LOGIC

DEDUCTIVE AND INDUCTIVE

LOGIC

DEDUCTIVE AND INDUCTIVE

BY

CARVETH READ, M.A.

AUTHOR OF

"THE METAPHYSICS OF NATURE"

"NATURAL AND SOCIAL MORALS"

ETC.

FOURTH EDITION

ENLARGED, AND PARTLY REWRITTEN

SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & CO. LTD., 4 STATIONERS' HALL COURT.
LONDON, E.C.4

PREFACE

In this edition of my Logic, the text has been revised throughout, several passages have been rewritten, and some sections added. The chief alterations and additions occur in cc. i., v., ix., xiii., xvi., xvii., xx.

The work may be considered, on the whole, as attached to the school of Mill; to whose System of Logic, and to Bain's Logic, it is deeply indebted. Amongst the works of living writers, the Empirical Logic of Dr. Venn and the Formal Logic of Dr. Keynes have given me most assistance. To some others acknowledgments have been made as occasion arose.

For the further study of contemporary opinion, accessible in English, one may turn to such works as Mr. Bradley's Principles of Logic, Dr. Bosanquet's Logic; or the Morphology of Knowledge, Prof. Hobhouse's Theory of Knowledge, Jevon's Principles of Science, and Sigwart's Logic. Ueberweg's Logic, and History of Logical Doctrine is invaluable for the history of our subject. The attitude toward Logic of the Pragmatists or Humanists may best be studied in Dr. Schiller's Formal Logic, and in Mr. Alfred Sidgwick's Process of Argument and recent Elementary Logic. The second part of this last work, on the "Risks of Reasoning," gives an admirably succinct account of their position. I agree with the Humanists that, in all argument, the important thing to attend to is the meaning, and that the most serious difficulties of reasoning occur in dealing with the matter reasoned about; but I find that a pure science of relation has a necessary place in the system of knowledge, and that the formulæ known as laws of contradiction, syllogism and causation are useful guides in the framing and testing of arguments and experiments concerning matters of fact. Incisive criticism of traditionary doctrines, with some remarkable reconstructions, may be read in Dr. Mercier's New Logic.

In preparing successive editions of this book, I have profited by the comments of my friends: Mr. Thomas Whittaker, Prof. Claude Thompson, Dr. Armitage Smith, Mr. Alfred Sidgwick, Dr. Schiller, Prof. Spearman, and Prof. Sully, have made important suggestions; and I might have profited more by them, if the frame of my book, or my principles, had been more elastic.

As to the present edition, useful criticisms have been received from Mr. S.C. Dutt, of Cotton College, Assam, and from Prof. M.A. Roy, of Midnapore; and, especially, I must heartily thank my colleague, Dr. Wolf, for communications that have left their impress upon nearly every chapter.

Carveth Read.

London,
August, 1914

CONTENTS

LOGIC

CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTORY

§ 1. Logic is the science that explains what conditions must be fulfilled in order that a proposition may be proved, if it admits of proof. Not, indeed, every such proposition; for as to those that declare the equality or inequality of numbers or other magnitudes, to explain the conditions of their proof belongs to Mathematics: they are said to be quantitative. But as to all other propositions, called qualitative, like most of those that we meet with in conversation, in literature, in politics, and even in sciences so far as they are not treated mathematically (say, Botany and Psychology); propositions that merely tell us that something happens (as that salt dissolves in water), or that something has a certain property (as that ice is cold): as to these, it belongs to Logic to show how we may judge whether they are true, or false, or doubtful. When propositions are expressed with the universality and definiteness that belong to scientific statements, they are called laws; and laws, so far as they are not laws of quantity, are tested by the principles of Logic, if they at all admit of proof.

But it is plain that the process of proving cannot go on for ever; something must be taken for granted; and this is usually considered to be the case (1) with particular facts that can only be perceived and observed, and (2) with those highest laws that are called 'axioms' or 'first principles,' of which we can only say that we know of no exceptions to them, that we cannot help believing them, and that they are indispensable to science and to consistent thought. Logic, then, may be briefly defined as the science of proof with respect to qualitative laws and propositions, except those that are axiomatic.

§ 2. Proof may be of different degrees or stages of completeness. Absolute proof would require that a proposition should be shown to agree with all experience and with the systematic explanation of experience, to be a necessary part of an all-embracing and self-consistent philosophy or theory of the universe; but as no one hitherto has been able to frame such a philosophy, we must at present put up with something less than absolute proof. Logic, assuming certain principles to be true of experience, or at least to be conditions of consistent discourse, distinguishes the kinds of propositions that can be shown to agree with these principles, and explains by what means the agreement can best be exhibited. Such principles are those of Contradiction ([chap. vi.]), the Syllogism ([chap. ix.]), Causation ([chap. xiv.]), and Probabilities ([chap. xx.]). To bring a proposition or an argument under them, or to show that it agrees with them, is logical proof.

The extent to which proof is requisite, again, depends upon the present purpose: if our aim be general truth for its own sake, a systematic investigation is necessary; but if our object be merely to remove some occasional doubt that has occurred to ourselves or to others, it may be enough to appeal to any evidence that is admitted or not questioned. Thus, if a man doubts that some acids are compounds of oxygen, but grants that some compounds of oxygen are acids, he may agree to the former proposition when you point out that it has the same meaning as the latter, differing from it only in the order of the words. This is called proof by immediate inference.

Again, suppose that a man holds in his hand a piece of yellow metal, which he asserts to be copper, and that we doubt this, perhaps suggesting that it is really gold. Then he may propose to dip it in vinegar; whilst we agree that, if it then turns green, it is copper and not gold. On trying this experiment the metal does turn green; so that we may put his argument in this way:—

Whatever yellow metal turns green in vinegar is copper;
This yellow metal turns green in vinegar;
Therefore, this yellow metal is copper.

Such an argument is called proof by mediate inference; because one cannot see directly that the yellow metal is copper; but it is admitted that any yellow metal is copper that turns green in vinegar, and we are shown that this yellow metal has that property.

Now, however, it may occur to us, that the liquid in which the metal was dipped was not vinegar, or not pure vinegar, and that the greenness was due to the impurity. Our friend must thereupon show by some means that the vinegar was pure; and then his argument will be that, since nothing but the vinegar came in contact with the metal, the greenness was due to the vinegar; or, in other words, that contact with that vinegar was the cause of the metal turning green.

Still, on second thoughts, we may suspect that we had formerly conceded too much; we may reflect that, although it had often been shown that copper turned green in vinegar, whilst gold did not, yet the same might not always happen. May it not be, we might ask, that just at this moment, and perhaps always for the future gold turns, and will turn green in vinegar, whilst copper does not and never will again? He will probably reply that this is to doubt the uniformity of causation: he may hope that we are not serious: he may point out to us that in every action of our life we take such uniformity for granted. But he will be obliged to admit that, whatever he may say to induce us to assent to the principle of Nature's uniformity, his arguments will not amount to logical proof, because every argument in some way assumes that principle. He has come, in fact, to the limits of Logic. Just as Euclid does not try to prove that 'two magnitudes equal to the same third are equal to one another,' so the Logician (as such) does not attempt to prove the uniformity of causation and the other principles of his science.

Even when our purpose is to ascertain some general truth, the results of systematic inquiry may have various degrees of certainty. If Logic were confined to strict demonstration, it would cover a narrow field. The greater part of our conclusions can only be more or less probable. It may, indeed, be maintained, not unreasonably, that no judgments concerning matters of fact can be more than probable. Some say that all scientific results should be considered as giving the average of cases, from which deviations are to be expected. Many matters can only be treated statistically and by the methods of Probability. Our ordinary beliefs are adopted without any methodical examination. But it is the aim, and it is characteristic, of a rational mind to distinguish degrees of certainty, and to hold each judgment with the degree of confidence that it deserves, considering the evidence for and against it. It takes a long time, and much self-discipline, to make some progress toward rationality; for there are many causes of belief that are not good grounds for it—have no value as evidence. Evidence consists of (1) observation; (2) reasoning checked by observation and by logical principles; (3) memory—often inaccurate; (4) testimony—often untrustworthy, but indispensable, since all we learn from books or from other men is taken on testimony; (5) the agreement of all our results. On the other hand, belief is caused by many influences that are not evidence at all: such are (1) desire, which makes us believe in whatever serves our purpose; fear and suspicion, which (paradoxically) make us believe in whatever seems dangerous; (2) habit, which resists whatever disturbs our prejudices; (3) vanity, which delights to think oneself always right and consistent and disowns fallibility; (4) imitativeness, suggestibility, fashion, which carry us along with the crowd. All these, and nobler things, such as love and fidelity, fix our attention upon whatever seems to support our prejudices, and prevent our attending to any facts or arguments that threaten to overthrow them.

§ 3. Two departments of Logic are usually recognised, Deduction and Induction; that is, to describe them briefly, proof from principles, and proof from facts. Classification is sometimes made a third department; sometimes its topics are distributed amongst those of the former two. In the present work the order adopted is, Deduction in chaps. ii. to xiii.; Induction in chaps. xiii. to xx.; and, lastly, Classification. But such divisions do not represent fundamentally distinct and opposed aspects of the science. For although, in discussing any question with an opponent who makes admissions, it may be possible to combat his views with merely deductive arguments based upon his admissions; yet in any question of general truth, Induction and Deduction are mutually dependent and imply one another.

This may be seen in one of the above examples. It was argued that a certain metal must be copper, because every metal is copper that turns green when dipped in vinegar. So far the proof appealed to a general proposition, and was deductive. But when we ask how the general proposition is known to be true, experiments or facts must be alleged; and this is inductive evidence. Deduction then depends on Induction. But if we ask, again, how any number of past experiments can prove a general proposition, which must be good for the future as well as for the past, the uniformity of causation is invoked; that is, appeal is made to a principle, and that again is deductive proof. Induction then depends upon Deduction.

We may put it in this way: Deduction depends on Induction, if general propositions are only known to us through the facts: Induction depends on Deduction, because one fact can never prove another, except so far as what is true of the one is true of the other and of any other of the same kind; and because, to exhibit this resemblance of the facts, it must be stated in a general proposition.

§ 4. The use of Logic is often disputed: those who have not studied it, often feel confident of their ability to do without it; those who have studied it, are sometimes disgusted with what they consider to be its superficial analysis of the grounds of evidence, or needless technicality in the discussion of details. As to those who, not having studied Logic, yet despise it, there will be time enough to discuss its utility with them, when they know something about it; and as for those who, having studied it, turn away in disgust, whether they are justified every man must judge for himself, when he has attained to equal proficiency in the subject. Meanwhile, the following considerations may be offered in its favour:

Logic states, and partly explains and applies, certain abstract principles which all other sciences take for granted; namely, the axioms above mentioned—the principles of Contradiction, of the Syllogism and of Causation. By exercising the student in the apprehension of these truths, and in the application of them to particular propositions, it educates the power of abstract thought. Every science is a model of method, a discipline in close and consecutive thinking; and this merit Logic ought to possess in a high degree.

For ages Logic has served as an introduction to Philosophy that is, to Metaphysics and speculative Ethics. It is of old and honourable descent: a man studies Logic in very good company. It is the warp upon which nearly the whole web of ancient, mediæval and modern Philosophy is woven. The history of thought is hardly intelligible without it.

As the science of proof, Logic gives an account of the general nature of evidence deductive and inductive, as applied in the physical and social sciences and in the affairs of life. The general nature of such evidence: it would be absurd of the logician to pretend to instruct the chemist, economist and merchant, as to the special character of the evidence requisite in their several spheres of judgment. Still, by investigating the general conditions of proof, he sets every man upon his guard against the insufficiency of evidence.

One application of the science of proof deserves special mention: namely, to that department of Rhetoric which has been the most developed, relating to persuasion by means of oratory, leader-writing, or pamphleteering. It is usually said that Logic is useful to convince the judgment, not to persuade the will: but one way of persuading the will is to convince the judgment that a certain course is advantageous; and although this is not always the readiest way, it is the most honourable, and leads to the most enduring results. Logic is the backbone of Rhetoric.

It has been disputed whether Logic is a science or an art; and, in fact, it may be considered in both ways. As a statement of general truths, of their relations to one another, and especially to the first principles, it is a science; but it is an art when, regarding truth as an end desired, it points out some of the means of attaining it—namely, to proceed by a regular method, to test every judgment by the principles of Logic, and to distrust whatever cannot be made consistent with them. Logic does not, in the first place, teach us to reason. We learn to reason as we learn to walk and talk, by the natural growth of our powers with some assistance from friends and neighbours. The way to develop one's power of reasoning is, first, to set oneself problems and try to solve them. Secondly, since the solving of a problem depends upon one's ability to call to mind parallel cases, one must learn as many facts as possible, and keep on learning all one's life; for nobody ever knew enough. Thirdly one must check all results by the principles of Logic. It is because of this checking, verifying, corrective function of Logic that it is sometimes called a Regulative or Normative Science. It cannot give any one originality or fertility of invention; but it enables us to check our inferences, revise our conclusions, and chasten the vagaries of ambitious speculation. It quickens our sense of bad reasoning both in others and in ourselves. A man who reasons deliberately, manages it better after studying Logic than he could before, if he is sincere about it and has common sense.

§ 5. The relation of Logic to other sciences:

(a) Logic is regarded by Spencer as co-ordinate with Mathematics, both being Abstract Sciences—that is, sciences of the relations in which things stand to one another, whatever the particular things may be that are so related; and this view seems to be, on the whole, just—subject, however, to qualifications that will appear presently.

Mathematics treats of the relations of all sorts of things considered as quantities, namely, as equal to, or greater or less than, one another. Things may be quantitatively equal or unequal in degree, as in comparing the temperature of bodies; or in duration; or in spatial magnitude, as with lines, superficies, solids; or in number. And it is assumed that the equality or inequality of things that cannot be directly compared, may be proved indirectly on the assumption that 'things equal to the same thing are equal,' etc.

Logic also treats of the relations of all sorts of things, but not as to their quantity. It considers (i) that one thing may be like or unlike another in certain attributes, as that iron is in many ways like tin or lead, and in many ways unlike carbon or sulphur: (ii) that attributes co-exist or coinhere (or do not) in the same subject, as metallic lustre, hardness, a certain atomic weight and a certain specific gravity coinhere in iron: and (iii) that one event follows another (or is the effect of it), as that the placing of iron in water causes it to rust. The relations of likeness and of coinherence are the ground of Classification; for it is by resemblance of coinhering attributes that things form classes: coinherence is the ground of judgments concerning Substance and Attribute, as that iron is metallic; and the relation of succession, in the mode of Causation, is the chief subject of the department of Induction. It is usual to group together these relations of attributes and of order in time, and call them qualitative, in order to contrast them with the quantitative relations which belong to Mathematics. And it is assumed that qualitative relations of things, when they cannot be directly perceived, may be proved indirectly by assuming the axiom of the Syllogism ([chap. ix.]) and the law of Causation ([chap. xiv.]).

So far, then, Logic and Mathematics appear to be co-ordinate and distinct sciences. But we shall see hereafter that the satisfactory treatment of that special order of events in time which constitutes Causation, requires a combination of Logic with Mathematics; and so does the treatment of Probability. And, again, Logic may be said to be, in a certain sense, 'prior to' or 'above' Mathematics as usually treated. For the Mathematics assume that one magnitude must be either equal or unequal to another, and that it cannot be both equal and unequal to it, and thus take for granted the principles of Contradiction and Excluded Middle; but the statement and elucidation of these Principles are left to Logic ([chap. vi.]). The Mathematics also classify and define magnitudes, as (in Geometry) triangles, squares, cubes, spheres; but the principles of classification and definition remain for Logic to discuss.

(b) As to the concrete Sciences, such as Astronomy, Chemistry, Zoology, Sociology—Logic (as well as Mathematics) is implied in them all; for all the propositions of which they consist involve causation, co-existence, and class-likeness. Logic is therefore said to be prior to them or above them: meaning by 'prior' not that it should be studied earlier, for that is not a good plan; meaning by 'above' not in dignity, for distinctions of dignity amongst liberal studies are absurd. But it is a philosophical idiom to call the abstract 'prior to,' or 'higher than,' the concrete (see Porphyry's Tree, [chap. xxii. § 8]); and Logic is more abstract than Astronomy or Sociology. Philosophy may thank that idiom for many a foolish notion.

(c) But, as we have seen, Logic does not investigate the truth, trustworthiness, or validity of its own principles; nor does Mathematics: this task belongs to Metaphysics, or Epistemology, the criticism of knowledge and beliefs.

Logic assumes, for example, that things are what to a careful scrutiny they seem to be; that animals, trees, mountains, planets, are bodies with various attributes, existing in space and changing in time; and that certain principles, such as Contradiction and Causation, are true of things and events. But Metaphysicians have raised many plausible objections to these assumptions. It has been urged that natural objects do not really exist on their own account, but only in dependence on some mind that contemplates them, and that even space and time are only our way of perceiving things; or, again, that although things do really exist on their own account, it is in an entirely different way from that in which we know them. As to the principle of Contradiction—that if an object has an attribute, it cannot at the same time and in the same way be without it (e.g., if an animal is conscious, it is false that it is not conscious)—it has been contended that the speciousness of this principle is only due to the obtuseness of our minds, or even to the poverty of language, which cannot make the fine distinctions that exist in Nature. And as to Causation, it is sometimes doubted whether events always have physical causes; and it is often suggested that, granting they have physical causes, yet these are such as we can neither perceive nor conceive; belonging not to the order of Nature as we know it, but to the secret inwardness and reality of Nature, to the wells and reservoirs of power, not to the spray of the fountain that glitters in our eyes—'occult causes,' in short. Now these doubts and surmises are metaphysical spectres which it remains for Metaphysics to lay. Logic has no direct concern with them (although, of course, metaphysical discussion is expected to be logical), but keeps the plain path of plain beliefs, level with the comprehension of plain men. Metaphysics, as examining the grounds of Logic itself, is sometimes regarded as 'the higher Logic'; and, certainly, the study of Metaphysics is necessary to every one who would comprehend the nature and functions of Logic, or the place of his own mind and of Reason in the world.

(d) The relation of Logic to Psychology will be discussed in the next section.

(e) As a Regulative Science, pointing out the conditions of true inference (within its own sphere), Logic is co-ordinate with (i) Ethics, considered as assigning the conditions of right conduct, and with (ii) Æsthetics, considered as determining the principles of criticism and good taste.

§ 6. Three principal schools of Logicians are commonly recognised: Nominalist, Conceptualist, and Materialist, who differ as to what it is that Logic really treats of: the Nominalists say, 'of language'; the Conceptualists, 'of thought'; the Materialists, 'of relations of fact.' To illustrate these positions let us take authors who, if some of them are now neglected, have the merit of stating their contrasted views with a distinctness that later refinements tend to obscure.

(a) Whately, a well-known Nominalist, regarded Logic as the Science and Art of Reasoning, but at the same time as "entirely conversant about language"; that is to say, it is the business of Logic to discover those modes of statement which shall ensure the cogency of an argument, no matter what may be the subject under discussion. Thus, All fish are cold-blooded, ∴ some cold-blooded things are fish: this is a sound inference by the mere manner of expression; and equally sound is the inference, All fish are warm-blooded, ∴ some warm-blooded things are fish. The latter proposition may be false, but it follows; and (according to this doctrine) Logic is only concerned with the consistent use of words: the truth or falsity of the proposition itself is a question for Zoology. The short-coming of extreme Nominalism lies in speaking of language as if its meaning were unimportant. But Whately did not intend this: he was a man of great penetration and common-sense.

(b) Hamilton, our best-known Conceptualist, defined Logic as the science of the "formal laws of thought," and "of thought as thought," that is, without regard to the matter thought about. Just as Whately regarded Logic as concerned merely with cogent forms of statement, so Hamilton treated it as concerned merely with the necessary relations of thought. This doctrine is called Conceptualism, because the simplest element of thought is the Concept; that is, an abstract idea, such as is signified by the word man, planet, colour, virtue; not a representative or generic image, but the thought of all attributes common to any class of things. Men, planets, colours, virtuous actions or characters, have, severally, something in common on account of which they bear these general names; and the thought of what they have in common, as the ground of these names, is a Concept. To affirm or deny one concept of another, as Some men are virtuous, or No man is perfectly virtuous, is to form a Judgment, corresponding to the Proposition of which the other schools of Logic discourse. Conceptualism, then, investigates the conditions of consistent judgment.

To distinguish Logic from Psychology is most important in connection with Conceptualism. Concepts and Judgments being mental acts, or products of mental activity, it is often thought that Logic must be a department of Psychology. It is recognised of course, that Psychology deals with much more than Logic does, with sensation, pleasure and pain, emotion, volition; but in the region of the intellect, especially in its most deliberate and elaborate processes, namely, conception, judgment, and reasoning, Logic and Psychology seem to occupy common ground. In fact, however, the two sciences have little in common except a few general terms, and even these they employ in different senses. It is usual to point out that Psychology tries to explain the subjective processes of conception, judgment and reasoning, and to give their natural history; but that Logic is wholly concerned with the results of such processes, with concepts, judgments and reasonings, and merely with the validity of the results, that is, with their truth or consistency; whilst Psychology has nothing to do with their validity, but only with their causes. Besides, the logical judgment (in Formal Logic at least) is quite a different thing from the psychological: the latter involves feeling and belief, whereas the former is merely a given relation of concepts. S is P: that is a model logical judgment; there can be no question of believing it; but it is logically valid if M is P and S is M. When, again, in Logic, one deals with belief, it depends upon evidence; whereas, in Psychology belief is shown to depend upon causes which may have evidentiary value or may not; for Psychology explains quite impartially the growth of scientific insight and the growth of prejudice.

(c) Mill, Bain, and Venn are the chief Materialist logicians; and to guard against the error of confounding Materialism in Logic with the ontological doctrine that nothing exists but Matter, it may suffice to remember that in Metaphysics all these philosophers are Idealists. Materialism in Logic consists in regarding propositions as affirming or denying relations (cf. [§ 5]) between matters-of-fact in the widest sense; not only physical facts, but ideas, social and moral relations; it consists, in short, in attending to the meaning of propositions. It treats the first principles of Contradiction and Causation as true of things so far as they are known to us, and not merely as conditions or tendencies of thought; and it takes these principles as conditions of right thinking, because they seem to hold good of Nature and human life.

To these differences of opinion it will be necessary to recur in the next chapter ([§ 4]); but here I may observe that it is easy to exaggerate their importance in Logic. There is really little at issue between schools of logicians as such, and as far as their doctrines run parallel; it is on the metaphysical grounds of their study, or as to its scope and comprehension, that they find a battle-field. The present work generally proceeds upon the third, or Materialist doctrine. If Deduction and Induction are regarded as mutually dependent parts of one science, uniting the discipline of consistent discourse with the method of investigating laws of physical phenomena, the Materialist doctrine, that the principles of Logic are founded on fact, seems to be the most natural way of thinking. But if the unity of Deduction and Induction is not disputed by the other schools, the Materialist may regard them as allies exhibiting in their own way the same body of truths. The Nominalist may certainly claim that his doctrine is indispensable: consistently cogent forms of statement are necessary both to the Conceptualist and to the Materialist; neither the relations of thought nor those of fact can be arrested or presented without the aid of language or some equivalent system of signs. The Conceptualist may urge that the Nominalist's forms of statement and argument exist for the sake of their meaning, namely, judgments and reasonings; and that the Materialist's laws of Nature are only judgments founded upon our conceptions of Nature; that the truth of observations and experiments depends upon our powers of perception; that perception is inseparable from understanding, and that a system of Induction may be constructed upon the axiom of Causation, regarded as a principle of Reason, just as well as by considering it as a law of Nature, and upon much the same lines. The Materialist, admitting all this, may say that a judgment is only the proximate meaning of a proposition, and that the ultimate meaning, the meaning of the judgment itself, is always some matter-of-fact; that the other schools have not hitherto been eager to recognise the unity of Deduction and Induction or to investigate the conditions of trustworthy experiments and observations within the limits of human understanding; that thought is itself a sort of fact, as complex in its structure, as profound in its relations, as subtle in its changes as any other fact, and therefore at least as hard to know; that to turn away from the full reality of thought in perception, and to confine Logic to artificially limited concepts, is to abandon the effort to push method to the utmost and to get as near truth as possible; and that as to Causation being a principle of Reason rather than of Nature, the distinction escapes his apprehension, since Nature seems to be that to which our private minds turn upon questions of Causation for correction and instruction; so that if he does not call Nature the Universal Reason, it is because he loves severity of style.

CHAPTER II

GENERAL ANALYSIS OF PROPOSITIONS

§ 1. Since Logic discusses the proof or disproof, or (briefly) the testing of propositions, we must begin by explaining their nature. A proposition, then, may first be described in the language of grammar as a sentence indicative; and it is usually expressed in the present tense.

It is true that other kinds of sentences, optative, imperative, interrogative, exclamatory, if they express or imply an assertion, are not beyond the view of Logic; but before treating such sentences, Logic, for greater precision, reduces them to their equivalent sentences indicative. Thus, I wish it were summer may be understood to mean, The coming of summer is an object of my desire. Thou shalt not kill may be interpreted as Murderers are in danger of the judgment. Interrogatories, when used in argument, if their form is affirmative, have negative force, and affirmative force if their form is negative. Thus, Do hypocrites love virtue? anticipates the answer, No. Are not traitors the vilest of mankind? anticipates the answer, Yes. So that the logical form of these sentences is, Hypocrites are not lovers of virtue; Traitors are the vilest of mankind. Impersonal propositions, such as It rains, are easily rendered into logical forms of equivalent meaning, thus: Rain is falling; or (if that be tautology), The clouds are raining. Exclamations may seem capricious, but are often part of the argument. Shade of Chatham! usually means Chatham, being aware of our present foreign policy, is much disgusted. It is in fact, an appeal to authority, without the inconvenience of stating what exactly it is that the authority declares.

§ 2. But even sentences indicative may not be expressed in the way most convenient to logicians. Salt dissolves in water is a plain enough statement; but the logician prefers to have it thus: Salt is soluble in water. For he says that a proposition is analysable into three elements: (1) a Subject (as Salt) about which something is asserted or denied; (2) a Predicate (as soluble in water) which is asserted or denied of the Subject, and (3) the Copula (is or are, or is not or are not), the sign of relation between the Subject and Predicate. The Subject and Predicate are called the Terms of the proposition: and the Copula may be called the sign of predication, using the verb 'to predicate' indefinitely for either 'to affirm' or 'to deny.' Thus S is P means that the term P is given as related in some way to the term S. We may, therefore, further define a Proposition as 'a sentence in which one term is predicated of another.'

In such a proposition as Salt dissolves, the copula (is) is contained in the predicate, and, besides the subject, only one element is exhibited: it is therefore said to be secundi adjacentis. When all three parts are exhibited, as in Salt is soluble, the proposition is said to be tertii adjacentis.

For the ordinary purposes of Logic, in predicating attributes of a thing or class of things, the copula is, or is not, sufficiently represents the relation of subject and predicate; but when it is desirable to realise fully the nature of the relation involved, it may be better to use a more explicit form. Instead of saying Salt—is—soluble, we may say Solubility—coinheres with—the nature of salt, or The putting of salt in water—is a cause of—its dissolving: thus expanding the copula into a full expression of the relation we have in view, whether coinherence or causation.

§ 3. The sentences of ordinary discourse are, indeed, for the most part, longer and more complicated than the logical form of propositions; it is in order to prove them, or to use them in the proof of other propositions, that they are in Logic reduced as nearly as possible to such simple but explicit expressions as the above (tertii adjacentis). A Compound Proposition, reducible to two or more simple ones, is said to be exponible.

The modes of compounding sentences are explained in every grammar-book. One of the commonest forms is the copulative, such as Salt is both savoury and wholesome, equivalent to two simple propositions: Salt is savoury; Salt is wholesome. Pure water is neither sapid nor odorous, equivalent to Water is not sapid; Water is not odorous. Or, again, Tobacco is injurious, but not when used in moderation, equivalent to Much tobacco is injurious; a little is not.

Another form of Exponible is the Exceptive, as Kladderadatsch is published daily, except on week-days, equivalent to Kladderadatsch is published on Sunday; it is not published any other day. Still another Exponible is the Exclusive, as Only men use fire, equivalent to Men are users of fire; No other animals are. Exceptive and exclusive sentences are, however, equivalent forms; for we may say, Kladderadatsch is published only on Sunday; and No animals use fire, except men.

There are other compound sentences that are not exponible, since, though they contain two or more verbal clauses, the construction shows that these are inseparable. Thus, If cats are scarce, mice are plentiful, contains two verbal clauses; but if cats are scarce is conditional, not indicative; and mice are plentiful is subject to the condition that cats are scarce. Hence the whole sentence is called a Conditional Proposition. For the various forms of Conditional Propositions see [chap. v. § 4].

But, in fact, to find the logical force of recognised grammatical forms is the least of a logician's difficulties in bringing the discourses of men to a plain issue. Metaphors, epigrams, innuendoes and other figures of speech present far greater obstacles to a lucid reduction whether for approval or refutation. No rules can be given for finding everybody's meaning. The poets have their own way of expressing themselves; sophists, too, have their own way. And the point often lies in what is unexpressed. Thus, "barbarous nations make, the civilised write history," means that civilised nations do not make history, which none is so brazen as openly to assert. Or, again, "Alcibiades is dead, but X is still with us"; the whole meaning of this 'exponible' is that X would be the lesser loss to society. Even an epithet or a suffix may imply a proposition: This personage may mean X is a pretentious nobody.

How shall we interpret such illusive predications except by cultivating our literary perceptions, by reading the most significant authors until we are at home with them? But, no doubt, to disentangle the compound propositions, and to expand the abbreviations of literature and conversation, is a useful logical exercise. And if it seem a laborious task thus to reduce to its logical elements a long argument in a speech or treatise, it should be observed that, as a rule, in a long discourse only a few sentences are of principal importance to the reasoning, the rest being explanatory or illustrative digression, and that a close scrutiny of these cardinal sentences will frequently dispense us from giving much attention to the rest.

§ 4. But now, returning to the definition of a Proposition given in [§ 2], that it is 'a sentence in which one term is predicated of another,' we must consider what is the import of such predication. For the definition, as it stands, seems to be purely Nominalist. Is a proposition nothing more than a certain synthesis of words; or, is it meant to correspond with something further, a synthesis of ideas, or a relation of facts?

Conceptualist logicians, who speak of judgments instead of propositions, of course define the judgment in their own language. According to Hamilton, it is "a recognition of the relation of congruence or confliction in which two concepts stand to each other." To lighten the sentence, I have omitted one or two qualifications (Hamilton's Lectures on Logic, xiii.). "Thus," he goes on "if we compare the thoughts water, iron, and rusting, we find them congruent, and connect them into a single thought, thus: water rusts iron—in that case we form a judgment." When a judgment is expressed in words, he says, it is called a proposition.

But has a proposition no meaning beyond the judgment it expresses? Mill, who defines it as "a portion of discourse in which a predicate is affirmed or denied of a subject" (Logic, Book 1., chap. iv. § 1.), proceeds to inquire into the import of propositions (Book 1., chap. v.), and finds three classes of them: (a) those in which one proper name is predicated of another; and of these Hobbes's Nominalist definition is adequate, namely, that a proposition asserts or denies that the predicate is a name for the same thing as the subject, as Tully is Cicero.

(b) Propositions in which the predicate means a part (or the whole) of what the subject means, as Horses are animals, Man is a rational animal. These are Verbal Propositions (see below: [chap. v. § 6]), and their import consists in affirming or denying a coincidence between the meanings of names, as The meaning of 'animal' is part of the meaning of 'horse.' They are partial or complete definitions.

But (c) there are also Real Propositions, whose predicates do not mean the same as their subjects, and whose import consists in affirming or denying one of five different kinds of matter of fact: (1) That the subject exists, or does not; as if we say The bison exists, The great auk is extinct. (2) Co-existence, as Man is mortal; that is, the being subject to death coinheres with the qualities on account of which we call certain objects men. (3) Succession, as Night follows day. (4) Causation (a particular kind of Succession), as Water rusts iron. (5) Resemblance, as The colour of this geranium is like that of a soldier's coat, or A = B.

On comparing this list of real predications with the list of logical relations given above ([chap. i. § 5] (a)), it will be seen that the two differ only in this, that I have there omitted simple Existence. Nothing simply exists, unrelated either in Nature or in knowledge. Such a proposition as The bison exists may, no doubt, be used in Logic (subject to interpretation) for the sake of custom or for the sake of brevity; but it means that some specimens are still to be found in N. America, or in Zoological gardens.

Controversy as to the Import of Propositions really turns upon a difference of opinion as to the scope of Logic and the foundations of knowledge. Mill was dissatisfied with the "congruity" of concepts as the basis of a judgment. Clearly, mere congruity does not justify belief. In the proposition Water rusts iron, the concepts water, rust and iron may be congruous, but does any one assert their connection on that ground? In the proposition Murderers are haunted by the ghosts of their victims, the concepts victim, murderer, ghost have a high degree of congruity; yet, unfortunately, I cannot believe it: there seems to be no such cheap defence of innocence. Now, Mill held that Logic is concerned with the grounds of belief, and that the scope of Logic includes Induction as well as Deduction; whereas, according to Hamilton, Induction is only Modified Logic, a mere appendix to the theory of the "forms of thought as thought." Indeed, Mill endeavoured in his Logic to probe the grounds of belief deeper than usual, and introduced a good deal of Metaphysics—either too much or not enough—concerning the ground of axioms. But, at any rate, his great point was that belief, and therefore (for the most part) the Real Proposition, is concerned not merely with the relations of words, or even of ideas, but with matters of fact; that is, both propositions and judgments point to something further, to the relations of things which we can examine, not merely by thinking about them (comparing them in thought), but by observing them with the united powers of thought and perception. This is what convinces us that water rusts iron: and the difficulty of doing this is what prevents our feeling sure that murderers are haunted by the ghosts of their victims. Hence, although Mill's definition of a proposition, given above, is adequate for propositions in general; yet that kind of proposition (the Real) with regard to which Logic (in Mill's view) investigates the conditions of proof, may be more explicitly and pertinently defined as 'a predication concerning the relation of matters of fact.'

§ 5. This leads to a very important distinction to which we shall often have to refer in subsequent pages—namely, the distinction between the Form and the Matter of a proposition or of an argument. The distinction between Form and Matter, as it is ordinarily employed, is easily understood. An apple growing in the orchard and a waxen apple on the table may have the same shape or form, but they consist of different materials; two real apples may have the same shape, but contain distinct ounces of apple-stuff, so that after one is eaten the other remains to be eaten. Similarly, tables may have the same shape, though one be made of marble, another of oak, another of iron. The form is common to several things, the matter is peculiar to each. Metaphysicians have carried the distinction further: apples, they say, may have not only the same outward shape, but the same inward constitution, which, therefore, may be called the Form of apple-stuff itself—namely, a certain pulpiness, juiciness, sweetness, etc.; qualities common to all dessert apples: yet their Matter is different, one being here, another there—differing in place or time, if in nothing else. The definition of a species is the form of every specimen of it.

To apply this distinction to the things of Logic: it is easy to see how two propositions may have the same Form but different Matter: not using 'Form' in the sense of 'shape,' but for that which is common to many things, in contrast with that which is peculiar to each. Thus, All male lions are tawny and All water is liquid at 50° Fahrenheit, are two propositions that have the same form, though their matter is entirely different. They both predicate something of the whole of their subjects, though their subjects are different, and so are the things predicated of them. Again, All male lions have tufted tails and All male lions have manes, are two propositions having the same form and, in their subjects, the same matter, but different matter in their predicates. If, however, we take two such propositions as these: All male lions have manes and Some male lions have manes, here the matter is the same in both, but the form is different—in the first, predication is made concerning every male lion; in the second of only some male lions; the first is universal, the second is particular. Or, again, if we take Some tigers are man-eaters and Some tigers are not man-eaters, here too the matter is the same, but the form is different; for the first proposition is affirmative, whilst the second is negative.

§ 6. Now, according to Hamilton and Whately, pure Logic has to do only with the Form of propositions and arguments. As to their Matter, whether they are really true in fact, that is a question, they said, not for Logic, but for experience, or for the special sciences. But Mill desired so to extend logical method as to test the material truth of propositions: he thought that he could expound a method by which experience itself and the conclusions of the special sciences may be examined.

To this method it may be objected, that the claim to determine Material Truth takes for granted that the order of Nature will remain unchanged, that (for example) water not only at present is a liquid at 50° Fahrenheit, but will always be so; whereas (although we have no reason to expect such a thing) the order of Nature may alter—it is at least supposable—and in that event water may freeze at such a temperature. Any matter of fact, again, must depend on observation, either directly, or by inference—as when something is asserted about atoms or ether. But observation and material inference are subject to the limitations of our faculties; and however we may aid observation by microscopes and micrometers, it is still observation; and however we may correct our observations by repetition, comparison and refined mathematical methods of making allowances, the correction of error is only an approximation to accuracy. Outside of Formal Reasoning, suspense of judgment is your only attitude.

But such objections imply that nothing short of absolute truth has any value; that all our discussions and investigations in science or social affairs are without logical criteria; that Logic must be confined to symbols, and considered entirely as mental gymnastics. In this book prominence will be given to the character of Logic as a formal science, and it will also be shown that Induction itself may be treated formally; but it will be assumed that logical forms are valuable as representing the actual relations of natural and social phenomena.

§ 7. Symbols are often used in Logic instead of concrete terms, not only in Symbolic Logic where the science is treated algebraically (as by Dr. Venn in his Symbolic Logic), but in ordinary manuals; so that it may be well to explain the use of them before going further.

It is a common and convenient practice to illustrate logical doctrines by examples: to show what is meant by a Proposition we may give salt is soluble, or water rusts iron: the copulative exponible is exemplified by salt is savoury and wholesome; and so on. But this procedure has some disadvantages: it is often cumbrous; and it may distract the reader's attention from the point to be explained by exciting his interest in the special fact of the illustration. Clearly, too, so far as Logic is formal, no particular matter of fact can adequately illustrate any of its doctrines. Accordingly, writers on Logic employ letters of the alphabet instead of concrete terms, (say) X instead of salt or instead of iron, and (say) Y instead of soluble or instead of rusted by water; and then a proposition may be represented by X is Y. It is still more usual to represent a proposition by S is (or is not) P, S being the initial of Subject and P of Predicate; though this has the drawback that if we argue—S is P, therefore P is S, the symbols in the latter proposition no longer have the same significance, since the former subject is now the predicate.

Again, negative terms frequently occur in Logic, such as not-water, or not-iron, and then if water or iron be expressed by X, the corresponding negative may be expressed by x; or, generally, if a capital letter stand for a positive term, the corresponding small letter represents the negative. The same device may be adopted to express contradictory terms: either of them being X, the other is x (see chap. iv., §§ [7]-[8]); or the contradictory terms may be expressed by x and x̄, y and ȳ.

And as terms are often compounded, it may be convenient to express them by a combination of letters: instead of illustrating such a case by boiling water or water that is boiling, we may write XY; or since positive and negative terms may be compounded, instead of illustrating this by water that is not boiling, we may write Xy.

The convenience of this is obvious; but it is more than convenient; for, if one of the uses of Logic be to discipline the power of abstract thought, this can be done far more effectually by symbolic than by concrete examples; and if such discipline were the only use of Logic it might be best to discard concrete illustrations altogether, at least in advanced text-books, though no doubt the practice would be too severe for elementary manuals. On the other hand, to show the practical applicability of Logic to the arguments and proofs of actual life, or even of the concrete sciences, merely symbolic illustration may be not only useless but even misleading. When we speak of politics, or poetry, or species, or the weather, the terms that must be used can rarely have the distinctness and isolation of X and Y; so that the perfunctory use of symbolic illustration makes argument and proof appear to be much simpler and easier matters than they really are. Our belief in any proposition never rests on the proposition itself, nor merely upon one or two others, but upon the immense background of our general knowledge and beliefs, full of circumstances and analogies, in relation to which alone any given proposition is intelligible. Indeed, for this reason, it is impossible to illustrate Logic sufficiently: the reader who is in earnest about the cogency of arguments and the limitation of proofs, and is scrupulous as to the degrees of assent that they require, must constantly look for illustrations in his own knowledge and experience and rely at last upon his own sagacity.

CHAPTER III

OF TERMS AND THEIR DENOTATION

§ 1. In treating of Deductive Logic it is usual to recognise three divisions of the subject: first, the doctrine of Terms, words, or other signs used as subjects or predicates; secondly, the doctrine of Propositions, analysed into terms related; and, thirdly, the doctrine of the Syllogism in which propositions appear as the grounds of a conclusion.

The terms employed are either letters of the alphabet, or the words of common language, or the technicalities of science; and since the words of common language are most in use, it is necessary to give some account of common language as subserving the purposes of Logic. It has been urged that we cannot think or reason at all without words, or some substitute for them, such as the signs of algebra; but this is an exaggeration. Minds greatly differ, and some think by the aid of definite and comprehensive picturings, especially in dealing with problems concerning objects in space, as in playing chess blindfold, inventing a machine, planning a tour on an imagined map. Most people draw many simple inferences by means of perceptions, or of mental imagery. On the other hand, some men think a good deal without any continuum of words and without any imagery, or with none that seems relevant to the purpose. Still the more elaborate sort of thinking, the grouping and concatenation of inferences, which we call reasoning, cannot be carried far without language or some equivalent system of signs. It is not merely that we need language to express our reasonings and communicate them to others: in solitary thought we often depend on words—'talk to ourselves,' in fact; though the words or sentences that then pass through our minds are not always fully formed or articulated. In Logic, moreover, we have carefully to examine the grounds (at least the proximate grounds) of our conclusions; and plainly this cannot be done unless the conclusions in question are explicitly stated and recorded.

Conceptualists say that Logic deals not with the process of thinking (which belongs to Psychology) but with its results; not with conceiving but with concepts; not with judging but with judgments. Is the concept self-consistent or adequate? Logic asks; is the judgment capable of proof? Now, it is only by recording our thoughts in language that it becomes possible to distinguish between the process and the result of thought. Without language, the act and the product of thinking would be identical and equally evanescent. But by carrying on the process in language and remembering or otherwise recording it, we obtain a result which may be examined according to the principles of Logic.

§ 2. As Logic, then, must give some account of language, it seems desirable to explain how its treatment of language differs from that of Grammar and from that of Rhetoric.

Grammar is the study of the words of some language, their classification and derivation, and of the rules of combining them, according to the usage at any time recognised and followed by those who are considered correct writers or speakers. Composition may be faultless in its grammar, though dull and absurd.

Rhetoric is the study of language with a view to obtaining some special effect in the communication of ideas or feelings, such as picturesqueness in description, vivacity in narration, lucidity in exposition, vehemence in persuasion, or literary charm. Some of these ends are often gained in spite of faulty syntax or faulty logic; but since the few whom bad grammar saddens or incoherent arguments divert are not carried away, as they else might be, by an unsophisticated orator, Grammar and Logic are necessary to the perfection of Rhetoric. Not that Rhetoric is in bondage to those other sciences; for foreign idioms and such figures as the ellipsis, the anacoluthon, the oxymoron, the hyperbole, and violent inversions have their place in the magnificent style; but authors unacquainted with Grammar and Logic are not likely to place such figures well and wisely. Indeed, common idioms, though both grammatically and rhetorically justifiable, both correct and effective, often seem illogical. 'To fall asleep,' for example, is a perfect English phrase; yet if we examine severally the words it consists of, it may seem strange that their combination should mean anything at all.

But Logic only studies language so far as necessary in order to state, understand, and check the evidence and reasonings that are usually embodied in language. And as long as meanings are clear, good Logic is compatible with false concords and inelegance of style.

§ 3. Terms are either Simple or Composite: that is to say, they may consist either of a single word, as 'Chaucer,' 'civilisation'; or of more than one, as 'the father of English poetry,' or 'modern civilised nations.' Logicians classify words according to their uses in forming propositions; or, rather, they classify the uses of words as terms, not the words themselves; for the same word may fall into different classes of terms according to the way in which it is used. (Cf. Mr. Alfred Sidgwick's Distinction and the Criticism of Beliefs, chap. xiv.)

Thus words are classified as Categorematic or Syncategorematic. A word is Categorematic if used singly as a term without the support of other words: it is Syncategorematic when joined with other words in order to constitute the subject or predicate of a proposition. If we say Venus is a planet whose orbit is inside the Earth's, the subject, 'Venus,' is a word used categorematically as a simple term; the predicate is a composite term whose constituent words (whether substantive, relative, verb, or preposition) are used syncategorematically.

Prepositions, conjunctions, articles, adverbs, relative pronouns, in their ordinary use, can only enter into terms along with other words having a substantive, adjectival or participial force; but when they are themselves the things spoken of and are used substantively (suppositio materialis), they are categorematic. In the proposition, 'Of' was used more indefinitely three hundred years ago than it is now, 'of' is categorematic. On the other hand, all substantives may be used categorematically; and the same self-sufficiency is usually recognised in adjectives and participles. Some, however, hold that the categorematic use of adjectives and participles is due to an ellipsis which the logician should fill up; that instead of Gold is heavy, he should say Gold is a heavy metal; instead of The sun is shining, The sun is a body shining. But in these cases the words 'metal' and 'body' are unmistakable tautology, since 'metal' is implied in gold and 'body' in sun. But, as we have seen, any of these kinds of word, substantive, adjective, or participle, may occur syncategorematically in connection with others to form a composite term.

§ 4. Most terms (the exceptions and doubtful cases will be discussed hereafter) have two functions, a denotative and a connotative. A term's denotative function is, to be the name or sign of something or some multitude of things, which are said to be called or denoted by the term. Its connotative function is, to suggest certain qualities and characteristics of the things denoted, so that it cannot be used literally as the name of any other things; which qualities and characteristics are said to be implied or connoted by the term. Thus 'sheep' is the name of certain animals, and its connotation prevents its being used of any others. That which a term directly indicates, then, is its Denotation; that sense or customary use of it which limits the Denotation is its Connotation (ch. iv.). Hamilton and others use 'Extension' in the sense of Denotation, and 'Intension' or 'Comprehension' in the sense of Connotation. Now, terms may be classified, first according to what they stand for or denote; that is, according to their Denotation. In this respect, the use of a term is said to be either Concrete or Abstract.

A term is Concrete when it denotes a 'thing'; that is, any person, object, fact, event, feeling or imagination, considered as capable of having (or consisting of) qualities and a determinate existence. Thus 'cricket ball' denotes any object having a certain size, weight, shape, colour, etc. (which are its qualities), and being at any given time in some place and related to other objects—in the bowler's hands, on the grass, in a shop window. Any 'feeling of heat' has a certain intensity, is pleasurable or painful, occurs at a certain time, and affects some part or the whole of some animal. An imagination, indeed (say, of a fairy), cannot be said in the same sense to have locality; but it depends on the thinking of some man who has locality, and is definitely related to his other thoughts and feelings.

A term is Abstract, on the other hand, when it denotes a quality (or qualities), considered by itself and without determinate existence in time, place, or relation to other things. 'Size,' 'shape,' 'weight,' 'colour,' 'intensity,' 'pleasurableness,' are terms used to denote such qualities, and are then abstract in their denotation. 'Weight' is not something with a determinate existence at a given time; it exists not merely in some particular place, but wherever there is a heavy thing; and, as to relation, at the same moment it combines in iron with solidity and in mercury with liquidity. In fact, a quality is a point of agreement in a multitude of different things; all heavy things agree in weight, all round things in roundness, all red things in redness; and an abstract term denotes such a point (or points) of agreement among the things denoted by concrete terms. Abstract terms result from the analysis of concrete things into their qualities; and conversely a concrete term may be viewed as denoting the synthesis of qualities into an individual thing. When several things agree in more than one quality, there may be an abstract term denoting the union of qualities in which they agree, and omitting their peculiarities; as 'human nature' denotes the common qualities of men, 'civilisation' the common conditions of civilised peoples.

Every general name, if used as a concrete term, has, or may have, a corresponding abstract term. Sometimes the concrete term is modified to form the abstract, as 'greedy—greediness'; sometimes a word is adapted from another language, as 'man—humanity'; sometimes a composite term is used, as 'mercury—the nature of mercury,' etc. The same concrete may have several abstract correlatives, as 'man—manhood, humanity, human nature'; 'heavy—weight, gravity, ponderosity'; but in such cases the abstract terms are not used quite synonymously; that is, they imply different ways of considering the concrete.

Whether a word is used as a concrete or abstract term is in most instances plain from the word itself, the use of most words being pretty regular one way or the other; but sometimes we must judge by the context. 'Weight' may be used in the abstract for 'gravity,' or in the concrete for a measure; but in the latter sense it is syncategorematic (in the singular), needing at least the article 'a (or the) weight.' 'Government' may mean 'supreme political authority,' and is then abstract; or, the men who happen to be ministers, and is then concrete; but in this case, too, the article is usually prefixed. 'The life' of any man may mean his vitality (abstract), as in "Thus following life in creatures we dissect"; or, the series of events through which he passes (concrete), as in 'the life of Nelson as narrated by Southey.'

It has been made a question whether the denotation of an abstract term may itself be the subject of qualities. Apparently 'weight' may be greater or less, 'government' good or bad, 'vitality' intense or dull. But if every subject is modified by a quality, a quality is also modified by making it the subject of another; and, if so, it seems then to become a new quality. The compound terms 'great weight,' 'bad government,' 'dull vitality,' have not the same denotation as the simple terms 'weight, 'government,' 'vitality': they imply, and may be said to connote, more special concrete experience, such as the effort felt in lifting a trunk, disgust at the conduct of officials, sluggish movements of an animal when irritated. It is to such concrete experiences that we have always to refer in order fully to realise the meaning of abstract terms, and therefore, of course, to understand any qualification of them.

§ 5. Concrete terms may be subdivided according to the number of things they denote and the way in which they denote them. A term may denote one thing or many: if one, it is called Singular; if many, it may do so distributively, and then it is General; or, as taken all together, and then it is Collective: one, then; any one of many; many in one.

Among Singular Terms, each denoting a single thing, the most obvious are Proper Names, such as Gibraltar or George Washington, which are merely marks of individual things or persons, and may form no part of the common language of a country. They are thus distinguished from other Singular Terms, which consist of common words so combined as to restrict their denotation to some individual, such as, 'the strongest man on earth.'

Proper Terms are often said to be arbitrary signs, because their use does not depend upon any reason that may be given for them. Gibraltar had a meaning among the Moors when originally conferred; but no one now knows what it was, unless he happens to have learned it; yet the name serves its purpose as well as if it were "Rooke's Nest." Every Newton or Newport year by year grows old, but to alter the name would cause only confusion. If such names were given by mere caprice it would make no difference; and they could not be more cumbrous, ugly, or absurd than many of those that are given 'for reasons.'

The remaining kinds of Singular Terms are drawn from the common resources of the language. Thus the pronouns 'he,' 'she,' 'it,' are singular terms, whose present denotation is determined by the occasion and context of discourse: so with demonstrative phrases—'the man,' 'that horse.' Descriptive names may be more complex, as 'the wisest man of Gotham,' which is limited to some individual by the superlative suffix; or 'the German Emperor,' which is limited by the definite article—the general term 'German Emperor' being thereby restricted either to the reigning monarch or to the one we happen to be discussing. Instead of the definite, the indefinite article may be used to make general terms singular, as 'a German Emperor was crowned at Versailles' (individua vaga).

Abstract Terms are ostensively singular: 'whiteness' (e.g.) is one quality. But their full meaning is general: 'whiteness' stands for all white things, so far as white. Abstract terms, in fact, are only formally singular.

General Terms are words, or combinations of words, used to denote any one of many things that resemble one another in certain respects. 'George III.' is a Singular Term denoting one man; but 'King' is a General Term denoting him and all other men of the same rank; whilst the compound 'crowned head' is still more general, denoting kings and also emperors. It is the nature of a general term, then, to be used in the same sense of whatever it denotes; and its most characteristic form is the Class-name, whether of objects, such as 'king,' 'sheep,' 'ghost'; or of events, such as 'accession,' 'purchase,' 'manifestation.' Things and events are known by their qualities and relations; and every such aspect, being a point of resemblance to some other things, becomes a ground of generalisation, and therefore a ground for the need and use of general terms. Hence general terms are far the most important sort of terms in Logic, since in them general propositions are expressed and, moreover (with rare exceptions), all predicates are general. For, besides these typical class-names, attributive words are general terms, such as 'royal,' 'ruling,' 'woolly,' 'bleating,' 'impalpable,' 'vanishing.'

Infinitives may also be used as general terms, as 'To err is human'; but for logical purposes they may have to be translated into equivalent substantive forms, as Foolish actions are characteristic of mankind. Abstract terms, too, are (as I observed) equivalent to general terms; 'folly' is abstract for 'foolish actions.' 'Honesty is the best policy' means people who are honest may hope to find their account in being so; that is, in the effects of their honest actions, provided they are wise in other ways, and no misfortunes attend them. The abstract form is often much the more succinct and forcible, but for logical treatment it needs to be interpreted in the general form.

By antonomasia proper names may become general terms, as if we say 'A Johnson' would not have written such a book—i.e., any man of his genius for elaborate eloquence.

A Collective Term denotes a multitude of similar things considered as forming one whole, as 'regiment,' 'flock,' 'nation': not distributively, that is, not the similar things severally; to denote them we must say 'soldiers of the regiment,' 'sheep of the flock,' and so on. If in a multitude of things there is no resemblance, except the fact of being considered as parts of one whole, as 'the world,' or 'the town of Nottingham' (meaning its streets and houses, open spaces, people, and civic organisation), the term denoting them as a whole is Singular; but 'the world' or 'town of Nottingham,' meaning the inhabitants only, is Collective.

In their strictly collective use, all such expressions are equivalent to singular terms; but many of them may also be used as general terms, as when we speak of 'so many regiments of the line,' or discuss the 'plurality of worlds'; and in this general use they denote any of a multitude of things of the same kind—regiments, or habitable worlds.

Names of substances, such as 'gold,' 'air,' 'water,' may be employed as singular, collective, or general terms; though, perhaps, as singular terms only figuratively, as when we say Gold is king. If we say with Thales, 'Water is the source of all things,' 'water' seems to be used collectively. But substantive names are frequently used as general terms. For example, Gold is heavy means 'in comparison with other things,' such as water. And, plainly, it does not mean that the aggregate of gold is heavier than the aggregate of water, but only that its specific gravity is greater; that is, bulk for bulk, any piece of gold is heavier than water.

Finally, any class-name may be used collectively if we wish to assert something of the things denoted by it, not distributively but altogether, as that Sheep are more numerous than wolves.

CHAPTER IV

THE CONNOTATION OF TERMS

§ 1. Terms are next to be classified according to their Connotation—that is, according to what they imply as characteristic of the things denoted. We have seen that general names are used to denote many things in the same sense, because the things denoted resemble one another in certain ways: it is this resemblance in certain points that leads us to class the things together and call them by the same name; and therefore the points of resemblance constitute the sense or meaning of the name, or its Connotation, and limit its applicability to such things as have these characteristic qualities. 'Sheep' for example, is used in the same sense, to denote any of a multitude of animals that resemble one another: their size, shape, woolly coats, cloven hoofs, innocent ways and edibility are well known. When we apply to anything the term 'sheep,' we imply that it has these qualities: 'sheep,' denoting the animal, connotes its possessing these characteristics; and, of course, it cannot, without a figure of speech or a blunder, be used to denote anything that does not possess all these qualities. It is by a figure of speech that the term 'sheep' is applied to some men; and to apply it to goats would be a blunder.

Most people are very imperfectly aware of the connotation of the words they use, and are guided in using them merely by the custom of the language. A man who employs a word quite correctly may be sadly posed by a request to explain or define it. Moreover, so far as we are aware of the connotation of terms, the number and the kind of attributes we think of, in any given case, vary with the depth of our interest, and with the nature of our interest in the things denoted. 'Sheep' has one meaning to a touring townsman, a much fuller one to a farmer, and yet a different one to a zoologist. But this does not prevent them agreeing in the use of the word, as long as the qualities they severally include in its meaning are not incompatible.

All general names, and therefore not only class-names, like 'sheep,' but all attributives, have some connotation. 'Woolly' denotes anything that bears wool, and connotes the fact of bearing wool; 'innocent' denotes anything that habitually and by its disposition does no harm (or has not been guilty of a particular offence), and connotes a harmless character (or freedom from particular guilt); 'edible' denotes whatever can be eaten with good results, and connotes its suitability for mastication, deglutition, digestion, and assimilation.

§ 2. But whether all terms must connote as well as denote something, has been much debated. Proper names, according to what seems the better opinion, are, in their ordinary use, not connotative. To say that they have no meaning may seem violent: if any one is called John Doe, this name, no doubt, means a great deal to his friends and neighbours, reminding them of his stature and physiognomy, his air and gait, his wit and wisdom, some queer stories, and an indefinite number of other things. But all this significance is local or accidental; it only exists for those who know the individual or have heard him described: whereas a general name gives information about any thing or person it denotes to everybody who understands the language, without any particular knowledge of the individual.

We must distinguish, in fact, between the peculiar associations of the proper name and the commonly recognised meaning of the general name. This is why proper names are not in the dictionary. Such a name as London, to be sure, or Napoleon Buonaparte, has a significance not merely local; still, it is accidental. These names are borne by other places and persons than those that have rendered them famous. There are Londons in various latitudes, and, no doubt, many Napoleon Buonapartes in Louisiana; and each name has in its several denotations an altogether different suggestiveness. For its suggestiveness is in each application determined by the peculiarities of the place or person denoted; it is not given to the different places (or to the different persons) because they have certain characteristics in common.

However, the scientific grounds of the doctrine that proper names are non-connotative, are these: The peculiarities that distinguish an individual person or thing are admitted to be infinite, and anything less than a complete enumeration of these peculiarities may fail to distinguish and identify the individual. For, short of a complete enumeration of them, the description may be satisfied by two or more individuals; and in that case the term denoting them, if limited by such a description, is not a proper but a general name, since it is applicable to two or more in the same sense. The existence of other individuals to whom it applies may be highly improbable; but, if it be logically possible, that is enough. On the other hand, the enumeration of infinite peculiarities is certainly impossible. Therefore proper names have no assignable connotation. The only escape from this reasoning lies in falling back upon time and place, the principles of individuation, as constituting the connotation of proper names. Two things cannot be at the same time in the same place: hence 'the man who was at a certain spot on the bridge of Lodi at a certain instant in a certain year' suffices to identify Napoleon Buonaparte for that instant. Supposing no one else to have borne the name, then, is this its connotation? No one has ever thought so. And, at any rate, time and place are only extrinsic determinations (suitable indeed to events like the battle of Lodi, or to places themselves like London); whereas the connotation of a general term, such as 'sheep,' consists of intrinsic qualities. Hence, then, the scholastic doctrine 'that individuals have no essence' (see [chap. xxii. § 9]), and Hamilton's dictum 'that every concept is inadequate to the individual,' are justified.

General names, when used as proper names, lose their connotation, as Euxine or Newfoundland.

Singular terms, other than Proper, have connotation; either in themselves, like the singular pronouns 'he,' 'she,' 'it,' which are general in their applicability, though singular in application; or, derivatively, from the general names that combine to form them, as in 'the first Emperor of the French' or the 'Capital of the British Empire.'

§ 3. Whether Abstract Terms have any connotation is another disputed question. We have seen that they denote a quality or qualities of something, and that is precisely what general terms connote: 'honesty' denotes a quality of some men; 'honest' connotes the same quality, whilst denoting the men who have it.

The denotation of abstract terms thus seems to exhaust their force or meaning. It has been proposed, however, to regard them as connoting the qualities they directly stand for, and not denoting anything; but surely this is too violent. To denote something is the same as to be the name of something (whether real or unreal), which every term must be. It is a better proposal to regard their denotation and connotation as coinciding; though open to the objection that 'connote' means 'to mark along with' something else, and this plan leaves nothing else. Mill thought that abstract terms are connotative when, besides denoting a quality, they suggest a quality of that quality (as 'fault' implies 'hurtfulness'); but against this it may be urged that one quality cannot bear another, since every qualification of a quality constitutes a distinct quality in the total ('milk-whiteness' is distinct from 'whiteness,' cf. [chap. iii. § 4]). After all, if it is the most consistent plan, why not say that abstract, like proper, terms have no connotation?

But if abstract terms must be made to connote something, should it not be those things, indefinitely suggested, to which the qualities belong? Thus 'whiteness' may be considered to connote either snow or vapour, or any white thing, apart from one or other of which the quality has no existence; whose existence therefore it implies. By this course the denotation and connotation of abstract and of general names would be exactly reversed. Whilst the denotation of a general name is limited by the qualities connoted, the connotation of an abstract name includes all the things in which its denotation is realised. But the whole difficulty may be avoided by making it a rule to translate, for logical purposes, all abstract into the corresponding general terms.

§ 4. If we ask how the connotation of a term is to be known, the answer depends upon how it is used. If used scientifically, its connotation is determined by, and is the same as, its definition; and the definition is determined by examining the things to be denoted, as we shall see in [chap. xxii]. If the same word is used as a term in different sciences, as 'property' in Law and in Logic, it will be differently defined by them, and will have, in each use, a correspondingly different connotation. But terms used in popular discourse should, as far as possible, have their connotations determined by classical usage, i.e., by the sense in which they are used by writers and speakers who are acknowledged masters of the language, such as Dryden and Burke. In this case the classical connotation determines the definition; so that to define terms thus used is nothing else than to analyse their accepted meanings.

It must not, however, be supposed that in popular use the connotation of any word is invariable. Logicians have attempted to classify terms into Univocal (having only one meaning) and Æquivocal (or ambiguous); and no doubt some words (like 'civil,' 'natural,' 'proud,' 'liberal,' 'humorous') are more manifestly liable to ambiguous use than some others. But in truth all general terms are popularly and classically used in somewhat different senses.

Figurative or tropical language chiefly consists in the transfer of words to new senses, as by metaphor or metonymy. In the course of years, too, words change their meanings; and before the time of Dryden our whole vocabulary was much more fluid and adaptable than it has since become. Such authors as Bacon, Milton, and Sir Thomas Browne often used words derived from the Latin in some sense they originally had in Latin, though in English they had acquired another meaning. Spenser and Shakespeare, besides this practice, sometimes use words in a way that can only be justified by their choosing to have it so; whilst their contemporaries, Beaumont and Fletcher, write the perfect modern language, as Dryden observed. Lapse of time, however, is not the chief cause of variation in the sense of words. The matters which terms are used to denote are often so complicated or so refined in the assemblage, interfusion, or gradation of their qualities, that terms do not exist in sufficient abundance and discriminativeness to denote the things and, at the same time, to convey by connotation a determinate sense of their agreements and differences. In discussing politics, religion, ethics, æsthetics, this imperfection of language is continually felt; and the only escape from it, short of coining new words, is to use such words as we have, now in one sense, now in another somewhat different, and to trust to the context, or to the resources of the literary art, in order to convey the true meaning. Against this evil the having been born since Dryden is no protection. It behoves us, then, to remember that terms are not classifiable into Univocal and Æquivocal, but that all terms are susceptible of being used æquivocally, and that honesty and lucidity require us to try, as well as we can, to use each term univocally in the same context.

The context of any proposition always proceeds upon some assumption or understanding as to the scope of the discussion, which controls the interpretation of every statement and of every word. This was called by De Morgan the "universe of discourse": an older name for it, revived by Dr. Venn, and surely a better one, is suppositio. If we are talking of children, and 'play' is mentioned, the suppositio limits the suggestiveness of the word in one way; whilst if Monaco is the subject of conversation, the same word 'play,' under the influence of a different suppositio, excites altogether different ideas. Hence to ignore the suppositio is a great source of fallacies of equivocation. 'Man' is generally defined as a kind of animal; but 'animal' is often used as opposed to and excluding man. 'Liberal' has one meaning under the suppositio of politics, another with regard to culture, and still another as to the disposal of one's private means. Clearly, therefore, the connotation of general terms is relative to the suppositio, or "universe of discourse."

§ 5. Relative and Absolute Terms.—Some words go in couples or groups: like 'up-down,' 'former-latter,' 'father-mother-children,' 'hunter-prey,' 'cause-effect,' etc. These are called Relative Terms, and their nature, as explained by Mill, is that the connotations of the members of such a pair or group are derived from the same set of facts (the fundamentum relationis). There cannot be an 'up' without a 'down,' a 'father' without a 'mother' and 'child'; there cannot be a 'hunter' without something hunted, nor 'prey' without a pursuer. What makes a man a 'hunter' is his activities in pursuit; and what turns a chamois into 'prey' is its interest in these activities. The meaning of both terms, therefore, is derived from the same set of facts; neither term can be explained without explaining the other, because the relation between them is connoted by both; and neither can with propriety be used without reference to the other, or to some equivalent, as 'game' for 'prey.'

In contrast with such Relative Terms, others have been called Absolute or Non-relative. Whilst 'hunter' and 'prey' are relative, 'man' and 'chamois' have been considered absolute, as we may use them without thinking of any special connection between their meanings. However, if we believe in the unity of Nature and in the relativity of knowledge (that is, that all knowledge depends upon comparison, or a perception of the resemblances and differences of things), it follows that nothing can be completely understood except through its agreements or contrasts with everything else, and that all terms derive their connotation from the same set of facts, namely, from general experience. Thus both man and chamois are animals; this fact is an important part of the meaning of both terms, and to that extent they are relative terms. 'Five yards' and 'five minutes' are very different notions, yet they are profoundly related; for their very difference helps to make both notions distinct; and their intimate connection is shown in this, that five yards are traversed in a certain time, and that five minutes are measured by the motion of an index over some fraction of a yard upon the dial.

The distinction, then, between relative and non-relative terms must rest, not upon a fundamental difference between them (since, in fact, all words are relative), but upon the way in which words are used. We have seen that some words, such as 'up-down,' 'cause-effect,' can only be used relatively; and these may, for distinction, be called Correlatives. But other words, whose meanings are only partially interdependent, may often be used without attending to their relativity, and may then be considered as Absolute. We cannot say 'the hunter returned empty handed,' without implying that 'the prey escaped'; but we may say 'the man went supperless to bed,' without implying that 'the chamois rejoiced upon the mountain.' Such words as 'man' and 'chamois' may, then, in their use, be, as to one another, non-relative.

To illustrate further the relativity of terms, we may mention some of the chief classes of them.

Numerical order: 1st, 2nd, 3rd, etc.; 1st implies 2nd, and 2nd 1st; and 3rd implies 1st and 2nd, but these do not imply 3rd; and so on.

Order in Time or Place: before-after; early-punctual-late; right-middle-left; North-South, etc.

As to Extent, Volume, and Degree: greater-equal-less; large-medium-small; whole and part.

Genus and Species are a peculiar case of whole and part (cf. chaps. xxi.-ii.-iii.). Sometimes a term connotes all the attributes that another does, and more besides, which, as distinguishing it, are called differential. Thus 'man' connotes all that 'animal' does, and also (as differentiæ) the erect gait, articulate speech, and other attributes. In such a case as this, where there are well-marked classes, the term whose connotation is included in the others' is called a Genus of that Species. We have a Genus, triangle; and a Species, isosceles, marked off from all other triangles by the differential quality of having two equal sides: again—Genus, book; Species, quarto; Difference, having each sheet folded into four leaves.

There are other cases where these expressions 'genus' and 'species' cannot be so applied without a departure from usage, as, e.g., if we call snow a species of the genus 'white,' for 'white' is not a recognised class. The connotation of white (i.e., whiteness) is, however, part of the connotation of snow, just as the qualities of 'animal' are amongst those of 'man'; and for logical purposes it is desirable to use 'genus and species' to express that relativity of terms which consists in the connotation of one being part of the connotation of the other.

Two or more terms whose connotations severally include that of another term, whilst at the same time exceeding it, are (in relation to that other term) called Co-ordinate. Thus in relation to 'white,' snow and silver are co-ordinate; in relation to colour, yellow and red and blue are co-ordinate. And when all the terms thus related stand for recognised natural classes, the co-ordinate terms are called co-ordinate species; thus man and chamois are (in Logic) co-ordinate species of the genus animal.

§ 6. From such examples of terms whose connotations are related as whole and part, it is easy to see the general truth of the doctrine that as connotation decreases, denotation increases: for 'animal,' with less connotation than man or chamois, denotes many more objects; 'white,' with less connotation than snow or silver, denotes many more things, It is not, however, certain that this doctrine is always true in the concrete: since there may be a term connoting two or more qualities, all of which qualities are peculiar to all the things it denotes; and, if so, by subtracting one of the qualities from its connotation, we should not increase its denotation. If 'man,' for example, has among mammals the two peculiar attributes of erect gait and articulate speech, then, by omitting 'articulate speech' from the connotation of man, we could not apply the name to any more of the existing mammalia than we can at present. Still we might have been able to do so; there might have been an erect inarticulate ape, and perhaps there once was one; and, if so, to omit 'articulate' from the connotation of man would make the term 'man' denote that animal (supposing that there was no other difference to exclude it). Hence, potentially, an increase of the connotation of any term implies a decrease of its denotation. And, on the other hand, we can only increase the denotation of a term, or apply it to more objects, by decreasing its connotation; for, if the new things denoted by the term had already possessed its whole connotation, they must already have been denoted by it. However, we may increase the known denotation without decreasing the connotation, if we can discover the full connotation in things not formerly supposed to have it, as when dolphins were discovered to be mammals; or if we can impose the requisite qualities upon new individuals, as when by annexing some millions of Africans we extend the denotation of 'British subject' without altering its connotation.

Many of the things noticed in this chapter, especially in this section and the preceding, will be discussed at greater length in the chapters on Classification and Definition.

§ 7. Contradictory Relative Terms.—Every term has, or may have, another corresponding with it in such a way that, whatever differential qualities ([§ 5]) it connotes, this other connotes merely their absence; so that one or the other is always formally predicable of any Subject, but both these terms are never predicable of the same Subject in the same relation: such pairs of terms are called Contradictories. Whatever Subject we take, it is either visible or invisible, but not both; either human or non-human, but not both.

This at least is true formally, though in practice we should think ourselves trifled with if any one told us that 'A mountain is either human or non-human, but not both.' It is symbolic terms, such as X and x, that are properly said to be contradictories in relation to any subject whatever, S or M. For, as we have seen, the ordinary use of terms is limited by some suppositio, and this is true of Contradictories. 'Human' and 'non-human' may refer to zoological classification, or to the scope of physical, mental, or moral powers—as if we ask whether to flourish a dumbbell of a ton weight, or to know the future by intuition, or impeccability, be human or non-human. Similarly, 'visible' and 'invisible' refer either to the power of emitting or reflecting light, so that the words have no hold upon a sound or a scent, or else to power of vision and such qualifications as 'with the naked eye' or 'with a microscope.'

Again, the above definition of Contradictories tells us that they cannot be predicated of the same Subject "in the same relation"; that is, at the same time or place, or under the same conditions. The lamp is visible to me now, but will be invisible if I turn it out; one side of it is now visible, but the other is not: therefore without this restriction, "in the same relation," few or no terms would be contradictory.

If a man is called wise, it may mean 'on the whole' or 'in a certain action'; and clearly a man may for once be wise (or act wisely) who, on the whole, is not-wise. So that here again, by this ambiguity, terms that seem contradictory are predicable of the same subject, but not "in the same relation." In order to avoid the ambiguity, however, we have only to construct the term so as to express the relation, as 'wise on the whole'; and this immediately generates the contradictory 'not-wise on the whole.' Similarly, at one age a man may have black hair, at another not-black hair; but the difficulty is practically removable by stating the age referred to.

Still, this case easily leads us to a real difficulty in the use of contradictory terms, a difficulty arising from the continuous change or 'flux' of natural phenomena. If things are continually changing, it may be urged that contradictory terms are always applicable to the same subject, at least as fast as we can utter them: for if we have just said that a man's hair is black, since (like everything else) his hair is changing, it must now be not-black, though (to be sure) it may still seem black. The difficulty, such as it is, lies in this, that the human mind and its instrument language are not equal to the subtlety of Nature. All things flow, but the terms of human discourse assume a certain fixity of things; everything at every moment changes, but for the most part we can neither perceive this change nor express it in ordinary language.

This paradox, however, may, I suppose, be easily over-stated. The change that continually agitates Nature consists in the movements of masses or molecules, and such movements of things are compatible with a considerable persistence of their qualities. Not only are the molecular changes always going on in a piece of gold compatible with its remaining yellow, but its persistent yellowness depends on the continuance of some of those changes. Similarly, a man's hair may remain black for some years; though, no doubt, at a certain age its colour may begin to be problematical, and the applicability to it of 'black' or 'not-black' may become a matter of genuine anxiety. Whilst being on our guard, then, against fallacies of contradiction arising from the imperfect correspondence of fact with thought and language, we shall often have to put up with it. Candour and humility having been satisfied by the above acknowledgment of the subtlety of Nature, we may henceforward proceed upon the postulate—that it is possible to use contradictory terms such as cannot both be predicated of the same subject in the same relation, though one of them may be; that, for example, it may be truly said of a man for some years that his hair is black; and, if so, that during those years to call it not-black is false or extremely misleading.

The most opposed terms of the literary vocabulary, however, such as 'wise-foolish,' 'old-young,' 'sweet-bitter,' are rarely true contradictories: wise and foolish, indeed, cannot be predicated of the same man in the same relation; but there are many middling men, of whom neither can be predicated on the whole. For the comparison of quantities, again, we have three correlative terms, 'greater—equal—less,' and none of these is the contradictory of either of the others. In fact, the contradictory of any term is one that denotes the sum of its co-ordinates ([§ 6]); and to obtain a contradictory, the surest way is to coin one by prefixing to the given term the particle 'not' or (sometimes) 'non': as 'wise, not-wise,' 'human, non-human,' 'greater, not-greater.'

The separate word 'not' is surer to constitute a contradictory than the usual prefixes of negation, 'un-' or 'in-,' or even 'non'; since compounds of these are generally warped by common use from a purely negative meaning. Thus, 'Nonconformist' does not denote everybody who fails to conform. 'Unwise' is not equivalent to 'not-wise,' but means 'rather foolish'; a very foolish action is not-wise, but can only be called unwise by meiosis or irony. Still, negatives formed by 'in' or 'un' or 'non' are sometimes really contradictory of their positives; as 'visible, invisible,' 'equal, unequal.'

§ 8. The distinction between Positive and Negative terms is not of much value in Logic, what importance would else attach to it being absorbed by the more definite distinction of contradictories. For contradictories are positive and negative in essence and, when least ambiguously stated, also in form. And, on the other hand, as we have seen, when positive and negative terms are not contradictory, they are misleading. As with 'wise-unwise,' so with many others, such as 'happy-unhappy'; which are not contradictories; since a man may be neither happy nor unhappy, but indifferent, or (again) so miserable that he can only be called unhappy by a figure of speech. In fact, in the common vocabulary a formal negative often has a limited positive sense; and this is the case with unhappy, signifying the state of feeling in the milder shades of Purgatory.

When a Negative term is fully contradictory of its Positive it is said to be Infinite; because it denotes an unascertained multitude of things, a multitude only limited by the positive term and the suppositio; thus 'not-wise' denotes all except the wise, within the suppositio of 'intelligent beings.' Formally (disregarding any suppositio), such a negative term stands for all possible terms except its positive: x denotes everything but X; and 'not-wise' may be taken to include stones, triangles and hippogriffs. And even in this sense, a negative term has some positive meaning, though a very indefinite one, not a specific positive force like 'unwise' or 'unhappy': it denotes any and everything that has not the attributes connoted by the corresponding positive term.

Privative Terms connote the absence of a quality that normally belongs to the kind of thing denoted, as 'blind' or 'deaf.' We may predicate 'blind' or 'deaf' of a man, dog or cow that happens not to be able to see or hear, because the powers of seeing and hearing generally belong to those species; but of a stone or idol these terms can only be used figuratively. Indeed, since the contradictory of a privative carries with it the privative limitation, a stone is strictly 'not-blind': that is, it is 'not-something-that-normally-having-sight-wants-it.'

Contrary Terms are those that (within a certain genus or suppositio) severally connote differential qualities that are, in fact, mutually incompatible in the same relation to the same thing, and therefore cannot be predicated of the same subject in the same relation; and, so far, they resemble Contradictory Terms: but they differ from contradictory terms in this, that the differential quality connoted by each of them is definitely positive; no Contrary Term is infinite, but is limited to part of the suppositio excluded by the others; so that, possibly, neither of two Contraries is truly predicable of a given subject. Thus 'blue' and 'red' are Contraries, for they cannot both be predicated of the same thing in the same relation; but are not Contradictories, since, in a given case, neither may be predicable: if a flower is blue in a certain part, it cannot in the same part be red; but it may be neither blue nor red, but yellow; though it is certainly either blue or not-blue. All co-ordinate terms are formal Contraries; but if, in fact, a series of co-ordinates comprises only two (as male-female), they are empirical Contradictories; since each includes all that area of the suppositio which the other excludes.

The extremes of a series of co-ordinate terms are Opposites; as, in a list of colours, white and black, the most strongly contrasted, are said to be opposites, or as among moods of feeling, rapture and misery are opposites. But this distinction is of slight logical importance. Imperfect Positive and Negative couples, like 'happy and unhappy,' which (as we have seen) are not contradictories, are often called Opposites.

The members of any series of Contraries are all included by any one of them and its contradictory, as all colours come under 'red' and 'not-red,' all moods of feeling under 'happy' and 'not-happy.'

CHAPTER V

THE CLASSIFICATION OF PROPOSITIONS

§ 1. Logicians classify Propositions according to Quantity, Quality, Relation and Modality.

As to Quantity, propositions are either Universal or Particular; that is to say, the predicate is affirmed or denied either of the whole subject or of a part of it—of All or of Some S.

All S is P (that is, P is predicated of all S).
Some S is P (that is, P is predicated of some S).

An Universal Proposition may have for its subject a singular term, a collective, a general term distributed, or an abstract term.

(1) A proposition having a singular term for its subject, as The Queen has gone to France, is called a Singular Proposition; and some Logicians regard this as a third species of proposition with respect to quantity, distinct from the Universal and Particular; but that is needless.

(2) A collective term may be the subject, as The Black Watch is ordered to India. In this case, as well as in singular propositions, a predication is made concerning the whole subject as a whole.

(3) The subject may be a general term taken in its full denotation, as All apes are sagacious; and in this case a Predication is made concerning the whole subject distributively; that is, of each and everything the subject stands for.

(4) Propositions whose subjects are abstract terms, though they may seem to be formally Singular, are really as to their meaning distributive Universals; since whatever is true of a quality is true of whatever thing has that quality so far as that quality is concerned. Truth will prevail means that All true propositions are accepted at last (by sheer force of being true, in spite of interests, prejudices, ignorance and indifference). To bear this in mind may make one cautious in the use of abstract terms.

In the above paragraphs a distinction is implied between Singular and Distributive Universals; but, technically, every term, whether subject or predicate, when taken in its full denotation (or universally), is said to be 'distributed,' although this word, in its ordinary sense, would be directly applicable only to general terms. In the above examples, then, 'Queen,' 'Black Watch,' 'apes,' and 'truth' are all distributed terms. Indeed, a simple definition of the Universal Proposition is 'one whose subject is distributed.'

A Particular Proposition is one that has a general term for its subject, whilst its predicate is not affirmed or denied of everything the subject denotes; in other words, it is one whose subject is not distributed: as Some lions inhabit Africa.

In ordinary discourse it is not always explicitly stated whether predication is universal or particular; it would be very natural to say Lions inhabit Africa, leaving it, as far as the words go, uncertain whether we mean all or some lions. Propositions whose quantity is thus left indefinite are technically called 'preindesignate,' their quantity not being stated or designated by any introductory expression; whilst propositions whose quantity is expressed, as All foundling-hospitals have a high death-rate, or Some wine is made from grapes, are said to be 'predesignate.' Now, the rule is that preindesignate propositions are, for logical purposes, to be treated as particular; since it is an obvious precaution of the science of proof, in any practical application, not to go beyond the evidence. Still, the rule may be relaxed if the universal quantity of a preindesignate proposition is well known or admitted, as in Planets shine with reflected light—understood of the planets of our solar system at the present time. Again, such a proposition as Man is the paragon of animals is not a preindesignate, but an abstract proposition; the subject being elliptical for Man according to his proper nature; and the translation of it into a predesignate proposition is not All men are paragons; nor can Some men be sufficient, since an abstract can only be adequately rendered by a distributed term; but we must say, All men who approach the ideal. Universal real propositions, true without qualification, are very scarce; and we often substitute for them general propositions, saying perhaps—generally, though not universally, S is P. Such general propositions are, in strictness, particular; and the logical rules concerning universals cannot be applied to them without careful scrutiny of the facts.

The marks or predesignations of Quantity commonly used in Logic are: for Universals, All, Any, Every, Whatever (in the negative No or No one, see next §); for Particulars, Some.

Now Some, technically used, does not mean Some only, but Some at least (it may be one, or more, or all). If it meant 'Some only,' every particular proposition would be an exclusive exponible ([chap. ii. § 3]); since Only some men are wise implies that Some men are not wise. Besides, it may often happen in an investigation that all the instances we have observed come under a certain rule, though we do not yet feel justified in regarding the rule as universal; and this situation is exactly met by the expression Some (it may be all).

The words Many, Most, Few are generally interpreted to mean Some; but as Most signifies that exceptions are known, and Few that the exceptions are the more numerous, propositions thus predesignate are in fact exponibles, mounting to Some are and Some are not. If to work with both forms be too cumbrous, so that we must choose one, apparently Few are should be treated as Some are not. The scientific course to adopt with propositions predesignate by Most or Few, is to collect statistics and determine the percentage; thus, Few men are wise—say 2 per cent.

The Quantity of a proposition, then, is usually determined entirely by the quantity of the subject, whether all or some. Still, the quantity of the predicate is often an important consideration; and though in ordinary usage the predicate is seldom predesignate, Logicians agree that in every Negative Proposition (see [§ 2]) the predicate is 'distributed,' that is to say, is denied altogether of the subject, and that this is involved in the form of denial. To say Some men are not brave, is to declare that the quality for which men may be called brave is not found in any of the Some men referred to: and to say No men are proof against flattery, cuts off the being 'proof against flattery' entirely from the list of human attributes. On the other hand, every Affirmative Proposition is regarded as having an undistributed predicate; that is to say, its predicate is not affirmed exclusively of the subject. Some men are wise does not mean that 'wise' cannot be predicated of any other beings; it is equivalent to Some men are wise (whoever else may be). And All elephants are sagacious does not limit sagacity to elephants: regarding 'sagacious' as possibly denoting many animals of many species that exhibit the quality, this proposition is equivalent to 'All elephants are some sagacious animals.' The affirmative predication of a quality does not imply exclusive possession of it as denial implies its complete absence; and, therefore, to regard the predicate of an affirmative proposition as distributed would be to go beyond the evidence and to take for granted what had never been alleged.

Some Logicians, seeing that the quantity of predicates, though not distinctly expressed, is recognised, and holding that it is the part of Logic "to make explicit in language whatever is implicit in thought," have proposed to exhibit the quantity of predicates by predesignation, thus: 'Some men are some wise (beings)'; 'some men are not any brave (beings)'; etc. This is called the Quantification of the Predicate, and leads to some modifications of Deductive Logic which will be referred to hereafter. (See [§ 5]; [chap. vii. § 4], and [chap. viii. § 3].)

§ 2. As to Quality, Propositions are either Affirmative or Negative. An Affirmative Proposition is, formally, one whose copula is affirmative (or, has no negative sign), as S—is—P, All men—are—partial to themselves. A Negative Proposition is one whose copula is negative (or, has a negative sign), as S—is not—P, Some men—are not—proof against flattery. When, indeed, a Negative Proposition is of Universal Quantity, it is stated thus: No S is P, No men are proof against flattery; but, in this case, the detachment of the negative sign from the copula and its association with the subject is merely an accident of our idiom; the proposition is the same as All men—are not—proof against flattery. It must be distinguished, therefore, from such an expression as Not every man is proof against flattery; for here the negative sign really restricts the subject; so that the meaning is—Some men at most (it may be none) are proof against flattery; and thus the proposition is Particular, and is rendered—Some men—are not—proof against flattery.

When the negative sign is associated with the predicate, so as to make this an Infinite Term ([chap. iv. § 8]), the proposition is called an Infinite Proposition, as S is not-P (or p), All men are—incapable of resisting flattery, or are—not-proof against flattery.

Infinite propositions, when the copula is affirmative, are formally, themselves affirmative, although their force is chiefly negative; for, as the last example shows, the difference between an infinite and a negative proposition may depend upon a hyphen. It has been proposed, indeed, with a view to superficial simplification, to turn all Negatives into Infinites, and thus render all propositions Affirmative in Quality. But although every proposition both affirms and denies something according to the aspect in which you regard it (as Snow is white denies that it is any other colour, and Snow is not blue affirms that it is some other colour), yet there is a great difference between the definite affirmation of a genuine affirmative and the vague affirmation of a negative or infinite; so that materially an affirmative infinite is the same as a negative.

Generally Mill's remark is true, that affirmation and denial stand for distinctions of fact that cannot be got rid of by manipulation of words. Whether granite sinks in water, or not; whether the rook lives a hundred years, or not; whether a man has a hundred dollars in his pocket, or not; whether human bones have ever been found in Pliocene strata, or not; such alternatives require distinct forms of expression. At the same time, it may be granted that many facts admit of being stated with nearly equal propriety in either Quality, as No man is proof against flattery, or All men are open to flattery.

But whatever advantage there is in occasionally changing the Quality of a proposition may be gained by the process of Obversion (chap. vii. § 5); whilst to use only one Quality would impair the elasticity of logical expression. It is a postulate of Logic that the negative sign may be transferred from the copula to the predicate, or from the predicate to the copula, without altering the sense of a proposition; and this is justified by the experience that not to have an attribute and to be without it are the same thing.

§ 3. A. I. E. O.—Combining the two kinds of Quantity, Universal and Particular, with the two kinds of Quality, Affirmative and Negative, we get four simple types of proposition, which it is usual to symbolise by the letters A. I. E. O., thus:

As an aid to the remembering of these symbols we may observe that A. and I. are the first two vowels in affirmo and that E. and O. are the vowels in nego.

It must be acknowledged that these four kinds of proposition recognised by Formal Logic constitute a very meagre selection from the list of propositions actually used in judgment and reasoning.

Those Logicians who explicitly quantify the predicate obtain, in all, eight forms of proposition according to Quantity and Quality:

Here A. I. E. O. correspond with those similarly symbolised in the usual list, merely designating in the predicates the quantity which was formerly treated as implicit.

§ 4. As to Relation, propositions are either Categorical or Conditional. A Categorical Proposition is one in which the predicate is directly affirmed or denied of the subject without any limitation of time, place, or circumstance, extraneous to the subject, as All men in England are secure of justice; in which proposition, though there is a limitation of place ('in England'), it is included in the subject. Of this kind are nearly all the examples that have yet been given, according to the form S is P.

A Conditional Proposition is so called because the predication is made under some limitation or condition not included in the subject, as If a man live in England, he is secure of justice. Here the limitation 'living in England' is put into a conditional sentence extraneous to the subject, 'he,' representing any man.

Conditional propositions, again, are of two kinds—Hypothetical and Disjunctive. Hypothetical propositions are those that are limited by an explicit conditional sentence, as above, or thus: If Joe Smith was a prophet, his followers have been unjustly persecuted. Or in symbols thus:

If A is, B is;
If A is B, A is C;
If A is B, C is D.

Disjunctive propositions are those in which the condition under which predication is made is not explicit but only implied under the disguise of an alternative proposition, as Joe Smith was either a prophet or an impostor. Here there is no direct predication concerning Joe Smith, but only a predication of one of the alternatives conditionally on the other being denied, as, If Joe Smith was not a prophet he was an impostor; or, If he was not an impostor, he was a prophet. Symbolically, Disjunctives may be represented thus:

A is either B or C,
Either A is B or C is D.

Formally, every Conditional may be expressed as a Categorical. For our last example shows how a Disjunctive may be reduced to two Hypotheticals (of which one is redundant, being the contrapositive of the other; see [chap. vii. § 10]). And a Hypothetical is reducible to a Categorical thus: If the sky is clear, the night is cold may be read—The case of the sky being clear is a case of the night being cold; and this, though a clumsy plan, is sometimes convenient. It would be better to say The sky being clear is a sign of the night being cold, or a condition of it. For, as Mill says, the essence of a Hypothetical is to state that one clause of it (the indicative) may be inferred from the other (the conditional). Similarly, we might write: Proof of Joe Smith's not being a prophet is a proof of his being an impostor.

This turning of Conditionals into Categoricals is called a Change of Relation; and the process may be reversed: All the wise are virtuous may be written, If any man is wise he is virtuous; or, again, Either a man is not-wise or he is virtuous. But the categorical form is usually the simplest.

If, then, as substitutes for the corresponding conditionals, categoricals are formally adequate, though sometimes inelegant, it may be urged that Logic has nothing to do with elegance; or that, at any rate, the chief elegance of science is economy, and that therefore, for scientific purposes, whatever we may write further about conditionals must be an ugly excrescence. The scientific purpose of Logic is to assign the conditions of proof. Can we, then, in the conditional form prove anything that cannot be proved in the categorical? Or does a conditional require to be itself proved by any method not applicable to the Categorical? If not, why go on with the discussion of Conditionals? For all laws of Nature, however stated, are essentially categorical. 'If a straight line falls on another straight line, the adjacent angles are together equal to two right angles'; 'If a body is unsupported, it falls'; 'If population increases, rents tend to rise': here 'if' means 'whenever' or 'all cases in which'; for to raise a doubt whether a straight line is ever conceived to fall upon another, whether bodies are ever unsupported, or population ever increases, is a superfluity of scepticism; and plainly the hypothetical form has nothing to do with the proof of such propositions, nor with inference from them.

Still, the disjunctive form is necessary in setting out the relation of contradictory terms, and in stating a Division ([chap. xxi.]), whether formal (as A is B or not-B) or material (as Cats are white, or black, or tortoiseshell, or tabby). And in some cases the hypothetical form is useful. One of these occurs where it is important to draw attention to the condition, as something doubtful or especially requiring examination. If there is a resisting medium in space, the earth will fall into the sun; If the Corn Laws are to be re-enacted, we had better sell railways and buy land: here the hypothetical form draws attention to the questions whether there is a resisting medium in space, whether the Corn Laws are likely to be re-enacted; but as to methods of inference and proof, the hypothetical form has nothing to do with them. The propositions predicate causation: A resisting medium in space is a condition of the earth's falling into the sun; A Corn Law is a condition of the rise of rents, and of the fall of railway profits.

A second case in which the hypothetical is a specially appropriate form of statement occurs where a proposition relates to a particular matter and to future time, as If there be a storm to-morrow, we shall miss our picnic. Such cases are of very slight logical interest. It is as exercises in formal thinking that hypotheticals are of most value; inasmuch as many people find them more difficult than categoricals to manipulate.

In discussing Conditional Propositions, the conditional sentence of a Hypothetical, or the first alternative of a Disjunctive, is called the Antecedent; the indicative sentence of a Hypothetical, or the second alternative of a Disjunctive, is called the Consequent.

Hypotheticals, like Categoricals, have been classed according to Quantity and Quality. Premising that the quantity of a Hypothetical depends on the quantity of its Antecedent (which determines its limitation), whilst its quality depends on the quality of its consequent (which makes the predication), we may exhibit four forms:

A. If A is B, C is D;
I. Sometimes when A is B, C is D;
E. If A is B, C is not D;
O. Sometimes when A is B, C is not D.

But I. and O. are rarely used.

As for Disjunctives, it is easy to distinguish the two quantities thus:

A. Either A is B, or C is D;
I. Sometimes either A is B or C is D.

But I. is rarely used. The distinction of quality, however, cannot be made: there are no true negative forms; for if we write—

Neither is A B, nor C D,

there is here no alternative predication, but only an Exponible equivalent to No A is B, and No C is D. And if we write—

Either A is not B, or C is not D,

this is affirmative as to the alternation, and is for all methods of treatment equivalent to A.

Logicians are divided in opinion as to the interpretation of the conjunction 'either, or'; some holding that it means 'not both,' others that it means 'it may be both.' Grammatical usage, upon which the question is sometimes argued, does not seem to be established in favour of either view. If we say A man so precise in his walk and conversation is either a saint or a consummate hypocrite; or, again, One who is happy in a solitary life is either more or less than man; we cannot in such cases mean that the subject may be both. On the other hand, if it be said that the author of 'A Tale of a Tub' is either a misanthrope or a dyspeptic, the alternatives are not incompatible. Or, again, given that X. is a lunatic, or a lover, or a poet, the three predicates have much congruity.

It has been urged that in Logic, language should be made as exact and definite as possible, and that this requires the exclusive interpretation 'not both.' But it seems a better argument, that Logic (1) should be able to express all meanings, and (2), as the science of evidence, must not assume more than is given; to be on the safe side, it must in doubtful cases assume the least, just as it generally assumes a preindesignate term to be of particular quantity; and, therefore 'either, or' means 'one, or the other, or both.'

However, when both the alternative propositions have the same subject, as Either A is B, or A is C, if the two predicates are contrary or contradictory terms (as 'saint' and 'hypocrite,' or 'saint' and 'not-saint'), they cannot in their nature be predicable in the same way of the same subject; and, therefore, in such a case 'either, or' means one or the other, but not both in the same relation. Hence it seems necessary to admit that the conjunction 'either, or' may sometimes require one interpretation, sometimes the other; and the rule is that it implies the further possibility 'or both,' except when both alternatives have the same subject whilst the predicates are contrary or contradictory terms.

If, then, the disjunctive A is either B or C (B and C being contraries) implies that both alternatives cannot be true, it can only be adequately rendered in hypotheticals by the two forms—(1) If A is B, it is not C, and (2)If A is not B, it is C. But if the disjunctive A is either B or C (B and C not being contraries) implies that both may be true, it will be adequately translated into a hypothetical by the single form, If A is not B, it is C. We cannot translate it into—If A is B, it is not C, for, by our supposition, if 'A is B' is true, it does not follow that 'A is C' must be false.

Logicians are also divided in opinion as to the function of the hypothetical form. Some think it expresses doubt; for the consequent depends on the antecedent, and the antecedent, introduced by 'if,' may or may not be realised, as in If the sky is clear, the night is cold: whether the sky is, or is not, clear being supposed to be uncertain. And we have seen that some hypothetical propositions seem designed to draw attention to such uncertainty, as—If there is a resisting medium in space, etc. But other Logicians lay stress upon the connection of the clauses as the important matter: the statement is, they say, that the consequent may be inferred from the antecedent. Some even declare that it is given as a necessary inference; and on this ground Sigwart rejects particular hypotheticals, such as Sometimes when A is B, C is D; for if it happens only sometimes the connexion cannot be necessary. Indeed, it cannot even be probably inferred without further grounds. But this is also true whenever the antecedent and consequent are concerned with different matter. For example, If the soul is simple, it is indestructible. How do you know that? Because Every simple substance is indestructible. Without this further ground there can be no inference. The fact is that conditional forms often cover assertions that are not true complex propositions but a sort of euthymemes ([chap. xi. § 2]), arguments abbreviated and rhetorically disguised. Thus: If patience is a virtue there are painful virtues—an example from Dr. Keynes. Expanding this we have—

Patience is painful;
Patience is a virtue:
∴ Some virtue is painful.

And then we see the equivocation of the inference; for though patience be painful to learn, it is not painful as a virtue to the patient man.

The hypothetical, 'If Plato was not mistaken poets are dangerous citizens,' may be considered as an argument against the laureateship, and may be expanded (informally) thus: 'All Plato's opinions deserve respect; one of them was that poets are bad citizens; therefore it behoves us to be chary of encouraging poetry.' Or take this disjunctive, 'Either Bacon wrote the works ascribed to Shakespeare, or there were two men of the highest genius in the same age and country.' This means that it is not likely there should be two such men, that we are sure of Bacon, and therefore ought to give him all the glory. Now, if it is the part of Logic 'to make explicit in language all that is implicit in thought,' or to put arguments into the form in which they can best be examined, such propositions as the above ought to be analysed in the way suggested, and confirmed or refuted according to their real intention.

We may conclude that no single function can be assigned to all hypothetical propositions: each must be treated according to its own meaning in its own context.

§ 5. As to Modality, propositions are divided into Pure and Modal. A Modal proposition is one in which the predicate is affirmed or denied, not simply but cum modo, with a qualification. And some Logicians have considered any adverb occurring in the predicate, or any sign of past or future tense, enough to constitute a modal: as 'Petroleum is dangerously inflammable'; 'English will be the universal language.' But far the most important kind of modality, and the only one we need consider, is that which is signified by some qualification of the predicate as to the degree of certainty with which it is affirmed or denied. Thus, 'The bite of the cobra is probably mortal,' is called a Contingent or Problematic Modal: 'Water is certainly composed of oxygen and hydrogen' is an Assertory or Certain Modal: 'Two straight lines cannot enclose a space' is a Necessary or Apodeictic Modal (the opposite being inconceivable). Propositions not thus qualified are called Pure.

Modal propositions have had a long and eventful history, but they have not been found tractable by the resources of ordinary Logic, and are now generally neglected by the authors of text-books. No doubt such propositions are the commonest in ordinary discourse, and in some rough way we combine them and draw inferences from them. It is understood that a combination of assertory or of apodeictic premises may warrant an assertory or an apodeictic conclusion; but that if we combine either of these with a problematic premise our conclusion becomes problematic; whilst the combination of two problematic premises gives a conclusion less certain than either. But if we ask 'How much less certain?' there is no answer. That the modality of a conclusion follows the less certain of the premises combined, is inadequate for scientific guidance; so that, as Deductive Logic can get no farther than this, it has abandoned the discussion of Modals. To endeavour to determine the degree of certainty attaching to a problematic judgment is not, however, beyond the reach of Induction, by analysing circumstantial evidence, or by collecting statistics with regard to it. Thus, instead of 'The cobra's bite is probably fatal,' we might find that it is fatal 80 times in 100. Then, if we know that of those who go to India 3 in 1000 are bitten, we can calculate what the chances are that any one going to India will die of a cobra's bite ([chap. xx.]).

§ 6. Verbal and Real Propositions.—Another important division of propositions turns upon the relation of the predicate to the subject in respect of their connotations. We saw, when discussing Relative Terms, that the connotation of one term often implies that of another; sometimes reciprocally, like 'master' and 'slave'; or by inclusion, like species and genus; or by exclusion, like contraries and contradictories. When terms so related appear as subject and predicate of the same proposition, the result is often tautology—e.g., The master has authority over his slave; A horse is an animal; Red is not blue; British is not foreign. Whoever knows the meaning of 'master,' 'horse,' 'red,' 'British,' learns nothing from these propositions. Hence they are called Verbal propositions, as only expounding the sense of words, or as if they were propositions only by satisfying the forms of language, not by fulfilling the function of propositions in conveying a knowledge of facts. They are also called 'Analytic' and 'Explicative,' when they separate and disengage the elements of the connotation of the subject. Doubtless, such propositions may be useful to one who does not know the language; and Definitions, which are verbal propositions whose predicates analyse the whole connotations of their subjects, are indispensable instruments of science (see [chap. xxii.]).

Of course, hypothetical propositions may also be verbal, as If the soul be material it is extended; for 'extension' is connoted by 'matter'; and, therefore, the corresponding disjunctive is verbal—Either the soul is not material, or it is extended. But a true divisional disjunctive can never be verbal ([chap. xxi. § 4], rule 1).

On the other hand, when there is no such direct relation between subject and predicate that their connotations imply one another, but the predicate connotes something that cannot be learnt from the connotation of the subject, there is no longer tautology, but an enlargement of meaning—e.g., Masters are degraded by their slaves; The horse is the noblest animal; Red is the favourite colour of the British army; If the soul is simple, it is indestructible. Such propositions are called Real, Synthetic, or Ampliative, because they are propositions for which a mere understanding of their subjects would be no substitute, since the predicate adds a meaning of its own concerning matter of fact.

To any one who understands the language, a verbal proposition can never be an inference or conclusion from evidence; nor can a verbal proposition ever furnish grounds for an inference, except as to the meaning of words. The subject of real and verbal propositions will inevitably recur in the chapters on Definition; but tautologies are such common blemishes in composition, and such frequent pitfalls in argument, that attention cannot be drawn to them too early or too often.

CHAPTER VI

CONDITIONS OF IMMEDIATE INFERENCE

§ 1. The word Inference is used in two different senses, which are often confused but should be carefully distinguished. In the first sense, it means a process of thought or reasoning by which the mind passes from facts or statements presented, to some opinion or expectation. The data may be very vague and slight, prompting no more than a guess or surmise; as when we look up at the sky and form some expectation about the weather, or from the trick of a man's face entertain some prejudice as to his character. Or the data may be important and strongly significant, like the footprint that frightened Crusoe into thinking of cannibals, or as when news of war makes the city expect that Consols will fall. These are examples of the act of inferring, or of inference as a process; and with inference in this sense Logic has nothing to do; it belongs to Psychology to explain how it is that our minds pass from one perception or thought to another thought, and how we come to conjecture, conclude and believe (cf. [chap. i. § 6]).

In the second sense, 'inference' means not this process of guessing or opining, but the result of it; the surmise, opinion, or belief when formed; in a word, the conclusion: and it is in this sense that Inference is treated of in Logic. The subject-matter of Logic is an inference, judgment or conclusion concerning facts, embodied in a proposition, which is to be examined in relation to the evidence that may be adduced for it, in order to determine whether, or how far, the evidence amounts to proof. Logic is the science of Reasoning in the sense in which 'reasoning' means giving reasons, for it shows what sort of reasons are good. Whilst Psychology explains how the mind goes forward from data to conclusions, Logic takes a conclusion and goes back to the data, inquiring whether those data, together with any other evidence (facts or principles) that can be collected, are of a nature to warrant the conclusion. If we think that the night will be stormy, that John Doe is of an amiable disposition, that water expands in freezing, or that one means to national prosperity is popular education, and wish to know whether we have evidence sufficient to justify us in holding these opinions, Logic can tell us what form the evidence should assume in order to be conclusive. What form the evidence should assume: Logic cannot tell us what kinds of fact are proper evidence in any of these cases; that is a question for the man of special experience in life, or in science, or in business. But whatever facts constitute the evidence, they must, in order to prove the point, admit of being stated in conformity with certain principles or conditions; and of these principles or conditions Logic is the science. It deals, then, not with the subjective process of inferring, but with the objective grounds that justify or discredit the inference.

§ 2. Inferences, in the Logical sense, are divided into two great classes, the Immediate and the Mediate, according to the character of the evidence offered in proof of them. Strictly, to speak of inferences, in the sense of conclusions, as immediate or mediate, is an abuse of language, derived from times before the distinction between inference as process and inference as result was generally felt. No doubt we ought rather to speak of Immediate and Mediate Evidence; but it is of little use to attempt to alter the traditional expressions of the science.

An Immediate Inference, then, is one that depends for its proof upon only one other proposition, which has the same, or more extensive, terms (or matter). Thus that one means to national prosperity is popular education is an immediate inference, if the evidence for it is no more than the admission that popular education is a means to national prosperity: Similarly, it is an immediate inference that Some authors are vain, if it be granted that All authors are vain.

An Immediate Inference may seem to be little else than a verbal transformation; some Logicians dispute its claims to be called an inference at all, on the ground that it is identical with the pretended evidence. If we attend to the meaning, say they, an immediate inference does not really express any new judgment; the fact expressed by it is either the same as its evidence, or is even less significant. If from No men are gods we prove that No gods are men, this is nugatory; if we prove from it that Some men are not gods, this is to emasculate the sense, to waste valuable information, to lose the commanding sweep of our universal proposition.

Still, in Logic, it is often found that an immediate inference expresses our knowledge in a more convenient form than that of the evidentiary proposition, as will appear in the chapter on Syllogisms and elsewhere. And by transforming an universal into a particular proposition, as No men are gods, therefore, Some men are not gods,—we get a statement which, though weaker, is far more easily proved; since a single instance suffices. Moreover, by drawing all possible immediate inferences from a given proposition, we see it in all its aspects, and learn all that is implied in it.

A Mediate Inference, on the other hand, depends for its evidence upon a plurality of other propositions (two or more) which are connected together on logical principles. If we argue—

No men are gods; Alexander the Great is a man; ∴ Alexander the Great is not a god:

this is a Mediate Inference. The evidence consists of two propositions connected by the term 'man,' which is common to both (a Middle Term), mediating between 'gods' and 'Alexander.' Mediate Inferences comprise Syllogisms with their developments, and Inductions; and to discuss them further at present would be to anticipate future chapters. We must now deal with the principles or conditions on which Immediate Inferences are valid: commonly called the "Laws of Thought."

§ 3. The Laws of Thought are conditions of the logical statement and criticism of all sorts of evidence; but as to Immediate Inference, they may be regarded as the only conditions it need satisfy. They are often expressed thus: (1) The principle of Identity—'Whatever is, is'; (2) The principle of Contradiction—'It is impossible for the same thing to be and not be'; (3) The principle of Excluded Middle—'Anything must either be or not be.' These principles are manifestly not 'laws' of thought in the sense in which 'law' is used in Psychology; they do not profess to describe the actual mental processes that take place in judgment or reasoning, as the 'laws of association of ideas' account for memory and recollection. They are not natural laws of thought; but, in relation to thought, can only be regarded as laws when stated as precepts, the observance of which (consciously or not) is necessary to clear and consistent thinking: e.g., Never assume that the same thing can both be and not be.

However, treating Logic as the science of thought only as embodied in propositions, in respect of which evidence is to be adduced, or which are to be used as evidence of other propositions, the above laws or principles must be restated as the conditions of consistent argument in such terms as to be directly applicable to propositions. It was shown in the chapter on the connotation of terms, that terms are assumed by Logicians to be capable of definite meaning, and of being used univocally in the same context; if, or in so far as, this is not the case, we cannot understand one another's reasons nor even pursue in solitary meditation any coherent train of argument. We saw, too, that the meanings of terms were related to one another: some being full correlatives; others partially inclusive one of another, as species of genus; others mutually incompatible, as contraries; or alternatively predicable, as contradictories. We now assume that propositions are capable of definite meaning according to the meaning of their component terms and of the relation between them; that the meaning, the fact asserted or denied, is what we are really concerned to prove or disprove; that a mere change in the words that constitute our terms, or of construction, does not affect the truth of a proposition as long as the meaning is not altered, or (rather) as long as no fresh meaning is introduced; and that if the meaning of any proposition is true, any other proposition that denies it is false. This postulate is plainly necessary to consistency of statement and discourse; and consistency is necessary, if our thought or speech is to correspond with the unity and coherence of Nature and experience; and the Laws of Thought or Conditions of Immediate Inference are an analysis of this postulate.

§ 4. The principle of Identity is usually written symbolically thus: A is A; not-A is not-A. It assumes that there is something that may be represented by a term; and it requires that, in any discussion, every relevant term, once used in a definite sense, shall keep that meaning throughout. Socrates in his father's workshop, at the battle of Delium, and in prison, is assumed to be the same man denotable by the same name; and similarly, 'elephant,' or 'justice,' or 'fairy,' in the same context, is to be understood of the same thing under the same suppositio.

But, further, it is assumed that of a given term another term may be predicated again and again in the same sense under the same conditions; that is, we may speak of the identity of meaning in a proposition as well as in a term. To symbolise this we ought to alter the usual formula for Identity and write it thus: If B is A, B is A; if B is not-A, B is not-A. If Socrates is wise, he is wise; if fairies frequent the moonlight, they do; if Justice is not of this world, it is not. Whatever affirmation or denial we make concerning any subject, we are bound to adhere to it for the purposes of the current argument or investigation. Of course, if our assertion turns out to be false, we must not adhere to it; but then we must repudiate all that we formerly deduced from it.

Again, whatever is true or false in one form of words is true or false in any other: this is undeniable, for the important thing is identity of meaning; but in Formal Logic it is not very convenient. If Socrates is wise, is it an identity to say 'Therefore the master of Plato is wise'; or, further that he 'takes enlightened views of life'? If Every man is fallible, is it an identical proposition that Every man is liable to error? It seems pedantic to demand a separate proposition that Fallible is liable to error. But, on the other hand, the insidious substitution of one term for another speciously identical, is a chief occasion of fallacy. How if we go on to argue: therefore, Every man is apt to blunder, prone to confusion of thought, inured to self-contradiction? Practically, the substitution of identities must be left to candour and good-sense; and may they increase among us. Formal Logic is, no doubt, safest with symbols; should, perhaps, content itself with A and B; or, at least, hardly venture beyond Y and Z.

§ 5. The principle of Contradiction is usually written symbolically, thus: A is not not-A. But, since this formula seems to be adapted to a single term, whereas we want one that is applicable to propositions, it may be better to write it thus: B is not both A and not-A. That is to say: if any term may be affirmed of a subject, the contradictory term may, in the same relation, be denied of it. A leaf that is green on one side of it may be not-green on the other; but it is not both green and not-green on the same surface, at the same time, and in the same light. If a stick is straight, it is false that it is at the same time not-straight: having granted that two angles are equal, we must deny that they are unequal.

But is it necessarily false that the stick is 'crooked'; must we deny that either angle is 'greater or less' than the other? How far is it permissible to substitute any other term for the formal contradictory? Clearly, the principle of Contradiction takes for granted the principle of Identity, and is subject to the same difficulties in its practical application. As a matter of fact and common sense, if we affirm any term of a Subject, we are bound to deny of that Subject, in the same relation, not only the contradictory but all synonyms for this, and also all contraries and opposites; which, of course, are included in the contradictory. But who shall determine what these are? Without an authoritative Logical Dictionary to refer to, where all contradictories, synonyms, and contraries may be found on record, Formal Logic will hardly sanction the free play of common sense.

The principle of Excluded Middle may be written: B is either A or not-A; that is, if any term be denied of a subject, the contradictory term may, in the same relation, be affirmed. Of course, we may deny that a leaf is green on one side without being bound to affirm that it is not-green on the other. But in the same relation a leaf is either green or not-green; at the same time, a stick is either bent or not-bent. If we deny that A is greater than B, we must affirm that it is not-greater than B.

Whilst, then, the principle of Contradiction (that 'of contradictory predicates, one being affirmed, the other is denied ') might seem to leave open a third or middle course, the denying of both contradictories, the principle of Excluded Middle derives its name from the excluding of this middle course, by declaring that the one or the other must be affirmed. Hence the principle of Excluded Middle does not hold good of mere contrary terms. If we deny that a leaf is green, we are not bound to affirm it to be yellow; for it may be red; and then we may deny both contraries, yellow and green. In fact, two contraries do not between them cover the whole predicable area, but contradictories do: the form of their expression is such that (within the suppositio) each includes all that the other excludes; so that the subject (if brought within the suppositio) must fall under the one or the other. It may seem absurd to say that Mont Blanc is either wise or not-wise; but how comes any mind so ill-organised as to introduce Mont Blanc into this strange company? Being there, however, the principle is inexorable: Mont Blanc is not-wise.

In fact, the principles of Contradiction and Excluded Middle are inseparable; they are implicit in all distinct experience, and may be regarded as indicating the two aspects of Negation. The principle of Contradiction says: B is not both A and not-A, as if not-A might be nothing at all; this is abstract negation. But the principle of Excluded Middle says: Granting that B is not A, it is still something—namely, not-A; thus bringing us back to the concrete experience of a continuum in which the absence of one thing implies the presence of something else. Symbolically: to deny that B is A is to affirm that B is not A, and this only differs by a hyphen from B is not-A.

These principles, which were necessarily to some extent anticipated in [chap. iv. § 7], the next chapter will further illustrate.

§ 6. But first we must draw attention to a maxim (also already mentioned), which is strictly applicable to Immediate Inferences, though (as we shall see) in other kinds of proof it may be only a formal condition: this is the general caution not to go beyond the evidence. An immediate inference ought to contain nothing that is not contained (or formally implied) in the proposition by which it is proved. With respect to quantity in denotation, this caution is embodied in the rule 'not to distribute any term that is not given distributed.' Thus, if there is a predication concerning 'Some S,' or 'Some men,' as in the forms I. and O., we cannot infer anything concerning 'All S.' or 'All men'; and, as we have seen, if a term is given us preindesignate, we are generally to take it as of particular quantity. Similarly, in the case of affirmative propositions, we saw that this rule requires us to assume that their predicates are undistributed.

As to the grounds of this maxim, not to go beyond the evidence, not to distribute a term that is given as undistributed, it is one of the things so plain that to try to justify is only to obscure them. Still, we must here state explicitly what Formal Logic assumes to be contained or implied in the evidence afforded by any proposition, such as 'All S is P.' If we remember that in [chap. iv. § 7], it was assumed that every term may have a contradictory; and if we bear in mind the principles of Contradiction and Excluded Middle, it will appear that such a proposition as 'All S is P' tells us something not only about the relations of 'S' and 'P,' but also of their relations to 'not-S' and 'not-P'; as, for example, that 'S is not not-P,' and that 'not-P is not-S.' It will be shown in the next chapter how Logicians have developed these implications in series of Immediate Inferences.

If it be asked whether it is true that every term, itself significant, has a significant contradictory, and not merely a formal contradictory, generated by force of the word 'not,' it is difficult to give any better answer than was indicated in [§§ 3-5], without venturing further into Metaphysics. I shall merely say, therefore, that, granting that some such term as 'Universe' or 'Being' may have no significant contradictory, if it stand for 'whatever can be perceived or thought of'; yet every term that stands for less than 'Universe' or 'Being' has, of course, a contradictory which denotes the rest of the universe. And since every argument or train of thought is carried on within a special 'universe of discourse,' or under a certain suppositio, we may say that within the given suppositio every term has a contradictory, and that every predication concerning a term implies some predication concerning its contradictory. But the name of the suppositio itself has no contradictory, except with reference to a wider and inclusive suppositio.

The difficulty of actual reasoning, not with symbols, but about matters of fact, does not arise from the principles of Logic, but sometimes from the obscurity or complexity of the facts, sometimes from the ambiguity or clumsiness of language, sometimes from the deficiency of our own minds in penetration, tenacity and lucidity. One must do one's best to study the facts, and not be too easily discouraged.

CHAPTER VII

IMMEDIATE INFERENCES

§ 1. Under the general title of Immediate Inference Logicians discuss three subjects, namely, Opposition, Conversion, and Obversion; to which some writers add other forms, such as Whole and Part in Connotation, Contraposition, Inversion, etc. Of Opposition, again, all recognise four modes: Subalternation, Contradiction, Contrariety and Sub-contrariety. The only peculiarities of the exposition upon which we are now entering are, that it follows the lead of the three Laws of Thought, taking first those modes of Immediate Inference in which Identity is most important, then those which plainly involve Contradiction and Excluded Middle; and that this method results in separating the modes of Opposition, connecting Subalternation with Conversion, and the other modes with Obversion. To make up for this departure from usage, the four modes of Opposition will be brought together again in [§ 9].

§ 2. Subalternation.—Opposition being the relation of propositions that have the same matter and differ only in form (as A., E., I., O.), propositions of the forms A. and I. are said to be Subalterns in relation to one another, and so are E. and O.; the universal of each quality being distinguished as 'subalternans,' and the particular as 'subalternate.'

It follows from the principle of Identity that, the matter of the propositions being the same, if A. is true I. is true, and that if E. is true O. is true; for A. and E. predicate something of All S or All men; and since I. and O. make the same predication of Some S or Some men, the sense of these particular propositions has already been predicated in A. or E. If All S is P, Some S is P; if No S is P, Some S is not P; or, if All men are fond of laughing, Some men are; if No men are exempt from ridicule, Some men are not.

Similarly, if I. is false A. is false; if O. is false E. is false. If we deny any predication about Some S, we must deny it of All S; since in denying it of Some, we have denied it of at least part of All; and whatever is false in one form of words is false in any other.

On the other hand, if I. is true, we do not know that A. is; nor if O. is true, that E. is; for to infer from Some to All would be going beyond the evidence. We shall see in discussing Induction that the great problem of that part of Logic is, to determine the conditions under which we may in reality transcend this rule and infer from Some to All; though even there it will appear that, formally, the rule is observed. For the present it is enough that I. is an immediate inference from A., and O. from E.; but that A. is not an immediate inference from I., nor E. from O.

§ 3. Connotative Subalternation.—We have seen ([chap. iv. § 6]) that if the connotation of one term is only part of another's its denotation is greater and includes that other's. Hence genus and species stand in subaltern relation, and whatever is true of the genus is true of the species: If All animal life is dependent on vegetation, All human life is dependent on vegetation. On the other hand, whatever is not true of the species or narrower term, cannot be true of the whole genus: If it is false that 'All human life is happy,' it is false that 'All animal life is happy.'

Similar inferences may be drawn from the subaltern relation of predicates; affirming the species we affirm the genus. To take Mill's example, if Socrates is a man, Socrates is a living creature. On the other hand, denying the genus we deny the species: if Socrates is not vicious, Socrates is not drunken.

Such cases as these are recognised by Mill and Bain as immediate inferences under the principle of Identity. But some Logicians might treat them as imperfect syllogisms, requiring another premise to legitimate the conclusion, thus:

All animal life is dependent on vegetation; All human life is animal life; ∴ All human life is dependent on vegetation.

Or again:

All men are living creatures; Socrates is a man; ∴ Socrates is a living creature.

The decision of this issue turns upon the question (cf. [chap. vi. § 3]) how far a Logician is entitled to assume that the terms he uses are understood, and that the identities involved in their meanings will be recognised. And to this question, for the sake of consistency, one of two answers is required; failing which, there remains the rule of thumb. First, it may be held that no terms are understood except those that are defined in expounding the science, such as 'genus' and 'species,' 'connotation' and 'denotation.' But very few Logicians observe this limitation; few would hesitate to substitute 'not wise' for 'foolish.' Yet by what right? Malvolio being foolish, to prove that he is not-wise, we may construct the following syllogism:

Foolish is not-wise;
Malvolio is foolish;
∴ Malvolio is not-wise.

Is this necessary? Why not?

Secondly, it may be held that all terms may be assumed as understood unless a definition is challenged. This principle will justify the substitution of 'not-wise' for 'foolish'; but it will also legitimate the above cases (concerning 'human life' and 'Socrates') as immediate inferences, with innumerable others that might be based upon the doctrine of relative terms: for example, The hunter missed his aim: therefore, The prey escaped. And from this principle it will further follow that all apparent syllogisms, having one premise a verbal proposition, are immediate inferences (cf. [chap. ix. § 4]).

Closely connected with such cases as the above are those mentioned by Archbishop Thomson as "Immediate Inferences by added Determinants" (Laws of Thought, § 87). He takes the case: 'A negro is a fellow-creature: therefore, A negro in suffering is a fellow-creature in suffering.' This rests upon the principle that to increase the connotations of two terms by the same attribute or determinant does not affect the relationship of their denotations, since it must equally diminish (if at all) the denotations of both classes, by excluding the same individuals, if any want the given attribute. But this principle is true only when the added attribute is not merely the same verbally, but has the same significance in qualifying both terms. We cannot argue A mouse is an animal; therefore, A large mouse is a large animal; for 'large' is an attribute relative to the normal magnitude of the thing described.

§ 4. Conversion is Immediate Inference by transposing the terms of a given proposition without altering its quality. If the quantity is also unaltered, the inference is called 'Simple Conversion'; but if the quantity is changed from universal to particular, it is called 'Conversion by limitation' or 'per accidens.' The given proposition is called the 'convertend'; that which is derived from it, the 'converse.'

Departing from the usual order of exposition, I have taken up Conversion next to Subalternation, because it is generally thought to rest upon the principle of Identity, and because it seems to be a good method to exhaust the forms that come only under Identity before going on to those that involve Contradiction and Excluded Middle. Some, indeed, dispute the claims of Conversion to illustrate the principle of Identity; and if the sufficient statement of that principle be 'A is A,' it may be a question how Conversion or any other mode of inference can be referred to it. But if we state it as above ([chap. vi. § 3]), that whatever is true in one form of words is true in any other, there is no difficulty in applying it to Conversion.

Thus, to take the simple conversion of I.,

Some S is P; ∴ Some P is S.
Some poets are business-like; ∴ Some business-like men are poets.

Here the convertend and the converse say the same thing, and this is true if that is.

We have, then, two cases of simple conversion: of I. (as above) and of E. For E.:

No S is P; ∴ No P is S. No ruminants are carnivores; ∴ No carnivores are ruminants.

In converting I., the predicate (P) when taken as the new subject, being preindesignate, is treated as particular; and in converting E., the predicate (P), when taken as the new subject, is treated as universal, according to the rule in [chap. v. § 1].

A. is the one case of conversion by limitation:

All S is P; ∴ Some P is S. All cats are grey in the dark; ∴ Some things grey in the dark are cats.

The predicate is treated as particular, when taking it for the new subject, according to the rule not to go beyond the evidence. To infer that All things grey in the dark are cats would be palpably absurd; yet no error of reasoning is commoner than the simple conversion of A. The validity of conversion by limitation may be shown thus: if, All S is P, then, by subalternation, Some S is P, and therefore, by simple conversion, Some P is S.

O. cannot be truly converted. If we take the proposition: Some S is not P, to convert this into No P is S, or Some P is not S, would break the rule in [chap. vi. § 6]; since S, undistributed in the convertend, would be distributed in the converse. If we are told that Some men are not cooks, we cannot infer that Some cooks are not men. This would be to assume that 'Some men' are identical with 'All men.'

By quantifying the predicate, indeed, we may convert O. simply, thus:

Some men are not cooks ∴ No cooks are some men.

And the same plan has some advantage in converting A.; for by the usual method per accidens, the converse of A. being I., if we convert this again it is still I., and therefore means less than our original convertend. Thus:

All S is P ∴ Some P is S ∴ Some S is P.

Such knowledge, as that All S (the whole of it) is P, is too precious a thing to be squandered in pure Logic; and it may be preserved by quantifying the predicate; for if we convert A. to Y., thus—

All S is P ∴ Some P is all S—

we may reconvert Y. to A. without any loss of meaning. It is the chief use of quantifying the predicate that, thereby, every proposition is capable of simple conversion.

The conversion of propositions in which the relation of terms is inadequately expressed (see [chap. ii., § 2]) by the ordinary copula (is or is not) needs a special rule. To argue thus—

A is followed by B ∴ Something followed by B is A—

would be clumsy formalism. We usually say, and we ought to say—

A is followed by B ∴ B follows A (or is preceded by A).

Now, any relation between two terms may be viewed from either side—A: B or B: A. It is in both cases the same fact; but, with the altered point of view, it may present a different character. For example, in the Immediate Inference—A > B ∴ B < A—a diminishing turns into an increasing ratio, whilst the fact predicated remains the same. Given, then, a relation between two terms as viewed from one to the other, the same relation viewed from the other to the one may be called the Reciprocal. In the cases of Equality, Co-existence and Simultaneity, the given relation and its reciprocal are not only the same fact, but they also have the same character: in the cases of Greater and Less and Sequence, the character alters.

We may, then, state the following rule for the conversion of propositions in which the whole relation explicitly stated is taken as the copula: Transpose the terms, and for the given relation substitute its reciprocal. Thus—

A is the cause of B ∴ B is the effect of A.

The rule assumes that the reciprocal of a given relation is definitely known; and so far as this is true it may be extended to more concrete relations—

A is a genus of B ∴ B is a species of A A is the father of B ∴ B is a child of A.

But not every relational expression has only one definite reciprocal. If we are told that A is the brother of B, we can only infer that B is either the brother or the sister of A. A list of all reciprocal relations is a desideratum of Logic.

§ 5. Obversion (otherwise called Permutation or Æquipollence) is Immediate Inference by changing the quality of the given proposition and substituting for its predicate the contradictory term. The given proposition is called the 'obvertend,' and the inference from it the 'obverse.' Thus the obvertend being—Some philosophers are consistent reasoners, the obverse will be—Some philosophers are not inconsistent reasoners.

The legitimacy of this mode of reasoning follows, in the case of affirmative propositions, from the principle of Contradiction, that if any term be affirmed of a subject, the contradictory term may be denied ([chap. vi. § 3]). To obvert affirmative propositions, then, the rule is—Insert the negative sign, and for the predicate substitute its contradictory term.

In agreement with this mode of inference, we have the rule of modern English grammar, that 'two negatives make an affirmative.'

Again, by the principle of Excluded Middle, if any term be denied of a subject, its contradictory may be affirmed: to obvert negative propositions, then, the rule is—Remove the negative sign, and for the predicate substitute its contradictory term.

Thus, by obversion, each of the four propositions retains its quantity but changes its quality: A. to E., I. to O., E. to A., O. to I. And all the obverses are infinite propositions, the affirmative infinites having the sense of negatives, and the negative infinites having the sense of affirmatives.

Again, having obtained the obverse of a given proposition, it may be desirable to recover the obvertend; or it may at any time be requisite to change a given infinite proposition into the corresponding direct affirmative or negative; and in such cases the process is still obversion. Thus, if No S is not-P be given us to recover the obvertend or to find the corresponding affirmative; the proposition being formally negative, we apply the rule for obverting negatives: 'Remove the negative sign, and for the predicate substitute its contradictory.' This yields the affirmative All S is P. Similarly, to obtain the obvertend of All S is not-P, apply the rule for obverting Affirmatives; and this yields No S is P.

§ 6. Contrariety.—We have seen in [chap. iv. § 8], that contrary terms are such that no two of them are predicable in the same way of the same subject, whilst perhaps neither may be predicable of it. Similarly, Contrary Propositions may be defined as those of which no two are ever both true together, whilst perhaps neither may be true; or, in other words, both may be false. This is the relation between A. and E. when concerned with the same matter: as A.—All men are wise; E.—No men are wise. Such propositions cannot both be true; but they may both be false, for some men may be wise and some not. They cannot both be true; for, by the principle of Contradiction, if wise may be affirmed of All men, not-wise must be denied; but All men are not-wise is the obverse of No men are wise, which therefore may also be denied.

At the same time we cannot apply to A. and E. the principle of Excluded Middle, so as to show that one of them must be true of the same matter. For if we deny that All men are wise, we do not necessarily deny the attribute 'wise' of each and every man: to say that Not all are wise may mean no more than that Some are not. This gives a proposition in the form of O.; which, as we have seen, does not imply its subalternans, E.

If, however, two Singular Propositions, having the same matter, but differing in quality, are to be treated as universals, and therefore as A. and E., they are, nevertheless, contradictory and not merely contrary; for one of them must be false and the other true.

§ 7. Contradiction is a relation between two propositions analogous to that between contradictory terms (one of which being affirmed of a subject the other is denied)—such, namely, that one of them is false and the other true. This is the case with the forms A. and O., and E. and I., in the same matter. If it be true that All men are wise, it is false that Some men are not wise (equivalent by obversion to Some men are not-wise); or else, since the 'Some men' are included in the 'All men,' we should be predicating of the same men that they are both 'wise' and 'not-wise'; which would violate the principle of Contradiction. Similarly, No men are wise, being by obversion equivalent to All men are not-wise, is incompatible with Some men are wise, by the same principle of Contradiction.

But, again, if it be false that All men are wise, it is always true that Some are not wise; for though in denying that 'wise' is a predicate of 'All men' we do not deny it of each and every man, yet we deny it of 'Some men.' Of 'Some men,' therefore, by the principle of Excluded Middle, 'not-wise' is to be affirmed; and Some men are not-wise, is by obversion equivalent to Some men are not wise. Similarly, if it be false that No men are wise, which by obversion is equivalent to All men are not-wise, then it is true at least that Some men are wise.

By extending and enforcing the doctrine of relative terms, certain other inferences are implied in the contrary and contradictory relations of propositions. We have seen in [chap. iv.] that the contradictory of a given term includes all its contraries: 'not-blue,' for example, includes red and yellow. Hence, since The sky is blue becomes by obversion, The sky is not not-blue, we may also infer The sky is not red, etc. From the truth, then, of any proposition predicating a given term, we may infer the falsity of all propositions predicating the contrary terms in the same relation. But, on the other hand, from the falsity of a proposition predicating a given term, we cannot infer the truth of the predication of any particular contrary term. If it be false that The sky is red, we cannot formally infer, that The sky is blue (cf. [chap. iv. § 8]).

§ 8. Sub-contrariety is the relation of two propositions, concerning the same matter that may both be true but are never both false. This is the case with I. and O. If it be true that Some men are wise, it may also be true that Some (other) men are not wise. This follows from the maxim in [chap. vi. § 6], not to go beyond the evidence.

For if it be true that Some men are wise, it may indeed be true that All are (this being the subalternans): and if All are, it is (by contradiction) false that Some are not; but as we are only told that Some men are, it is illicit to infer the falsity of Some are not, which could only be justified by evidence concerning All men.

But if it be false that Some men are wise, it is true that Some men are not wise; for, by contradiction, if Some men are wise is false, No men are wise is true; and, therefore, by subalternation, Some men are not wise is true.

§ 9. The Square of Opposition.—By their relations of Subalternation, Contrariety, Contradiction, and Sub-contrariety, the forms A. I. E. O. (having the same matter) are said to stand in Opposition: and Logicians represent these relations by a square having A. I. E. O. at its corners:

As an aid to the memory, this diagram is useful; but as an attempt to represent the logical relations of propositions, it is misleading. For, standing at corners of the same square, A. and E., A. and I., E. and O., and I. and O., seem to be couples bearing the same relation to one another; whereas we have seen that their relations are entirely different. The following traditional summary of their relations in respect of truth and falsity is much more to the purpose:

Where, however, as in cases 2, 3, 6, 7, alleging either the falsity of universals or the truth of particulars, it follows that two of the three Opposites are unknown, we may conclude further that one of them must be true and the other false, because the two unknown are always Contradictories.

§ 10. Secondary modes of Immediate Inference are obtained by applying the process of Conversion or Obversion to the results already obtained by the other process. The best known secondary form of Immediate Inference is the Contrapositive, and this is the converse of the obverse of a given proposition. Thus:

There is no contrapositive of I., because the obverse of I. is in the form of O., and we have seen that O. cannot be converted. O., however, has a contrapositive (Some not-P is S); and this is sometimes given instead of the converse, and called the 'converse by negation.'

Contraposition needs no justification by the Laws of Thought, as it is nothing but a compounding of conversion with obversion, both of which processes have already been justified. I give a table opposite of the other ways of compounding these primary modes of Immediate Inference.

In this table a and b stand for not-A and not-B and had better be read thus: for No A is b, No A is not-B; for All b is a (col. 6), All not-B is not-A; and so on.

It may not, at first, be obvious why the process of alternately obverting and converting any proposition should ever come to an end; though it will, no doubt, be considered a very fortunate circumstance that it always does end. On examining the results, it will be found that the cause of its ending is the inconvertibility of O. For E., when obverted, becomes A.; every A, when converted, degenerates into I.; every I., when obverted, becomes O.; O cannot be converted, and to obvert it again is merely to restore the former proposition: so that the whole process moves on to inevitable dissolution. I. and O. are exhausted by three transformations, whilst A. and E. will each endure seven.

Except Obversion, Conversion and Contraposition, it has not been usual to bestow special names on these processes or their results. But the form in columns 7 and 10 (Some a is B—Some a is not B), where the original predicate is affirmed or denied of the contradictory of the original subject, has been thought by Dr. Keynes to deserve a distinctive title, and he has called it the 'Inverse.' Whilst the Inverse is one form, however, Inversion is not one process, but is obtained by different processes from E. and A. respectively. In this it differs from Obversion, Conversion, and Contraposition, each of which stands for one process.

The Inverse form has been objected to on the ground that the inference All A is B ∴ Some not-A is not B, distributes B (as predicate of a negative proposition), though it was given as undistributed (as predicate of an affirmative proposition). But Dr. Keynes defends it on the ground that (1) it is obtained by obversions and conversions which are all legitimate and (2) that although All A is B does not distribute B in relation to A, it does distribute B in relation to some not-A (namely, in relation to whatever not-A is not-B). This is one reason why, in stating the rule in [chap. vi. § 6], I have written: "an immediate inference ought to contain nothing that is not contained, or formally implied, in the proposition from which it is inferred"; and have maintained that every term formally implies its contradictory within the suppositio.

§ 11. Immediate Inferences from Conditionals are those which consist—(1) in changing a Disjunctive into a Hypothetical, or a Hypothetical into a Disjunctive, or either into a Categorical; and (2) in the relations of Opposition and the equivalences of Obversion, Conversion, and secondary or compound processes, which we have already examined in respect of Categoricals. As no new principles are involved, it may suffice to exhibit some of the results.

We have already seen ([chap. v. § 4]) how Disjunctives may be read as Hypotheticals and Hypotheticals as Categoricals. And, as to Opposition, if we recognise four forms of Hypothetical A. I. E. O., these plainly stand to one another in a Square of Opposition, just as Categoricals do. Thus A. and E. (If A is B, C is D, and If A is B, C is not D) are contraries, but not contradictories; since both may be false (C may sometimes be D, and sometimes not), though they cannot both be true. And if they are both false, their subalternates are both true, being respectively the contradictories of the universals of opposite quality, namely, I. of E., and O. of A. But in the case of Disjunctives, we cannot set out a satisfactory Square of Opposition; because, as we saw ([chap. v. § 4]), the forms required for E. and O. are not true Disjunctives, but Exponibles.

The Obverse, Converse, and Contrapositive, of Hypotheticals (admitting the distinction of quality) may be exhibited thus:

As to Disjunctives, the attempt to put them through these different forms immediately destroys their disjunctive character. Still, given any proposition in the form A is either B or C, we can state the propositions that give the sense of obversion, conversion, etc., thus:

Datum.—A is either B or C;
Obverse.—A is not both b and c;
Converse.—Something, either B or C, is A;
Contrapositive.—Nothing that is both b and c is A.

For a Disjunctive in I., of course, there is no Contrapositive. Given a Disjunctive in the form Either A is B or C is D, we may write for its Obverse—In no case is A b, and C at the same time d. But no Converse or Contrapositive of such a Disjunctive can be obtained, except by first casting it into the hypothetical or categorical form.

The reader who wishes to pursue this subject further, will find it elaborately treated in Dr. Keynes' Formal Logic, Part II.; to which work the above chapter is indebted.

CHAPTER VIII

ORDER OF TERMS, EULER'S DIAGRAMS, LOGICAL EQUATIONS, EXISTENTIAL IMPORT OF PROPOSITIONS

§ 1. Of the terms of a proposition which is the Subject and which the Predicate? In most of the exemplary propositions cited by Logicians it will be found that the subject is a substantive and the predicate an adjective, as in Men are mortal. This is the relation of Substance and Attribute which we saw ([chap. i. § 5]) to be the central type of relations of coinherence; and on this model other predications may be formed in which the subject is not a substance, but is treated as if it were, and could therefore be the ground of attributes; as Fame is treacherous, The weather is changeable. But, in literature, sentences in which the adjective comes first are not uncommon, as Loud was the applause, Dark is the fate of man, Blessed are the peacemakers, and so on. Here, then, 'loud,' 'dark' and 'blessed' occupy the place of the logical subject. Are they really the subject, or must we alter the order of such sentences into The applause was loud, etc.? If we do, and then proceed to convert, we get Loud was the applause, or (more scrupulously) Some loud noise was the applause. The last form, it is true, gives the subject a substantive word, but 'applause' has become the predicate; and if the substantive 'noise' was not implied in the first form, Loud is the applause, by what right is it now inserted? The recognition of Conversion, in fact, requires us to admit that, formally, in a logical proposition, the term preceding the copula is subject and the one following is predicate. And, of course, materially considered, the mere order of terms in a proposition can make no difference in the method of proving it, nor in the inferences that can be drawn from it.

Still, if the question is, how we may best cast a literary sentence into logical form, good grounds for a definite answer may perhaps be found. We must not try to stand upon the naturalness of expression, for Dark is the fate of man is quite as natural as Man is mortal. When the purpose is not merely to state a fact, but also to express our feelings about it, to place the grammatical predicate first may be perfectly natural and most effective. But the grounds of a logical order of statement must be found in its adaptation to the purposes of proof and inference. Now general propositions are those from which most inferences can be drawn, which, therefore, it is most important to establish, if true; and they are also the easiest to disprove, if false; since a single negative instance suffices to establish the contradictory. It follows that, in re-casting a literary or colloquial sentence for logical purposes, we should try to obtain a form in which the subject is distributed—is either a singular term or a general term predesignate as 'All' or 'No.' Seeing, then, that most adjectives connote a single attribute, whilst most substantives connote more than one attribute; and that therefore the denotation of adjectives is usually wider than that of substantives; in any proposition, one term of which is an adjective and the other a substantive, if either can be distributed in relation to the other, it is nearly sure to be the substantive; so that to take the substantive term for subject is our best chance of obtaining an universal proposition. These considerations seem to justify the practice of Logicians in selecting their examples.

For similar reasons, if both terms of a proposition are substantive, the one with the lesser denotation is (at least in affirmative propositions) the more suitable subject, as Cats are carnivores. And if one term is abstract, that is the more suitable subject; for, as we have seen, an abstract term may be interpreted by a corresponding concrete one distributed, as Kindness is infectious; that is, All kind actions suggest imitation.

If, however, a controvertist has no other object in view than to refute some general proposition laid down by an opponent, a particular proposition is all that he need disentangle from any statement that serves his purpose.

§ 2. Toward understanding clearly the relations of the terms of a proposition, it is often found useful to employ diagrams; and the diagrams most in use are the circles of Euler.

These circles represent the denotation of the terms. Suppose the proposition to be All hollow-horned animals ruminate: then, if we could collect all ruminants upon a prairie, and enclose them with a circular palisade; and segregate from amongst them all the hollow-horned beasts, and enclose them with another ring-fence inside the other; one way of interpreting the proposition (namely, in denotation) would be figured to us thus:

Fig. 1.

An Universal Affirmative may also state a relation between two terms whose denotation is co-extensive. A definition always does this, as Man is a rational animal; and this, of course, we cannot represent by two distinct circles, but at best by one with a thick circumference, to suggest that two coincide, thus:

Fig. 2.

The Particular Affirmative Proposition may be represented in several ways. In the first place, bearing in mind that 'Some' means 'some at least, it may be all,' an I. proposition may be represented by Figs. 1 and 2; for it is true that Some horned animals ruminate, and that Some men are rational. Secondly, there is the case in which the 'Some things' of which a predication is made are, in fact, not all; whilst the predicate, though not given as distributed, yet might be so given if we wished to state the whole truth; as if we say Some men are Chinese. This case is also represented by Fig. 1, the outside circle representing 'Men,' and the inside one 'Chinese.' Thirdly, the predicate may appertain to some only of the subject, but to a great many other things, as in Some horned beasts are domestic; for it is true that some are not, and that certain other kinds of animals are, domestic. This case, therefore, must be illustrated by overlapping circles, thus:

Fig. 3.

The Universal Negative is sufficiently represented by a single Fig. (4): two circles mutually exclusive, thus:

Fig. 4.

That is, No horned beasts are carnivorous.

Lastly, the Particular Negative may be represented by any of the Figs. 1, 3, and 4; for it is true that Some ruminants are not hollow-horned, that Some horned animals are not domestic, and that Some horned beasts are not carnivorous.

Besides their use in illustrating the denotative force of propositions, these circles may be employed to verify the results of Obversion, Conversion, and the secondary modes of Immediate Inference. Thus the Obverse of A. is clear enough on glancing at Figs. 1 and 2; for if we agree that whatever term's denotation is represented by a given circle, the denotation of the contradictory term shall be represented by the space outside that circle; then if it is true that All hollow horned animals are ruminants, it is at the same time true that No hollow-horned animals are not-ruminants; since none of the hollow-horned are found outside the palisade that encloses the ruminants. The Obverse of I., E. or O. may be verified in a similar manner.

As to the Converse, a Definition is of course susceptible of Simple Conversion, and this is shown by Fig. 2: 'Men are rational animals' and 'Rational animals are men.' But any other A. proposition is presumably convertible only by limitation, and this is shown by Fig. 1; where All hollow-horned animals are ruminants, but we can only say that Some ruminants are hollow-horned.

That I. may be simply converted may be seen in Fig. 3, which represents the least that an I. proposition can mean; and that E. may be simply converted is manifest in Fig. 4.

As for O., we know that it cannot be converted, and this is made plain enough by glancing at Fig. 1; for that represents the O., Some ruminants are not hollow-horned, but also shows this to be compatible with All hollow-horned animals are ruminants (A.). Now in conversion there is (by definition) no change of quality. The Converse, then, of Some ruminants are not hollow-horned must be a negative proposition, having 'hollow-horned' for its subject, either in E. or O.; but these would be respectively the contrary and contradictory of All hollow-horned animals are ruminants; and, therefore, if this be true, they must both be false.

But (referring still to Fig. 1) the legitimacy of contrapositing O. is equally clear; for if Some ruminants are not hollow-horned, Some animals that are not hollow-horned are ruminants, namely, all the animals between the two ring-fences. Similar inferences may be illustrated from Figs. 3 and 4. And the Contraposition of A. may be verified by Figs. 1 and 2, and the Contraposition of E. by Fig. 4.

Lastly, the Inverse of A. is plain from Fig. 1—Some things that are not hollow-horned are not ruminants, namely, things that lie outside the outer circle and are neither 'ruminants' nor 'hollow-horned.' And the Inverse of E may be studied in Fig. 4—Some things that are not-horned beasts are carnivorous.

Notwithstanding the facility and clearness of the demonstrations thus obtained, it may be said that a diagrammatic method, representing denotations, is not properly logical. Fundamentally, the relation asserted (or denied) to exist between the terms of a proposition, is a relation between the terms as determined by their attributes or connotation; whether we take Mill's view, that a proposition asserts that the connotation of the subject is a mark of the connotation of the predicate; or Dr. Venn's view, that things denoted by the subject (as having its connotation) have (or have not) the attribute connoted by the predicate; or, the Conceptualist view, that a judgment is a relation of concepts (that is, of connotations). With a few exceptions artificially framed (such as 'kings now reigning in Europe'), the denotation of a term is never directly and exhaustively known, but consists merely in 'all things that have the connotation.' If the value of logical training depends very much upon our habituating ourselves to construe propositions, and to realise the force of inferences from them, according to the connotation of their terms, we shall do well not to turn too hastily to the circles, but rather to regard them as means of verifying in denotation the conclusions that we have already learnt to recognise as necessary in connotation.

§ 3. The equational treatment of propositions is closely connected with the diagrammatic. Hamilton thought it a great merit of his plan of quantifying the predicate, that thereby every proposition is reduced to its true form—an equation. According to this doctrine, the proposition All X is all Y (U.) equates X and Y; the proposition All X is some Y (A.) equates X with some part of Y; and similarly with the other affirmatives (Y. and I.). And so far it is easy to follow his meaning: the Xs are identical with some or all the Ys. But, coming to the negatives, the equational interpretation is certainly less obvious. The proposition No X is Y (E.) cannot be said in any sense to equate X and Y; though, if we obvert it into All X is some not-Y, we have (in the same sense, of course, as in the above affirmative forms) X equated with part at least of 'not-Y.'

But what is that sense? Clearly not the same as that in which mathematical terms are equated, namely, in respect of some mode of quantity. For if we may say Some X is some Y, these Xs that are also Ys are not merely the same in number, or mass, or figure; they are the same in every respect, both quantitative and qualitative, have the same positions in time and place, are in fact identical. The proposition 2+2=4 means that any two things added to any other two are, in respect of number, equal to any three things added to one other thing; and this is true of all things that can be counted, however much they may differ in other ways. But All X is all Y means that Xs and Ys are the same things, although they have different names when viewed in different aspects or relations. Thus all equilateral triangles are equiangular triangles; but in one case they are named from the equality of their angles, and in the other from the equality of their sides. Similarly, 'British subjects' and 'subjects of King George V' are the same people, named in one case from the person of the Crown, and in the other from the Imperial Government. These logical equations, then, are in truth identities of denotation; and they are fully illustrated by the relations of circles described in the previous section.

When we are told that logical propositions are to be considered as equations, we naturally expect to be shown some interesting developments of method in analogy with the equations of Mathematics; but from Hamilton's innovations no such thing results. This cannot be said, however, of the equations of Symbolic Logic; which are the starting-point of very remarkable processes of ratiocination. As the subject of Symbolic Logic, as a whole, lies beyond the compass of this work, it will be enough to give Dr. Venn's equations corresponding with the four propositional forms of common Logic.

According to this system, universal propositions are to be regarded as not necessarily implying the existence of their terms; and therefore, instead of giving them a positive form, they are translated into symbols that express what they deny. For example, the proposition All devils are ugly need not imply that any such things as 'devils' really exist; but it certainly does imply that Devils that are not ugly do not exist. Similarly, the proposition No angels are ugly implies that Angels that are ugly do not exist. Therefore, writing x for 'devils,' y for 'ugly,' and ȳ for 'not-ugly,' we may express A., the universal affirmative, thus:

A. xȳ = 0.

That is, x that is not y is nothing; or, Devils that are not-ugly do not exist. And, similarly, writing x for 'angels' and y for 'ugly,' we may express E., the universal negative, thus:

E. xy = 0.

That is, x that is y is nothing; or, Angels that are ugly do not exist.

On the other hand, particular propositions are regarded as implying the existence of their terms, and the corresponding equations are so framed as to express existence. With this end in view, the symbol v is adopted to represent 'something,' or indeterminate reality, or more than nothing. Then, taking any particular affirmative, such as Some metaphysicians are obscure, and writing x for 'metaphysicians,' and y for 'obscure,' we may express it thus:

I. xy = v.

That is, x that is y is something; or, Metaphysicians that are obscure do occur in experience (however few they may be, or whether they all be obscure). And, similarly, taking any particular negative, such as Some giants are not cruel, and writing x for 'giants' and y for 'not-cruel,' we may express it thus:

O. xȳ = v.

That is, x that is not y is something; or, giants that are not-cruel do occur—in romances, if nowhere else.

Clearly, these equations are, like Hamilton's, concerned with denotation. A. and E. affirm that the compound terms xȳ and xy have no denotation; and I. and O. declare that xȳ and xy have denotation, or stand for something. Here, however, the resemblance to Hamilton's system ceases; for the Symbolic Logic, by operating upon more than two terms simultaneously, by adopting the algebraic signs of operations, +,-, ×, ÷ (with a special signification), and manipulating the symbols by quasi-algebraic processes, obtains results which the common Logic reaches (if at all) with much greater difficulty. If, indeed, the value of logical systems were to be judged of by the results obtainable, formal deductive Logic would probably be superseded. And, as a mental discipline, there is much to be said in favour of the symbolic method. But, as an introduction to philosophy, the common Logic must hold its ground. (Venn: Symbolic Logic, c. 7.)

§ 4. Does Formal Logic involve any general assumption as to the real existence of the terms of propositions?

In the first place, Logic treats primarily of the relations implied in propositions. This follows from its being the science of proof for all sorts of (qualitative) propositions; since all sorts of propositions have nothing in common except the relations they express.

But, secondly, relations without terms of some sort are not to be thought of; and, hence, even the most formal illustrations of logical doctrines comprise such terms as S and P, X and Y, or x and y, in a symbolic or representative character. Terms, therefore, of some sort are assumed to exist (together with their negatives or contradictories) for the purposes of logical manipulation.

Thirdly, however, that Formal Logic cannot as such directly involve the existence of any particular concrete terms, such as 'man' or 'mountain,' used by way of illustration, is implied in the word 'formal,' that is, 'confined to what is common or abstract'; since the only thing common to all terms is to be related in some way to other terms. The actual existence of any concrete thing can only be known by experience, as with 'man' or 'mountain'; or by methodically justifiable inference from experience, as with 'atom' or 'ether.' If 'man' or 'mountain,' or 'Cuzco' be used to illustrate logical forms, they bring with them an existential import derived from experience; but this is the import of language, not of the logical forms. 'Centaur' and 'El Dorado' signify to us the non-existent; but they serve as well as 'man' and 'London' to illustrate Formal Logic.

Nevertheless, fourthly, the existence or non-existence of particular terms may come to be implied: namely, wherever the very fact of existence, or of some condition of existence, is an hypothesis or datum. Thus, given the proposition All S is P, to be P is made a condition of the existence of S: whence it follows that an S that is not P does not exist (xȳ = 0). On the further hypothesis that S exists, it follows that P exists. On the hypothesis that S does not exist, the existence of P is problematic; but, then, if P does exist we cannot convert the proposition; since Some P is S (P existing) would involve the existence of S; which is contrary to the hypothesis.

Assuming that Universals do not, whilst Particulars do, imply the existence of their subjects, we cannot infer the subalternate (I. or O.) from the subalternans (A. or E.), for that is to ground the actual on the problematic; and for the same reason we cannot convert A. per accidens.

Assuming, again, a certain suppositio or universe, to which in a given discussion every argument shall refer, then, any propositions whose terms lie outside that suppositio are irrelevant, and for the purposes of that discussion are sometimes called "false"; though it seems better to call them irrelevant or meaningless, seeing that to call them false implies that they might in the same case be true. Thus propositions which, according to the doctrine of Opposition, appear to be Contradictories, may then cease to be so; for of Contradictories one is true and the other false; but, in the case supposed, both are meaningless. If the subject of discussion be Zoology, all propositions about centaurs or unicorns are absurd; and such specious Contradictories as No centaurs play the lyre—Some centaurs do play the lyre; or All unicorns fight with lions—Some unicorns do not fight with lions, are both meaningless, because in Zoology there are no centaurs nor unicorns; and, therefore, in this reference, the propositions are not really contradictory. But if the subject of discussion or suppositio be Mythology or Heraldry, such propositions as the above are to the purpose, and form legitimate pairs of Contradictories.

In Formal Logic, in short, we may make at discretion any assumption whatever as to the existence, or as to any condition of the existence of any particular term or terms; and then certain implications and conclusions follow in consistency with that hypothesis or datum. Still, our conclusions will themselves be only hypothetical, depending on the truth of the datum; and, of course, until this is empirically ascertained, we are as far as ever from empirical reality. (Venn: Symbolic Logic, c. 6; Keynes: Formal Logic, Part II. c. 7: cf. Wolf: Studies in Logic.)

CHAPTER IX

FORMAL CONDITIONS OF MEDIATE INFERENCE

§ 1. A Mediate Inference is a proposition that depends for proof upon two or more other propositions, so connected together by one or more terms (which the evidentiary propositions, or each pair of them, have in common) as to justify a certain conclusion, namely, the proposition in question. The type or (more properly) the unit of all such modes of proof, when of a strictly logical kind, is the Syllogism, to which we shall see that all other modes are reducible. It may be exhibited symbolically thus:

M is P;
S is M:
∴ S is P.

Syllogisms may be classified, as to quantity, into Universal or Particular, according to the quantity of the conclusion; as to quality, into Affirmative or Negative, according to the quality of the conclusion; and, as to relation, into Categorical, Hypothetical and Disjunctive, according as all their propositions are categorical, or one (at least) of their evidentiary propositions is a hypothetical or a disjunctive.

To begin with Categorical Syllogisms, of which the following is an example:

All authors are vain; Cicero is an author: ∴ Cicero is vain.

Here we may suppose that there are no direct means of knowing that Cicero is vain; but we happen to know that all authors are vain and that he is an author; and these two propositions, put together, unmistakably imply that he is vain. In other words, we do not at first know any relation between 'Cicero' and 'vanity'; but we know that these two terms are severally related to a third term, 'author,' hence called a Middle Term; and thus we perceive, by mediate evidence, that they are related to one another. This sort of proof bears an obvious resemblance (though the relations involved are not the same) to the mathematical proof of equality between two quantities, that cannot be directly compared, by showing the equality of each of them to some third quantity: A = B = C ∴ A = C. Here B is a middle term.

We have to inquire, then, what conditions must be satisfied in order that a Syllogism may be formally conclusive or valid. A specious Syllogism that is not really valid is called a Parasyllogism.

§ 2. General Canons of the Syllogism.

(1) A Syllogism contains three, and no more, distinct propositions.

(2) A Syllogism contains three, and no more, distinct univocal terms.

These two Canons imply one another. Three propositions with less than three terms can only be connected in some of the modes of Immediate Inference. Three propositions with more than three terms do not show that connection of two terms by means of a third, which is requisite for proving a Mediate Inference. If we write—

All authors are vain; Cicero is a statesman—

there are four terms and no middle term, and therefore there is no proof. Or if we write—

All authors are vain;
Cicero is an author:
∴ Cicero is a statesman—

here the term 'statesman' occurs without any voucher; it appears in the inference but not in the evidence, and therefore violates the maxim of all formal proof, 'not to go beyond the evidence.' It is true that if any one argued—

All authors are vain;
Cicero wrote on philosophy:
∴ Cicero is vain—

this could not be called a bad argument or a material fallacy; but it would be a needless departure from the form of expression in which the connection between the evidence and the inference is most easily seen.

Still, a mere adherence to the same form of words in the expression of terms is not enough: we must also attend to their meaning. For if the same word be used ambiguously (as 'author' now for 'father' and anon for 'man of letters'), it becomes as to its meaning two terms; so that we have four in all. Then, if the ambiguous term be the Middle, no connection is shown between the other two; if either of the others be ambiguous, something seems to be inferred which has never been really given in evidence.

The above two Canons are, indeed, involved in the definition of a categorical syllogism, which may be thus stated: A Categorical Syllogism is a form of proof or reasoning (way of giving reasons) in which one categorical proposition is established by comparing two others that contain together only three terms, or that have one and only one term in common.

The proposition established, derived, or inferred, is called the Conclusion: the evidentiary propositions by which it is proved are called the Premises.

The term common to the premises, by means of which the other terms are compared, is called the Middle Term; the subject of the conclusion is called the Minor Term; the predicate of the conclusion, the Major Term.

The premise in which the minor term occurs is called the Minor Premise; that in which the major term occurs is called the Major Premise. And a Syllogism is usually written thus:

Major Premise—All authors (Middle) are vain (Major);
Minor Premise—Cicero (Minor) is an author (Middle):
Conclusion—∴ Cicero (Minor) is vain (Major).

Here we have three propositions with three terms, each term occurring twice. The minor and major terms are so called, because, when the conclusion is an universal affirmative (which only occurs in Barbara; see [chap. x. § 6]), its subject and predicate are respectively the less and the greater in extent or denotation; and the premises are called after the peculiar terms they contain: the expressions 'major premise' and 'minor premise' have nothing to do with the order in which the premises are presented; though it is usual to place the major premise first.

(3) No term must be distributed in the conclusion unless it is distributed in the premises.

It is usual to give this as one of the General Canons of the Syllogism; but we have seen ([chap. vi. § 6]) that it is of wider application. Indeed, 'not to go beyond the evidence' belongs to the definition of formal proof. A breech of this rule in a syllogism is the fallacy of Illicit Process of the Minor, or of the Major, according to which term has been unwarrantably distributed. The following parasyllogism illicitly distributes both terms of the conclusion:

All poets are pathetic;
Some orators are not poets:
∴ No orators are pathetic.

(4) The Middle Term must be distributed at least once in the premises (in order to prove a conclusion in the given terms).

For the use of mediate evidence is to show the relation of terms that cannot be directly compared; this is only possible if the middle term furnishes the ground of comparison; and this (in Logic) requires that the whole denotation of the middle should be either included or excluded by one of the other terms; since if we only know that the other terms are related to some of the middle, their respective relations may not be with the same part of it.

It is true that in what has been called the "numerically definite syllogism," an inference may be drawn, though our canon seems to be violated. Thus:

60 sheep in 100 are horned;
60 sheep in 100 are blackfaced:
∴ at least 20 blackfaced sheep in 100 are horned.

But such an argument, though it may be correct Arithmetic, is not Logic at all; and when such numerical evidence is obtainable the comparatively indefinite arguments of Logic are needless. Another apparent exception is the following:

Most men are 5 feet high;
Most men are semi-rational:
∴ Some semi-rational things are 5 feet high.

Here the Middle Term (men) is distributed in neither premise, yet the indisputable conclusion is a logical proposition. The premises, however, are really arithmetical; for 'most' means 'more than half,' or more than 50 per cent.

Still, another apparent exception is entirely logical. Suppose we are given, the premises—All P is M, and All S is M—the middle term is undistributed. But take the obverse of the contrapositive of both premises:

All m is p;
All m is s:
∴ Some s is p.

Here we have a conclusion legitimately obtained; but it is not in the terms originally given.

For Mediate Inference depending on truly logical premises, then, it is necessary that one premise should distribute the middle term; and the reason of this may be illustrated even by the above supposed numerical exceptions. For in them the premises are such that, though neither of the two premises by itself distributes the Middle, yet they always overlap upon it. If each premise dealt with exactly half the Middle, thus barely distributing it between them, there would be no logical proposition inferrible. We require that the middle term, as used in one premise, should necessarily overlap the same term as used in the other, so as to furnish common ground for comparing the other terms. Hence I have defined the middle term as 'that term common to both premises by means of which the other terms are compared.'

(5) One at least of the premises must be affirmative; or, from two negative premises nothing can be inferred (in the given terms).

The fourth Canon required that the middle term should be given distributed, or in its whole extent, at least once, in order to afford sure ground of comparison for the others. But that such comparison may be effected, something more is requisite; the relation of the other terms to the Middle must be of a certain character. One at least of them must be, as to its extent or denotation, partially or wholly identified with the Middle; so that to that extent it may be known to bear to the other term, whatever relation we are told that so much of the Middle bears to that other term. Now, identity of denotation can only be predicated in an affirmative proposition: one premise, then, must be affirmative.

If both premises are negative, we only know that both the other terms are partly or wholly excluded from the Middle, or are not identical with it in denotation: where they lie, then, in relation to one another we have no means of knowing. Similarly, in the mediate comparison of quantities, if we are told that A and C are both of them unequal to B, we can infer nothing as to the relation of C to A. Hence the premises—

No electors are sober;
No electors are independent—

however suggestive, do not formally justify us in inferring any connection between sobriety and independence. Formally to draw a conclusion, we must have affirmative grounds, such as in this case we may obtain by obverting both premises:

All electors are not-sober;
All electors are not-independent:
∴ Some who are not-independent are not-sober.

But this conclusion is not in the given terms.

(6) (a) If one premise be negative, the conclusion must be negative: and (b) to prove a negative conclusion, one premise must be negative.

(a) For we have seen that one premise must be affirmative, and that thus one term must be partly (at least) identified with the Middle. If, then, the other premise, being negative, predicates the exclusion of the remaining term from the Middle, this remaining term must be excluded from the first term, so far as we know the first to be identical with the Middle: and this exclusion will be expressed by a negative conclusion. The analogy of the mediate comparison of quantities may here again be noticed: if A is equal to B, and B is unequal to C, A is unequal to C.

(b) If both premises be affirmative, the relations to the Middle of both the other terms are more or less inclusive, and therefore furnish no ground for an exclusive inference. This also follows from the function of the middle term.

For the more convenient application of these canons to the testing of syllogisms, it is usual to derive from them three Corollaries:

(i) Two particular premises yield no conclusion.

For if both premises be affirmative, all their terms are undistributed, the subjects by predesignation, the predicates by position; and therefore the middle term must be undistributed, and there can be no conclusion.

If one premise be negative, its predicate is distributed by position: the other terms remaining undistributed. But, by Canon 6, the conclusion (if any be possible) must be negative; and therefore its predicate, the major term, will be distributed. In the premises, therefore, both the middle and the major terms should be distributed, which is impossible: e.g.,

Some M is not P;
Some S is M:
∴ Some S is not P.

Here, indeed, the major term is legitimately distributed (though the negative premise might have been the minor); but M, the middle term, is distributed in neither premise, and therefore there can be no conclusion.

Still, an exception may be made by admitting a bi-designate conclusion:

Some P is M; Some S is not M: ∴ Some S is not some P.

(ii) If one premise be particular, so is the conclusion.

For, again, if both premises be affirmative, they only distribute one term, the subject of the universal premise, and this must be the middle term. The minor term, therefore, is undistributed, and the conclusion must be particular.

If one premise be negative, the two premises together can distribute only two terms, the subject of the universal and the predicate of the negative (which may be the same premise). One of these terms must be the middle; the other (since the conclusion is negative) must be the major. The minor term, therefore, is undistributed, and the conclusion must be particular.

(iii) From a particular major and a negative minor premise nothing can be inferred.

For the minor premise being negative, the major premise must be affirmative (5th Canon); and therefore, being particular, distributes the major term neither in its subject nor in its predicate. But since the conclusion must be negative (6th Canon), a distributed major term is demanded, e.g.,

Some M is P;
No S is M:
∴ ———

Here the minor and the middle terms are both distributed, but not the major (P); and, therefore, a negative conclusion is impossible.

§ 3. First Principle or Axiom of the Syllogism.—Hitherto in this chapter we have been analysing the conditions of valid mediate inference. We have seen that a single step of such inference, a Syllogism, contains, when fully expressed in language, three propositions and three terms, and that these terms must stand to one another in the relations required by the fourth, fifth, and sixth Canons. We now come to a principle which conveniently sums up these conditions; it is called the Dictum de omni et nullo, and may be stated thus:

Whatever is predicated (affirmatively or negatively) of a term distributed,

With which term another term can be (partly or wholly) identified,

May be predicated in like manner (affirmatively or negatively) of the latter term (or part of it).

Thus stated (nearly as by Whately in the introduction to his Logic) the Dictum follows line by line the course of a Syllogism in the First Figure (see [chap. x. § 2]). To return to our former example: All authors are vain is the same as—Vanity is predicated of all authors; Cicero is an author is the same as—Cicero is identified as an author; therefore Cicero is vain, or—Vanity may be predicated of Cicero. The Dictum then requires: (1) three propositions; (2) three terms; (3) that the middle term be distributed; (4) that one premise be affirmative, since only by an affirmative proposition can one term be identified with another; (5) that if one premise be negative the conclusion shall be so too, since whatever is predicated of the middle term is predicated in like manner of the minor.

Thus far, then, the Dictum is wholly analytic or verbal, expressing no more than is implied in the definitions of 'Syllogism' and 'Middle Term'; since (as we have seen) all the General Canons (except the third, which is a still more general condition of formal proof) are derivable from those definitions. However, the Dictum makes a further statement of a synthetic or real character, namely, that when these conditions are fulfilled an inference is justified; that then the major and minor terms are brought into comparison through the middle, and that the major term may be predicated affirmatively or negatively of all or part of the minor. It is this real assertion that justifies us in calling the Dictum an Axiom.

§ 4. Whether the Laws of Thought may not fully explain the Syllogism without the need of any synthetic principle has, however, been made a question. Take such a syllogism as the following:

All domestic animals are useful;
All pugs are domestic animals:
∴ All pugs are useful.

Here (an ingenious man might urge), having once identified pugs with domestic animals, that they are useful follows from the Law of Identity. If we attend to the meaning, and remember that what is true in one form of words is true in any other form, then, all domestic animals being useful, of course pugs are. It is merely a case of subalternation: we may put it in this way:

All domestic animals are useful:
∴ Some domestic animals (e.g., pugs) are useful.

The derivation of negative syllogisms from the Law of Contradiction (he might add) may be shown in a similar manner.

But the force of this ingenious argument depends on the participial clause—'having once identified pugs with domestic animals.' If this is a distinct step of the reasoning, the above syllogism cannot be reduced to one step, cannot be exhibited as mere subalternation, nor be brought directly under the law of Identity. If 'pug,' 'domestic,' and 'useful' are distinct terms; and if 'pug' and 'useful' are only known to be connected because of their relations to 'domestic': this is something more than the Laws of Thought provide for: it is not Immediate Inference, but Mediate; and to justify it, scientific method requires that its conditions be generalised. The Dictum, then, as we have seen, does generalise these conditions, and declares that when such conditions are satisfied a Mediate Inference is valid.

But, after all (to go back a little), consider again that proposition All pugs are domestic animals: is it a distinct step of the reasoning; that is to say, is it a Real Proposition? If, indeed, 'domestic' is no part of the definition of 'pug,' the proposition is real, and is a distinct part of the argument. But take such a case as this:

All dogs are useful; All pugs are dogs.

Here we clearly have, in the minor premise, only a verbal proposition; to be a dog is certainly part of the definition of 'pug.' But, if so, the inference 'All pugs are useful' involves no real mediation, and the argument is no more than this:

All dogs are useful;
∴ Some dogs (e.g., pugs) are useful.

Similarly, if the major premise be verbal, thus:

All men are rational;
Socrates is a man—

to conclude that 'Socrates is rational' is no Mediate Inference; for so much was implied in the minor premise, 'Socrates is a man,' and the major premise adds nothing to this.

Hence we may conclude (as anticipated in [chap. vii. § 3]) that 'any apparent syllogism, having one premise a verbal proposition, is really an Immediate Inference'; but that, if both premises are real propositions, the Inference is Mediate, and demands for its explanation something more than the Laws of Thought.

The fact is that to prove the minor to be a case of the middle term may be an exceedingly difficult operation ([chap. xiii. § 7]). The difficulty is disguised by ordinary examples, used for the sake of convenience.

§ 5. Other kinds of Mediate Inference exist, yielding valid conclusions, without being truly syllogistic. Such are mathematical inferences of Equality, as—

A = B = C ∴ A = C.

Here, according to the usual logical analysis, there are strictly four terms—(1) A, (2) equal to B, (3) B, (4) equal to C.

Similarly with the argument a fortiori,

A > B > C ∴ (much more) A > C.

This also is said to contain four terms: (1) A, (2) greater than B, (3) B, (4) greater than C. Such inferences are nevertheless intuitively sound, may be verified by trial (within the limits of sense-perception), and are generalised in appropriate axioms of their own, corresponding to the Dictum of the syllogism; as 'Things equal to the same thing are equal to one another,' etc.

Now, surely, this is an erroneous application of the usual logical analysis of propositions. Both Logic and Mathematics treat of the relations of terms; but whilst Mathematics employs the sign = for only one kind of relation, and for that relation exclusive of the terms; Logic employs the same signs (is or is not) for all relations, recognising only a difference of quality in predication, and treating every other difference of relation as belonging to one of the terms related. Thus Logicians read A—is—equal to B: as if equal to B could possibly be a term co-relative with A. Whence it follows that the argument A = B = C ∴ A = C contains four terms; though everybody sees that there are only three.

In fact (as observed in [chap. ii. § 2]) the sign of logical relation (is or is not), whilst usually adequate for class-reasoning (coinherence) and sometimes extensible to causation (because a cause implies a class of events), should never be stretched to include other relations in such a way as to sacrifice intelligence to formalism. And, besides mathematical or quantitative relations, there are others (usually considered qualitative because indefinite) which cannot be justly expressed by the logical copula. We ought to read propositions expressing time-relations (and inferences drawn accordingly) thus:

B—is before—C;
A—is before—B:
∴ A—is before—C.

And in like manner A—is simultaneous with—B; etc. Such arguments (as well as the mathematical) are intuitively sound and verifiable, and might be generalised in axioms if it were worth while: but it is not, because no method could be founded on such axioms.

The customary use of relative terms justifies some Mediate Inferences, as, The father of a father is a grand-father.

Some cases, however, that at first seem obvious, are really delusive unless further data be supplied. Thus A co-exists with B, B with C; ∴ A with C—is not sound unless B is an instantaneous event; for where B is perdurable, A may co-exist with it at one time and C at another.

Again: A is to the left of B, B of C; ∴ A of C. This may pass; but it is not a parallel argument that if A is north of B and B west of C, then A is north-west of C: for suppose that A is a mile to the north of B, and B a yard to the west of C, then A is practically north of C; at least, its westward position cannot be expressed in terms of the mariner's compass. In such a case we require to know not only the directions but the distances of A and C from B; and then the exact direction of A from C is an affair of mathematical calculation.

Qualitative reasoning concerning position is only applicable to things in one dimension of space, or in time considered as having one dimension. Under these conditions we may frame the following generalisation concerning all Mediate Inferences: Two terms definitely related to a third, and one of them positively, are related to one another as the other term is related to the third (that is, positively or negatively); provided that the relations given are of the same kind (that is, of Time, or Coinherence, or Likeness, or Equality).

Thus, to illustrate by relations of Time—

B is simultaneous with C;
A is not simultaneous with B:
∴ A is not simultaneous with C.

Here the relations are of the same kind but of different logical quality, and (as in the syllogism) a negative copula in the premises leads to a negative conclusion.

An examination in detail of particular cases would show that the above generalisation concerning all Mediate Inferences is subject to too many qualifications to be called an Axiom; it stands to the real Axioms (the Dictum, etc.) as the notion of the Uniformity of Nature does to the definite principles of natural order (cf. [chap. xiii. § 8]).

CHAPTER X

CATEGORICAL SYLLOGISMS

§ 1. The type of logical, deductive, mediate, categorical Inference is a Syllogism directly conformable with the Dictum: as—

All carnivores (M) are excitable (P);
Cats (S) are carnivores (M):
∴ Cats (S) are excitable (P).

In this example P is predicated of M, a term distributed; in which term, M, S is given as included; so that P may be predicated of S.

Many arguments, however, are of a type superficially different from the above: as—

No wise man (P) fears death (M);
Balbus (S) fears death (M):
∴ Balbus (S) is not a wise man (P).

In this example, instead of P being predicated of M, M is predicated of P, and yet S is given as included not in P, but in M. The divergence of such a syllogism from the Dictum may, however, be easily shown to be superficial by writing, instead of No wise man fears death, the simple, converse, No man who fears death is wise.

Again:

Some dogs (M) are friendly to man (P);
All dogs (M) are carnivores (S):
∴ Some carnivores (S) are friendly to man (P).

Here P is predicated of M undistributed; and instead of S being included in M, M is included in S: so that the divergence from the type of syllogism to which the Dictum directly applies is still greater than in the former case. But if we transpose the premises, taking first

All dogs (M) are carnivores (P),

then P is predicated of M distributed; and, simply converting the other premise, we get—

Some things friendly to man (S) are dogs (M):

whence it follows that—

Some things friendly to man (S) are carnivores (P);

and this is the simple converse of the original conclusion.

Once more:

No pigs (P) are philosophers (M);
Some philosophers (M) are hedonists (S):
∴ Some hedonists (S) are not pigs (P).

In this case, instead of P being predicated of M distributed, M is predicated of P distributed; and instead of S (or part of it) being included in M, we are told that some M is included in S. Still there is no real difficulty. Simply convert both the premises, and we have:

No philosophers (M) are pigs (P);
Some hedonists (S) are philosophers (M).

Whence the same conclusion follows; and the whole syllogism plainly conforms directly to the Dictum.

Such departures as these from the normal syllogistic form are said to constitute differences of Figure (see [§ 2]); and the processes by which they are shown to be unessential differences are called Reduction (see [§ 6]).

§ 2. Figure is determined by the position of the Middle Term in the premises; of which position there are four possible variations. The middle term may be subject of the major premise, and predicate of the minor, as in the first example above; and this position, being directly conformable to the requirements of the Dictum, is called the First Figure. Or the middle term may be predicate of both premises, as in the second of the above examples; and this is called the Second Figure. Or the middle term may be subject of both premises, as in the third of the above examples; and this is called the Third Figure. Or, finally, the middle term may be predicate of the major premise, and subject of the minor, as in the fourth example given above; and this is the Fourth Figure.

It may facilitate the recollection of this most important point if we schematise the figures thus:

The horizontal lines represent the premises, and at the angles formed with them by the slanting or by the perpendicular lines the middle term occurs. The schema of Figure IV. resembles Z, the last letter of the alphabet: this helps one to remember it in contrast with Figure I., which is thereby also remembered. Figures II. and III. seem to stand back to back.

§ 3. The Moods of each Figure are the modifications of it which arise from different combinations of propositions according to quantity and quality. In Figure I., for example, four Moods are recognised: A.A.A., E.A.E., A.I.I., E.I.O.

Now, remembering that there are four Figures, and four kinds of propositions (A. I. E. O.), each of which propositions may be major premise, minor premise, or conclusion of a syllogism, it appears that in each Figure there may be 64 Moods, and therefore 256 in all. On examining these 256 Moods, however, we find that only 24 of them are valid (i.e., of such a character that the conclusion strictly follows from the premises), whilst 5 of these 24 are needless, because their conclusions are 'weaker' or less extensive than the premises warrant; that is to say, they are particular when they might be universal. Thus, in Figure I., besides the above 4 Moods, A.A.I. and E.A.O. are valid in the sense of being conclusive; but they are superfluous, because included in A.A.A. and E.A.E. Omitting, then, these 5 needless Moods, which are called 'Subalterns' because their conclusions are subaltern ([chap. vii. § 2]) to those of other Moods, there remain 19 Moods that are valid and generally recognised.

§ 4. How these 19 Moods are determined must be our next inquiry. There are several ways more or less ingenious and interesting; but all depend on the application, directly or indirectly, of the Six Canons, which were shown in the last chapter to be the conditions of Mediate Inference.

(1) One way is to begin by finding what Moods of Figure I. conform to the Dictum. Now, the Dictum requires that, in the major premise, P be predicated of a term distributed, from which it follows that no Mood can be valid whose major premise is particular, as in I.A.I. or O.A.O. Again, the Dictum requires that the minor premise be affirmative ("with which term another is identified"); so that no Mood can be valid whose minor premise is negative, as in A.E.E. or A.O.O. By such considerations we find that in Figure I., out of 64 Moods possible, only six are valid, namely, those above-mentioned in [§ 3], including the two subalterns. The second step of this method is to test the Moods of the Second, Third, and Fourth Figures, by trying whether they can be reduced to one or other of the four Moods of the First (as briefly illustrated in [§ 1], and to be further explained in [§ 6]).

(2) Another way is to take the above six General or Common Canons, and to deduce from them Special Canons for testing each Figure: an interesting method, which, on account of its length, will be treated of separately in the next section.

(3) Direct application of the Common Canons is, perhaps, the simplest plan. First write out the 64 Moods that are possible without regard to Figure, and then cross out those which violate any of the Canons or Corollaries, thus:

AAA, AAE (6th Can. b). AAI, AAO (6th Can. b).
AEA (6th Can. a) AEE, AEI (6th Can. a) AEO,
AIA (Cor. ii.) AIE (6th Can. b) AII, AIO (6th Can. b)
AOA (6th Can. a) AOE (Cor. ii.) AOI (6th Can. a) AOO.

Whoever has the patience to go through the remaining 48 Moods will discover that of the whole 64 only 11 are valid, namely:

A.A.A., A.A.I., A.E.E., A.E.O., A.I.I., A.O.O.,
E.A.E., E.A.O., E.I.O., I.A.I., O.A.O.

These 11 Moods have next to be examined in each Figure, and if valid in every Figure there will still be 44 moods in all. We find, however, that in the First Figure, A.E.E., A.E.O., A.O.O. involve illicit process of the major term (3rd Can.); I.A.I., O.A.O. involve undistributed Middle (4th Can.); and A.A.I., E.A.O. are subalterns. In the Second Figure all the affirmative Moods, A.A.A., A.A.I., A.I.I., I.A.I., involve undistributed Middle; O.A.O. gives illicit process of the major term; and A.E.O., E.A.O. are subalterns. In the Third Figure, A.A.A., E.A.E., involve illicit process of the minor term (3rd Can.); A.E.E., A.E.O., A.O.O., illicit process of the major term. In the Fourth Figure, A.A.A. and E.A.E. involve illicit process of the minor term; A.I.I., A.O.O., undistributed Middle; O.A.O. involves illicit process of the major term; and A.E.O. is subaltern.

Those moods of each Figure which, when tried by these tests, are not rejected, are valid, namely:

Fig. I.—A.A.A., E.A.E., A.I.I., E.I.O. (A.A.I., E.A.O., Subaltern);

Fig. II.—E.A.E., A.E.E., E.I.O., A.O.O. (E.A.O., A.E.O., Subaltern);

Fig. III.—A.A.I., I.A.I., A.I.I., E.A.O., O.A.O., E.I.O.;

Fig. IV.—A.A.I., A.E.E., I.A.I., E.A.O., E.I.O. (A.E.O., Subaltern).

Thus, including subaltern Moods, there are six valid in each Figure. In Fig. III. alone there is no subaltern Mood, because in that Figure there can be no universal conclusion.

§ 5. Special Canons of the several Figures, deduced from the Common Canons, enable us to arrive at the same result by a somewhat different course. They are not, perhaps, necessary to the Science, but afford a very useful means of enabling one to thoroughly appreciate the character of formal syllogistic reasoning. Accordingly, the proof of each rule will be indicated, and its elaboration left to the reader. There is no difficulty, if one bears in mind that Figure is determined by the position of the middle term.

Fig. I., Rule (a): The minor premise must be affirmative.

For, if not, in negative Moods there will be illicit process of the major term. Applying this rule to the eleven possible Moods given in § 4, as remaining after application of the Common Canons, it eliminates A.E.E., A.E.O., A.O.O.

(b) The major premise must be universal.

For, if not, the minor premise being affirmative, the middle term will be undistributed. This rule eliminates I.A.I., O.A.O.; leaving six Moods, including two subalterns.

Fig. II. (a) One premise must be negative.

For else neither premise will distribute the middle term. This rule eliminates A.A.A., A.A.I., A.I.I., I.A.I.

(b) The major premise must be universal.

For else, the conclusion being negative, there will be illicit process of the major term. This eliminates I.A.I., O.A.O.; leaving six Moods, including two subalterns.

Fig. III. (a) The minor premise must be affirmative.

For else, in negative moods there will be illicit process of the major term. This rule eliminates A.E.E., A.E.O., A.O.O.

(b) The conclusion must be particular.

For, if not, the minor premise being affirmative, there will be illicit process of the minor term. This eliminates A.A.A., A.E.E., E.A.E.; leaving six Moods.

Fig. IV. (a) When the major premise is affirmative, the minor must be universal.

For else the middle term is undistributed. This eliminates A.I.I., A.O.O.

(b) When the minor premise is affirmative the conclusion must be particular.

Otherwise there will be illicit process of the minor term. This eliminates A.A.A., E.A.E.

(c) When either premise is negative, the major must be universal.

For else, the conclusion being negative, there will be illicit process of the major term. This eliminates O.A.O.; leaving six Moods, including one subaltern.

§ 6. Reduction is either—(1) Ostensive or (2) Indirect. Ostensive Reduction consists in showing that an argument given in one Mood can also be stated in another; the process is especially used to show that the Moods of the second, third, and fourth Figures are equivalent to one or another Mood of the first Figure. It thus proves the validity of the former Moods by showing that they also essentially conform to the Dictum, and that all Categorical Syllogisms are only superficial varieties of one type of proof.

To facilitate Reduction, the recognised Moods have all had names given them; which names, again, have been strung together into mnemonic verses of great force and pregnancy:

Barbara, Celarent, Darii, Ferioque prioris:
Cesare, Camestres, Festino, Baroco, secundæ:
Tertia, Darapti, Disamis, Datisi, Felapton,
Bocardo, Ferison, habet: Quarta insuper addit
Bramantip, Camenes, Dimaris, Fesapo, Fresison.

In the above verses the names of the Moods of Fig. I. begin with the first four consonants B, C, D, F, in alphabetical order; and the names of all other Moods likewise begin with these letters, thus signifying (except in Baroco and Bocardo) the mood of Fig. I., to which each is equivalent, and to which it is to be reduced: as Bramantip to Barbara, Camestres to Celarent, and so forth.

The vowels A, E, I, O, occurring in the several names, give the quantity and quality of major premise, minor premise, and conclusion in the usual order.

The consonants s and p, occurring after a vowel, show that the proposition which the vowel stands for is to be converted either (s) simply or (p) per accidens; except where s or p occurs after the third vowel of a name, the conclusion: then it refers not to the conclusion of the given Mood (say Disamis), but to the conclusion of that Mood of the first Figure to which the given Mood is reduced (Darii).

M (mutare, metathesis) means 'transpose the premises' (as of Camestres).

C means 'substitute the contradictory of the conclusion for the foregoing premise,' a process of the Indirect Reduction to be presently explained (see Baroco, § 8).

The other consonants, r, n, t (with b and d, when not initial), occurring here and there, have no mnemonic significance.

What now is the problem of Reduction? The difference of Figures depends upon the position of the Middle Term. To reduce a Mood of any other Figure to the form of the First, then, we must so manipulate its premises that the Middle Term shall be subject of the major premise and predicate of the minor premise.

Now in Fig. II. the Middle Term is predicate of both premises; so that the minor premise may need no alteration, and to convert the major premise may suffice. This is the case with Cesare, which reduces to Celarent by simply converting the major premise; and with Festino, which by the same process becomes Ferio. In Camestres, however, the minor premise is negative; and, as this is impossible in Fig. I., the premises must be transposed, and the new major premise must be simply converted: then, since the transposition of the premises will have transposed the terms of the conclusion (according to the usual reading of syllogisms), the new conclusion must be simply converted in order to prove the validity of the original conclusion. The process may be thus represented (s.c. meaning 'simply convert')

The Ostensive Reduction of Baroco also needs special explanation; for as it used to be reduced indirectly, its name gives no indication of the ostensive process. To reduce it ostensively let us call it Faksnoko, where k means 'obvert the foregoing premise.' By thus obverting (k) and simply converting (s) (in sum, contrapositing) the major premise, and obverting the minor premise, we get a syllogism in Ferio, thus:

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

Bocardo, like Baroco, indicates by its name the indirect process. To reduce it ostensively let its name be Doksamrosk, and proceed thus:

In Fig. IV. the position of the middle term is, in both premises, the reverse of what it is in the First Figure; we may therefore reduce its Moods either by transposing the premises, as with Bramantip, Camenes, and Dimaris; or by converting both premises, the course pursued with Fesapo and Fresison. It may suffice to illustrate by the case of Bramantip:

This case shows that a final significant consonant (s, p, or sk) in the name of any Mood refers to the conclusion of the new syllogism in the First Figure; since p in Bramantip cannot refer to that Mood's own conclusion in I.; which, being already particular, cannot be converted per accidens.

Finally, in Fig. I., Darii and Ferio differ respectively from Barbara and Celarent only in this, that their minor premises, and consequently their conclusions, are subaltern to the corresponding propositions of the universal Moods; a difference which seems insufficient to give them rank as distinct forms of demonstration. And as for Barbara and Celarent, they are easily reducible to one another by obverting their major premises and the new conclusions, thus:

There is, then, only one fundamental syllogism.

§ 7. A new version of the mnemonic lines was suggested in Mind No. 27, with the object of (1) freeing them from all meaningless letters, (2) showing by the name of each Mood the Figure to which it belongs, (3) giving names to indicate the ostensive reduction of Baroco and Bocardo. To obtain the first two objects, l is used as the mark of Fig. I., n of Fig II., r of Fig. III., t of Fig. IV. The verses (to be scanned discreetly) are as follows:

De Morgan praised the old verses as "more full of meaning than any others that ever were made"; and in defence of the above alteration it may be said that they now deserve that praise still more.

§ 8. Indirect reduction is the process of proving a Mood to be valid by showing that the supposition of its invalidity involves a contradiction. Take Baroco, and (since the doubt as to its validity is concerned not with the truth of the premises, but with their relation to the conclusion) assume the premises to be true. Then, if the conclusion be false, its contradictory is true. The conclusion being in O., its contradictory will be in A. Substituting this A. for the minor premise of Baroco, we have the premises of a syllogism in Barbara, which will be found to give a conclusion in A., contradictory of the original minor premise; thus:

But the original minor premise, Some S is not M, is true by hypothesis; and therefore the conclusion of Barbara, All S is M, is false. This falsity cannot, however, be due to the form of Barbara, which we know to be valid; nor to the major premise, which, being taken from Baroco, is true by hypothesis: it must, therefore, lie in the minor premise of Barbara, All S is P; and since this is contradictory of the conclusion of Baroco Some S is not P, that conclusion was true.

Similarly, with Bocardo, the Indirect Reduction proceeds by substituting for the major premise the contradictory of the conclusion; thus again obtaining the premises of a syllogism in Barbara, whose conclusion is contradictory of the original major premise. Hence the initial B in Baroco and Bocardo: it points to a syllogism in Barbara as the means of Indirect Reduction (Reductio ad impossibile).

Any other Mood may be reduced indirectly: as, for example, Dimaris. If this is supposed to be invalid and the conclusion false, substitute the contradictory of the conclusion for the major premise, thus obtaining the premises of Celarent:

The conclusion of Celarent, simply converted, contradicts the original major premise of Dimaris, and is therefore false. Therefore the major premise of Celarent is false, and the conclusion of Dimaris is true. We might, of course, construct mnemonic names for the Indirect Reduction of all the Moods: the name of Dimaris would then be Cicari.

§ 9. The need or use of any Figure but the First has been much discussed by Logicians. Since, in actual debate, arguments are rarely stated in syllogistic form, and, therefore, if reduced to that form for closer scrutiny, generally have to be treated with some freedom; why not always throw them at once into the First Figure? That Figure has manifest advantages: it agrees directly with the Dictum; it gives conclusions in all four propositional forms, and therefore serves every purpose of full affirmation or denial, of showing agreement or difference (total or partial), of establishing the contradictories of universal statements; and it is the only Figure in which the subject and predicate of the conclusion occupy the same positions in the premises, so that the course of argument has in its mere expression an easy and natural flow.

Still, the Second Figure also has a very natural air in some kinds of negative arguments. The parallelism of the two premises, with the middle term as predicate in both, brings out very forcibly the necessary difference between the major and minor terms that is involved in their opposite relations to the middle term. P is not, whilst S is, M, says Cesare: that drives home the conviction that S is not P. Similarly in Camestres: Deer do, oxen do not, shed their horns. What is the conclusion?

The Third Figure, again, furnishes in Darapti and Felapton, the most natural forms of stating arguments in which the middle term is singular:

Socrates was truthful; Socrates was a Greek: ∴ Some Greek was truthful.

Reducing this to Fig I., we should get for the minor premise, Some Greek was Socrates: which is certainly inelegant. Still, it might be urged that, in relation to proof, elegance is an extraneous consideration. And as for the other advantage claimed for Fig. III.—that, as it yields only particular conclusions, it is useful in establishing contradictories against universals—for that purpose none of its Moods can be better than Darii or Ferio.

As for Fig. IV., no particular advantage has been claimed for it. It is of comparatively late recognition (sometimes called the 'Galenian,' after Galen, its supposed discoverer); and its scientific claim to exist at all is disputed. It is said to be a mere inversion of Fig. I.; which is not true in any sense in which Figs. II. and III. may not be condemned as partial inversions of Fig. I., and as having therefore still less claim to recognition. It is also said to invert the order of thought; as if thought had only one order, or as if the order of thought had anything to do with Formal Logic. Surely, if distinction of Figure be recognised at all, the Fourth Figure is scientifically necessary, because it is inevitably generated by an analysis of the possible positions of the middle term.

§ 10. Is Reduction necessary, however; or have not all the Figures equal and independent validity? In one sense not only every Figure but each Mood has independent validity: for any one capable of abstract thinking sees its validity by direct inspection; and this is true not only of the abstract Moods, but very frequently of particular concrete arguments. But science aims at unifying knowledge; and after reducing all possible arguments that form categorical syllogisms to the nineteen Moods, it is another step in the same direction to reduce these Moods to one form. This is the very nature of science: and, accordingly, the efforts of some Logicians to expound separate principles of each Figure seem to be supererogatory. Grant that they succeed; and what can the next step be, but either to reduce these principles to the Dictum, or the Dictum and the rest to one of these principles? Unless this can be done there is no science of Formal Logic. If it is done, what is gained by reducing the principles of the other Figures to the Dictum, instead of the Moods of the other Figures to those of the first Figure? It may, perhaps, be said that to show (1) that the Moods of the second, third, and fourth Figures flow from their own principles (though, in fact, these principles are laboriously adapted to the Moods); and (2) that these principles may be derived from the Dictum, is the more uncompromisingly gradual and regular method: but is not Formal Logic already sufficiently encumbered with formalities?

§ 11. Euler's diagrams are used to illustrate the syllogism, though not very satisfactorily, thus:

Fig. 5.

Fig. 6.

Fig. 7.

Remembering that 'Some' means 'It may be all,' it is plain that any one of these diagrams in Fig. 7, or the one given above for Barbara, may represent the denotative relations of P, M and S in Darii; though no doubt the diagram we generally think of as representing Darii is No. 1 in Fig. 7.

Remembering that A may be U, and that, therefore, wherever A occurs there may be only one circle for S and P, these syllogisms may be represented by only two circles, and Barbara by only one.

Fig. 8.

Here, again, probably, we generally think of No. 1 as the diagram representing Ferio; but 2, or 3, or that given above for Celarent, is compatible with the premises.

If instead of dealing with M, P, and S, a concrete example be taken of Darii or Ferio, a knowledge of the facts of the case will show what diagram is suitable to it. But, then, surely it must be possible to do without the diagram. These diagrams, of course, can be used to illustrate Moods of the other Figures.

CHAPTER XI

ABBREVIATED AND COMPOUND ARGUMENTS

§ 1. In ordinary discussion, whether oral or written, it is but rarely that the forms of Logic are closely adhered to. We often leave wide gaps in the structure of our arguments, trusting the intelligence of those addressed to bridge them over; or we invert the regular order of propositions, beginning with the conclusion, and mentioning the premises, perhaps, a good while after, confident that the sagacity of our audience will make all smooth. Sometimes a full style, like Macaulay's, may, by means of amplification and illustration, spread the elements of a single syllogism over several pages—a pennyworth of logic steeped in so much eloquence. These practices give a great advantage to sophists; who would find it very inconvenient to state explicitly in Mood and Figure the pretentious antilogies which they foist upon the public; and, indeed, such licences of composition often prevent honest men from detecting errors into which they themselves have unwittingly fallen, and which, with the best intentions, they strive to communicate to others: but we put up with these drawbacks to avoid the inelegance and the tedium of a long discourse in accurate syllogisms.

Many departures from the strictly logical statement of reasonings consist in the use of vague or figurative language, or in the substitution for one another of expressions supposed to be equivalent, though, in fact, dangerously discrepant. Against such occasions of error the logician can provide no safeguard, except the advice to be careful and discriminating in what you say or hear. But as to any derangement of the elements of an argument, or the omission of them, Logic effectually aids the task of restoration; for it has shown what the elements are that enter into the explicit statement of most ratiocinations, namely, the four forms of propositions and what that connected order of propositions is which most easily and surely exposes the validity or invalidity of reasoning, namely, the premises and conclusion of the Syllogism. Logic has even gone so far as to name certain abbreviated forms of proof, which may be regarded as general types of those that actually occur in debate, in leading articles, pamphlets and other persuasive or polemic writings—namely, the Enthymeme, Epicheirema and Sorites.

§ 2. The Enthymeme, according to Aristotle, is the Syllogism of probable reasoning about practical affairs and matters of opinion, in contrast with the Syllogism of theoretical demonstration upon necessary grounds. But, as now commonly treated, it is an argument with one of its elements omitted; a Categorical Syllogism, having one or other of its premises, or else its conclusion, suppressed. If the major premise be suppressed, it is called an Enthymeme of the First Order; if the minor premise be wanting, it is said to be of the Second Order; if the conclusion be left to be understood, there is an Enthymeme of the Third Order.

Let the following be a complete Syllogism:

All free nations are enterprising;
The Dutch are a free nation:
∴ The Dutch are enterprising.

Reduced to Enthymemes, this argument may be put thus:

In the First Order:

The Dutch are a free nation:
∴ The Dutch are enterprising.

In the Second Order—

All free nations are enterprising;
∴ The Dutch are enterprising.

In the Third Order—

All free nations are enterprising;
And the Dutch are a free nation.

It is certainly very common to meet with arguments whose statement may be represented by one or other of these three forms; indeed, the Enthymeme is the natural substitute for a full syllogism in oratory: whence the transition from Aristotle's to the modern meaning of the term. The most unschooled of men readily apprehend its force; and a student of Logic can easily supply the proposition that may be wanted in any case to complete a syllogism, and thereby test the argument's formal validity. In any Enthymeme of the Third Order, especially, to supply the conclusion cannot present any difficulty at all; and hence it is a favourite vehicle of innuendo, as in Hamilton's example:

Every liar is a coward;
And Caius is a liar.

The frankness of this statement and its reticence, together, make it a biting sarcasm upon Caius.

The process of finding the missing premise in an Enthymeme of either the First or the Second Order, so as to constitute a syllogism, is sometimes called Reduction; and for this a simple rule may be given: Take that term of the given premise which does not occur in the conclusion (and which must therefore be the Middle), and combine it with that term of the conclusion which does not occur in the given premise; the proposition thus formed is the premise which was requisite to complete the Syllogism. If the premise thus constituted contain the predicate of the conclusion, the Enthymeme was of the First Order; if it contain the subject of the conclusion, the Enthymeme was of the Second Order.

That a statement in the form of a Hypothetical Proposition may really be an Enthymeme (as observed in [chap. v. § 4]) can easily be shown by recasting one of the above Enthymemes thus: If all free nations are enterprising, the Dutch are enterprising. Such statements should be treated according to their true nature.

To reduce the argument of any ordinary discourse to logical form, the first care should be to make it clear to oneself what exactly the conclusion is, and to state it adequately but as succinctly as possible. Then look for the evidence. This may be of an inductive character, consisting of instances, examples, analogies; and, if so, of course its cogency must be evaluated by the principles of Induction, which we shall presently investigate. But if the evidence be deductive, it will probably consist of an Enthymeme, or of several Enthymemes one depending on another. Each Enthymeme may be isolated and expanded into a syllogism. And we may then inquire: (1) whether the syllogisms are formally correct according to Barbara (or whatever the appropriate Mood); (2) whether the premises, or the ultimate premises, are true in fact.

§ 3. A Monosyllogism is a syllogism considered as standing alone or without relation to other arguments. But, of course, a disputant may be asking to prove the premises of any syllogism; in which case other syllogisms may be advanced for that purpose. When the conclusion of one syllogism is used to prove another, we have a chain-argument which, stated at full length, is a Polysyllogism. In any Polysyllogism, again, a syllogism whose conclusion is used as the premise of another, is called in relation to that other a Prosyllogism; whilst a syllogism one of whose premises is the conclusion of another syllogism, is in relation to that other an Episyllogism. Two modes of abbreviating a Polysyllogism, are usually discussed, the Epicheirema and the Sorites.

§ 4. An Epicheirema is a syllogism for one or both of whose premises a reason is added; as—

All men are mortal, for they are animals;
Socrates is a man, for rational bipeds are men:
∴ Socrates is mortal.

The Epicheirema is called Single or Double, says Hamilton, according as an "adscititious proposition" attaches to one or both of the premises. The above example is of the double kind. The Single Epicheirema is said to be of the First Order, if the adscititious proposition attach to the major premise; if to the minor, of the Second Order. (Hamilton's Logic: Lecture xix.)

An Epicheirema, then, is an abbreviated chain of reasoning, or Polysyllogism, comprising an Episyllogism with one or two enthymematic Prosyllogisms. The major premise in the above case, All men are mortal, for they are animals, is an Enthymeme of the First Order, suppressing its own major premise, and may be restored thus:

All animals are mortal;
All men are animals:
∴ All men are mortal.

The minor premise, Socrates is a man, for rational bipeds are men, is an Enthymeme of the Second Order, suppressing its own minor premise, and may be restored thus:

All rational bipeds are men;
Socrates is a rational biped:
∴ Socrates is a man.

§ 5. The Sorites is a Polysyllogism in which the Conclusions, and even some of the Premises, are suppressed until the arguments end. If the chain of arguments were freed of its enthymematic character, the suppressed conclusions would appear as premises of Episyllogisms.

Two varieties of Sorites are recognised, the Aristotelian (so called, though not treated of by Aristotle), and the Goclenian (named after its discoverer, Goclenius of Marburg, who flourished about 1600 A.D.). In order to compare these two forms of argument, it will be convenient to place side by side Hamilton's classical examples of them.

The reader wonders what is the difference between these two forms. In the Aristotelian Sorites the minor term occurs in the first premise, and the major term in the last; whilst in the Goclenian the major term occurs in the first premise, and the minor in the last. But since the character of premises is fixed by their terms, not by the order in which they are written, there cannot be a better example of a distinction without a difference. At a first glance, indeed, there may seem to be a more important point involved; the premises of the Aristotelian Sorites seem to proceed in the order of Fig. IV. But if that were really so the conclusion would be, Some Substance is Bucephalus. That, on the contrary, every one writes the conclusion, Bucephalus is a substance, proves that the logical order of the premises is in Fig. I. Logically, therefore, there is absolutely no difference between these two forms, and pure reason requires either that the "Aristotelian Sorites" disappear from the text-books, or that it be regarded as in Fig. IV., and its conclusion converted. It is the shining merit of Goclenius to have restored the premises of the Sorites to the usual order of Fig. I.: whereby he has raised to himself a monument more durable than brass, and secured indeed the very cheapest immortality.

The common Sorites, then, being in Fig. I., its rules follow from those of Fig. I:

(1) Only one premise can be particular; and, if any, only that in which the minor term occurs.

For, just as in Fig I., a particular premise anywhere else involves undistributed Middle.

(2) Only one premise can be negative; and, if any, only that in which the major term occurs.

For if there were two negative premises, at the point where the second entered the chain of argument there must be a syllogism with two negative premises, which is contrary to Rule 5; whilst if one premise be negative it must be that which contains the major term, for the same reason as in Fig. I., namely, that the conclusion will be negative, and that therefore only a negative major premise can prevent illicit process of the major term.

If we expand a Sorites into its constituent syllogisms, the conclusions successively suppressed will reappear as major premises; thus:

This suffices to show that the Protosyllogism of a Goclenian Sorites is an Enthymeme of the Third Order; after which the argument is a chain of Enthymemes of the First Order, or of the First and Third combined, since the conclusions as well as the major premises are omitted, except in the last one.

Lest it should be thought that the Sorites is only good for arguments so frivolous as the above, I subjoin an example collected from various parts of Mill's Political Economy:—

The cost of labour depends on the efficiency of labour;
The rate of profits depends on the cost of labour;
The investment of capital depends on the rate of profits;
Wages depend on the investment of capital:
∴ Wages depend on the efficiency of labour.

Had it occurred to Mill to construct this Sorites, he would have modified his doctrine of the wages-fund, and would have spared many critics the malignant joy of refuting him.

§ 6. The Antinomy is a combination of arguments by which contradictory attributes are proved to be predicable of the same subject. In symbols, thus:

Now, by the principle of Contradiction, S cannot be P and p (not-P): therefore, if both of the above syllogisms are sound, S, as the subject of contradictory attributes, is logically an impossible thing. The contradictory conclusions are called, respectively, Thesis and Antithesis.

To come to particulars, we may argue: (1) that a constitution which is at once a monarchy, an aristocracy and a democracy, must comprise the best elements of all three forms; and must, therefore, be the best of all forms of government: the British Constitution is, therefore, the best of all. But (2) such a constitution must also comprise the worst elements of monarchy, aristocracy and democracy; and, therefore, must be the worst of all forms. Are we, then, driven to conclude that the British Constitution, thus proved to be both the best and worst, does not really exist at all, being logically impossible? The proofs seem equally cogent; but perhaps neither the best nor the worst elements of the simpler constitutions need be present in our own in sufficient force to make it either good or bad.

Again:

Does it, then, follow that 'Man,' as the subject of contradictory attributes, is a nonentity? This doctrine, or something like it, has been seriously entertained; but if to any reader it seem extravagant (as it certainly does to me), he will no doubt find an error in the above arguments. Perhaps the major term is ambiguous.

For other examples it is enough to refer to the Critique of Pure Reason, where Kant sets out the Antinomies of Rational Cosmology. But even if we do not agree with Kant that the human understanding, in attempting to deal with certain subjects beyond its reach, inevitably falls into such contradictory reasonings; yet it can hardly be doubted that we not unfrequently hold opinions which, if logically developed, result in Antinomies. And, accordingly, the Antinomy, if it cannot be imputed to Reason herself, may be a very fair, and a very wholesome argumentum ad hominem. It was the favourite weapon of the Pyrrhonists against the dogmatic philosophies that flourished after the death of Aristotle.

CHAPTER XII

CONDITIONAL SYLLOGISMS

§ 1. Conditional Syllogisms may be generally described as those that contain conditional propositions. They are usually divided into two classes, Hypothetical and Disjunctive.

A Hypothetical Syllogism is one that consists of a Hypothetical Major Premise, a Categorical Minor Premise, and a Categorical Conclusion. Two Moods are usually recognised the Modus ponens, in which the antecedent of the hypothetical major premise is affirmed; and the Modus tollens, in which its consequent is denied.

(1) Modus ponens, or Constructive.

If A is B, C is D;
A is B:
∴ C is D.

If Aristotle's reasoning is conclusive, Plato's theory of Ideas is erroneous;

Aristotle's reasoning is conclusive:
∴ Plato's theory of Ideas is erroneous.

Rule of the Modus ponens: The antecedent of the major premise being affirmed in the minor premise, the consequent is also affirmed in the conclusion.

(2) Modus tollens, or Destructive.

If A is B, C is D;
C is not D:
∴ A is not B.

If Pythagoras is to be trusted, Justice is a number;
Justice is not a number:
∴ Pythagoras is not to be trusted.

Rule of the Modus tollens: The consequent of the major premise being denied in the minor premise, the antecedent is denied in the conclusion.

By using negative major premises two other forms are obtainable: then, either by affirming the antecedent or by denying the consequent, we draw a negative conclusion.

Further, since the antecedent of the major premise, taken by itself, may be negative, it seems possible to obtain four more forms, two in each Mood, from the following major premises:

(1) If A is not B, C is D;
(2) If A is not B, C is not D.

But since the quality of a Hypothetical Proposition is determined by the quality of its consequent, not at all by the quality of its antecedent, we cannot get from these two major premises any really new Moods, that is to say, Moods exhibiting any formal difference from the four previously expounded.

It is obvious that, given the hypothetical major premise—

If A is B, C is D—

we cannot, by denying the antecedent, infer a denial of the consequent. That A is B, is a mark of C being D; but we are not told that it is the sole and indispensable condition of it. If men read good books, they acquire knowledge; but they may acquire knowledge by other means, as by observation. For the same reason, we cannot by affirming the consequent infer the affirmation of the antecedent: Caius may have acquired knowledge; but we cannot thence conclude that he has read good books.

To see this in another light, let us recall [chap. v. § 4], where it was shown that a hypothetical proposition may be translated into a categorical one; whence it follows that a Hypothetical Syllogism may be translated into a Categorical Syllogism. Treating the above examples thus, we find that the Modus ponens (with affirmative major premise) takes the form of Barbara, and the Modus tollens the form of Camestres:

Now if, instead of this, we affirm the consequent, to form the new minor premise,

This is a case of C being D,

there will be a Syllogism in the Second Figure with two affirmative premises, and therefore the fallacy of undistributed Middle. Again:

But if, instead of this, we deny the antecedent, to form the new minor premise,

This is not a case of A being B,

there arises a syllogism in the First Figure with a negative minor premise, and therefore the fallacy of illicit process of the major term.

By thus reducing the Hypothetical Syllogism to the Categorical form, what is lost in elegance is gained in intelligibility. For, first, we may justify ourselves in speaking of the hypothetical premise as the major, and of the categorical premise as the minor; since in the categorical form they contain respectively the major and minor terms. And, secondly, we may justify ourselves in treating the Hypothetical Syllogism as a kind of Mediate Inference, in spite of the fact that it does not exhibit two terms compared by means of a third; since in the Categorical form such terms distinctly appear: a new term ('This') emerges in the position of the minor; the place of the Middle is filled by the antecedent of the major premise in the Modus ponens, and by the consequent in the Modus tollens.

The mediate element of the inference in a Hypothetical Syllogism consists in asserting, or denying, the fulfilment of a given condition; just as in a Categorical syllogism to identify the minor term with the Middle is a condition of the major term's being predicated of it. In the hypothetical proposition—

If A is B, C is D—

the Antecedent, A is B, is the conditio sufficiens, or mark, of the Consequent, C is D; and therefore the Consequent, C is D, is a conditio sine qua non of the antecedent, A is B; and it is by means of affirming the former condition, or else denying the latter, that a conclusion is rendered possible.

Indeed, we need not say that the element of mediation consists in affirming, or denying, the fulfilment of a given condition: it is enough to say 'in affirming.' For thus to explain the Modus tollens, reduce it to the Modus ponens (contrapositing the major premise and obverting the minor):

The above four forms commonly treated of as Hypothetical Syllogisms, are called by Ueberweg and Dr. Keynes 'Hypothetico-Categorical.' Ueberweg restricts the name 'Hypothetical' simply (and Dr. Keynes the name 'Conditional') to such Syllogisms as the following, having two Hypothetical Premises:

If C is D, E is F;
If A is B, C is D:
∴ If A is B, E is F.

If we recognise particular hypothetical propositions (see [chap. v. § 4]), it is obvious that such Syllogisms may be constructed in all the Moods and Figures of the Categorical Syllogism; and of course they may be translated into Categoricals. We often reason in this hypothetical way. For example:

If the margin of cultivation be extended, rents will rise;
If prices of produce rise, the margin of cultivation will be extended:
∴ If prices of produce rise, rents will rise.

But the function of the Hypothetical Syllogism (commonly so called), as also of the Disjunctive Syllogism (to be discussed in the next section) is to get rid of the conditional element of the premises, to pass from suspense to certainty, and obtain a decisive categorical conclusion; whereas these Syllogisms with two hypothetical premises leave us still with a hypothetical conclusion. This circumstance seems to ally them more closely with Categorical Syllogisms than with those that are discussed in the present chapter. That they are Categoricals in disguise may be seen by considering that the above syllogism is not materially significant, unless in each proposition the word 'If' is equivalent to 'Whenever.' Accordingly, the name 'Hypothetical Syllogism,' is here employed in the older usage.

§ 2. A Disjunctive Syllogism consists of a Disjunctive Major Premise, a Categorical Minor Premise, and a Categorical Conclusion.

How many Moods are to be recognised in this kind of argument depends on whether the alternatives of the Disjunctive Premise are regarded as mutually exclusive or possibly coincident. In saying 'Either A is B, or C is D,' do we mean 'either, but not both,' or 'either, it may be both'? (See [chap. v. § 4].)

When the alternatives of the Disjunctive are not exclusive, we have only the

Either wages fall, or the weaker hands are dismissed;

Wages do not fall:
∴ The weaker hands are dismissed.

But we cannot argue—

Wages fall:
∴ The weaker hands are not dismissed;

since in 'hard times' both events may happen together.

Rule of the Modus tollendo ponens: If one alternative be denied, the other is affirmed.

When, however, the alternatives of the Disjunctive are mutually exclusive, we have also the

Either the Tories or the Whigs win the election;

The Tories win:
∴ The Whigs do not win.

We may also, of course, argue as above in the Modus tollendo ponens—

The Tories do not win:
∴ The Whigs do.

But in this example, to make the Modus tollendo ponens materially valid, it must be impossible that the election should result in a tie. The danger of the Disjunctive Proposition is that the alternatives may not, between them, exhaust the possible cases. Only contradictory alternatives are sure to cover the whole ground.

Rule of the Modus ponendo tollens: If one alternative be affirmed, the other is denied.

Since a disjunctive proposition may be turned into a hypothetical proposition ([chap. v. § 4],) a Disjunctive Syllogism may be turned into a Hypothetical Syllogism:

Similarly the Modus ponendo tollens is equivalent to that kind of Modus ponens which may be formed with a negative major premise; for if the alternatives of a disjunctive proposition be exclusive, the corresponding hypothetical be affirmative or negative:

Hence, finally, a Disjunctive Syllogism being equivalent to a Hypothetical, and a Hypothetical to a Categorical; a Disjunctive Syllogism is equivalent and reducible to a Categorical. It is a form of Mediate Inference in the same sense as the Hypothetical Syllogism is; that is to say, the conclusion depends upon an affirmation, or denial, of the fulfilment of a condition implied in the disjunctive major premise.

§ 3. The Dilemma is perhaps the most popularly interesting of all forms of proof. It is a favourite weapon of orators and wits; and "impaled upon the horns of a dilemma" is a painful situation in which every one delights to see his adversary. It seems to have been described by Rhetoricians before finding its way into works on Logic; and Logicians, to judge from their diverse ways of defining it, have found some difficulty in making up their minds as to its exact character.

There is a famous Dilemma employed by Demosthenes, from which the general nature of the argument may be gathered:

If Æschines joined in the public rejoicings, he is inconsistent; if he did not, he is unpatriotic;
But either he joined, or he did not join:
Therefore he is either inconsistent or unpatriotic.

That is, reduced to symbols:

If A is B, C is D; and if E is F, G is H:
But either A is B, or E is F;
∴ Either C is D or G is H (Complex Constructive).

This is a compound Conditional Syllogism, which may be analysed as follows:

A Dilemma, then, is a compound Conditional Syllogism, having for its Major Premise two Hypothetical Propositions, and for its Minor Premise a Disjunctive Proposition, whose alternative terms either affirm the Antecedents or deny the Consequents of the two Hypothetical Propositions forming the Major Premise.

The hypothetical propositions in the major premise, may have all four terms distinct (as in the above example); and then the conclusion is a disjunctive proposition, and the Dilemma is said to be Complex. Or the two hypothetical propositions may have a common antecedent or a common consequent; and then the conclusion is a categorical proposition, and the Dilemma is said to be Simple.

Again, the alternatives of the disjunctive minor premise may be affirmative or negative: if affirmative, the Dilemma is called Constructive; and if negative, Destructive.

Using, then, only affirmative hypothetical propositions in the major premise, there are four Moods:

1. The Simple Constructive—

If A is B, C is D; and if E is F, C is D:
But either A is B, or E is F:
∴ C is D.

If the Tories win the election, the Government will avoid innovation; and if the Whigs win, the House of Lords will prevent them innovating:
But either the Tories or the Whigs will win:
∴ There will be no innovation.

2. The Complex Constructive—

If A is B, C is D; and if E is F, G is H:
But either A is B, or E is F:
∴ Either C is D or G is H.

If appearance is all that exists, reality is a delusion; and if there is a substance beyond consciousness, knowledge of reality is impossible:
But either appearance is all, or there is a substance beyond consciousness:
∴ Either reality is a delusion, or a knowledge of it is impossible.

3. Simple Destructive—

If A is B, C is D; and if A is B, E is F:
But either C is not D, or E is not F:
∴ A is not B.

If table-rappers are to be trusted, the departed are spirits; and they also exert mechanical energy
: But either the departed are not spirits, or they do not exert mechanical energy:
∴ Table-rappers are not to be trusted.

4. Complex Destructive—

If A is B, C is D; and if E is F, G is H:
But either C is not D, or G is not H:
∴ Either A is not B, or E is not F.

If poetic justice is observed, virtue is rewarded; and if the mirror is held up to Nature, the villain triumphs:
But either virtue is not rewarded, or the villain does not triumph:
∴ Either poetic justice is not observed, or the mirror is not held up to Nature.

Such are the four Moods of the Dilemma that emerge if we only use affirmative hypotheticals for the major premise; but, certainly, it is often quite as natural to employ two negative hypotheticals (indeed, one might be affirmative and the other negative; but waive that); and then four more moods emerge, all having negative conclusions. It is needless to intimidate the reader by drawing up these four moods in battle array: they always admit of reduction to the foregoing moods by obverting the hypotheticals. Still, by the same process we may greatly decrease the number of moods of the Categorical Syllogism; and just as some Syllogisms are most simply expressed in Celarent or Cesare, so some Dilemmas are most simply stated with negative major premises—e.g., The example of a Simple Constructive Dilemma above given would run more naturally thus: If the Tories win, the Government will not innovate; and if the Whigs, the Lords will not let them: and similarly Demosthenes' Dilemma—If Æschines joined, he is not consistent; and if he did not, he is not patriotic. Moreover, the propriety of recognising Dilemmas with negative major premises, follows from the above analysis of the Dilemma into a combination of Conditional Syllogisms, even if (as in [§ 1] of this chapter) we take account of only four Moods of the Hypothetical Syllogism.

In the rhetorical use of the Dilemma, it may be observed that the disjunction in the minor premise ought to be obvious, or (at any rate) easily acceptable to the audience. Thus, Either the Tories or the Whigs will win; Either Æschines joined in the rejoicings, or he did not; such propositions are not likely to be disputed. But if the orator must stop to prove his minor premise, the smacking effect of this figure (if the expression be allowed) will be lost. Hence the minor premises of other examples given above are only fit for a select audience. That Either ghosts are not spirits, or they do not exert mechanical energy, supposes a knowledge of the principle, generally taught by physical philosophers, that only matter is the vehicle of energy; and that Either appearance is all, or there is substance beyond consciousness, is a doctrine which only metaphysical philosophers could be expected to understand, and upon which they could not be expected to agree. However, the chief danger is that a plausible disjunction may not be really such as to exclude any middle ground: Either the Tories or the Whigs win, is bad, if a tie be possible; though in the above argument this is negligible, seeing that a tie cannot directly cause innovations. Either Æschines joined in the rejoicings, or he did not, does not allow for a decent conformity with the public movement where resistance would be vain; yet such conformity as need not be inconsistent with subsequent condemnation of the proceedings, nor incompatible with patriotic reserve founded on a belief that the rejoicings are premature and ominous.

Another rhetorical consideration is, that the alternatives of the disjunctive conclusion of a Complex Dilemma should both point the same way, should be equally distasteful or paradoxical. 'Either inconsistent or unpatriotic': horrid words to a politician! 'Either no reality or no possible knowledge of it': very disappointing to an anxious inquirer! Thus the disjunctive conclusion is as bad for an opponent as the categorical one in a Simple Dilemma.

Logicians further speak of the Trilemma, with three Hypotheticals and a corresponding triple Disjunction; and of a Polylemma, with any further number of perplexities. But anyone who has a taste for logical forms may have it amply gratified in numerous text-books.

CHAPTER XIII

TRANSITION TO INDUCTION

§ 1. Having now discussed Terms, Propositions, Immediate and Mediate Inferences, and investigated the conditions of formal truth or consistency, we have next to consider the conditions of material truth: whether (or how far) it is possible to arrive at propositions that accurately represent the course of nature or of human life. Hitherto we have dealt with no sort of proof that gives any such assurance. A valid syllogism guarantees the truth of its conclusion, provided the premises be true: but what of the premises? The relation between the premises of a valid syllogism and its conclusion is the same as the relation between the antecedent and consequent of a hypothetical proposition. If A is B, C is D: grant that A is B, and it follows that C is D; and, similarly, grant the premises of a syllogism, and the conclusion follows. Again, grant that C is not D, and it follows that A is not B; and, similarly, if the conclusion of a valid syllogism be false, it follows that one, or other, or both of the premises must be false. But, once more, grant that C is D, and it does not follow that A is B; so neither, if the conclusion of a syllogism be true, does it follow that the premises are. For example:—

Sociology is an exact science;
Mathematics is a branch of Sociology:
∴ Mathematics is an exact science.

Here the conclusion is true although the premises are absurd. Or again:—

Mathematics is an exact science;
Sociology is a branch of Mathematics:
∴ Sociology is an exact science.

Here the major premise is true, but the minor is false, and the conclusion is false. In both cases, however, whether the conclusion be true or false, it equally follows from the premises, if there is any cogency in Barbara. The explanation of this is, that Barbara has only formal cogency; and that whether the conclusion of that, or any other valid mood, shall be true according to fact and experience, depends upon how the form is filled up. How to establish the premises, then, is a most important problem; and it still remains to be solved.

§ 2. We may begin by recalling the distinction between the denotation and connotation of a general term: the denotation comprising the things or events which the term is a name for; the connotation comprising the common qualities on account of which these things are called by the same name. Obviously, there are very few general terms whose denotation is exhaustively known; since the denotation of a general term comprises all the things that have its connotation, or that ever have had, or that ever will have it, whether they exist here, or in Australia, or in the Moon, or in the utmost stars. No one has examined all men, all mammoths, all crystals, all falling bodies, all cases of fever, all revolutions, all stars—nor even all planets, since from time to time new ones are discerned. We have names for animals that existed long before there were men to observe them, and of which we know only a few bones, the remains of multitudinous species; and for others that may continue to exist when men have disappeared from the earth.

If, indeed, we definitely limit the time, or place, or quantity of matter to be explored, we may sometimes learn, within the given limits, all that there is to know: as all the bones of a particular animal, or the list of English monarchs hitherto, or the names of all the members of the House of Commons at the present time. Such cases, however, do not invalidate the above logical truth that few general terms are exhaustively known in their denotation; for the very fact of assigning limits of time and place impairs the generality of a term. The bones of a certain animal may be all examined, but not the bones of all animals, nor even of one species. The English monarchs that have reigned hitherto may be known, but there may be many still to reign.

The general terms, then, with which Logic is chiefly concerned, the names of Causes and Kinds, such as gravitation, diseases, social events, minerals, plants and animals, stand for some facts that are, or have been, known, and for a great many other similar ones that have not been, and never will be, known. The use of a general term depends not upon our direct knowledge of everything comprised in its denotation, but upon our readiness to apply it to anything that has its connotation, whether we have seen the thing or not, and even though we never can perceive it; as when a man talks freely of the ichthyosaurus, or of the central heat of planets, or of atoms and ether.

Hence Universal Propositions, which consist of general terms, deceive us, if we suppose that their predicates are directly known to be related to all the facts denoted by their subjects. In exceptional cases, in which the denotation of a subject is intentionally limited, such exhaustive direct knowledge may be possible; as that "all the bones of a certain animal consist of phosphate of lime," or that every member of the present Parliament wears a silk hat. But what predication is possible concerning the hats of all members of Parliament from the beginning? Ordinarily, then, whilst the relation of predicate to subject has been observed in some cases, in much the greater number of cases our belief about it depends upon something besides observation, or may be said (in a certain sense) to be taken on trust.

'All rabbits are herbivorous': why do we believe that? We may have seen a few wild rabbits feeding: or have kept tame ones, and tried experiments with their diet; or have read of their habits in a book of Natural History; or have studied the anatomy and physiology of the digestive system in many sorts of animals: but with whatever care we add testimony and scientific method to our own observation, it still remains true that the rabbits observed by ourselves and others are few in comparison with those that live, have lived and will live. Similarly of any other universal proposition; that it 'goes beyond the evidence' of direct observation plainly follows from the fact that the general terms, of which such propositions consist, are never exhaustively known in their denotation. What right have we then to state Universal Propositions? That is the problem of Inductive Logic.

§ 3. Universal Propositions, of course, cannot always be proved by syllogisms; because to prove a universal proposition by a syllogism, its premises must be universal propositions; and, then, these must be proved by others. This process may sometimes go a little way, thus: All men are mortal, because All animals are; and All animals are mortal, because All composite bodies are subject to dissolution. Were there no limit to such sorites, proof would always involve a regressus ad infinitum, for which life is too short; but, in fact, prosyllogisms soon fail us.

Clearly, the form of the Syllogism must itself be misleading if the universal proposition is so: if we think that premises prove the conclusion because they themselves have been established by detailed observation, we are mistaken. The consideration of any example will show this. Suppose any one to argue:

All ruminants are herbivorous;
Camels are ruminants:
∴ Camels are herbivorous.

Have we, then, examined all ruminants? If so, we must have examined all camels, and cannot need a syllogism to prove their herbivorous nature: instead of the major premise proving the conclusion, the proof of the conclusion must then be part of the proof of the major premise. But if we have not examined all ruminants, having omitted most giraffes, most deer, most oxen, etc., how do we know that the unexamined (say, some camels) are not exceptional? Camels are vicious enough to be carnivorous; and indeed it is said that Bactrian camels will eat flesh rather than starve, though of course their habit is herbivorous.

Or, again, it is sometimes urged that—

All empires decay: ∴ Britain will decay.

This is manifestly a prediction: at present Britain flourishes, and shows no signs of decay. Yet a knowledge of its decay seems necessary, to justify any one in asserting the given premise. If it is a question whether Britain will decay, to attempt (while several empires still flourish) to settle the matter by asserting that all empires decay, seems to be 'a begging of the question.' But although this latter case is a manifest prediction, it does not really differ from the former one; for the proof that camels are herbivorous has no limits in time. If valid, it shows not only that they are, but also that they will be, herbivorous.

Hence, to resort to a dilemma, it may be urged: If all the facts of the major premise of any syllogism have been examined, the syllogism is needless; and if some of them have not been examined, it is a petitio principii. But either all have been examined, or some have not. Therefore; the syllogism is either useless or fallacious.

§ 4. A way of escape from this dilemma is provided by distinguishing between the formal and material aspects of the syllogism considered as a means of proof. It begs the question formally, but not materially; that is to say, if it be a question whether camels are herbivorous, and to decide it we are told that 'all ruminants are,' laying stress upon the 'all,' as if all had been examined, though in fact camels have not been, then the question as to camels is begged. The form of a universal proposition is then offered as evidence, when in fact the evidence has not been universally ascertained. But if in urging that 'all ruminants are herbivorous' no more is meant than that so many other ruminants of different species are known to be herbivorous, and that the ruminant stomach is so well adapted to a coarse vegetable diet, that the same habit may be expected in other ruminants, such as camels, the argument then rests upon material evidence without unfairly implying the case in question. Now the nature of the material evidence is plainly this, that the resemblance of camels to deer, oxen, etc., in chewing the cud, justifies us in believing that they have a further resemblance in feeding on herbs; in other words, we assume that resemblance is a ground of inference.

Another way of putting this difficulty which we have just been discussing, with regard to syllogistic evidence, is to urge that by the Laws of Syllogism a conclusion must never go beyond the premises, and that therefore no progress in knowledge can ever be established, except by direct observation. Now, taking the syllogism formally, this is true: if the conclusion go beyond the premises, there must be either four terms, or illicit process of the major or minor term. But, taking it materially, the conclusion may cover facts which were not in view when the major premise was laid down; facts of which we predicate something not as the result of direct observation, but because they resemble in a certain way those facts which had been shown to carry the predicate when the major premise was formed.

'What sort of resemblance is a sufficient ground of inference?' is, therefore, the important question alike in material Deduction and in Induction; and in endeavouring to answer it we shall find that the surest ground of inference is resemblance of causation. For example, it is due to causation that ruminants are herbivorous. Their instincts make them crop the herb, and their stomachs enable them easily to digest it; and in these characters camels are like the other ruminants.

§ 5. In [ch. ix, § 3], the Dictum de omni et nullo was stated: 'Whatever may be predicated of a term distributed may be predicated of anything that can be identified with that term.' Nothing was there said (as nothing was needed) of the relations that might be implied in the predication. But now that it comes to the ultimate validity of predication, we must be clear as to what these relations are; and it will also be convenient to speak no longer of terms, as in Formal Logic, but of the things denoted. What relations, then, can be determined between concrete facts or phenomena (physical or mental) with the greatest certainty of general truth; and what axioms are there that sanction mediate inferences concerning those relations?

In his Logic (B. II. c. 2, § 3) Mill gives as the axiom of syllogistic reasoning, instead of the Dictum: "A thing which co-exists with another thing, which other co-exists with a third thing, also co-exists with that third thing." Thus the peculiar properties of Socrates co-exist with the attributes of man, which co-exist with mortality: therefore, Socrates is mortal. But, again, he says that the ground of the syllogism is Induction; that man is mortal is an induction. And, further, the ground of Induction is causation; the law of causation is the ultimate major premise of every sound induction. Now causation is the principle of the succession of phenomena: how, then, can the syllogism rest on an axiom concerning co-existence? On reflection, too, it must appear that 'Man is mortal' predicates causation: the human constitution issues in death.

The explanation of this inconsistency may perhaps be found in the history of Mill's work. Books I. and II. were written in 1831; but being unable at that time to explain Induction, he did not write Book III. until 1837-8. Then, no doubt, he revised the earlier Books, but not enough to bring his theory of the syllogism into complete agreement with the theory of Induction; so that the axiom of co-existence was allowed to stand.

Mill also introduced the doctrine of Natural Kinds as a ground of Induction supplementary, at least provisionally, to causation; and to reasoning about Kinds, or Substance and Attribute, his axiom of co-existence is really adapted. Kinds are groups of things that agree amongst themselves and differ from all others in a multitude of qualities: these qualities co-exist, or co-inhere, with a high degree of constancy; so that where some are found others may be inferred. Their co-inherence is not to be considered an ultimate fact; for, "since everything which occurs is determined by laws of causation and collocations of the original causes, it follows that the co-existences observable amongst effects cannot themselves be the subject of any similar set of laws distinct from laws of causation" (B. III. c. 5, § 9). According to the theory of evolution (worked out since Mill wrote), Kinds—that is, species of plants, animals and minerals—with their qualities are all due to causation. Still, as we can rarely, or never, trace the causes with any fullness or precision, a great deal of our reasoning, as, e.g., about men and camels, does in fact trust to the relative permanence of natural Kinds as defined by co-inhering attributes.

To see this more clearly, we should consider that causation and natural Kinds are not at present separable; propositions about causation in concrete phenomena (as distinct from abstract 'forces') always involve the assumption of Kinds. For example—'Water rusts iron,' or the oxygen of water combines with iron immersed in it to form rust: this statement of causation assumes that water, oxygen, iron, and iron-rust are known Kinds. On the other hand, the constitution of every concrete thing, and manifestly of every organised body, is always undergoing change, that is, causation, upon which fact its properties depend.

How, then, can we frame principles of mediate reasoning, about such things? So far as we consider them as Kinds, it is enough to say: Whatever can be identified as a specimen of a known substance or Kind has the properties of that Kind. So far as we consider them as in the relation of causation, we may say: Whatever relation of events can be identified with the relation of cause and effect is constant. And these principles may be generalised thus: Whatever is constantly related to a phenomenon (cause or Kind), determined by certain characters, is related in the same way to any phenomenon, that has the same characters. Taking this as axiom of the syllogism materially treated, we see that herbivorousness, being constantly related to ruminants, is constantly related to camels; mortality to man and, therefore, to Socrates; rusting to the immersion of iron in water generally and, therefore, to this piece of iron. Nota notæ, nota rei ipsius is another statement of the same principle; still another is Mill's axiom, "Whatever has a mark has what it is a mark of." A mark is anything (A) that is never found without something else (B)—a phenomenon constantly related to another phenomenon—so that wherever A is found, B may be expected: human nature is a mark of mortality.

§ 6. The Syllogism has sometimes been discarded by those who have only seen that, as formally stated, it is either useless or fallacious: but those who also perceive its material grounds retain and defend it. In fact, great advantages are gained by stating an argument as a formal syllogism. For, in the first place, we can then examine separately the three conditions on which the validity of the argument depends:

(1) Are the Premises so connected that, if they are true, the Conclusion follows? This depends upon the formal principles of [chap. x.]

(2) Is the Minor Premise true? This question can only arise when the minor premise is a real proposition; and then it may be very difficult to answer. Water rusts iron; but is the metal we are now dealing with a fair specimen of iron? Few people, comparatively, know how to determine whether diamonds, or even gold or silver coins, are genuine. That Camels are ruminants is now a verbal proposition to a Zoologist, but not to the rest of us; and to the Zoologist the ascertaining of the relation in which camels stand to such ruminants as oxen and deer, was not a matter of analysing words but of dissecting specimens. What a long controversy as to whether the human race constitutes a Family of the Primates! That 'the British Empire is an empire' affords no matter for doubt or inquiry; but how difficult to judge whether the British Empire resembles Assyria, Egypt, Rome, Spain in those characters and circumstances that caused their downfall!

(3) Is the Major Premise true? Are all ruminants herbivorous? If there be any exceptions to the rule, camels are likely enough to be among the exceptions. And here the need of Inductive Logic is most conspicuous: how can we prove our premises when they are universal propositions? Universal propositions, however, are also involved in proving the minor premise: to prove a thing to be iron, we must know the constant reactions of iron.

A second advantage of the syllogism is, that it makes us fully aware of what an inference implies. An inference must have some grounds, or else it is a mere prejudice; but whatever the grounds, if sufficient in a particular case, they must be sufficient for all similar cases, they must admit of being generalised; and to generalise the grounds of the inference, is nothing else than to state the major premise. If the evidence is sufficient to justify the argument that camels are herbivorous because they are ruminants, it must also justify the major premise, All ruminants are herbivorous; for else the inference cannot really depend merely upon the fact of ruminating. To state our evidence syllogistically, then, must be possible, if the evidence is mediate and of a logical kind; and to state it in this formal way, as depending on the truth of a general principle (the major premise), increases our sense of responsibility for the inference that is thus seen to imply so much; and if any negative instances lie within our knowledge, we are the more likely to remember them. The use of syllogisms therefore tends to strengthen our reasonings.

A third advantage is, that to formulate an accurate generalisation may be useful to others: it is indeed part of the systematic procedure of science. The memoranda of our major premises, or reasons for believing anything, may be referred to by others, and either confirmed or refuted. When such a memorandum is used for further inferences, these inferences are said, in the language of Formal Logic, to be drawn from it, as if the conclusion were contained in our knowledge of the major premise; but, considering the limited extent of the material evidence, it is better to say that the inference is drawn according to the memorandum or major premise, since the grounds of the major premise and of the conclusion are in fact the same (Mill: Logic, B. II. c. 3). Inductive proofs may be stated in Syllogisms, and inductive inferences are drawn according to the Law of Causation.

§ 7. To assume that resemblance is a ground of inference, and that substance and attribute, or cause and effect, are phenomena constantly related, implies belief in the Uniformity of Nature. The Uniformity of Nature cannot be defined, and is therefore liable to be misunderstood. In many ways Nature seems not to be uniform: there is great variety in the sizes, shapes, colours and all other properties of things: bodies falling in the open air—pebbles, slates, feathers—descend in different lines and at different rates; the wind and weather are proverbially uncertain; the course of trade or of politics, is full of surprises. Yet common maxims, even when absurd, testify to a popular belief that the relations of things are constant: the doctrine of St. Swithin and the rhyme beginning 'Evening red and morning grey,' show that the weather is held to be not wholly unpredictable; as to human affairs, it is said that 'a green Yule makes a fat churchyard,' that 'trade follows the flag,' and that 'history repeats itself'; and Superstition knows that witches cannot enter a stable-door if a horse-shoe is nailed over it, and that the devil cannot cross a threshold inscribed with a perfect pentagram. But the surest proof of a belief in the uniformity of nature is given by the conduct of men and animals; by that adherence to habit, custom and tradition, to which in quiet times they chiefly owe their safety, but which would daily disappoint and destroy them, if it were not generally true that things may be found where they have been left and that in similar circumstances there are similar events.

Now this general belief, seldom distinctly conceived, for the most part quite unconscious (as a principle), merely implied in what men do, is also the foundation of all the Sciences; which are entirely occupied in seeking the Laws (that is, the Uniformities) of Nature. As the uniformity of nature cannot be defined, it cannot be proved; the most convincing evidence in its favour is the steady progress made by Science whilst trusting in it. Nevertheless, what is important is not the comprehensive but indeterminate notion of Uniformity so much as a number of First Principles, which may be distinguished in it as follows:

(1) The Principles of Contradiction and Excluded Middle ([ch. vi. § 3]) declare that in a given relation to a given phenomenon any two or more other phenomena are incompatible (B is not A and a); whilst the given phenomenon either stands related to another phenomenon or not (B is either A or a). It is not only a matter of Logic but of fact that, if a leaf is green, it is not under the same conditions red or blue, and that if it is not green it is some other colour.

(2) Certain Axioms of Mediate Evidence: as, in Mathematics, 'that magnitudes equal to the same magnitude are equal to one another'; and, in Logic, the Dictum or its material equivalent.

(3) That all Times and all Spaces are commensurable; although in certain relations of space (as π) the unit of measurement must be infinitely small.—If Time really trotted with one man and galloped with another, as it seems to; if space really swelled in places, as De Quincey dreamed that it did; life could not be regulated, experience could not be compared and science would be impossible. The Mathematical Axioms would then never be applicable to space or time, or to the objects or processes that fill them.

(4) The Persistence of Matter and Energy: the physical principle that, in all changes of the universe, the quantities of Matter and Energy (actual and potential, so-called) remain the same.—For example, as to matter, although dew is found on the grass at morning without any apparent cause, and although a candle seems to burn away to a scrap of blackened wick, yet every one knows that the dew has been condensed from vapour in the air, and that the candle has only turned into gas and smoke. As to energy, although a stone thrown up to the housetop and resting there has lost actual energy, it has gained such a position that the slightest touch may bring it to the earth again in the same time as it took to travel upwards; so on the house-top it is said to have potential energy. When a boiler works an engine, every time the piston is thrust forward (mechanical energy), an equivalent in heat (molecular energy) is lost. But for the elucidation of these principles, readers must refer to treatises of Chemistry and Physics.

(5) Causation, a special form of the foregoing principles of the persistence of matter and energy, we shall discuss in the next chapter. It is not to be conceived of as anything occult or noumenal, but merely as a special mode of the uniformity of Nature or experience.

(6) Certain Uniformities of Co-existence; but for want of a general principle of Co-existence, corresponding to Causation (the principle of Succession), we can only classify these uniformities as follows:

(a) The Geometrical; as that, in a four-sided figure, if the opposite angles are equal, the opposite sides are equal and parallel.—Countless similar uniformities of co-existence are disclosed by Geometry. The co-existent facts do not cause one another, nor are they jointly caused by something else; they are mutually involved: such is the nature of space.

(b) Universal co-inherences among the properties of concrete things.—The chief example is the co-inherence of gravity with inertia in all material bodies. There is, I believe, no other entirely satisfactory case; but some good approximations to such uniformity are known to physical science.

(c) Co-existence due to Causation; such as the positions of objects in space at any time.—The houses of a town are where they are, because they were put there; and they remain in their place as long as no other causes arise strong enough to remove or destroy them. Similarly, the relative positions of rocks in geological strata, and of trees in a forest, are due to causes.

(d) The co-inherence of properties in Natural Kinds; which we call the constitution, defining characters, or specific nature of such things.—Oxygen, platinum, sulphur and the other elements; water, common salt, alcohol and other compounds; the various species of plants and animals: all these are known to us as different groups of co-inherent properties. It may be conjectured that these groupings of properties are also due to causation, and sometimes the causes can be traced: but very often the causes are still unknown; and, until resolved into their causes, they must be taken as necessary data in the investigation of nature. Laws of the co-inherence of the properties of Kinds do not, like laws of causation, admit of methodical proof upon their own principles, but only by constancy in experience and statistical probability ([c. xix, § 4]).

(e) There are also a few cases in which properties co-exist in an unaccountable way, without being co-extensive with any one species, genus, or order: as most metals are whitish, and scarlet flowers are wanting in fragrance. (On this § 7, see Venn's Empirical Logic, c. 4.)

§ 8. Inasmuch as Axioms of Uniformity are ultimate truths, they cannot be deduced; and inasmuch as they are universal, no proof by experience can ever be adequate. The grounds of our belief in them seem to be these:

(1) Every inference takes for granted an order of Nature corresponding with it; and every attempt to explain the origin of anything assumes that it is the transformation of something else: so that uniformity of order and conservation of matter and energy are necessary presuppositions of reasoning.

(2) On the rise of philosophic reflection, these tacit presuppositions are first taken as dogmas, and later as postulates of scientific generalisation, and of the architectonic unification of science. Here they are indispensable.

(3) The presuppositions or postulates are, in some measure, verifiable in practical life and in scientific demonstration, and the better verifiable as our methods become more exact.

(4) There is a cause of this belief that cannot be said to contain any evidence for it, namely, the desire to find in Nature a foundation for confidence in our own power to foresee and to control events.

CHAPTER XIV

CAUSATION

§ 1. For the theory of Induction, the specially important aspect of the Uniformity of Nature is Causation.

For (1) the Principles of Contradiction and Excluded Middle are implied in all logical operations, and need no further explication.

(2) That one thing is a mark of another or constantly related to it, must be established by Induction; and the surest of all marks is a Cause. So that the application of the axiom of the Syllogism in particular cases requires, when most valid, a previous appeal to Causation.

(3) The uniformity of Space and of Time is involved in Causation, so far as we conceive Causation as essentially matter in motion—for motion is only known as a traversing of space in time; and so far as forces vary in any way according to the distance between bodies; so that if space and time were not uniform, causation would be irregular. Not that time and space are agents, but they are conditions of every agent's operation.

(4) The persistence of Matter and Energy, being nothing else than Causation in the general movement of the world, is applied under the name of that principle in explaining any particular limited phenomenon, such as a soap-bubble, or a thunderstorm, or the tide.

(5) As to co-existences, the Geometrical do not belong to Logic: those involved in the existence of plants, animals, and inorganic bodies, must, as far as possible, be traced to causes; and so, of course, must the relative positions of objects in space at any time: and what Co-existences remain do not admit of methodical inductive treatment; they will be briefly discussed in [chap. xix.]

Causation, then, is that mode or aspect of the Uniformity of Nature which especially concerns us in Induction; and we must make it as definite as possible. It is nothing occult, but merely a convenient name for phenomena in a particular relation to other phenomena, called their effect. Similarly, if the word 'force' is sometimes used for convenience in analysing causation, it means nothing more than something in time and space, itself moving, or tending to move, or hindering or accelerating other things. If any one does not find these words convenient for the purpose, he can use others.

§ 2. A Cause, according to Mill, is "the invariable unconditional antecedent" of a given phenomenon. To enlarge upon this:

(1) A Cause is relative to a given phenomenon, called the Effect. Logic has no method for investigating the cause of the universe as a whole, but only of a part or epoch of it: we select from the infinite continuum of Nature any portion that is neither too large nor too small for a trained mind to comprehend. The magnitude of the phenomenon may be a matter of convenience. If the cause of disease in general be too wide a problem, can fevers be dealt with; or, if that be too much, is typhus within the reach of inquiry? In short, how much can we deal with accurately?

(2) The given phenomenon is always an event; that is to say, not a new thing (nothing is wholly new), but a change in something, or in the relative position of things. We may ask the cause of the phases of the moon, of the freezing of water, of the kindling of a match, of a deposit of chalk, of the differentiation of species. To inquire the cause of France being a republic, or Russia an autocracy, implies that these countries were once otherwise governed, or had no government: to inquire the cause of the earth being shaped like an orange, implies that the matter of the earth had once another shape.

(3) The Cause is antecedent to the Effect, which accordingly is often called its consequent. This is often misunderstood and sometimes disputed. It has been said that the meaning of 'cause' implies an 'effect,' so that until an effect occurs there can be no cause. But this is a blunder; for whilst the word 'cause' implies 'effect,' it also implies the relative futurity of the effect; and effect implies the relative priority of the cause. The connotation of the words, therefore, agrees well enough with Mill's doctrine. In fact, the danger is that any pair of contrasted words may suggest too strongly that the phenomena denoted are separate in Nature; whereas every natural process is continuous. If water, dripping from the roof wears away a stone, it fell on the roof as rain; the rain came from a condensing cloud; the cloud was driven by the wind from the sea, whence it exhaled; and so on. There is no known beginning to this, and no break in it. We may take any one of these changes, call it an effect, and ask for its cause; or call it a cause, and ask for its effect. There is not in Nature one set of things called causes and another called effects; but every change is both cause (or a condition) of the future and effect of the past; and whether we consider an event as the one or the other, depends upon the direction of our curiosity or interest.

Still, taking the event as effect, its cause is the antecedent process; or, taking it as a cause, its effect is the consequent process. This follows from the conception of causation as essentially motion; for that motion takes time is (from the way our perceptive powers grow) an ultimate intuition. But, for the same reason, there is no interval of time between cause and effect; since all the time is filled up with motion.

Nor must it be supposed that the whole cause is antecedent to the effect as a whole: for we often take the phenomenon on such a scale that minutes, days, years, ages, may elapse before we consider the cause as exhausted (e.g., an earthquake, a battle, an expansion of credit, natural selection operating on a given variety); and all that time the effect has been accumulating. But we may further consider such a cause as made up of moments or minute factors, and the effect as made up of corresponding moments; and then the cause, taken in its moments, is antecedent throughout to the effect, taken in its corresponding moments.

(4) The Cause is the invariable antecedent of the effect; that is to say, whenever a given cause occurs it always has the same effect: in this, in fact, consists the Uniformity of Causation. Accordingly, not every antecedent of an event is its Cause: to assume that it is so, is the familiar fallacy of arguing 'post hoc ergo propter hoc.' Every event has an infinite number of antecedents that have no ascertainable connection with it: if a picture falls from the wall in this room, there may have occurred, just previously, an earthquake in New Zealand, an explosion in a Japanese arsenal, a religious riot in India, a political assassination in Russia and a vote of censure in the House of Commons, besides millions of other less noticeable events, between none of which and the falling of the picture can any direct causation be detected; though, no doubt, they are all necessary occurrences in the general world-process, and remotely connected. The cause, however, was that a door slammed violently in the room above and shook the wall, and that the picture was heavy and the cord old and rotten. Even if two events invariably occur one after the other, as day follows night, or as the report follows the flash of a gun, they may not be cause and effect, though it is highly probable that they are closely connected by causation; and in each of these two examples the events are co-effects of a common cause, and may be regarded as elements of its total effect. Still, whilst it is not true that every antecedent, or that every invariable antecedent, of an event is its cause, the cause is conceived of as some change in certain conditions, or some state and process of things, such that should it exactly recur the same event would invariably follow. If we consider the antecedent state and process of things very widely or very minutely, it never does exactly recur; nor does the consequent. But the purpose of induction is to get as near the truth as possible within the limits set by our faculties of observation and calculation. Complex causal instances that are most unlikely to recur as a whole, may be analysed into the laws of their constituent conditions.

(5) The Cause is the Unconditional Antecedent. A cause is never simple, but may be analysed into several conditions; and 'Condition' means any necessary factor of a Cause: any thing or agent that exerts, absorbs, transforms, or deflects energy; or any relation of time or space in which agents stand to one another. A positive condition is one that cannot be omitted without frustrating the effect; a negative condition is one that cannot be introduced without frustrating the effect. In the falling of the picture, e.g., the positive conditions were the picture (as being heavy), the slamming of the door, and the weakness of the cord: a negative condition was that the picture should have no support but the cord. When Mill, then, defines the Cause of any event as its "unconditional" antecedent, he means that it is that group of conditions (state and process of things) which, without any further condition, is followed by the event in question: it is the least antecedent that suffices, positive conditions being present and negative absent.

Whatever item of the antecedent can be left out, then, without affecting the event, is no part of the cause. Earthquakes have happened in New Zealand and votes of censure in the House of Commons without a picture's falling in this room: they were not unconditional antecedents; something else was needed to bring down a picture. Unconditionality also distinguishes a true cause from an invariable antecedent that is only a co-effect: for when day follows night something else happens; the Earth rotates upon her axis: a flash of gunpowder is not an unconditional antecedent of a report; the powder must be ignited in a closed chamber.

By common experience, and more precisely by experiment, it is found possible to select from among the antecedents of an event a certain number upon which, so far as can be perceived, it is dependent, and to neglect the rest: to purge the cause of all irrelevant antecedents is the great art of inductive method. Remote or minute conditions may indeed modify the event in ways so refined as to escape our notice. Subject to the limitations of our human faculties, however, we are able in many cases to secure an unconditional antecedent upon which a certain event invariably follows. Everybody takes this for granted: if the gas will not burn, or a gun will not go off, we wonder 'what can be wrong with it,' that is, what positive condition is wanting, or what negative one is present. No one now supposes that gunnery depends upon those "remotest of all causes," the stars, or upon the sun being in Sagittarius rather than in Aquarius, or that one shoots straightest with a silver bullet, or after saying the alphabet backwards.

(6) That the Cause of any event is an Immediate Antecedent follows from its being an unconditional one. For if there are three events, A B C, causally connected, it is plain that A is not the unconditional antecedent of C, but requires the further condition of first giving rise to B. But that is not all; for the B that gives rise to C is never merely the effect of A; it involves something further. Take such a simple case as the motion of the earth round the sun (neglecting all other conditions, the other planets, etc.); and let the earth's motion at three successive moments be A B C: A is not the whole cause of B in velocity and direction; we must add relation to the sun, say x. But then, again, the cause of C will not be merely Bx, for the relation to the sun will have altered; so that we must represent it as Bx'. The series, therefore, is Ax Bx' C. What is called a "remote cause" is, therefore, doubly conditional; first, because it supposes an intervening cause; and secondly, because it only in part determines the conditions that constitute this intervening cause.

The immediacy of a cause being implied in its unconditionalness, is an important clue to it; but as far as the detection of causes depends upon sense-perception, our powers (however aided by instruments) are unequal to the subtlety of Nature. Between the event and what seems to us the immediate antecedent many things (molecular or etherial changes) may happen in Chemistry or Physics. The progress of science would be impossible were not observation supplemented by hypothesis and calculation. And where phenomena are treated upon a large scale, as in the biological and social sciences, immediacy, as a mark of causation, must be liberally interpreted. So far, then, as to the qualitative character of Causation.

(7) But to complete our account of it, we must briefly consider its quantitative character. As to the Matter contained, and as to the Energy embodied, Cause and Effect are conceived to be equal. As to matter, indeed, they may be more properly called identical; since the effect is nothing but the cause redistributed. When oxygen combines with hydrogen to form water, or with mercury to form red precipitate, the weight of the compound is exactly equal to the weight of the elements combined in it; when a shell explodes and knocks down a wall, the materials of the shell and wall are scattered about. As to energy, we see that in the heavenly bodies, which meet with no sensible impediment, it remains the same from age to age: with things 'below the moon' we have to allow for the more or less rapid conversion of the visible motion of a mass into other forms of energy, such as sound and heat. But the right understanding of this point involves physical considerations of some difficulty, as to which the reader must refer to appropriate books, such as Balfour Stewart's on The Conservation of Energy.

The comprehension of the quantitative aspect of causation is greatly aided by Bain's analysis of any cause into a 'Moving or an Inciting Power' and a 'Collocation' of circumstances. When a demagogue by making a speech stirs up a mob to a riot, the speech is the moving or inciting power; the mob already in a state of smouldering passion, and a street convenient to be wrecked, are the collocation. When a small quantity of strychnine kills a man, the strychnine is the inciting power; the nature of his nervo-muscular system, apt to be thrown into spasms by that drug, and all the organs of his body dependent on that system, are the collocation. Now any one who thinks only of the speech, or the drug, in these cases, may express astonishment at the disproportion of cause and effect:

"What great events from trivial causes spring!"

But, remembering that the whole cause of the riot included the excited mob, every one sees that its muscular power is enough to wreck a street; and remembering that breathing depends upon the normal action of the intercostal muscles, it is plain that if this action is stopped by strychnine, a man must die. Again, a slight rise of temperature may be a sufficient inciting power to occasion extensive chemical changes in a collocation of elements otherwise stable; a spark is enough to explode a powder magazine. Hence, when sufficient energy to account for any effect cannot be found in the inciting power, or manifestly active condition, we must look for it in the collocation which is often supposed to be passive.

And that reminds us of another common misapprehension, namely, that in Nature some things are passive and others active: the distinction between 'agent' and 'patient.' This is a merely relative distinction: in Nature all things are active. To the eye some things seem at rest and others in motion; but we know that nothing is really at rest, that everything palpitates with molecular change, and whirls with the planet through space. Everything that is acted upon reacts according to its own nature: the quietest-looking object (say, a moss-covered stone), if we try to push or lift it, pushes or pulls us back, assuring us that 'action and reaction are equal and opposite.' 'Inertia' does not mean want of vigour, but may be metaphorically described as the inexpugnable resolve of everything to have its own way.

The equality of cause and effect defines and interprets the unconditionality of causation. The cause, we have seen, is that group of conditions which, without any further condition, is followed by a given event. But how is such a group to be conceived? Unquantified, it admits only of a general description: quantified, it must mean a group of conditions equal to the effect in mass and energy, the essence of the physical world. Apparently, a necessary conception of the human mind: for if a cause seem greater than its effect, we ask what has become of the surplus matter and energy; or if an effect seem greater than its cause, we ask whence the surplus matter and energy has arisen. So convinced of this truth is every experimenter, that if his results present any deviation from it, he always assumes that it is he who has made some mistake or oversight, never that there is indeterminism or discontinuity in Nature.

The transformation of matter and energy, then, is the essence of causation: because it is continuous, causation is immediate; and because in the same circumstances the transformation always follows the same course, a cause has invariably the same effect. If a fire be lit morning after morning in the same grate, with coal, wood, and paper of the same quality and similarly arranged, there will be each day the same flaming of paper, crackling of wood and glowing of coal, followed in about the same time by the same reduction of the whole mass partly to ashes and partly to gases and smoke that have gone up the chimney. The flaming, crackling and glowing are, physically, modes of energy; and the change of materials into gas and ashes is a chemical and physical redistribution: and, if some one be present, he will be aware of all this; and then, besides the physical changes, there will be sensations of light, sound and heat; and these again will be always the same in the same circumstances.

The Cause of any event, then, when exactly ascertainable, has five marks: it is (quantitatively) equal to the effect, and (qualitatively) the immediate, unconditional, invariable antecedent of the effect.

§ 3. This scientific conception of causation has been developed and rendered definite by the investigations of those physical sciences that can avail themselves of exact experiments and mathematical calculation; and it is there, in Chemistry and Physics, that it is most at home. The conception can indeed be carried into the Biological and Social Sciences, even in its quantitative form, by making the proper allowances. For the limbs of animals are levers, and act upon mechanical principles; and digestion and the aeration of the blood by breathing are partly chemical processes. There is a quantitative relation between the food a man eats and the amount of work he can do. The numbers of any species of plant or animal depend upon the food supply. The value of a country's imports is equal to the value of its exports and of the services it renders to foreigners. But, generally, the less experiment and exact calculation are practicable in any branch of inquiry, the less rigorously can the conception of causation be applied there, the more will its application depend upon the qualitative marks, and the more need there will be to use it judiciously. In every inquiry the greatest possible precision must be aimed at; but it is unreasonable to expect in any case more precise proof than the subject admits of in the existing state of culture.

Wherever mental action is involved, there is a special difficulty in applying the physical notion of causation. For if a Cause be conceived of as matter in motion, a thought, or feeling, or volition can be neither cause nor effect. And since mental action is involved in all social affairs, and in the life of all men and animals, it may seem impossible to interpret social or vital changes according to laws of causation. Still, animals and men are moving bodies; and it is recognised that their thoughts and feelings are so connected with their movements and with the movements of other things acting upon them, that we can judge of one case by another; although the connection is by no means well understood, and the best words (such as all can agree to use) have not yet been found to express even what we know about it. Hence, a regular connection being granted, I have not hesitated, to use biological and social events and the laws of them, to illustrate causation and induction; because, though less exact than chemical or mechanical examples, they are to most people more familiar and interesting.

In practical affairs, it is felt that everything depends upon causation; how to play the fiddle, or sail a yacht, or get one's living, or defeat the enemy. The price of pig-iron six months hence, the prospects of the harvest, the issue in a Coroner's Court, Home Rule and Socialism, are all questions of causation. But, in such cases, the conception of a cause is rarely applied in its full scientific acceptation, as the unconditional antecedent, or 'all the conditions' (neither more nor less) upon which the event depends. This is not because men of affairs are bad logicians, or incapable of scientific comprehension; for very often the reverse is conspicuously true; but because practical affairs call for promptitude and a decisive seizing upon what is predominantly important. How learn to play the fiddle? "Go to a good teacher." (Then, beginning young enough, with natural aptitude and great diligence, all may be well.) How defeat the enemy? "Be two to one at the critical juncture." (Then, if the men are brave, disciplined, well armed and well fed, there is a good chance of victory.) Will the price of iron improve? "Yes: for the market is oversold": (that is, many have sold iron who have none to deliver, and must at some time buy it back; and that will put up the price—if the stock is not too great, if the demand does not fall off, and if those who have bought what they cannot pay for are not in the meanwhile obliged to sell.) These prompt and decisive judgments (with the parenthetic considerations unexpressed) as to what is the Cause, or predominantly important condition, of any event, are not as good as a scientific estimate of all the conditions, when this can be obtained; but, when time is short, the insight of trained sagacity may be much better than an imperfect theoretical treatment of such problems.

§ 4. To regard the Effect of certain antecedents in a narrow selective way, is another common mistake. In the full scientific conception of an Effect it is the sum of the unconditional consequences of a given state and process of things: the consequences immediately flowing from that situation without further conditions. Always to take account of all the consequences of any cause would no doubt be impracticable; still the practical, as well as the scientific interest, often requires that we should enlarge our views of them; and there is no commoner error in private effort or in legislation than to aim at some obvious good, whilst overlooking other consequences of our action, the evil of which may far outweigh that good. An important consequence of eating is to satisfy hunger, and this is the ordinary motive to eat; but it is a poor account of the physiological consequences. An important consequence of firing a gun is the propulsion of the bullet or shell; but there are many other consequences in the whole effect, and one of them is the heating of the barrel, which, accumulating with rapid firing, may at last put the gun out of action. The tides have consequences to shipping and in the wear and tear of the coast that draw every one's attention; but we are told that they also retard the rotation of the earth, and at last may cause it to present always the same face to the sun, and, therefore, to be uninhabitable. Such concurrent consequences of any cause may be called its Co-effects: the Effect being the sum of them.

The neglect to take account of the whole effect (that is, of all the co-effects) in any case of causation is perhaps the reason why many philosophers have maintained the doctrine of a "Plurality of Causes": meaning not that more than one condition is operative in the antecedent of every event (which is true), but that the same event may be due at different times to different antecedents, that in fact there may be vicarious causes. If, however, we take any effect as a whole, this does not seem to be true. A fire may certainly be lit in many ways: with a match or a flint and steel, or by rubbing sticks together, or by a flash of lightning: have we not here a plurality of causes? Not if we take account of the whole effect; for then we shall find it modified in each case according to the difference of the cause. In one case there will be a burnt match, in another a warm flint, in the last a changed state of electrical tension. And similar differences are found in cases of death under different conditions, as stabbing, hanging, cholera; or of shipwreck from explosion, scuttling, tempest. Hence a Coroner's Court expects to find, by examining a corpse, the precise cause of death. In short, if we knew the facts minutely enough, it would be found that there is only one Cause (sum of conditions) for each Effect (sum of co-effects), and that the order of events is as uniform backwards as forwards.

Still, as we are far from knowing events minutely, it is necessary in practical affairs, and even in the more complex and unmanageable scientific investigations, especially those that deal with human life, to acknowledge a possible plurality of causes for any effect. Indeed, forgetfulness of this leads to many rash generalisations; as that 'revolutions always begin in hunger'; or that 'myths are a disease of language.' Then there is great waste of ingenuity in reconciling such propositions with the recalcitrant facts. A scientific method recognises that there may be other causes of effects thus vaguely conceived, and then proceeds to distinguish in each class of effects the peculiarities due to different causes.

§ 5. The understanding of the complex nature of Causes and Effects helps us to overcome some other difficulties that perplex the use of these words. We have seen that the true cause is an immediate antecedent; but if the cause is confounded with one of its constituent conditions, it may seem to have long preceded the event which is regarded as its effect. Thus, if one man's death is ascribed to another's desire of revenge, this desire may have been entertained for years before the assassination occurred: similarly, if a shipwreck is ascribed to a sunken reef, the rock was waiting for ages before the ship sailed that way. But, of course, neither the desire of revenge nor the sunken rock was 'the sum of the conditions' on which the one or the other event depended: as soon as this is complete the effect appears.

We have also seen the true effect of any state and process of things is the immediate consequence; but if the effect be confounded with one of its constituent factors, it may seem to long outlive the cessation of the cause. Thus, in nearly every process of human industry and art, one factor of the effect—a road, a house, a tool, a picture—may, and generally does, remain long after the work has ceased: but such a result is not the whole effect of the operations that produce it. The other factors may be, and some always are, evanescent. In most of such works some heat is produced by hammering or friction, and the labourers are fatigued; but these consequences soon pass off. Hence the effect as a whole only momentarily survives the cause. Consider a pendulum which, having been once set agoing, swings to and fro in an arc, under the joint control of the shaft, gravitation and its own inertia: at every moment its speed and direction change; and each change may be considered as an effect, of which the antecedent change was one condition. In such a case as this, which, though a very simple, is a perfectly fair example of all causation, the duration of either cause or effect is quite insensible: so that, as Dr. Venn says, an Effect, rigorously conceived, is only "the initial tendency" of its Cause.

§ 6. Mill contrasted two forms under which causation appears to us: that is to say, the conditions constituting a cause may be modified, or 'intermixed' in the effect, in two ways, which are typified respectively by Mechanical and Chemical action. In mechanical causation, which is found in Astronomy and all branches of Physics, the effects are all reducible to modes of energy, and are therefore commensurable with their causes. They are either directly commensurable, as in the cases treated of in the consideration of the mechanical powers; or, if different forms of energy enter into cause and effect, such as mechanical energy, electrical energy, heat, these different forms are severally reducible to units, between which equivalents have been established. Hence Mill calls this the "homogeneous intermixture of effects," because the antecedents and consequents are fundamentally of the same kind.

In chemical causation, on the other hand, cause and effect (at least, as they present themselves to us) differ in almost every way: in the act of combination the properties of elements (except weight) disappear, and are superseded by others in the compound. If, for example, mercury (a heavy, silvery liquid) be heated in contact with oxygen (a colourless gas), oxide of mercury is formed (red precipitate, which is a powder). This compound presents very different phenomena from those of its elements; and hence Mill called this class of cases "the heteropathic intermixture of effects." Still, in chemical action, the effect is not (in Nature) heterogeneous with the cause: for the weight of a compound is equal to the sum of the weights of the elements that are merged in it; and an equivalence has been ascertained between the energy of chemical combination and the heat, light, etc., produced in the act of combination.

The heteropathic intermixture of effects is also found in organic processes (which, indeed, are partly chemical): as when a man eats bread and milk, and by digestion and assimilation converts them into nerve, muscle and bone. Such phenomena may make us wonder that people should ever have believed that 'effects resemble their causes,' or that 'like produces like.' A dim recognition of the equivalence of cause and effect in respect of matter and motion may have aided the belief; and the resemblance of offspring to parents may have helped: but it is probably a residuum of magical rites; in which to whistle may be regarded as a means of raising the wind, because the wind whistles; and rain-wizards may make a victim shed tears that the clouds also may weep.

§ 7. Another consideration arises out of the complex character of causes and effects. When a cause consists of two or more conditions or forces, we may consider what effect any one of them would have if it operated alone, that is to say, its Tendency. This is best illustrated by the Parallelogram of Forces: if two forces acting upon a point, but not in the same direction, be represented by straight lines drawn in the direction of the forces, and in length proportional to their magnitudes, these lines, meeting in an angle, represent severally the tendencies of the forces; whilst if the parallelogram be completed on these lines, the diagonal drawn from the point in which they meet represents their Resultant or effect.

Again, considering the tendency of any force if it operated alone, we may say that, when combined with another force (not in the same direction) in any resultant, its tendency is counteracted: either partially, when the direction of the resultant is different; or wholly when, the other force being equal and opposite, the resultant is equilibrium. If the two forces be in the same direction, they are merely added together. Counteraction is only one mode of combination; in no case is any force destroyed.

Sometimes the separate tendencies of combined forces can only be theoretically distinguished: as when the motion of a projectile is analysed into a tendency to travel in the straight line of its discharge, and a tendency to fall straight to the ground. But sometimes a tendency can be isolated: as when,—after dropping a feather in some place sheltered from the wind, and watching it drift to and fro, as the air, offering unequal resistances to its uneven surface, counteracts its weight with varying success, until it slowly settles upon the ground,—we take it up and drop it again in a vacuum, when it falls like lead. Here we have the tendency of a certain cause (namely, the relation between the feather and the earth) free from counteraction: and this is called the Elimination of the counteracting circumstances. In this case indeed there is physical elimination; whereas, in the case of a projectile, when we say that its actual motion is resolvable (neglecting the resistance of the air) into two tendencies, one in the line of discharge, the other earthwards, there is only theoretical elimination of either tendency, considered as counteracting the other; and this is more specifically called the Resolution or Analysis of the total effect into its component conditions. Now, Elimination and Resolution may be said to be the essential process of Induction in the widest sense of the term, as including the combination of Induction with Deduction.

The several conditions constituting any cause, then, by aiding or counteracting one another's tendencies, jointly determine the total effect. Hence, viewed in relation one to another, they may be said to stand in Reciprocity or mutual influence. This relation at any moment is itself one of co-existence, though it is conceived with reference to a possible effect. As Kant says, all substances, as perceived in space at the same time, are in reciprocal activity. And what is true of the world of things at any moment (as connected, say, by gravity), is true of any selected group of circumstances which we regard as the particular cause of any event to come. The use of the concept of reciprocity, then, lies in the analysis of a cause: we must not think of reciprocity as obtaining in the succession of cause and effect, as if the effect could turn back upon its cause; for as the effect arises its cause disappears, and is irrecoverable by Nature or Magic. There are many cases of rhythmic change and of moving equilibria, in which one movement or process produces another, and this produces something closely resembling the former, and so on in long series; as with the swing of a pendulum or the orbit of a planet: but these are series of cause and effect, not of reciprocity.

CHAPTER XV

INDUCTIVE METHOD

§ 1. It is necessary to describe briefly the process of investigating laws of causation, not with the notion of teaching any one the Art of Discovery, which each man pursues for himself according to his natural gifts and his experience in the methods of his own science, but merely to cast some light upon the contents of the next few chapters. Logic is here treated as a process of proof; proof supposes that some general proposition or hypothesis has been suggested as requiring proof; and the search for such propositions may spring from scientific curiosity or from practical interests.

We may, as Bain observes (Logic: B. iii. ch. 5), desire to detect a process of causation either (1) amidst circumstances that have no influence upon the process but only obscure it; as when, being pleased with a certain scent in a garden, we wish to know from what flower it rises; or, being attracted by the sound of some instrument in an orchestra, we desire to know which it is: or (2) amidst circumstances that alter the effect from what it would have been by the sole operation of some cause; as when the air deflects a falling feather; or in some more complex case, such as a rise or fall of prices that may extend over many years.

To begin with, we must form definite ideas as to what the phenomenon is that we are about to investigate; and in a case of any complexity this is best done by writing a detailed description of it: e.g., to investigate the cause of a recent fall of prices, we must describe exactly the course of the phenomenon, dating the period over which it extends, recording the successive fluctuations of prices, with their maxima and minima, and noting the classes of goods or securities that were more or less affected, etc.

Then the first step of elimination (as Bain further observes) is "to analyse the situation mentally," in the light of analogies suggested by our experience or previous knowledge. Dew, for example, is moisture formed upon the surface of bodies from no apparent source. But two possible sources are easily suggested by common experience: is it deposited from the air, like the moisture upon a mirror when we breathe upon it; or does it exude from the bodies themselves, like gum or turpentine? Or, again, as to a fall of prices, a little experience in business, or knowledge of Economics, readily suggests two possible explanations: either cheaper production in making goods or carrying them; or a scarcity of that in which the purchasing power of the chief commercial nations is directly expressed, namely, gold.

Having thus analysed the situation and considered the possibility of one, two, three, or more possible causes, we fix upon one of them for further investigation; that is to say, we frame an hypothesis that this is the cause. When an effect is given to find its cause, an inquirer nearly always begins his investigations by thus framing an hypothesis as to the cause.

The next step is to try to verify this Hypothesis. This we may sometimes do by varying the circumstances of the phenomenon, according to the Canons of direct Inductive Proof to be discussed in the next chapter; that is to say, by observing or experimenting in such a way as to get rid of or eliminate the obscuring or disturbing conditions. Thus, to find out which flower in a garden gives a certain scent, it is usually enough to rely on observation, going up to the likely flowers one after the other and smelling them: at close quarters, the greater relative intensity of the scent is sufficiently decisive. Or we may resort to a sort of experiment, plucking a likely flower, as to which we frame the hypothesis (this is the cause), and carrying it to some place where the air is free from conflicting odours. Should observation or experiment disprove our first hypothesis we try a second; and so on until we succeed, or exhaust the known possibilities.

But if the phenomenon is so complex and extensive as a continuous fall of prices, direct observation or experiment is a useless or impossible method; and we must then resort to Deduction; that is, to indirect Induction. If, for example, we take the hypothesis that the fall is due to a scarcity of gold, we must show that there is a scarcity; what effect such a scarcity may be expected to have upon prices from the acknowledged laws of prices, and from the analogy of other cases of an expanded or restricted currency; that this expectation agrees with the statistics of recent commerce: and finally, that the alternative hypothesis that the fall is due to cheaper production is not true; either because there has not been a sufficient cheapening of general production; or because, if there has been, the results to be rationally expected from it are not such as to agree with the statistics of recent commerce. ([Ch. xviii.])

But now suppose that, a phenomenon having been suggested for explanation, we are unable at the time to think of any cause—to frame any hypothesis about it; we must then wait for the phenomenon to occur again, and, once more observing its course and accompaniments and trying to recall its antecedents, do our best to conceive an hypothesis, and proceed as before. Thus, in the first great epidemic of influenza, some doctors traced it to a deluge in China, others to a volcanic eruption near Java; some thought it a mild form of Asiatic plague, and others caught a specific microbe. As the disease often recurred, there were fresh opportunities of framing hypotheses; and the microbe was identified.

Again, the investigation may take a different form: given a supposed Cause to find its Effect; e.g., a new chemical element, to find what compounds it forms with other elements; or, the spots on the sun—have they any influence upon our weather?

Here, if the given cause be under control, as a new element may be, it is possible to try experiments with it according to the Canons of Inductive Proof. The inquirer may form some hypothesis or expectation as to the effects, to guide his observation of them, but will be careful not to hold his expectation so confidently as to falsify his observation of what actually happens.

But if the cause be, like the sun-spots, not under control, the inquirer will watch on all sides what events follow their appearance and development; he must watch for consequences of the new cause he is studying in many different circumstances, that his observations may satisfy the canons of proof. But he will also resort for guidance to deduction; arguing from the nature of the cause, if anything is known of its nature, what consequences may be expected, and comparing the results of this deduction with any consequent which he suspects to be connected with the cause. And if the results of deduction and observation agree, he will still consider whether the facts observed may not be due to some other cause.

A cause, however, may be under control and yet be too dangerous to experiment with; such as the effects of a poison—though, if too dangerous to experiment with upon man, it may be tried upon animals; or such as a proposed change of the constitution by legislation; or even some minor Act of Parliament, for altering the Poor Law, or regulating the hours of labour. Here the first step must be deductive. We must ask what consequences are to be expected from the nature of the change (comparing it with similar changes), and from the laws of the special circumstances in which it is to operate? And sometimes we may partially verify our deduction by trying experiments upon a small scale or in a mild form. There are conflicting deductions as to the probable effect of giving Home Rule to Ireland; and experiments have been made in more or less similar cases, as in the Colonies and in some foreign countries. As to the proposal to make eight hours the legal limit of a day's labour in all trades, we have all tried to forecast the consequences of this; and by way of verification we might begin with nine hours; or we might induce some other country to try the experiment first. Still, no verification by experiments on a small scale, or in a mild form, or in somewhat similar yet different circumstances, can be considered logically conclusive. What proofs are conclusive we shall see in the following chapters.

§ 2. To begin with the conditions of direct Induction.—An Induction is an universal real proposition, based on observation, in reliance on the uniformity of Nature: when well ascertained, it is called a Law. Thus, that all life depends on the presence of oxygen is (1) an universal proposition; (2) a real one, since the 'presence of oxygen' is not connoted by 'life'; (3) it is based on observation; (4) it relies on the uniformity of Nature, since all cases of life have not been examined.

Such a proposition is here called 'an induction,' when it is inductively proved; that is, proved by facts, not merely deduced from more general premises (except the premise of Nature's uniformity): and by the 'process of induction' is meant the method of inductive proof. The phrase 'process of induction' is often used in another sense, namely for the inference or judgment by which such propositions are arrived at. But it is better to call this 'the process of hypothesis,' and to regard it as a preliminary to the process of induction (that is, proof), as furnishing the hypothesis which, if it can stand the proper tests, becomes an induction or law.

§ 3. Inductive proofs are usually classed as Perfect and Imperfect. They are said to be perfect when all the instances within the scope of the given proposition have been severally examined, and the proposition has been found true in each case. But we have seen ([chap. xiii. § 2]) that the instances included in universal propositions concerning Causes and Kinds cannot be exhaustively examined: we do not know all planets, all heat, all liquids, all life, etc.; and we never can, since a man's life is never long enough. It is only where the conditions of time, place, etc., are arbitrarily limited that examination can be exhaustive. Perfect induction might show (say) that every member of the present House of Commons has two Christian names. Such an argument is sometimes exhibited as a Syllogism in Darapti with a Minor premise in U., which legitimates a Conclusion in A., thus:

A.B. to Z have two Christian names;
A.B. to Z are all the present M.P.'s:
∴ All the present M.P.'s have two Christian names.

But in such an investigation there is no need of logical method to find the major premise; it is mere counting: and to carry out the syllogism is a hollow formality. Accordingly, our definition of Induction excludes the kind unfortunately called Perfect, by including in the notion of Induction a reliance on the uniformity of Nature; for this would be superfluous if every instance in question had been severally examined. Imperfect Induction, then, is what we have to deal with: the method of showing the credibility of an universal real proposition by an examination of some of the instances it includes, generally a small fraction of them.

§ 4. Imperfect Induction is either Methodical or Immethodical. Now, Method is procedure upon a principle; and if the method is to be precise and conclusive, the principle must be clear and definite.

There is a Geometrical Method, because the axioms of Geometry are clear and definite, and by their means, with the aid of definitions, laws are deduced of the equality of lines and angles and other relations of position and magnitude in space. The process of proof is purely Deductive (the axioms and definitions being granted). Diagrams are used not as facts for observation, but merely to fix our attention in following the general argument; so that it matters little how badly they are drawn, as long as their divergence from the conditions of the proposition to be proved is not distracting. Even the appeal to "superposition" to prove the equality of magnitudes (as in Euclid I. 4), is not an appeal to observation, but to our judgment of what is implied in the foregoing conditions. Hence no inference is required from the special case to all similar ones; for they are all proved at once.

There is also, as we have seen, a method of Deductive Logic resting on the Principles of Consistency and the Dictum de omni et nullo. And we shall find that there is a method of Inductive Logic, resting on the principle of Causation.

But there are a good many general propositions, more or less trustworthy within a certain range of conditions, which cannot be methodically proved for want of a precise principle by which they may be tested; and they, therefore, depend upon Immethodical Induction, that is, upon the examination of as many instances as can be found, relying for the rest upon the undefinable principle of the Uniformity of Nature, since we are not able to connect them with any of its definite modes enumerated in [chap. xiii. § 7]. To this subject we shall return in [chap. xix.], after treating of Methodical Induction, or the means of determining that a relation of events is of the nature of cause and effect, because the relation can be shown to have the marks of causation, or some of them.

§ 5. Observations and Experiments are the material grounds of Induction. An experiment is an observation made under prepared, and therefore known, conditions; and, when obtainable, it is much to be preferred. Simple observation shows that the burning of the fire depends, for one thing, on the supply of air; but it cannot show us that it depends on oxygen. To prove this we must make experiments as by obtaining pure oxygen and pure nitrogen (which, mixed in the proportion of one to four, form the air) in separate vessels, and then plunging a burning taper into the oxygen—when it will blaze fiercely; and again plunging it into the nitrogen—when it will be extinguished. This shows that the greater part of the air does nothing to keep the fire alight, except by diminishing its intensity and so making it last longer. Experiments are more perfect the more carefully they are prepared, and the more completely the conditions are known under which the given phenomenon is to be observed. Therefore, they become possible only when some knowledge has already been gained by observation; for else the preparation which they require could not be made.

Observation, then, was the first material ground of Induction, and in some sciences it remains the chief ground. The heavenly bodies, the winds and tides, the strata of the earth, and the movements of history, are beyond our power to experiment with. Experiments upon the living body or mind are indeed resorted to when practicable, even in the case of man, as now in all departments of Psychology; but, if of a grave nature, they are usually thought unjustifiable. And in political affairs experiments are hindered by the reflection, that those whose interests are affected must bear the consequences and may resent them. Hence, it is in physical and chemical inquiries and in the physiology of plants and animals (under certain conditions) that direct experiment is most constantly practised.

Where direct experiment is possible, however, it has many advantages over unaided observation. If one experiment does not enable us to observe the phenomenon satisfactorily, we may try again and again; whereas the mere observer, who wishes to study the bright spots on Mars, or a commercial crisis, must wait for a favourable opportunity. Again, in making experiments we can vary the conditions of the phenomenon, so as to observe its different behaviour in each case; whereas he who depends solely on observation must trust the bounty of nature to supply him with a suitable diversity of instances. It is a particular advantage of experiment that a phenomenon may sometimes be 'isolated,' that is, removed from the influence of all agents except that whose operation we desire to observe, or except those whose operation is already known: whereas a simple observer, who has no control over the conditions of the subject he studies, can never be quite sure that its movements or changes are not due to causes that have never been conspicuous enough to draw his attention. Finally, experiment enables us to observe coolly and circumspectly and to be precise as to what happens, the time of its occurrence, the order of successive events, their duration, intensity and extent.

But whether we proceed by observation or experiment, the utmost attainable exactness of measurements and calculation is requisite; and these presuppose some Unit, in multiples or divisions of which the result may be expressed. This unit cannot be an abstract number as in Arithmetic, but must be one something—an hour, or a yard, or a pound—according to the nature of the phenomenon to be measured. But what is an hour, or a yard or a pound? There must in each case be some constant Standard of reference to give assurance that the unit may always have the same value. "The English pound is defined by a certain lump of platinum preserved at Westminster." The unit may be identical with the standard or some division or multiple of it; and, in measuring the same kind of phenomena, different units may be used for different purposes as long as each bears a constant relation to the standard. Thus, taking the rotation of the earth as the standard of Time, the convenient unit for long periods is a year (which is a multiple); for shorter periods, a day (which is identical); for shorter still, an hour (which is a division), or a second, or a thousandth of a second. (See Jevons' Principles of Science, ch. 14.)

§ 6. The principle of Causation is the formal ground of Induction; and the Inductive Canons derived from it are means of testing the formal sufficiency of observations to justify the statement of a Law. If we can observe the process of cause and effect in nature we may generalise our observation into a law, because that process is invariable. First, then, can we observe the course of cause and effect? Our power to do so is limited by the refinement of our senses aided by instruments, such as lenses, thermometers, balances, etc. If the causal process is essentially molecular change, as in the maintenance of combustion by oxygen, we cannot directly observe it; if the process is partly cerebral or mental, as in social movements which depend on feeling and opinion, it can but remotely be inferred; even if the process is a collision of moving masses (billiard-balls), we cannot really observe what happens, the elastic yielding, and recoil and the internal changes that result; though no doubt photography will throw some light upon this, as it has done upon the galloping of horses and the impact of projectiles. Direct observation is limited to the effect which any change in a phenomenon (or its index) produces upon our senses; and what we believe to be the causal process is a matter of inference and calculation. The meagre and abstract outlines of Inductive Logic are apt to foster the notion, that the evidence on which Science rests is simple; but it is amazingly intricate and cumulative.

Secondly, so far as we can observe the process of nature, how shall we judge whether a true causal instance, a relation of cause and effect, is before us? By looking for the five marks of Causation. Thus, in the experiment above described, showing that oxygen supports combustion, we find—(1) that the taper which only glowed before being plunged into the oxygen, bursts into flame when there—Sequence; (2) that this begins to happen at once without perceptible interval—Immediacy; (3) that no other agent or disturbing circumstance was present (the preparation of the experiment having excluded any such thing)—Unconditionalness; (4) the experiment may be repeated as often as we like with the same result—Invariableness. Invariableness, indeed, I do not regard as formally necessary to be shown, supposing the other marks to be clear; for it can only be proved within our experience; and the very object of Induction is to find grounds of belief beyond actual experience. However, for material assurance, to guard against his own liability to error, the inquirer will of course repeat his experiments.

The above four are the qualitative marks of Causation: the fifth and quantitative mark is the Equality of Cause and Effect; and this, in the above example, the Chemist determines by showing that, instead of the oxygen and wax that have disappeared during combustion, an equivalent weight of carbon dioxide, water, etc., has been formed.

Here, then, we have all the marks of causation; but in the ordinary judgments of life, in history, politics, criticism, business, we must not expect such clear and direct proofs; in subsequent chapters it will appear how different kinds of evidence are combined in different departments of investigation.

§ 7. The Inductive Canons, to be explained in the next chapter, describe the character of observations and experiments that justify us in drawing conclusions about causation; and, as we have mentioned, they are derived from the principle of Causation itself. According to that principle, cause and effect are invariably, immediately and unconditionally antecedent and consequent, and are equal as to the matter and energy embodied.

Invariability can only be observed, in any of the methods of induction, by collecting more and more instances, or repeating experiments. Of course it can never be exhaustively observed.

Immediacy, too, in direct Induction, is a matter for observation the most exact that is possible.

Succession, or the relation itself of antecedent and consequent, must either be directly observed (or some index of it); or else ascertained by showing that energy gained by one phenomenon has been lost by another, for this implies succession.

But to determine the unconditionality of causation, or the indispensability of some condition, is the great object of the methods, and for that purpose the meaning of unconditionality may be further explicated by the following rules for the determination of a Cause.

A. Qualitative Determination

I.—For Positive Instances.

To prove a supposed Cause: (a) Any agent whose introduction among certain conditions (without further change) is followed by a given phenomenon; or, (b) whose removal is followed by the cessation (or modification) of that phenomenon, is (so far) the cause or an indispensable condition of it.

To find the Effect: (c) Any event that follows a given phenomenon, when there is no further change; or, (d) that does not occur when the conditions of a former occurrence are exactly the same, except for the absence of that phenomenon, is the effect of it (or is dependent on it).

II.—For Negative Instances.

To exclude a supposed Cause: (a) Any agent that can be introduced among certain conditions without being followed by a given phenomenon (or that is found without that phenomenon); or (b) that can be removed when that phenomenon is present without impairing it (or that is absent when that phenomenon is present), is not the cause, or does not complete the cause, of that phenomenon in those circumstances.

To exclude a supposed Effect: (c) Any event that occurs without the introduction (or presence) of a given phenomenon; or (d) that does not occur when that phenomenon is introduced (or is present), is not the effect of that phenomenon.

Subject to the conditions thus stated, the rules may be briefly put as follows:

I. (a) That which (without further change) is followed by a given event is its cause.

II. (a) That which is not so followed is not the cause.

I. (b) That which cannot be left out without impairing a phenomenon is a condition of it.

II. (b) That which can be left out is not a condition of it.

B. Quantitative Determination

The Equality of Cause and Effect may be further explained by these rules:

III. (a) When a cause (or effect) increases or decreases, so does its effect (or cause).

III. (b) If two phenomena, having the other marks of cause and effect, seem unequal, the less contains an unexplored factor.

III. (c) If an antecedent and consequent do not increase or decrease correspondingly, they are not cause and effect, so far as they vary.

It will next be shown that these propositions are variously combined in Mill's five Canons of Induction: Agreement, the Joint Method, Difference, Variations, Residues. The first three are sometimes called Qualitative Methods, and the two last Quantitative; and although this grouping is not quite accurate, seeing that Difference is often used quantitatively, yet it draws attention to an important distinction between a mere description of conditions and determination by exact measurement.

To avoid certain misunderstandings, some slight alterations have been made in the wording of the Canons. It may seem questionable whether the Canons add anything to the above propositions: I think they do. They are not discussed in the ensuing chapter merely out of reverence for Mill, or regard for a nascent tradition; but because, as describing the character of observations and experiments that justify us in drawing conclusions about causation, they are guides to the analysis of observations and to the preparation of experiments. To many eminent investigators the Canons (as such) have been unknown; but they prepared their work effectively so far only as they had definite ideas to the same purport. A definite conception of the conditions of proof is the necessary antecedent of whatever preparations may be made for proving anything.

CHAPTER XVI

THE CANONS OF DIRECT INDUCTION

§ 1. Let me begin by borrowing an example from Bain (Logic: B. III. c. 6). The North-East wind is generally detested in this country: as long as it blows few people feel at their best. Occasional well-known causes of a wind being injurious are violence, excessive heat or cold, excessive dryness or moisture, electrical condition, the being laden with dust or exhalations. Let the hypothesis be that the last is the cause of the North-East wind's unwholesome quality; since we know it is a ground current setting from the pole toward the equator and bent westward by the rotation of the earth; so that, reaching us over thousands of miles of land, it may well be fraught with dust, effluvia, and microbes. Now, examining many cases of North-East wind, we find that this is the only circumstance in which all the instances agree: for it is sometimes cold, sometimes hot; generally dry, but sometimes wet; sometimes light, sometimes violent, and of all electrical conditions. Each of the other circumstances, then, can be omitted without the N.E. wind ceasing to be noxious; but one circumstance is never absent, namely, that it is a ground current. That circumstance, therefore, is probably the cause of its injuriousness. This case illustrates:—

(I) The Canon of Agreement.

If two or more instances of a phenomenon under investigation have only one other circumstance (antecedent or consequent) in common, that circumstance is probably the cause (or an indispensable condition) or the effect of the phenomenon, or is connected with it by causation.

This rule of proof (so far as it is used to establish direct causation) depends, first, upon observation of an invariable connection between the given phenomenon and one other circumstance; and, secondly, upon I. (a) and II. (b) among the propositions obtained from the unconditionality of causation at the close of the last chapter.

To prove that A is causally related to p, suppose two instances of the occurrence of A, an antecedent, and p, a consequent, with concomitant facts or events—and let us represent them thus:

and suppose further that, in this case, the immediate succession of events can be observed. Then A is probably the cause, or an indispensable condition, of p. For, as far as our instances go, A is the invariable antecedent of p; and p is the invariable consequent of A. But the two instances of A or p agree in no other circumstance. Therefore A is (or completes) the unconditional antecedent of p. For B and C are not indispensable conditions of p, being absent in the second instance (Rule II. (b)); nor are D and E, being absent in the first instance. Moreover, q and r are not effects of A, being absent in the second instance (Rule II. (d)); nor are s and t, being absent in the first instance.

It should be observed that the cogency of the proof depends entirely upon its tending to show the unconditionality of the sequence A-p, or the indispensability of A as a condition of p. That p follows A, even immediately, is nothing by itself: if a man sits down to study and, on the instant, a hand-organ begins under his window, he must not infer malice in the musician: thousands of things follow one another every moment without traceable connection; and this we call 'accidental.' Even invariable sequence is not enough to prove direct causation; for, in our experience does not night invariable follow day? The proof requires that the instances be such as to show not merely what events are in invariable sequence, but also what are not. From among the occasional antecedents of p (or consequents of A) we have to eliminate the accidental ones. And this is done by finding or making 'negative instances' in respect of each of them. Thus the instance

is a negative instance of B and C considered as supposable causes of p (and of q and r as supposable effects of A); for it shows that they are absent when p (or A) is present.

To insist upon the cogency of 'negative instances' was Bacon's great contribution to Inductive Logic. If we neglect them, and merely collect examples of the sequence A-p, this is 'simple enumeration'; and although simple enumeration, when the instances of agreement are numerous enough, may give rise to a strong belief in the connection of phenomena, yet it can never be a methodical or logical proof of causation, since it does not indicate the unconditionalness of the sequence. For simple enumeration of the sequence A-p leaves open the possibility that, besides A, there is always some other antecedent of p, say X; and then X may be the cause of p. To disprove it, we must find, or make, a negative instance of X—where p occurs, but X is absent.

So far as we recognise the possibility of a plurality of causes, this method of Agreement cannot be quite satisfactory. For then, in such instances as the above, although D is absent in the first, and B in the second, it does not follow that they are not the causes of p; for they may be alternative causes: B may have produced p in the first instance, and D in the second; A being in both cases an accidental circumstance in relation to p. To remedy this shortcoming by the method of Agreement itself, the only course is to find more instances of p. We may never find a negative instance of A; and, if not, the probability that A is the cause of p increases with the number of instances. But if there be no antecedent that we cannot sometimes exclude, yet the collection of instances will probably give at last all the causes of p; and by finding the proportion of instances in which A, B, or X precedes p, we may estimate the probability of any one of them being the cause of p in any given case of its occurrence.

But this is not enough. Since there cannot really be vicarious causes, we must define the effect (p) more strictly, and examine the cases to find whether there may not be varieties of p, with each of which one of the apparent causes is correlated: A with p¹ B with p¹¹, X with p¹¹¹. Or, again, it may be that none of the recognised antecedents is effective: as we here depend solely on observation, the true conditions may be so recondite and disguised by other phenomena as to have escaped our scrutiny. This may happen even when we suppose that the chief condition has been isolated: the drinking of foul water was long believed to cause dysentery, because it was a frequent antecedent; whilst observation had overlooked the bacillus, which was the indispensable condition.