Chapter 6

[4] Every attribute of a mind consists either in being itself affected in a certain way, or affecting other minds in a certain way. Considered in itself, we can predicate nothing of it but the series of its own feelings. When we say of any mind, that it is devout, or superstitions, or meditative, or cheerful, we mean that the ideas, emotions, or volitions implied in those words, form a frequently recurring part of the series of feelings, or states of consciousness, which fill up the sentient existence of that mind.

In addition, however, to those attributes of a mind which are grounded on its own states of feeling, attributes may also be ascribed to it, in the same manner as to a body, grounded on the feelings which it excites in other minds. A mind does not, indeed, like a body, excite sensations, but it may excite thoughts or emotions. The most important example of attributes ascribed on this ground, is the employment of terms expressive of approbation of blame. When, for example, we say of any character, or (in other words) of any mind, that it is admirable, we mean that the contemplation of it excites the sentiment of admiration; and indeed somewhat more, for the word implies that we not only feel admiration, but approve that sentiment in ourselves. In some cases, under the semblance of a single attribute, two are really predicated: one of them, a state of the mind itself, the other, a state with which other minds are affected by thinking of it. As when we say of any one that he is generous, the word generosity expresses a certain state of mind, but being a term of praise, it also expresses that this state of mind excites in us another mental state, called approbation. The assertion made, therefore, is twofold, and of the following purport: Certain feelings form habitually a part of this person's sentient existence; and the idea of those feelings of his excites the sentiment of approbation in ourselves or others.

[5] Take the following example: A generous person is worthy of honour. Who would expect to recognize here a case of coexistence between phenomena? But so it is. The attribute which causes a person to be termed generous, is ascribed to him on the ground of states of his mind, and particulars of his conduct: both are phenomena; the former are facts of internal consciousness, the latter, so far as distinct from the former, are physical facts, or perceptions of the senses. Worthy of honour, admits a similar analysis. Honour, as here used, means a state of approving and admiring emotion, followed on occasion by corresponding outward acts. "Worthy of honour" connotes all this, together with our approval of the act of showing honour. All these are phenomena, states of internal consciousness, accompanied or followed by physical facts. When we say, A generous person is worthy of honour, we affirm coexistence between the two complicated phenomena connoted by the two terms respectively. We affirm, that wherever and whenever the inward feelings and outward facts implied in the word generosity have place, then and there the existence and manifestation of an inward feeling, honour, would be followed in our minds by another inward feeling, approval.

[6] Selon les logiciens idéalistes, on démêle cet être en consultant cette notion, et l'idée décomposée met l'essence à nu. Selon les logiciens classificateurs, on atteint cet être en logeant l'objet dans son groupe, et l'on définit cette notion en nommant le genre voisin et la différence propre. Les uns et les autres s'accordent à croire que nous pouvons saisir l'essence.

[7] An essential proposition, then, is one which is purely verbal; which asserts of a thing under a particular name only what is asserted of it in the fact of calling it by that name; and which therefore either gives no information, or gives it respecting the name, not the thing. Non-essential, or accidental propositions, on the contrary, may be called Real Propositions, in opposition to Verbal. They predicate of a thing some fact not involved in the signification of the name by which the proposition speaks of it; some attribute not connoted by that name.

[8] The definition, they say; unfolds the nature of the thing: but no definition can unfold its whole nature; and every proposition in which any quality whatever is predicated of the thing, unfolds some part of its nature. The true state of the case we take to be this. All definitions are of names, and of names only; but, in some definitions, it is clearly apparent, that nothing is intended except to explain the meaning of the word; while in others, besides explaining the meaning of the word, it is intended to be implied that there exists a thing, corresponding to the word.

[9] The definition above given of a triangle, obviously comprises not one, but two propositions, perfectly distinguishable. The one is, "There may exist a figure bounded by three straight lines;" the other, "And this figure may be termed a triangle". The former of these propositions is not a definition at all; the latter is a mere nominal defition, or explanation of the use and application of a term. The first is susceptible of truth or falsehood, and may therefore be made the foundation of a train of reasoning. The latter can neither be true nor false; the only character it is susceptible of is that of conformity to the ordinary usage of language.

[10] The mortality of John, Thomas and company is, after all, the whole evidence we have for the mortality of the duke of Wellington. Not one iota is added to the proof by interpolating a general proposition. Since the individual cases are all the evidence we can possess, evidence which no logical form into which we choose to throw it can make greater than it is; and since that evidence is either sufficient in itself, or, if insufficient for the one purpose, cannot be sufficient for the other; I am unable to see why we should be forbidden to take the shortest cut from these sufficient premisses to the conclusion, and constrained to travel the "high priori road", by the arbitrary fiat of logicians.

[11] All inference is from particulars to particulars: General propositions are merely registers of such inferences already made, and short formulae for making more: The major premiss of a syllogism, consequently, is a formula of this description: and the conclusion is not an inference drawn _from_ the formula, but an inference drawn _according_ to the formula: the real logical antecedent, or premisses, being the particular facts from which the general proposition was collected by induction. Those facts, and the individual instances which supplied them, may have been forgotten; but a record remains, not indeed descriptive of the facts themselves, but showing how those cases may be distinguished respecting which the facts, when known, were considered to warrant a given inference. According to the indications of this record we draw our conclusion, which is, to ail intents and purposes, a conclusion from the forgotten facts. For this it is essential that we should read the record correctly: and the rules of the syllogism are a set of precautions to ensure our doing so.

[12] If we had sufficiently capacious memories, and a sufficient power of maintaining order among a huge masse of details, the reasoning could go on without any general propositions; they are mere formulae for inferring particulars from particulars.

[13] For though, in order actually to see that two given lines never meet, it would be necessary to follow them to infinity; yet without doing so, we may know that if they ever do meet, or if, after diverging from one another, they begin again to approach, this must take place not at an infinite, but at a finite distance. Supposing, therefore, such to be the case, we can transport ourselves thither in imagination, and can frame a mental image of the appearance which one or both of the lines must present at that point, which we may rely on as being precisely similar to the reality. Now, whether we fix our contemplation upon this imaginary picture, or call to mind the generalizations we have had occasion to make from former ocular observation, we learn by the evidence of experience, that a line which, after diverging from another straight line, begins to approach to it, produces the impression on our senses which we describe by the expression "a bent line", not by the expression, "a straight line".

[14] Induction, then, is that operation of the mind, by which we infer that what we know to be true in a particular case or cases, will be true in all cases which resemble the former in certain assignable respects. In other words, Induction is the process by which we conclude that what is true of certain individuals of a class is true of the whole class, or that what is true at certain times will be true in similar circumstances at all times.

[15] We must first observe, that there is a principe implied in the very statement of what Induction is; an assumption with regard to the course of nature and the order of universe: namely, that there are such things in nature as parallel cases; that what happens once, will, under a sufficient degree of similarity of circumstances, happen again, and not only again, but as often as the same circumstances recur. This, I say, is an assumption, involved in every case of induction. And, if we consult the actual course of nature, we find that the assumption is warranted. The universe, we find, is so constitued, that whatever is true in any one case, is true at all cases of a certain description; the only difficulty is, to find _what_ description.

[16] Why it is that, with exactly the same amount of evidence, both negative and positive, we did not reject the assertion that there are black swans while we should refuse credence to any testimony which asserted there were men wearing their heads underneath their shoulders. The first assertion was more credible than the latter. But why more credible? So long as neither phenomenon had been actually witnessed, what reason was there for finding the one harder to be believed than the other? Apparently, because there is less constancy in the colours of animals, than in the generai structure of their internal anatomy. But how do we know this? Doubtless, from experience. It appears, then, that we need experience to inform us in what degree, and in what cases, or sorts of cases, experience is to be relied on. Experience must be consulted in order to learn from it under what circumstances arguments from it will be valid. We have no ulterior test to which we subject experience in general; but we make experience its own test. Experience testifies that among the uniformities which it exhibits or seems to exhibit, some are more to be relied on than others; and uniformity, therefore, may be presumed, from any given number of instances, with a greater degree of assurance, in proportion as the case belongs to a class in which the uniformities have hitherto been found more uniform.

[17] Tome I, p. 338, 340, 341, 345, 351.

[18] The only notion of a cause, which the theory of induction requires, is such a notion as can be gained from experience. The Law of Causation, the recognition of which is the main pillar of inductive science, is but the familiar truth, that invariability of succession is found by observation to obtain between every fact in nature and some other fact which has preceded it; independently of all consideration respecting the ultimate mode of production of phenomena, and of every other question regarding the nature of "Things in themselves ".

[19] The real Cause, is the whole of these antecedents.

[20] The cause, then, philosophically speaking, is the sum total of the conditions, positive and negative, taken together; the whole of the contingencies of every description, which being realized, the consequent invariably follows.

[21] If there be any meaning which confessedly belongs to the term necessity, it is _unconditionalness_. That which is necessary, that which _must_ be, means that which will be, whatever supposition we may make in regard to all other things.

[22] 1° Prenons cinquante creusets de matière fondue qu'on laisse refroidir, et cinquante dissolutions qu'on laisse évaporer; toutes cristallisent. Soufre, sucre, alun, chlorure de sodium, les substances, les températures, les circonstances sont aussi différentes que possible. Nous y trouvons un fait commun et un seul, le passage de l'état liquide à l'état solide; nous concluons que ce passage est l'antécédent invariable de la cristallisation. Voilà un exemple de la méthode de concordance: sa règle fondamentale est que «si deux ou plusieurs cas du phénomène en question n'ont qu'une circonstance commune, celte circonstance en est la cause ou l'effet» (tome Ier, p. 396).

[23] Prenons un oiseau qui est dans l'air et respire; plongeons-le dans l'acide carbonique, il cesse de respirer. La suffocation se rencontre dans le second cas, elle ne se rencontre pas dans le premier; du reste les deux cas sont aussi semblables que possible, puisqu'il s'agit dans tous les deux du même oiseau et presque au même instant; ils ne diffèrent que par une circonstance, l'immersion dans l'acide carbonique substituée à l'immersion dans l'air. On en conclut que cette circonstance est un des antécédents invariables de la suffocation. Voilà un exemple de la méthode de différence; sa règle fondamentale est que «si un cas où le phénomène en question se rencontre et un cas où il ne se rencontre pas ont toutes leurs circonstances communes, sauf une, le phénomène a cette circonstance pour cause ou pour effet.»

[24] Prenons deux groupes, l'un d'antécédents, l'autre de conséquents. On a lié tous les antécédents, moins un, à leurs conséquents, et tous les conséquents, moins un, à leurs antécédents. Ou peut conclure que l'antécédent qui reste est lié au conséquent qui reste. Par exemple, les physiciens, ayant calculé, d'après les lois de la propagation des ondes sonores, quelle doit être la vitesse du son, trouvèrent qu'en fait les sons vont plus vite que le calcul ne semble l'indiquer. Ce surplus ou résidu de vitesse est un conséquent et suppose un antécédent; Laplace trouva l'antécédent dans la chaleur que développe la condensation de chaque onde sonore, et cet élément nouveau introduit dans le calcul le rendit parfaitement exact. Voilà un exemple de la méthode des résidus. Sa règle est que «si l'on retranche d'un phénomène la partie qui est l'effet de certains antécédents, le résidu du phénomène est l'effet des antécédents qui restent.»

[25] Prenons deux faits: la présence de la terre et l'oscillation du pendule, ou bien encore la présence de la lune et le mouvement des marées. Pour joindre directement ces deux phénomènes l'un à l'autre, il faudrait pouvoir supprimer le premier, et vérifier si cette suppression entraînerait l'absence du second. Or cette suppression est, dans l'un et l'autre de ces cas, matériellement impossible. Alors nous employons une voie indirecte pour joindre les deux phénomènes. Nous remarquons que toutes les variations de l'un correspondent à certaines variations de l'autre; que toutes les oscillations du pendule correspondent aux diverses positions de la terre; que toutes les circonstances des marées correspondent aux positions de la lune. Nous en concluons que le second fait est l'antécédent du premier. Voilà un exemple de la méthode des variations concomitantes: sa règle fondamentale est que «si un phénomène varie d'une façon quelconque toutes les fois qu'un autre phénomène varie d'une certaine façon, le premier est une cause ou un effet direct ou indirect du second.»

[26] «La méthode de différence, dit Mill, a pour fondement, que tout ce qui ne saurait être éliminé est lié au phénomène par une loi. La méthode de concordance a pour fondement, que tout ce qui peut être éliminé n'est point lié au phénomène par une loi.» La méthode des résidus est un cas de la méthode de différence; la méthode des variations concomitantes en est un autre cas, avec cette distinction qu'elle opère, non sur les deux phénomènes, mais sur leurs variations.

[27] "We must separate dew from rain, and the moisture of fogs, and limite the application of the term to what is really meant, which is, the spontaneous appearance of moisture on substances exposed in the open air when no rain or _visible_ wet is falling."

[28] "Now, here we have analogous phenomena in the moisture which bedews a cold metal or stone when we breathe upon it; that which appears on a glass of water fresh from the well in hot weather; that which appears on the inside of windows when sudden rain or hail chills the external air; that which runs down our walls when, after a long frost, a warm moist thaw comes on." Comparing these cases, we find that they all contain the phenomenon which was proposed as the subject of investigation. Now "all these instances agree in one point, the coldness of the object dewed, in comparison with the air in contact with it." But there still remains the most important case of ail, that of nocturnal dew: does the same circumstance exist in this case?" Is it a fact that the object dewed _is_ colder than the air? Certainly not, one would at first be inclined to say; for what is to make it so? But ... the experiment is easy; we have only to lay a thermometer in contact with the dewed substance, and hang one at a little distance above it, out of reach of its influence. The experiment has been therefore made; the question has been asked, and the answer has been invariably in the affirmative. Whenever an object contracts dew, it _is_ colder than the air."

[29] Here then is a complete application of the Method of Agreement, establishing the fact of an invariable connexion between the deposition of dew on a surface, and the coldness of that surface compared with the external air. But which of these is cause, and which effect? or are they both effects of something else? On this subject the Method of Agreement can afford us no light: we must call in a more potent method. We must collect more facts, or, which comes to the same thing, vary the circumstances; since every instance in which the circumstances differ is a fresh fact: and especially, we must note the contrary or negatives cases, i.e., where no dew is produced: for a comparison between instances of dew and instances of no dew is the condition necessary to bring the Method of Difference into play.

[30] "Now, first, no dew is produced on the surface of polished metals, but it _is_ very copiously on glass, both exposed with their faces upwards, and in some cases the under side of a horizontal plate of glass is also dewed." Here is an instance in which the effect is produced, and another instance in which it is not produced; but we cannot yet pronounce, as the canon of the Method of Difference requires, that the latter instance agrees with the former in all its circumstances except in one; for the differences between glass and polished metals are manifold, and the only thing we can as yet be sure of, is, that the cause of dew will be found among the circumstances by which the former substance is distinguished from the latter.

[31] "In the cases of polished metal and polished glass, the contrast shows evidently that the _substance_ has much to do with the phenomenon; therefore let the substance _alone_ be diversified as much as possible, by exposing polished surfaces of various kinds. This done, a _scale of intensity_ becomes obvious. Those polished substances are found to be most strongly dewed which conduct heat worst, while those which conduct well, resist dew most effectually."

[32] The conclusion obtained is, that, _caeteris paribus_, the deposition of dew is in some proportion to the power winch the body possesses of resisting the passage of heat; and that this, therefore (or something connected with this), must be at least one of the causes which assist in producing the deposition of dew on the surface.

"But if we expose rough surfaces instead of polished, we sometimes find this law interfered with. Thus, roughened iron, especially if painted over or blackened, becomes dewed sooner than varnished paper: the kind of _surface,_ therefore, has a great influence. Expose, then, the _same_ material in very diversified states as to surface" (that is, employ the Method of Difference to ascertain concomitance of variations), "and another scale of intensity becomes at once apparent; those _surfaces_ which _part with their heat_ most readily by radiation, are found to contract dew most copiously."

[33] The conclusion obtained by this new application of the method is, that, _caeteris paribus_, the deposition of dew is also in some proportion to the power of radiating heat; and that the quality of doing this abundantly (or some cause on which that quality dépends) is another of the causes which promote the deposition of dew on the substance.

"Again, the influence ascertained to exist of _substance_ and _surface_ leads us to consider that of _texture_: and hère, again, we are presented on trial with remarkable differences, and with a third scale of intensity, pointing out substances of a close firm texture, such as stones, metals, etc., as unfavourable, but those of a loose one, as cloth, velvet, wool, eiderdown, cotton, etc., as eminently favourable to the contraction of dew. The Method of concomitant Variations is here, for the third time, had recourse to; and, as before, from necessity, since the texture of no substance is absolutely firm or absolutely loose. Looseness of texture, therefore, or something which is the cause of that quality, is another circumstance which promotes the deposition of dew; but this third cause resolves itself into the first, viz. the quality of resisting the passage of heat: for substances of loose texture are precisely those which are best adapted for clothing or for impeding the free passage of heat from the skin into the air, so as to allow their outer surfaces to be very cold, while they remain warm within."

[34] It thus appears that the instances in which much dew is deposited, which are very various, agree in this, and, so far as we are able to observe, in this only, that they either radiate heat rapidly or conduct it slowly: qualities between which there is no other circumstance of agreement, than that by virtue of either, the body tends to lose heat from the surface more rapidly than it can be restored from within. The instances, on the contrary, in which no dew, or but a small quantity of it, is formed, and which are also extremely various, agree (so far as we can observe) in nothing, except in _not_ having this same property.

This doubt we are not able to resolve. We have found that, in every such instance, the substance must be one which, by its own properties or laws, would, if exposed in the night, become colder than the surrounding air. The coldness therefore, being accounted for independently of the dew, while it is proved that there is a connexion between the two, it must be the dew which depends on the coldness; or in other words, the coldness is the cause of the dew.