
- error in probabilities, 213;
- barometer, 519.
- Passive state of steel, 659.
- Pedesis, or molecular movement of microscopic particles, 406, 612.
- Peirce, Professor, 23;
- on rejection of observations, 391.
- Pendulum, 290, 302, 315;
- faults of, 311;
- vibrations, 453, 454;
- cycloidal, 461.
- Perfect induction, 146, 149.
- Perigon, 306.
- Permutations, 173, 178;
- distinction from combinations, 177.
- Personal error, 347.
- Photometry, 288.
- Physiology, exceptions in, 666.
- Planets, conjunctions of, 181, 187, 657;
- discovery of, 412;
- motions, 457;
- perturbations of, 657;
- classification, 683;
- system of, 748.
- Plants, classification of, 678.
- Plateau’s experiments, 427.
- Plato on science, 595.
- Plattes, Gabriel, 434, 438.
- Pliny on tides, 451.
- Plumb-line, divergence of, 461.
- Plurality, 29, 156.
- Poinsot, on probability, 214.
- Poisson, on principle of the inverse method, 244;
- work on Probability, 395;
- Newton’s rings, 470;
- simile of ballot box, 524.
- Polarisation, 653;
- discovery of, 530.
- Pole-star, 652;
- observations of, 366.
- Poles, of magnets, 365;
- of battery, 421.
- Political economy, 760.
- Porphyry, on the Predicables, 698;
- tree of, 702.
- Port Royal logic, 22.
- Positive philosophy, 760, 768.
- Pouillet’s pyrheliometer, 337.
- Powell, Baden, 623;
- on planetary motions, 660.
- Power, definition of, 224.
- Predicables, 698.
- Prediction, 536, 739;
- in science of light, 538;
- theory of undulations, 540;
- other sciences, 542;
- by inversion of cause and effect, 545.
- Premises, order of, 114.
- Prime numbers, 123, 139;
- formula for, 230.
- Principia, Newton’s, 581, 583.
- Principle, of probability, 200;
- inverse method, 242;
- forced vibrations, 451;
- approximation, 471;
- co-existence of small vibrations, 476;783
- superposition of small effects, 476.
- Probable error, 555.
- Probability, etymology of, 197;
- theory of, 197;
- principles, 200;
- calculations, 203;
- difficulties of theory, 213;
- application of theory, 215;
- in induction, 219;
- in judicial proceedings, 216;
- works on, 394;
- results of law, 656.
- Problems, to be worked by reader, 126;
- inverse problem of two classes, 135;
- of three classes, 137.
- Proclus, commentaries of, 232.
- Proctor, R. A., star-drifts, 248.
- Projectiles, theory of, 466.
- Proper names, 27.
- Properties, generality of, 600;
- uniform, 603;
- extreme instances, 607;
- correlation, 681.
- Property, logical, 699;
- peculiar, 699.
- Proportion, simple, 501.
- Propositions, 36;
- negative, 43;
- conversion of, 46;
- twofold meaning, 47;
- disjunctive, 66;
- equivalence of, 115;
- identical, 119;
- tautologous, 119.
- Protean verses, 175.
- Protoplasm, 524, 764.
- Prout’s law, 263, 464.
- Provisional units, 323.
- Proximate statements, 144.
- Pyramidal numbers, 185.
- Pythagoras, on duality, 95;
- on the number seven, 262, 624.
- Q
- Quadric variation, 474.
- Qualitative, reasoning, 48;
- propositions, 119.
- Quantification of predicate, 41.
- Quantitative, reasoning, 48;
- propositions, 119;
- questions, 278;
- induction, 483.
- Quantities, continuous, 274;
- incommensurable, 275.
- Quaternions, 160, 634.
- Quetelet, 188;
- experiment on probability, 208;
- on mean and average, 363;
- law of error, 378, 380;
- verification of law of error, 385.
- R
- Radian, 306.
- Radiant matter, 642.
- Radiation of heat, 430.
- Radiometer, 435.
- Rainbow, theory of, 526, 533.
- Rainfall, variation of, 430.
- Ramean tree, 703, 704.
- Ramsden’s balance, 304.
- Rankine, on specific heat of air, 557;
- reconcentration of energy, 751.
- Rational formulæ, 489.
- Rayleigh, Lord, on graphical method, 495.
- Reasoning, arithmetical, 167;
- numerically definite, 168;
- geometrical, 458.
- Recorde, Robert, 15.
- Reduction, of syllogisms, 85;
- ad absurdum, 415;
- of observations, 552, 572.
- Reflection, total, 650.
- Refraction, atmospheric, 340, 356, 500;
- law of, 501;
- conical, 540;
- double, 585.
- Regnault, dilatation of mercury, 342;
- measurement of heat, 350;
- exact experiment, 397;
- on Boyle’s law, 468, 471;
- latent heat of steam, 487;
- graphical method, 494;
- specific heat of air, 557.
- Reid, on bifurcate classification, 697.
- Reign of law, 741, 759.
- Rejection of observations, 390.
- Relation, sign of, 17;
- logic of, 22;
- logical, 35;
- axiom of, 164.
- Repetition, method of, 287, 288.
- Representative hypotheses, 524.
- Reproduction, modes of, 730.
- Reservation of judgment, 592.
- Residual effects, 558;
- phenomena, 560, 569.
- Resisting medium, 310, 523, 570.
- Resonance, 453.
- Reusch, on substitution, 21.
- Reversal, method of, 354.
- Revolution, quantity of, 306.
- Robertson, Prof. Croom, 27, 101.
- Robison, electric curves, 446.
- Rock-salt, 609.
- Rœmer, divided circle, 355;
- velocity of light, 535.
- Roscoe, Prof., photometrical researches, 273;
- solubility of salts, 280;
- constant flame, 441;
- absorption of gases, 499;
- vanadium, 528;
- atomic weight of vanadium, 392, 649.
- Rousseau on geometry, 233.
- Rules, of inference, 9, 17;
- indirect method of inference, 89;784
- for calculation of combinations, 180;
- of probabilities, 203;
- of inverse method, 257;
- for elimination of error, 353.
- Rumford, Count, experiments on heat, 343, 350, 467.
- Ruminants, Cuvier on, 683.
- Russell, Scott, on sound, 541.
- S
- Sample, use of, 9.
- Sandeman, on perigon, 306;
- approximate arithmetic, 481.
- Saturn, motions of satellites, 293;
- rings, 293.
- Schehallien, attraction of, 369, 566.
- Schottus, on combinations, 179.
- Schwabe, on sun-spots, 452.
- Science, nature of, 1, 673.
- Selenium, 663, 670.
- Self-contradiction, 32.
- Senior’s definition of wealth, 75.
- Senses, fallacious indications of, 276.
- Seven, coincidences of number, 262;
- fallacies of, 624.
- Sextus, fatality of name, 264.
- Sieve of Eratosthenes, 82, 123, 139.
- Similars, substitution of, 17.
- Simple identity, 37, 111;
- inference of, 58;
- contrapositive, 86;
- induction of, 127.
- Simple statement, 143.
- Simplicity, law of, 33, 58, 72.
- Simpson, discovery of property of chloroform, 531.
- Simultaneity of knowledge, 34.
- Singular names, 27;
- terms, 129.
- Siren, 10, 298, 421.
- Slate, the logical, 95.
- Smeaton’s experiments, on water-wheels, 347;
- windmills, 401, 441.
- Smee, Alfred, logical machines, 107.
- Smell, delicacy of, 437.
- Smithsonian Institution, 329.
- Smyth, Prof. Piazzi, 452.
- Socrates, on the sun, 611.
- Solids, 602.
- Solubility of salts, 279.
- Some, the adjective, 41, 56.
- Sorites, 60.
- Sound, observations on, 356;
- undulations, 405, 421;
- velocity of, 571;
- classification of sounds, 732.
- Space, relations of, 220.
- Species, 698;
- infima, 701;
- natural, 724.
- Specific gravities, 301;
- heat of air, 557.
- Spence, on boiling point, 546.
- Spencer, Herbert, nature of logic, 4, 7;
- sign of equality, 15;
- rhythmical motion, 448;
- abstraction, 705;
- philosophy of, 718, 761, 762.
- Spectroscope, 437.
- Spectrum, 583.
- Spiritualism, 671.
- Spontaneous generation, 432.
- Standards of measurement, 305;
- the bar, 312;
- terrestrial, 314;
- pendulum, 315;
- provisional, 318;
- natural system, 319.
- Stars, discs of, 277;
- motions of, 280, 474;
- variations of, 281;
- approach or recess, 298;
- standard stars, 301;
- apparent diameter, 390;
- variable, 450;
- proper motions, 572;
- Bruno on, 639;
- new, 644;
- pole-star, 652;
- conflict with wandering stars, 748.
- Stas, M., his balance, 304;
- on atomic weights, 464.
- Statements, kinds of, 144.
- Statistical conditions, 168.
- Stevinus, on inclined plane, 622.
- Stewart, Professor Balfour, on resisting medium, 570;
- theory of exchanges, 571.
- Stifels, arithmetical triangle, 182.
- Stokes, Professor, on resistance, 475;
- fluorescence, 664.
- Stone, E. J., heat of the stars, 370;
- temperature of earth’s surface, 452;
- transit of Venus, 562.
- Struve on double stars, 247.
- Substantial terms, 28.
- Substantives, 14.
- Substitution of similars, 17, 45, 49, 104, 106;
- anticipations of, 21.
- Substitutive weighing, 345.
- Sui generis, 629, 728.
- Sulphur, 670.
- Summum genus, 93, 701.
- Sun, distance, 560;
- variations of spots, 452.
- Superposition, of small effects, 450;
- small motions, 476.
- Swan, W., on sodium light, 430.785
- Syllogism, 140;
- moods of, 55, 84, 85, 88, 105, 141;
- numerically definite, 168.
- Symbols, use of, 13, 31, 32;
- of quantity, 33.
- Synthesis, 122;
- of terms, 30.
- T
- Table-turning, 671.
- Tacit knowledge, 43.
- Tacquet on combinations, 179.
- Tait, P. G., 375;
- theory of comets, 571.
- Talbot on the spectrum, 429.
- Tartaglia on projectiles, 466.
- Tastes, classification of, 732.
- Tautologous propositions, 119.
- Teeth, use in classification, 710.
- Temperature, variations of, 453.
- Tension of aqueous vapour, 500.
- Terms, 24;
- abstract, 27;
- substantial, 28;
- collective, 29;
- synthesis of, 30;
- negative, 45.
- Terrot, Bishop, on probability, 212.
- Test experiments, 347, 433.
- Tetractys, 95.
- Thales, predicted eclipse, 537.
- Theory, results of, 534;
- facts known by, 547;
- quantitative, 551;
- of exchanges, 571;
- freedom of forming, 577;
- of evolution, 761.
- Thermometer, differential, 345;
- reading of, 390;
- change of zero, 390.
- Thermopile, 300.
- Thomas, arithmetical machine, 107.
- Thomson, Archbishop, 50, 61.
- Thomson, James, prediction by, 542;
- on gaseous state, 654.
- Thomson, Sir W., lighthouse signals, 194;
- size of atoms, 195;
- tides, 450;
- capillary attraction, 614;
- magnetism, 665;
- dissipation of energy, 744.
- Thomson and Tait, chronometry, 311;
- standards of length, 315;
- the crowbar, 460;
- polarised light, 653.
- Thomson, Sir Wyville, 412.
- Thunder-cloud, 612.
- Tides, 366, 450, 476, 541;
- velocity of, 298;
- gauge, 368;
- atmospheric, 367, 553.
- Time, 220;
- definition of, 307.
- Todhunter, Isaac, History of the Theory of Probability, 256, 375, 395;
- on insoluble problems, 757.
- Tooke, Horne, on cause, 226.
- Torricelli, cycloid, 235;
- his theorem, 605;
- on barometer, 666.
- Torsion balance, 272, 287.
- Transit of Venus, 294, 348, 562.
- Transit-circle, 355.
- Tree of Porphyry, 702;
- of Ramus, 703.
- Triangle, arithmetical, 93, 182.
- Triangular numbers, 185.
- Trigonometrical survey, 301;
- calculations of, 756.
- Trisection of angles, 414.
- Tuning-fork, 541.
- Tycho Brahe, 271;
- on star discs, 277;
- obliquity of earth’s axis, 289;
- circumpolar stars, 366;
- Sirius, 390.
- Tyndall, Professor, on natural constants, 328;
- magnetism of gases, 352;
- precaution in experiments, 431;
- use of imagination, 509;
- on Faraday, 547;
- magnetism, 549, 607;
- scope for discovery, 753.
- Types, of logical conditions, 140, 144;
- of statements, 145;
- classification by, 722.
- U
- Ueberweg’s logic, 6.
- Ultimate statements, 144.
- Undistributed, attribute, 40;
- middle term, 64, 103.
- Undulations, of light, 558;
- analogy in theory of, 635.
- Undulatory theory, 468, 520, 538, 540;
- inconceivability of, 510.
- Unique objects, 728.
- Unit, definition of, 157;
- groups, 167;
- of measurement, 305;
- arcual, 306;
- of time, 307;
- space, 312;
- density, 316;
- mass, 317;
- subsidiary, 320;
- derived, 321;
- provisional, 323;
- of heat, 325;
- magnetical and electrical units, 326, 327.
- Unity, law of, 72.
- Universe, logical, 43;
- infiniteness of, 738;
- heat-history of, 744, 749;
- possible states of, 749.
- Uranus, anomalies of, 660.
- V
- Vacuum, Nature’s abhorrence of, 513.
- Vapour densities, 548.
- Variable, variant, 440, 441, 483.786
- Variation, linear, elliptic, &c., 474;
- method of, 439.
- Variations, logical, 140;
- periodic, 447;
- combined, 450;
- integrated, 452;
- simple proportional, 501.
- Variety, of nature, 173;
- of nature and art, 190;
- higher orders of, 192.
- Velocity, unit of, 321.
- Venn, Rev. John, logical problem by, 90;
- on Boole, 155;
- his work on Logic of Chance, 394.
- Venus, 449;
- transits of, 294.
- Verses, Protean, 175.
- Vibrations, law of, 295;
- principle of forced, 451;
- co-existence of small, 476.
- Vital force, 523.
- Voltaire on fossils, 661.
- Vortices, theory of, 513, 517.
- Vulcan, supposed planet, 414.
- W
- Wallis, 124, 175.
- Water, compressibility of, 338;
- properties of, 610.
- Watt’s parallel motion, 462.
- Waves, 599, 635;
- nature of, 468;
- in canals, 535;
- earthquake, 297.
- Weak arguments, effect of, 211.
- Wells, on dew, 425.
- Wenzel, on neutral salts, 295.
- Whately, disjunctive propositions, 69;
- probable arguments, 210.
- Wheatstone, cipher, 124;
- galvanometer, 286;
- revolving mirror, 299, 308;
- kaleidophone, 445;
- velocity of electricity, 543.
- Whewell, on tides, 371, 542;
- method of least squares, 386.
- Whitworth, Sir Joseph, 304, 436.
- Whitworth, Rev. W. A., on Choice and Chance, 395.
- Wilbraham, on Boole, 206.
- Williamson, Professor A. W., chemical unit, 321;
- prediction by, 544.
- Wollaston, the goniometer, 287;
- light of moon, 302;
- spectrum, 429.
- Wren, Sir C., on gravity, 581.
- X
- X, the substance, 523.
- Y
- Yard, standard, 397.
- Young, Dr. Thomas, tension of aqueous vapour, 500;
- use of hypotheses, 508;
- ethereal medium, 515.
- Z
- Zero point, 368.
- Zodiacal light, 276.
- Zoology, 666.
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FOOTNOTES:
1 Since the above was written Mr. Harley has read an account of Stanhope’s logical remains at the Dublin Meeting (1878) of the British Association. The paper will be printed in Mind. (Note added November, 1878.)
1 Since the above was written, Mr. Harley has read a report on Stanhope’s logical remains at the Dublin Meeting (1878) of the British Association. The paper will be published in Mind. (Note added November, 1878.)
3 Erdmann, p. 102.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Erdmann, p. 102.
4 Ibid. p. 98.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Ibid. p. 98.
5 Erdmann, p. 100.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Erdmann, p. 100.
6 Fifth Edition, 1860, p. 158.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ 5th Edition, 1860, p. 158.
7 Section 120.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Section 120.
8 See his “Remarks on Boole’s Mathematical Analysis of Logic.” Report of the 36th Meeting of the British Association, Transactions of the Sections, pp. 3–6.
8 Check out his “Comments on Boole’s Mathematical Analysis of Logic.” Report of the 36th Meeting of the British Association, Transactions of the Sections, pp. 3–6.
10 Ibid. p. 326.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Ibid. p. 326.
11 Pure Logic, or the Logic of Quality apart from Quantity; with Remarks on Boole’s System, and on the Relation of Logic and Mathematics. London, 1864, p. 3.
11 Pure Logic, or the Logic of Quality apart from Quantity; with Comments on Boole’s System, and on the Connection between Logic and Mathematics. London, 1864, p. 3.
15 Since the above was written M. Liard has republished this exposition as one chapter of an interesting and admirably lucid account of the progress of logical science in England. After a brief but clear introduction, treating of the views of Herschel, Mill, and others concerning Inductive Logic, M. Liard describes in succession the logical systems of George Bentham, Hamilton, De Morgan, Boole, and that contained in the present work. The title of the book is as follows:—Les Logiciens Anglais Contemporains. Par Louis Liard, Professeur de Philosophie à la Faculté des Lettres de Bordeaux. Paris: Librairie Germer Baillière. 1878. (Note added November, 1878.)
15 Since the above was written, M. Liard has republished this exposition as a chapter in an engaging and clearly written account of the development of logical science in England. After a brief but straightforward introduction discussing the ideas of Herschel, Mill, and others regarding Inductive Logic, M. Liard successively outlines the logical systems of George Bentham, Hamilton, De Morgan, Boole, and the one presented in this work. The title of the book is as follows:—Les Logiciens Anglais Contemporains. By Louis Liard, Professor of Philosophy at the Faculty of Letters in Bordeaux. Paris: Librairie Germer Baillière. 1878. (Note added November, 1878.)
18 Portions of this work have already been published in my articles, entitled “John Stuart Mill’s Philosophy Tested,” printed in the Contemporary Review for December, 1877, vol. xxxi. p. 167, and for January and April, 1878, vol. xxxi. p. 256, and vol. xxxii. p. 88. (Note added in November, 1878.)
18 Portions of this work have already been published in my articles, titled “John Stuart Mill’s Philosophy Tested,” printed in the Contemporary Review for December 1877, vol. xxxi, p. 167, and for January and April 1878, vol. xxxi, p. 256, and vol. xxxii, p. 88. (Note added in November 1878.)
19 Mind, vol. i. p. 222.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Mind, vol. 1, p. 222.
21 Sir W. Thomson’s words are as follows (Cambridge Mathematical Journal, Nov. 1842, vol. iii. p. 174). “When x is negative, the state represented cannot be the result of any possible distribution of temperature which has previously existed.” There is no limitation in the sentence to the laws of conduction, but, as the whole paper treats of the results of conduction in a solid, it may no doubt be understood that there is a tacit limitation. See also a second paper on the subject in the same journal for February, 1844, vol. iv. p. 67, where again there is no expressed limitation.
21 Sir W. Thomson’s words are as follows (Cambridge Mathematical Journal, Nov. 1842, vol. iii. p. 174). “When x is negative, the situation described can’t result from any possible distribution of temperature that has existed before.” There’s no restriction in this sentence regarding the laws of conduction, but since the entire paper discusses the outcomes of conduction in a solid, it can be understood that there is a tacit limitation. See also a second paper on the topic in the same journal for February, 1844, vol. iv. p. 67, where again there is no stated limitation.
22 Pp. 25–26. The parentheses are in the original, and show Professor Tait’s corrections in the verbatim reports of his lectures. The subject is treated again on pp. 168–9.
22 Pp. 25–26. The parentheses are from the original document and indicate Professor Tait’s corrections in the verbatim reports of his lectures. The topic is discussed again on pp. 168–9.
23 Theory of Heat 1871, p. 245.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Theory of Heat 1871, p. 245.
25 Max Müller, Lectures on the Science of Language, Second Series, vol. ii. p. 63; or Sixth Edition, vol. ii. p. 67. The view of the etymological meaning of “intellect” is given above on the authority of Professor Max Müller. It seems to be opposed to the ordinary opinion, according to which the Latin intelligere means to choose between, to see a difference between, to discriminate, instead of to unite.
25 Max Müller, Lectures on the Science of Language, Second Series, vol. ii. p. 63; or Sixth Edition, vol. ii. p. 67. The interpretation of the etymological meaning of “intellect” mentioned above is based on the authority of Professor Max Müller. This perspective appears to contradict the common view, which holds that the Latin intelligere means to choose between, to see a difference between, and to discriminate, rather than to unite.
29 Brewster, Treatise on New Philosophical Instruments, p. 273. Concerning this method see also Whewell, Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences, vol. ii. p. 355; Tomlinson, Philosophical Magazine, Fourth Series, vol. xl. p. 328; Tyndall, in Youmans’ Modern Culture, p. 16.
29 Brewster, Treatise on New Philosophical Instruments, p. 273. For more on this method, see also Whewell, Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences, vol. ii, p. 355; Tomlinson, Philosophical Magazine, Fourth Series, vol. xl, p. 328; Tyndall, in Youmans’ Modern Culture, p. 16.
30 Formal Logic, p. 38.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Formal Logic, p. 38.
37 Pure Logic, pp. 18, 19.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Pure Logic, pp. 18, 19.
38 Ueberweg’s System of Logic, transl. by Lindsay, pp. 442–446, 571, 572. The anticipations of the principle of substitution to be found in the works of Leibnitz, Reusch, and perhaps other German logicians, will be noticed in the preface to this second edition.
38 Ueberweg’s System of Logic, transl. by Lindsay, pp. 442–446, 571, 572. The early mentions of the principle of substitution found in the works of Leibniz, Reusch, and possibly other German logicians will be discussed in the preface to this second edition.
39 Substitution of Similars (1869), p. 9.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Substitution of Similars (1869), p. 9.
41 Description of a Notation for the Logic of Relatives, resulting from an Amplification of the Conceptions of Boole’s Calculus of Logic. By C. S. Peirce. Memoirs of the American Academy, vol. ix. Cambridge, U.S., 1870.
41 Description of a Notation for the Logic of Relatives, resulting from an Amplification of the Concepts of Boole’s Calculus of Logic. By C. S. Peirce. Memoirs of the American Academy, vol. ix. Cambridge, U.S., 1870.
42 On the Syllogism No IV., and on the Logic of Relations. By Augustus De Morgan. Transactions of the Cambridge Philosophical Society, vol. x. part ii., 1860.
42 On the Syllogism No IV., and on the Logic of Relations. By Augustus De Morgan. Transactions of the Cambridge Philosophical Society, vol. x. part ii., 1860.
43 Observations on Boole’s Laws of Thought. By the late R. Leslie Ellis; communicated by the Rev. Robert Harley, F.R.S. Report of the British Association, 1870. Report of Sections, p. 12. Also, On Boole’s Laws of Thought. By the Rev. Robert Harley, F.R.S., ibid. p. 14.
43 Observations on Boole’s Laws of Thought. By the late R. Leslie Ellis; shared by the Rev. Robert Harley, F.R.S. Report of the British Association, 1870. Report of Sections, p. 12. Also, On Boole’s Laws of Thought. By the Rev. Robert Harley, F.R.S., ibid. p. 14.
44 Jevons’ Elementary Lessons in Logic, pp. 41–43; Pure Logic, p. 6. See also J. S. Mill, System of Logic, Book I. chap. ii. section 5, and Shedden’s Elements of Logic, London, 1864, pp. 14, &c. Professor Robertson objects (Mind, vol. i. p. 210) that I confuse singular and proper names; if so, it is because I hold that the same remarks apply to proper names, which do not seem to me to differ logically from singular names.
44 Jevons’ Elementary Lessons in Logic, pp. 41–43; Pure Logic, p. 6. See also J. S. Mill, System of Logic, Book I. chap. ii. section 5, and Shedden’s Elements of Logic, London, 1864, pp. 14, &c. Professor Robertson argues (Mind, vol. i. p. 210) that I mix up singular and proper names; if that's the case, it’s because I believe the same points apply to proper names, which don't seem to me to differ logically from singular names.
45 Professor Robertson has criticised my introduction of “Substantial Terms” (Mind, vol. i. p. 210), and objects, perhaps correctly, that the distinction if valid is extra-logical. I am inclined to think, however, that the doctrine of terms is, strictly speaking, for the most part extra-logical.
45 Professor Robertson has criticized my introduction of “Substantial Terms” (Mind, vol. i. p. 210), and rightly points out that the distinction, if valid, is outside the realm of logic. However, I tend to believe that the doctrine of terms is mostly, in strict terms, extra-logical.
47 Pure Logic, p. 15.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Pure Logic, p. 15.
50 Laws of Thought, p. 29. It is pointed out in the preface to this Second Edition that Leibnitz was acquainted with the Laws of Simplicity and of Commutativeness.
50 Laws of Thought, p. 29. The preface to this Second Edition highlights that Leibnitz was familiar with the Laws of Simplicity and Commutativeness.
60 An explanation of this and other technical terms of the old logic will be found in my Elementary Lessons in Logic, Sixth Edition, 1876; Macmillan.
60 You can find definitions for this and other technical terms from traditional logic in my Elementary Lessons in Logic, Sixth Edition, 1876; Macmillan.
62 Pure Logic, p. 19.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Pure Logic, p. 19.
66 Aldrich, Artis Logicæ Rudimenta, p. 104.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Aldrich, Fundamentals of Logic, p. 104.
68 Pure Logic, pp 76, 77.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Pure Logic, pp. 76, 77.
72 See Horsley, Philosophical Transactions, 1772; vol. lxii. p. 327. Montucla, Histoire des Mathematiques, vol. i. p. 239. Penny Cyclopædia, article “Eratosthenes.”
72 See Horsley, Philosophical Transactions, 1772; vol. lxii. p. 327. Montucla, Histoire des Mathematiques, vol. i. p. 239. Penny Cyclopædia, article “Eratosthenes.”
73 Euclid, Book x. Prop. 117.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Euclid, Book 10, Proposition 117.
78 Formal Logic, p. 124. As Professor Croom Robertson has pointed out to me, the second and third premises may be thrown into a single proposition, D = DeBC ꖌ DEbc.
78 Formal Logic, p. 124. As Professor Croom Robertson has mentioned to me, the second and third premises can be combined into one statement, D = DeBC ꖌ DEbc.
79 Pp. 55–59, 81–86.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ pp. 55–59, 81–86.
80 See his work called The Process of Thought adapted to Words and Language, together with a Description of the Relational and Differential Machines. Also Philosophical Transactions, [1870] vol. 160, p. 518.
80 Check out his work titled The Process of Thought Adapted to Words and Language, along with a Description of the Relational and Differential Machines. Also, see Philosophical Transactions, [1870] vol. 160, p. 518.
85 The contents of this and the following section nearly correspond with those of a paper read before the Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society on December 26th, 1871. See Proceedings of the Society, vol. xi. pp. 65–68, and Memoirs, Third Series, vol. v. pp. 119–130.
85 The contents of this section and the next are almost the same as those of a paper presented to the Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society on December 26, 1871. See Proceedings of the Society, vol. xi. pp. 65–68, and Memoirs, Third Series, vol. v. pp. 119–130.
91 Elementary Lessons in Logic (Macmillan), p. 123. It is pointed out in the preface to this Second Edition, that the views here given were partially stated by Leibnitz.
91 Elementary Lessons in Logic (Macmillan), p. 123. The preface to this Second Edition mentions that these ideas were partially expressed by Leibnitz.
93 It has been pointed out to me by Mr. C. J. Monroe, that section 14 (p. 339) of this paper is erroneous, and ought to be cancelled. The problem concerning the number of paupers illustrates the answer which should have been obtained. Mr. A. J. Ellis, F.R.S., had previously observed that my solution in the paper of De Morgan’s problem about “men in the house” did not answer the conditions intended by De Morgan, and I therefore give in the text a more satisfactory solution.
93 Mr. C. J. Monroe pointed out to me that section 14 (p. 339) of this paper is incorrect and should be removed. The issue regarding the number of paupers demonstrates the answer that should have been found. Mr. A. J. Ellis, F.R.S., had previously noted that my solution in the paper on De Morgan’s problem about “men in the house” did not meet De Morgan's intended conditions, so I’m providing a more satisfactory solution in the text.
98 Rees’s Cyclopædia, art. Cipher.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Rees’s Cyclopædia, article Cipher.
104 See also Galton’s Lecture at the Royal Institution, 27th February, 1874; Catalogue of the Special Loan Collection of Scientific Instruments, South Kensington, Nos. 48, 49; and Galton, Philosophical Magazine, January 1875.
104 See also Galton’s Lecture at the Royal Institution, February 27, 1874; Catalogue of the Special Loan Collection of Scientific Instruments, South Kensington, Nos. 48, 49; and Galton, Philosophical Magazine, January 1875.
107 Hofmann’s Introduction to Chemistry, p. 36.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Hofmann’s Intro to Chemistry, p. 36.
109 Nature, vol. i. p. 553.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Nature, vol. 1, p. 553.
110 Formal Logic, p. 172.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Formal Logic, p. 172.
116 Encyclopædia Metropolitana, art. Probabilities, p. 396.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Encyclopædia Metropolitana, entry Probabilities, p. 396.
118 Encyclopædia Metropolitana, art. Probabilities, p. 400.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Encyclopædia Metropolitana, entry Probabilities, p. 400.
122 Leibnitz Opera, Dutens’ Edition, vol. vi. part i. p. 217. Todhunter’s History of the Theory of Probability, p. 48. To the latter work I am indebted for many of the statements in the text.
122 Leibnitz Opera, Dutens’ Edition, vol. vi. part i. p. 217. Todhunter’s History of the Theory of Probability, p. 48. I owe many of the statements in the text to this latter work.
132 Ibid. p. 97.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Ibid. p. 97.
134 Inductive Logic, pp. 13, 14.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Inductive Logic, pp. 13, 14.
135 Bain, Deductive Logic, pp. 208, 209.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Bain, Deductive Logic, pp. 208, 209.
139 Commercium Epistolicum. Epistola ad Oldenburgum, Oct. 24, 1676. Horsley’s Works of Newton, vol. iv. p. 541. See De Morgan in Penny Cyclopædia, art. “Binomial Theorem,” p. 412.
139 Commercium Epistolicum. Letter to Oldenburg, Oct. 24, 1676. Horsley’s Works of Newton, vol. iv. p. 541. See De Morgan in Penny Cyclopædia, article “Binomial Theorem,” p. 412.
140 Bk. ii. chap. iv.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Book 2, Chapter 4
142 Budget of Paradoxes, p. 257.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Budget of Paradoxes, p. 257.
149 Euler’s Letters, vol. ii. p. 21.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Euler’s Letters, vol. 2, p. 21.
154 Edinburgh Review, No. 185, vol. xcii. July 1850, p. 32; Herschel’s Essays, p. 421; Transactions of the Cambridge Philosophical Society, vol. i. p. 43.
154 Edinburgh Review, No. 185, vol. xcii. July 1850, p. 32; Herschel’s Essays, p. 421; Transactions of the Cambridge Philosophical Society, vol. i. p. 43.
156 Herschel, Outlines of Astronomy, 1849, p. 565; but Todhunter, in his History of the Theory of Probability, p. 335, states that the calculations do not agree with those published by Struve.
156 Herschel, Outlines of Astronomy, 1849, p. 565; but Todhunter, in his History of the Theory of Probability, p. 335, says that the calculations don't match those published by Struve.
159 History, &c., p. 334.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ History, etc., p. 334.
160 Essai Philosophique, p. 57.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Philosophical Essay, p. 57.
162 Principia, bk. ii. General scholium.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Principia, bk. 2. General scholium.
164 Lubbock, Essay on Probability, p. 14. De Morgan, Encyc. Metrop. art. Probability, p. 412. Todhunter’s History of the Theory of Probability, p. 543. Concerning the objections raised to these conclusions by Boole, see the Philosophical Magazine, 4th Series, vol. ii. p. 98. Boole’s Laws of Thought, pp. 364–375.
164 Lubbock, Essay on Probability, p. 14. De Morgan, Encyc. Metrop. art. Probability, p. 412. Todhunter’s History of the Theory of Probability, p. 543. For the objections raised against these conclusions by Boole, see the Philosophical Magazine, 4th Series, vol. ii. p. 98. Boole’s Laws of Thought, pp. 364–375.
165 Laplace, Essai Philosophique, pp. 55, 56.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Laplace, *Philosophical Essay*, pp. 55, 56.
166 Chambers’ Astronomy, 2nd ed. pp. 346–49.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Chambers’ Astronomy, 2nd ed. pp. 346–49.
168 Laws of Thought, pp. 368–375.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Laws of Thought, pp. 368–375.
170 Essay on Probabilities, p. 128.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Essay on Probabilities, p. 128.
172 Todhunter’s History, pp. 472, 598.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Todhunter’s *History*, pp. 472, 598.
173 Todhunter’s History, pp. 378, 379.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Todhunter’s History, pp. 378, 379.
176 Aristotle’s Metaphysics, xiii. 6. 3.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Aristotle's Metaphysics, xiii. 6. 3.
177 Possunt autem omnes testes et uno annulo signare testamentum Quid enim si septem annuli una sculptura fuerint, secundum quod Pomponio visum est?—Justinian, ii. tit. x. 5.
177 All witnesses can sign the will with one ring. But what if seven rings have a single engraving, as Pomponius suggested?—Justinian, ii. tit. x. 5.
189 Baily’s Account of Flamsteed, p. lix.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Baily’s Account of Flamsteed, p. 59.
191 Faraday, Chemical Researches, p. 393.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Faraday, *Chemical Researches*, p. 393.
193 Herschel, Physical Geography, § 40.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Herschel, Physical Geography, § 40.
199 Baily’s Account of Flamsteed, pp. 378–380.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Baily’s Account of Flamsteed, pp. 378–380.
208 Pelicotetics, or the Science of Quantity; an Elementary Treatise on Algebra, and its groundwork Arithmetic. By Archibald Sandeman, M. A. Cambridge (Deighton, Bell, and Co.), 1868, p. 304.
208 Pelicotetics, or the Science of Quantity; a Beginner's Guide to Algebra and its Foundation in Arithmetic. By Archibald Sandeman, M. A. Cambridge (Deighton, Bell, and Co.), 1868, p. 304.
211 Confessions, bk. xi. chapters 20–28.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Confessions, book 11, chapters 20–28.
226 Introduction to Chemistry, p. 131.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Intro to Chemistry, p. 131.
229 Tyndall’s Sound, 1st ed. p. 26.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Tyndall’s Sound, 1st ed. p. 26.
231 Smithsonian Miscellaneous Collections, vol. xii., the Constants of Nature, part. i. Specific gravities compiled by F. W. Clarke, 8vo. Washington, 1873.
231 Smithsonian Miscellaneous Collections, vol. xii., the Constants of Nature, part. i. Specific gravities compiled by F. W. Clarke, 8vo. Washington, 1873.
248 Greenwich Observations for 1866, p. xlix.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Greenwich Observations for 1866, p. xlix.
249 Philosophical Transactions, 1856, p. 309.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Philosophical Transactions, 1856, p. 309.
251 Ibid. art. Observation, p. 390.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Ibid. art. *Observation*, p. 390.
252 Nature, vol. i. p. 85.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Nature, vol. 1, p. 85.
257 Tyndall’s Faraday, pp. 114, 115.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Tyndall’s Faraday, pp. 114, 115.
261 Baily’s Account of Flamsteed, p. 376.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Baily’s Account of Flamsteed, p. 376.
264 Penny Cyclopædia, art. Mean.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Penny Cyclopædia, article Mean.
267 Herschel’s Essays, &c. pp. 404, 405.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Herschel’s Essays, etc. pp. 404, 405.
278 On the Law of Facility of Errors of Observations, and on the Method of Least Squares, Memoirs of the Royal Astronomical Society, vol. xxxix. p. 75.
278 On the Law of Facility of Errors of Observations, and on the Method of Least Squares, Memoirs of the Royal Astronomical Society, vol. xxxix. p. 75.
279 Méthode des Moindres Carrés. Mémoires sur la Combinaison des Observations, par Ch. Fr. Gauss. Traduit en Français par J. Bertrand, Paris, 1855, pp. 6, 133, &c.
279 Method of Least Squares. Memoirs on the Combination of Observations, by Ch. Fr. Gauss. Translated into French by J. Bertrand, Paris, 1855, pp. 6, 133, &c.
280 De Morgan, Penny Cyclopædia, art. Least Squares.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ De Morgan, *Penny Cyclopædia*, article *Least Squares*.
281 Edinburgh Review, July 1850, vol. xcii. p. 17. Reprinted Essays, p. 399. This method of demonstration is discussed by Boole, Transactions of Royal Society of Edinburgh, vol. xxi. pp. 627–630.
281 Edinburgh Review, July 1850, vol. xcii. p. 17. Reprinted Essays, p. 399. This method of demonstration is discussed by Boole, Transactions of Royal Society of Edinburgh, vol. xxi. pp. 627–630.
289 Philosophical Transactions, 1873, p. 83.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Philosophical Transactions, 1873, p. 83.
291 Quetelet, Letters, &c. p. 116.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Quetelet, Letters, etc. p. 116.
292 Baily, Account of Flamsteed, p. 56.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Baily, Flamsteed's Account, p. 56.
297 The Logic of Chance, an Essay on the Foundations and Province of the Theory of Probability, with especial reference to its Logical Bearings and its Application to Moral and Social Science. (Macmillan), 1876.
297 The Logic of Chance, an Essay on the Foundations and Scope of Probability Theory, with special attention to its Logical Implications and its Use in Moral and Social Science. (Macmillan), 1876.
302 Babbage, Economy of Manufactures, p. 194.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Babbage, *Economy of Manufactures*, p. 194.
304 This curious phenomenon, which I propose to call pedesis, or the pedetic movement, from πηδόω, to jump, is carefully described in my paper published in the Quarterly Journal of Science for April, 1878, vol. viii. (N.S.) p. 167. See also Proceedings of the Literary and Philosophical Society of Manchester, 25th January, 1870, vol. ix. p. 78, Nature, 22nd August, 1878, vol. xviii. p. 440, or the Quarterly Journal of Science, vol. viii. (N.S.) p. 514.
304 This interesting phenomenon, which I will call pedesis, or the pedetic movement, from πηδόω, meaning to jump, is described in detail in my paper published in the Quarterly Journal of Science for April 1878, vol. viii. (N.S.) p. 167. You can also check out Proceedings of the Literary and Philosophical Society of Manchester, 25th January 1870, vol. ix. p. 78, Nature, 22nd August 1878, vol. xviii. p. 440, or the Quarterly Journal of Science, vol. viii. (N.S.) p. 514.
305 Maxwell, Theory of Heat, p. 301.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Maxwell, *Theory of Heat*, p. 301.
307 Chambers’ Astronomy, 1st ed. p. 203.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Chambers’ Astronomy, 1st ed. p. 203.
310 See Notes to Measures of Double Stars, 1204, 1336, 1477, 1686, 1786, 1816, 1835, 1929, 2081, 2186, pp. 265, &c. See also Herschel’s Familiar Lectures on Scientific Subjects, p. 147, and Outlines of Astronomy, 7th ed. p. 285.
310 See Notes to Measures of Double Stars, 1204, 1336, 1477, 1686, 1786, 1816, 1835, 1929, 2081, 2186, pp. 265, &c. See also Herschel’s Familiar Lectures on Scientific Subjects, p. 147, and Outlines of Astronomy, 7th ed. p. 285.
312 Astronomy, 4th ed. p. 358.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Astronomy, 4th ed., p. 358.
313 Babbage, Ninth Bridgewater Treatise, p. 67.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Babbage, *Ninth Bridgewater Treatise*, p. 67.
315 Murchison’s Siluria, 1st ed. p. 432.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Murchison’s Siluria, 1st ed. p. 432.
316 Darwin’s Fertilisation of Orchids, p. 48.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Darwin's Fertilisation of Orchids, p. 48.
317 Peacock, Algebre, vol. ii. p. 344.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Peacock, Algebra, vol. 2, p. 344.
320 Opticks, 3rd. ed. p. 25.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Opticks, 3rd ed., p. 25.
329 Herschel, Preliminary Discourse, p. 161.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Herschel, Preliminary Discourse, p. 161.
335 His published works are contained in The Edinburgh Physical and Literary Essays, vol. ii. p. 34; Philosophical Transactions [1753], vol. xlviii. p. 261; see also Morgan’s Papers in Philosophical Transactions [1785], vol. lxxv. p. 190.
335 His published works are found in The Edinburgh Physical and Literary Essays, vol. ii, p. 34; Philosophical Transactions [1753], vol. xlviii, p. 261; see also Morgan’s Papers in Philosophical Transactions [1785], vol. lxxv, p. 190.
338 Talbot, Philosophical Magazine, 3rd Series, vol. ix. p. 1 (1836); Brewster, Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh [1823], vol. ix. pp. 433, 455; Swan, ibid. [1856] vol. xxi. p. 411; Philosophical Magazine, 4th Series, vol. xx. p. 173 [Sept. 1860]; Roscoe, Spectrum Analysis, Lecture III.
338 Talbot, Philosophical Magazine, 3rd Series, vol. 9, p. 1 (1836); Brewster, Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh [1823], vol. 9, pp. 433, 455; Swan, ibid. [1856] vol. 21, p. 411; Philosophical Magazine, 4th Series, vol. 20, p. 173 [Sept. 1860]; Roscoe, Spectrum Analysis, Lecture III.
343 Lectures on Heat, p. 21.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Lectures on Heat, p. 21.
352 Hooke’s Posthumous Works, p. 182.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Hooke’s Posthumous Works, p. 182.
358 See Bunsen and Roscoe’s researches, in Philosophical Transactions (1859), vol. cxlix. p. 880, &c., where they describe a constant flame of carbon monoxide gas.
358 See Bunsen and Roscoe’s research in Philosophical Transactions (1859), vol. cxlix, p. 880, &c., where they describe a steady flame of carbon monoxide gas.
359 Humboldt’s Cosmos (Bohn), vol. i. p. 7.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Humboldt’s Cosmos (Bohn), vol. 1, p. 7.
360 Gilbert, De Magnete, p. 109.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Gilbert, *De Magnete*, p. 109.
361 Principia, bk. iii. Prop. vi.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Principia, book 3, Proposition 6.
363 Opticks, 3rd edit. p. 159.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Opticks, 3rd ed. p. 159.
366 Preliminary Discourse, &c., p. 185.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Preliminary Discourse, etc., p. 185.
371 Humboldt’s Cosmos (Bohn), vol. iii. p. 229.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Humboldt’s Cosmos (Bohn), vol. 3, p. 229.
372 Encyclopædia Metropolitana, art. Sound, § 323; Outlines of Astronomy, 4th edit., § 650. pp. 410, 487–88; Meteorology, Encyclopædia Britannica, Reprint, p. 197.
372 Encyclopædia Metropolitana, art. Sound, § 323; Outlines of Astronomy, 4th ed., § 650, pp. 410, 487–88; Meteorology, Encyclopædia Britannica, Reprint, p. 197.
374 Principia, bk. iii. Prop. 15.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Principia, vol. 3, Prop. 15.
382 Principia, bk. iii. Prop. 13.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Principia, book 3, Prop. 13.
385 Tait’s Thermodynamics, p. 10.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Tait’s Thermodynamics, p. 10.
394 Sandeman, Pelicotetics, p. 214.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Sandeman, Pelicotetics, p. 214.
405 Haughton, Principles of Animal Mechanics, 1873, pp. 444–450. Jevons, Nature, 30th of June, 1870, vol. ii. p. 158. See also the experiments of Professor Nipher, of Washington University, St. Louis, in American Journal of Science, vol. ix. p. 130, vol. x. p. 1; Nature, vol. xi. pp. 256, 276.
405 Haughton, Principles of Animal Mechanics, 1873, pp. 444–450. Jevons, Nature, June 30, 1870, vol. ii, p. 158. See also the experiments of Professor Nipher from Washington University, St. Louis, in American Journal of Science, vol. ix, p. 130, vol. x, p. 1; Nature, vol. xi, pp. 256, 276.
407 Philosophical Transactions, 1826, p. 544.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Philosophical Transactions, 1826, p. 544.
409 J. W. Strutt, On a correction sometimes required in curves professing to represent the connexion between two physical magnitudes. Philosophical Magazine, 4th Series, vol. xlii. p. 441.
409 J. W. Strutt, On a correction sometimes needed in curves claiming to represent the relationship between two physical quantities. Philosophical Magazine, 4th Series, vol. xlii. p. 441.
410 Herschel: Lacroix’ Differential Calculus, p. 551.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Herschel: Lacroix’s Differential Calculus, p. 551.
417 Preliminary Discourse, &c., p. 152.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Introduction, &c., p. 152.
419 See Philosophical Transactions, abridged by Lowthorp. 4th edit. vol. i. p. 130. I find that opinions similar to those in the text have been briefly expressed by De Morgan in his remarkable preface to From Matter to Spirit, by C.D., pp. xxi. xxii.
419 See Philosophical Transactions, abridged by Lowthorp. 4th ed. vol. i. p. 130. I see that views like those in this text have been briefly shared by De Morgan in his insightful preface to From Matter to Spirit, by C.D., pp. xxi. xxii.
420 Horrocks, Opera Posthuma (1673), p. 276.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Horrocks, *Opera Posthuma* (1673), p. 276.
421 Young’s Works, vol. i. p. 593.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Young’s Works, vol. 1, p. 593.
422 Boyle’s Physical Examen, p. 84.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Boyle’s Physical Examen, p. 84.
423 Young’s Works, vol. i. p. 415.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Young’s Works, vol. 1, p. 415.
425 Young’s Works, vol. i. p. 417.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Young’s Works, vol. 1, p. 417.
430 Ibid. p. 229.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Same source, p. 229.
436 Paris, Life of Davy, p. 274.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Paris, Life of Davy, p. 274.
438 Newton’s Opticks. Third edit. p. 249.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Newton’s Opticks. 3rd edition. p. 249.
447 Lib. i. cap. 74.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Book 1, Chapter 74.
450 Young’s Works, vol. i. p. 412.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Young’s Works, vol. 1, p. 412.
451 Lloyd’s Wave Theory, Part ii. pp. 52–58. Babbage, Ninth Bridgewater Treatise, p. 104, quoting Lloyd, Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy, vol. xvii. Clifton, Quarterly Journal of Pure and Applied Mathematics, January 1860.
451 Lloyd’s Wave Theory, Part ii. pp. 52–58. Babbage, Ninth Bridgewater Treatise, p. 104, quoting Lloyd, Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy, vol. xvii. Clifton, Quarterly Journal of Pure and Applied Mathematics, January 1860.
452 Encyclopædia Metropolitana, art. Sound, p. 753.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Encyclopædia Metropolitana, article Sound, p. 753.
453 Tyndall’s Sound, pp. 261, 273.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Tyndall’s Sound, pp. 261, 273.
458 Tait’s Thermodynamics, p. 77.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Tait’s *Thermodynamics*, p. 77.
469 It would seem to be absurd to repeat the profuse expenditure of 1874 at the approaching transit in 1882. The aggregate sum spent in 1874 by various governments and individuals can hardly be less than £200,000, a sum which, wisely expended on scientific investigations, would give a hundred important results.
469 It seems ridiculous to spend as much as we did in 1874 for the upcoming transit in 1882. The total amount spent in 1874 by different governments and individuals was likely around £200,000, a sum that, if invested wisely in scientific research, could yield a hundred significant outcomes.
476 Proceedings of the Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society, 28th November, 1871, vol. xi. p. 33. Since the above remarks were written, Professor Balfour Stewart has pointed out to me his paper in the Proceedings of the Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society for 15th November, 1870 (vol. x. p. 32), in which he shows that a body moving in an enclosure of uniform temperature would probably experience resistance independently of the presence of a ponderable medium, such as gas, between the moving body and the enclosure. The proof is founded on the theory of the dissipation of energy, and this view is said to be accepted by Professors Thomson and Tait. The enclosure is used in this case by Professor Stewart simply as a means of obtaining a proof, just as it was used by him on a previous occasion to obtain a proof of certain consequences of the Theory of Exchanges. He is of opinion that in both of these cases when once the proof has been obtained, the enclosure may be dispensed with. We know, for instance, that the relation between the inductive and absorptive powers of bodies—although this relation may have been proved by means of an enclosure, does not depend upon its presence, and Professor Stewart thinks that in like manner two bodies, or at least two bodies possessing heat such as the sun and the earth in motion relative to each other, will have the differential motion retarded until perhaps it is ultimately destroyed.
476 Proceedings of the Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society, 28th November, 1871, vol. xi. p. 33. Since those comments were made, Professor Balfour Stewart has brought to my attention his paper in the Proceedings of the Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society from 15th November, 1870 (vol. x. p. 32), where he demonstrates that a body moving in an enclosed space with a uniform temperature would likely encounter resistance regardless of whether there's a physical medium, like gas, between the moving body and the enclosure. His proof is based on the theory of energy dissipation, and this perspective is said to be supported by Professors Thomson and Tait. In this case, Professor Stewart uses the enclosure merely as a tool for proof, just as he did previously to demonstrate certain outcomes of the Theory of Exchanges. He believes that once the proof is established, the enclosure can be omitted. For example, the relationship between the inductive and absorptive abilities of bodies—while it may have been verified using an enclosure—does not rely on its presence. Professor Stewart thinks that similarly, two bodies, or at least two heat-bearing bodies like the sun and the earth moving relative to one another, will have their differential motion slowed down, potentially until it is completely diminished.
481 Principia, bk. i. Prop. iv.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Principia, book 1, Prop. 4.
485 Ibid. vol. ii. p. 199.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Ibid. vol. 2, p. 199.
489 Aristotle’s Rhetoric, Liber I. 2. 11.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Aristotle's Rhetoric, Book I. 2. 11.
494 Professor Lovering has pointed out how obscure and uncertain the ideas of scientific men about this ether are, in his interesting Presidential Address before the American Association at Hartford, 1874. Silliman’s Journal, October 1874, p. 297. Philosophical Magazine, vol. xlviii. p. 493.
494 Professor Lovering highlighted how vague and uncertain scientists' ideas about this ether are, in his engaging Presidential Address at the American Association in Hartford, 1874. Silliman’s Journal, October 1874, p. 297. Philosophical Magazine, vol. xlviii. p. 493.
496 Ibid. Aph. 28.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Same source, Aphorism 28.
501 Memorabilia, iv. 7.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Memorabilia, iv. 7.
504 Nature, vol. ii. p. 278.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Nature, vol. 2, p. 278.
509 Ibid. pp. 166, 199, &c.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Same source, pp. 166, 199, etc.
517 Lucretius, bk. i. lines 232–264.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Lucretius, bk. 1, lines 232–264.
520 Principia, bk. iii, ad initium.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Principia, book 3, at the beginning.
523 Young’s Works, vol. ii. p. 564.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Young’s Works, vol. 2, p. 564.
528 See Goodwin, Cambridge Philosophical Transactions (1845), vol. viii. p. 269. O’Brien, “On Symbolical Statics,” Philosophical Magazine, 4th Series, vol. i. pp. 491, &c. See also Professor Clerk Maxwell’s delightful Manual of Elementary Science, called Matter and Motion, published by the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge. In this admirable little work some of the most advanced results of mechanical and physical science are explained according to the method of quaternions, but with hardly any use of algebraic symbols.
528 See Goodwin, Cambridge Philosophical Transactions (1845), vol. viii. p. 269. O’Brien, “On Symbolical Statics,” Philosophical Magazine, 4th Series, vol. i. pp. 491, &c. Also check out Professor Clerk Maxwell’s excellent Manual of Elementary Science, titled Matter and Motion, published by the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge. In this wonderful little book, some of the most advanced findings in mechanical and physical science are explained using quaternions, with very little use of algebraic symbols.
532 Cosmotheoros (1699), p. 16.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Cosmotheoros (1699), p. 16.
534 Cosmotheoros (1699), p. 17.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Cosmotheoros (1699), p. 17.
535 Ibid. p. 36.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Ibid. p. 36.
541 Daubeny’s Atomic Theory, p. 76.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Daubeny’s Atomic Theory, p. 76.
549 Robert Hooke’s Posthumous Works, p. 365.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Robert Hooke’s Posthumous Works, p. 365.
555 Maxwell, Theory of Heat, p. 123.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Maxwell, Theory of Heat, p. 123.
557 Hofmann’s Introduction to Chemistry, p. 198.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Hofmann’s Intro to Chemistry, p. 198.
559 Jevons, Proceedings of the Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society, 6th March, 1877, vol. xvi. p. 164. See also Mr. W. E. A. Axon’s note on the same subject, ibid. p. 166.
559 Jevons, Proceedings of the Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society, March 6, 1877, vol. xvi, p. 164. Also check out Mr. W. E. A. Axon’s note on the same topic, ibid., p. 166.
560 A Treatise on Logic, or, the Laws of Pure Thought, by Francis Bowen, Professor of Moral Philosophy in Harvard College, Cambridge, United States, 1866, p. 315.
560 A Treatise on Logic, or, the Laws of Pure Thought, by Francis Bowen, Professor of Moral Philosophy at Harvard College, Cambridge, United States, 1866, p. 315.
567 Philosophical Magazine, 4th Series, vol. xxxix. p. 396; vol. xl. p. 183; vol. xli. p. 44. See also Proctor, Popular Science Review, October 1874, p. 350.
567 Philosophical Magazine, 4th Series, vol. xxxix. p. 396; vol. xl. p. 183; vol. xli. p. 44. See also Proctor, Popular Science Review, October 1874, p. 350.
568 Humboldt, Cosmos (Bohn), vol. iii. p. 224.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Humboldt, *Cosmos* (Bohn), vol. 3, p. 224.
569 Baily, British Association Catalogue, p. 48.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Baily, British Association Catalogue, p. 48.
576 Porphyrii Isagoge, Caput ii. 24.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Porphyry's Isagoge, Chapter ii. 24.
582 Instructions for the Discrimination of Minerals by Simple Chemical Experiments, by Franz von Kobell, translated from the German by R. C. Campbell. Glasgow, 1841.
582 Instructions for the Discrimination of Minerals by Simple Chemical Experiments, by Franz von Kobell, translated from the German by R. C. Campbell. Glasgow, 1841.
583 Edition of 1866, p. lxiii.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ 1866 edition, p. 63.
585 Philosophical Magazine, 3rd Series (1845), vol. xxvi. p. 522. See also De Morgan’s evidence before the Royal Commission on the British Museum in 1849, Report (1850), Questions, 5704*-5815*, 6481–6513. This evidence should be studied by every person who wishes to understand the elements of Bibliography.
585 Philosophical Magazine, 3rd Series (1845), vol. xxvi. p. 522. See also De Morgan’s testimony before the Royal Commission on the British Museum in 1849, Report (1850), Questions, 5704*-5815*, 6481–6513. This testimony should be reviewed by anyone who wants to grasp the basics of Bibliography.
588 Darwin, Fertilisation of Orchids, p. 159.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Darwin, *Fertilization of Orchids*, p. 159.
594 Ibid. § 159, p. 100.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Same source. § 159, p. 100.
597 Agassiz, Essay on Classification, p. 219.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Agassiz, Essay on Classification, p. 219.
598 Ibid. p. 249.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Ibid. p. 249.
602 Ibid. vol. ii. p. 372.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Same source. vol. ii. p. 372.
604 First Bridgewater Treatise (1834), pp. 16–24.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ First Bridgewater Treatise (1834), pp. 16–24.
607 Ninth Bridgewater Treatise, p. 140.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Ninth Bridgewater Treatise, p. 140.
608 Ibid. pp. 34–43.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Ibid. pp. 34–43.
609 Professor Clifford, in his most interesting lecture on “The First and Last Catastrophe” (Fortnightly Review, April 1875, p. 480, reprint by the Sunday Lecture Society, p. 24), objects that I have erroneously substituted “known laws of nature” for “known laws of conduction of heat.” I quite admit the error, without admitting all the conclusions which Professor Clifford proceeds to draw; but I maintain the paragraph unchanged, in order that it may be discussed in the Preface.
609 Professor Clifford, in his fascinating lecture on “The First and Last Catastrophe” (Fortnightly Review, April 1875, p. 480, reprint by the Sunday Lecture Society, p. 24), argues that I mistakenly replaced “known laws of nature” with “known laws of conduction of heat.” I fully acknowledge the mistake, though I don’t agree with all the conclusions that Professor Clifford goes on to make; however, I’ll keep the paragraph as it is so it can be discussed in the Preface.
612 Maxwell’s Theory of Heat, p. 92.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Maxwell’s Theory of Heat, p. 92.
614 Mr. C. J. Monroe objects that in this statement I do injustice to Comte, who, he thinks, did impress upon his readers the inadequacy of our mental powers compared with the vastness of the subject matter of science. The error of Comte, he holds, was in maintaining that science had been carried about as far as it is worth while to carry it, which is a different matter. In either case, Comte’s position is so untenable that I am content to leave the question undecided.
614 Mr. C. J. Monroe believes that I misrepresent Comte in this statement, as he thinks Comte effectively conveyed to his readers the limitations of our mental abilities compared to the enormity of scientific topics. Monroe argues that Comte's mistake was claiming that science has been advanced as far as it's worth going, which is a separate issue. In any case, Comte's stance is so weak that I'm fine with leaving the question unresolved.
615 Fragments of Science, p. 362.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Fragments of Science, p. 362.
620 Agassiz, Essay on Classification, p. 75.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Agassiz, *Essay on Classification*, p. 75.
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Spelling corrections:
acording → according
aklaline → alkaline
an an → an
aws → laws
beween → between
BOOK III → BOOK IV
errror → error
incapadle → incapable
interpretion → interpretation
justifed → justified
longtitude → longitude
Marriotte → Mariotte
melecules → molecules
Meropolitana → Metropolitana
necesssarily → necessarily
nnmber → number
or → of
probabilty → probability
quantites → quantities
secresy → secrecy
sucession → succession
suficiently → sufficiently
telecope → telescope
verifiy → verify
Spelling corrections:
acording → according
aklaline → alkaline
an an → an
aws → laws
beween → between
BOOK III → BOOK IV
errror → error
incapadle → incapable
interpretion → interpretation
justifed → justified
longtitude → longitude
Marriotte → Mariotte
melecules → molecules
Meropolitana → Metropolitana
necesssarily → necessarily
nnmber → number
or → of
probabilty → probability
quantites → quantities
secresy → secrecy
sucession → succession
suficiently → sufficiently
telecope → telescope
verifiy → verify
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