Chapter II (2)

=72.= (3) This argument leads us to Land's distinction of physical and geometrical rigidity. The distinction may be expressed--and I think it is better expressed--by distinguishing between the conceptions of matter proper to Dynamics and to Geometry respectively. In Dynamics, we are concerned with matter as subject to and as causing motion, as affected by and as exerting _force_. We are therefore concerned with the changes of spatial configuration to which material systems are liable: the description and explanation of these changes is the proper subject-matter of all Dynamics. But in order that such a science may exist, it is obviously necessary that spatial configuration should be already measurable. If this were not the case, motion, acceleration and force would remain perfectly indeterminate. Geometry, therefore, must already exist before Dynamics becomes possible: to make Geometry dependent for its possibility on the laws of motion or any of their consequences, is a gross ὕστερον πρότερον. Nevertheless, as we have seen, some sort of matter is essential to Geometry. But this geometrical matter is a more abstract and wholly different matter from that of Dynamics. In order to study space by itself, we reduce the properties of matter to a bare minimum: we avoid entirely the category of causation, so essential to Dynamics, and retain nothing, in our matter, but its spatial adjectives[91]. The kind of rigidity affirmed of this abstract matter--a kind which suffices for the theory of our science, though not for its application to the objects of daily life--is purely geometrical, and asserts no more than this: That since our matter is devoid, _ex hypothesi_, of causal properties, there remains nothing, in mere empty space, which is capable of changing the configuration of any geometrical system. A change of absolute position, it asserts, is nothing; therefore the only real change involved in motion is a change of relation to other matter; but such other matter, for the purposes of our science, is regarded as destitute of causal powers; hence no change can occur, in the configuration of our system, by the mere effect of motion through empty space. The necessity of such a principle may be shown by a simple _reductio ad absurdum_, as follows. A motion of translation of the universe as a whole, with constant direction and velocity, is dynamically negligeable; indeed it is, philosophically, no motion at all, for it involves no change in the condition or mutual relations of the things in the universe. But if our geometrical rigidity were denied, the change in the parameter of space might cause all bodies to change their shapes owing to the mere change of absolute position, which is obviously absurd.

To make quite plain the function of rigid bodies in Geometry, let us suppose a liquid geometer in a liquid world. We cannot suppose the liquid perfectly homogeneous and undifferentiated, in the first place because such a liquid would be indistinguishable from empty space, in the second place because our geometer's body--unless he be a disembodied spirit--will itself constitute a differentiation for him. We may therefore assume

"dim beams,
Which amid the streams
Weave a network of coloured light,"

and we may suppose this network to form the occasion for our geometer's reflections. Then he will be able to imagine a network in which the lines are straight, or circular, or parabolic, or any other shape, and he will be able to infer that such a network, if it can be woven in one part of the fluid, can be woven in another. This will form sufficient basis for his deductions. The superposition he is concerned with--since not actual equality, but only the formal conditions of equality, are the subject-matter of Geometry--is purely ideal, and is unaffected by the impossibility of congealing any actual network. But in order to apply his Geometry to the exigencies of life, he would need some standard of comparison between actual networks, and here, it is true, he would need either a rigid body, or a knowledge of the conditions under which similar networks arose. Moreover these conditions, being necessarily empirical, could hardly be known apart from previous measurement. Hence for applied, though not for pure Geometry, one rigid body at least seems essential.

=73.= The utility, for Dynamics, of our abstract geometrical matter, is sufficiently evident. For having, by its means, a power of determining the configurations of material systems in whatever part of space, and knowing that changes of configuration are not due to mere change of place, we are able to attribute these changes to the action of other matter, and thus to establish the notion of force, which would be impossible if change of shape might be due to empty space.

Thus, to conclude: Geometry requires, if it is to be _practically_ possible, some body or bodies which are either rigid (in the dynamical sense), or known to undergo some definite changes of shape according to some definite law. (These changes, we may suppose, are known by the laws of Physics, which have been experimentally established, and which throughout assume the truth of Geometry.) One or more such bodies are necessary to applied Geometry--but only in the sense in which rulers and compasses are necessary. They are necessary as, in making the Ordnance Survey, an elaborate apparatus was necessary for measuring the base line on Salisbury Plain. But for the _theory_ of Geometry, geometrical rigidity suffices, and geometrical rigidity means only that a shape, which is possible in one part of space, is possible in any other. The empirical element in practice, arising from the purely empirical nature of physical rigidity, is comparable to the empirical inaccuracies arising from the failure to find straight lines or circles in the world--which no one but Mill has regarded as rendering Geometry itself empirical or inaccurate. But to make Geometry await the perfection of Physics, is to make Physics, which depends throughout on Geometry, forever impossible. As well might we leave the formation of numbers until we had counted the houses in Piccadilly.

Erdmann.

=74.= In connection with Riemann and Helmholtz, it is natural to consider Erdmann's philosophical work on their theories[92]. This is certainly the most important book on the subject which has appeared from the philosophical side, and in spite of the fact that, like the whole theory of Riemann and Helmholtz, it is inapplicable to projective Geometry, it still deserves a very full discussion.

Erdmann agrees throughout with the conclusions of Riemann and Helmholtz, except on a few points of minor importance; and his views, as this agreement would lead one to expect, are ultra-empirical. Indeed his logic seems--though I say this with hesitation--to be incompatible with any system but that of Mill: there is apparently no distinction, to him, between the general and the universal, and consequently no concept not embodied in a series of instances. Such a theory of logic, to my mind, vitiates most of his work, as it vitiated Riemann's philosophy[93]. This general criticism will find abundant illustration in the course of our account of Erdmann's views.

=75.= After a general introduction, and a short history of the development of Metageometry, Erdmann proceeds, in his second chapter, to discuss what are the axioms of Euclidean Geometry. The arithmetical axioms, as they are called, he leaves aside, as applying to magnitude in general; what we want here, he says, is a definition of space, for which the geometrical axioms are alone relevant. But a definition of space, he says--following Riemann--demands a genus of which space shall be a species, and this, since our space is psychologically unique, can only be furnished by analytical mathematics (p. 36). Now the space-forms dealt with by Geometry are magnitudes, and conceptions of magnitude are everywhere applied in Geometry. But before Riemann, only particular determinations of space could be exhibited as magnitudes, and thus the desired definition was impossible to obtain. Now, however, we can subsume space as a whole under a general conception of magnitude, and thus obtain, besides the space-intuition and the space-conception, a third form, namely, the conception of space as a magnitude (_Grössenbegriff vom Raum_, pp. 38-39). The definition of this will give us the complete, but not redundant, system of axioms, which could not be obtained by transforming the general intuition of space into the space-conception, for want of a plurality of instances (p. 40).

=76.= Before considering the subsequent method of definition, let us reflect on the theories involved in the above account of the conception of space as a magnitude. In the first place, it is assumed that conceptions cannot be formed unless we have a series of separate objects from which to abstract a common property--in other words, that the universal is always the general. In the second place, it is assumed that all definition is classification under a genus. In the third place, the conception of magnitude, if I am not mistaken, is fundamentally misunderstood when it is supposed applicable to space as a whole. But in the fourth place, even if such a conception existed, it could give none of the essential properties of space. Let us consider these four points successively.

=77.= As regards the first point, it is to be observed that people certainly had some conception of space before Riemann invented the notion of a manifold, and that this conception was certainly something other than the common qualities of all the points, lines or figures in space. In the second place, Erdmann's view would make it impossible to conceive God, unless one were a polytheist, or the universe--unless, like Leibnitz, one imagined a series of possible worlds, set over against God, and none of them, therefore, a true Universe--or, to take an instance more likely to appeal to an empiricist, the necessarily unique centre of mass of the material universe. Any universal, in short, which is a bond or unity between things, and not merely a common property among independent objects, becomes impossible on Erdmann's view. We cannot, therefore, unless we adopt Mill's philosophy intact, regard the conception of space as demanding a series of instances from which to abstract. But even if we did so regard it, Riemann's manifolds would leave us without resources. For Euclidean space still appears as unique, at the end of his series of determinations. We have instances of manifolds, but not instances of Euclidean space. Thus if Erdmann's theory of conceptions were correct, he would still be left searching in vain for the conception of Euclidean space.

=78.= The second point, the view that all definition is classification, is closely allied to the first, and the two together plunge us into the depths of scholastic formal logic. The same instances of things which could not, on Erdmann's view, be conceived, may now be adduced as things which cannot be defined. Whatever was said above applies here also, and the point need not, therefore, be further discussed[94].

=79.= As regards the third point, the impossibility of applying conceptions of magnitude to space as a whole, a longer argument will be necessary, for we are concerned, here, with the whole question of the logical nature of judgments of magnitude. As we had before too much comparison for our needs, so we have now too little. I will endeavour to explain this point, which is of great importance, and underlies, I think, most of the philosophical fallacies of Riemann's school.

A judgment of magnitude is always a judgment of comparison, and what is more, the comparison is never concerned with quality, but only with quantity. Quality, in the judgment of magnitude, is supposed identical, in the object whose magnitude is stated, and in the unit with which it is compared. But quality, except in pure number, and in pure quantity as dealt with by the Calculus, is always present, and is partly absorbed into quantity, partly untouched by the judgment of magnitude. As Bosanquet says (Logic, Vol. I. p. 124); "Quantitative comparison is not _prima facie_ coordinate with qualitative, but rather stands in its place as the _effect of comparison on quality_, which so far as comparable _becomes quantity_, and so far as incomparable furnishes the distinction of parts essential to the quantitative whole" (italics in the original). Thus, if we are to regard space as a magnitude, we must be able to adduce all those series of instances of which Erdmann speaks, and which, for the conception of space, seemed irrelevant. But it remains to be proved that the comparison, which we _can_ institute between various spaces, is capable of expression in a quantitative form. Rather it would seem that the difference of quality is such as to preclude quantitative comparison between different spaces, and therefore also to preclude all judgments of magnitude about space as a whole. Here an exception might seem to be demanded by non-Euclidean spaces, whose space-constants give a definite magnitude, inherent in space as a whole, and therefore, one might think, characterizing space as a magnitude. But this is a mistake. For the space-constant, in such spaces, is the ultimate unit, the fixed term in all quantitative comparison; it is itself, therefore, destitute of quantity, since there is no independently given magnitude with which to compare it. A non-Euclidean world, in which the space-constant and all lines and figures were suddenly multiplied in a constant ratio, would be wholly unchanged; the lines, as measured against the space-constant, would have the same magnitude as before, and the space-constant itself, having no outside standard of comparison, would be destitute of quantity, and therefore not subject to change of quantity. Such an enlargement of a non-Euclidean world, in other words, is unmeaning; and this proves how inapplicable is the notion of quantity to space as a whole.

It might be objected that this only proves the absence of quantitative difference between different spaces of positive space-constant, or between those of negative space-constant: the quantitative difference persists, it might be said, between those of positive curvature in general and those of negative curvature in general, or between both together and Euclidean space. This I entirely deny. There is no qualitatively similar unit, in the three kinds of space, by which quantitative comparison could be effected. The straight lines of one space cannot be put into the other: the two straight lines, in one space, whose product is the reciprocal of the measure of curvature, have no corresponding curves in the other space, and the measures of curvature cannot, therefore, be quantitatively compared with each other. That the one may be regarded as positive, the other negative, I admit, but their values are indeterminate, and the units in the two cases are qualitatively different. A debt of £300 may be represented as the asset of -£300, and the height of the Eiffel Tower is +300 metres; but it does not follow that the two are quantitatively comparable. So with space-constants: the space-constant is itself the unit for magnitudes in its own space, and differs qualitatively from the space-constant of another kind of space.

Again, to proceed to a more philosophical argument, two different spaces cannot co-exist in the same world: we may be unable to decide between the alternatives of the disjunction, but they remain, none the less, absolutely incompatible alternatives. Hence we cannot get that coexistence of two spaces which is essential to comparison. The fact seems to be that Erdmann, in his admiration for Riemann and Helmholtz, has fallen in with their mathematical bias, and assumed, as mathematicians naturally tend to assume, that quantity is everywhere and always applicable and adequate, and can deal with more than the mere comparison of things whose qualities are already known as similar[95].

=80.= This suggests the fourth and last of the above points, that the _qualities_ of space, even if space could be successfully regarded as a magnitude, would have to be entirely omitted in such a manner of regarding it, and that, therefore, none of its important or essential properties would emerge from such treatment. For to regard space as a magnitude involves, as we saw, a comparison with something qualitatively similar, and an abstraction from the similar qualities. To some extent and by the help of certain doubtful arguments, such a comparison is instituted by Riemann and Erdmann; but when they have instituted it, they forget all about the common qualities on which its possibility depends. But these are precisely the fundamental properties of space, and those from which, as I shall endeavour to prove in Chapter III., the axioms common to Euclid and Metageometry follow _à priori_. Such are the dangers of the quantitative bias.

=81.= After this protest against the initial assumptions in Erdmann's deduction of space, let us return to consider the manner, in which this deduction is carried out. Here there will be less ground for criticism, as the deduction, given its presuppositions, is, I think, as good as such a deduction can be. To define space as a magnitude, he says, let us start with two of its most obvious properties, continuity and the three dimensions. Tones and colours afford other instances of a manifold with these two properties, but differ from space in that their dimensions are not homogeneous and interchangeable. To designate this difference, Erdmann introduces a useful pair of terms: in the general case, he calls a manifold _n_-determined (n-_bestimmt_); in the case where, as in space, the dimensions are homogeneous, he calls the manifold _n_-extended (n-_ausgedehnt_). Manifolds of the latter sort he calls extents (_Ausgedehntheiten_). That the difference between the two kinds is one of quality, not of quantity, he seems not to perceive; he also overlooks the fact that, in the second kind, from its very definition, the axiom of Congruence must hold, on account of the qualitative similarity of different parts. In spite of this fact, he defines space as an extent, and then regards Congruence as empirical, and as possibly false in the infinitesimal. This is the more strange, as he actually proves (p. 50) that measurement is impossible, in an extent, unless the parts are independent of their place, and can be carried about unaltered as measures. In spite of this, he proceeds immediately to discuss whether the measure of curvature is constant or variable, without investigating how, in the latter case, Geometry could exist. We cannot know, he says, from geometrical superposition, that geometrical bodies are independent of place, for if their dimensions altered in motion according to any fixed law, two bodies which could be superposed in one place could be superposed in any other. That such a hypothesis involves absolute position, and denies the qualitative similarity of the parts of space, which he declares (p. 171) to be the principle of his theory of Geometry, is nowhere perceived. But what is more, his notion that magnitude is something absolute, independent of comparison, has prevented him from seeing that such a hypothesis is unmeaning. He says himself that, even on this hypothesis, a geometrical body can be defined as one whose points retain constant distances from each other, for, since we have no absolute measure, measurement could not reveal to us the change of absolute magnitude (p. 60). But is not this a _reductio ad absurdum_? For magnitude is nothing apart from comparison, and the comparison here can only be effected by superposition; if, then, as on the above hypothesis, superposition always gives the same result, by whatever motion it is effected, there is no sense in speaking of magnitudes as no longer equal when separated: absolute magnitude is an absurdity, and the magnitude resulting from comparison does not differ from that which would result if the dimensions of bodies were unchanged in motion. Therefore, since magnitude is only intelligible as the result of comparison, the dimensions of bodies _are_ unchanged in motion, and the suggested hypothesis is unmeaning. On this subject I shall have more to say in Chapter III.[96]

=82.= This hypothesis, however, is not introduced for its own sake, but only to usher in the Helmholtzian _deus ex machina_, Mechanics. For Mechanics proves--so Erdmann confidently continues--that rigidity must hold, not merely as to ratios, in the above restricted geometrical sense, but as to absolute magnitudes (p. 62). Hence we get at last true Congruence, empirical as Mechanics is empirical, and impossible to prove apart from Mechanics. I have already criticized Helmholtz's view of the dependence of Geometry on Mechanics, and need not here speak of it at length. It is a pity that Erdmann has in no way specified the procedure by which Mechanics decides the geometrical alternatives--indeed he seems to rely on the _ipse dixit_ of Helmholtz. How, if Geometry would be totally unable to discover a change in dimensions of the kind suggested, the Laws of Motion, which throughout depend on Geometry, should be able to discover it if it existed, I am wholly at a loss to understand. Uniform motion in a straight line, for example, presupposes geometrical measurement; if this measurement is mistaken, what Mechanics imagines to be uniform motion is not really such, but Mechanics can never discover the discrepancy. If the Laws of Motion had been regarded as _à priori_, Geometry might possibly have been reinforced by them; but so long as they are empirical, they presuppose geometrical measurement, and cannot therefore condition or affect it.

Erdmann's conclusion, in the second chapter, is that Congruence is probable, but cannot be verified in the infinitesimal; that its truth involves the actual existence of rigid bodies (though, by the way, we know these to be, strictly speaking, non-existent), that rigid bodies are freely moveable, and do not alter their size in rotation (Helmholtz's Monodromy); that the axiom of three dimensions is certain, since small errors are impossible; and that the remaining axioms of Euclid--those of the straight line and of parallels--are approximately, if not accurately, true of our actual space (pp. 78, 83). He does not discuss how Congruence, on the above view, is compatible with the atomic theory, or even with the observed deformations of approximately rigid bodies; nor how, if space, as he assumes, is homogeneous, rigid bodies can fail to be freely moveable through space. The axioms are all lumped together as empirical, and it appears, in the following chapters, that Erdmann regards their empirical nature as sufficiently proved by their applicability to empirical material (cf. pp. 159, 165)--a strange criterion, which would prove the same conclusion, with equal facility, of Arithmetic and of the laws of thought.

=83.= The third chapter, on the philosophical consequences of Metageometry, need not be discussed at length, since it deals rather with space than with Geometry. At the same time, it will be worth while to treat briefly of Erdmann's criterion of apriority. On this subject it is very difficult to discover his meaning, since it seems to vary with the topic he is discussing. Thus at one time (p. 147) he rejects most emphatically the Kantian connection of the _à priori_ and the subjective[97], and yet at another time (p. 96) he regards every presentation of external things as partly _à priori_, partly empirical, merely because such a presentation is due to an interaction between ourselves and things, and is therefore partly due to subjective activity, partly due to outside objects. Hence, he says, the distinction is not between different presentations, but between different aspects of one and the same presentation. This seems to return wholly to the Kantian psychological criterion of subjectivity, with the added disadvantage that it makes the distinction, like that of analytic and synthetic, epistemologically worthless. And yet he never hesitates to pronounce every piece of knowledge in turn empirical. The fact seems to be, that where he wants a more logical criterion, he adopts a modification of Helmholtz's criterion for sensations. If space be an _à priori_ form, he says, no experience could possibly change it (p. 108); but this Metageometry has proved not to be the case, since we can intuit the perceptions which non-Euclidean space would give us (p. 115). I have criticised this argument in discussing Helmholtz; at present we are concerned with Erdmann's criterion of apriority. The subjectivity-criterion--though he certainly uses it in discussing the apriority of space, and solemnly decides, by its means, that space is both _à priori_ and empirical since a change either in us or in the outer world could change it (p. 97)--would seem, like several of his other tests, to be a lapse on his part: the criterion which he means to use is Helmholtz's. This criterion, I think, with a slight change of wording, might be accepted; it seems to me a necessary, but not a sufficient condition. The _à priori_, we may say, is not only that which no experience can change, but that without which experience would become impossible. It is the omission to discuss the conditions which render geometrical (and mechanical) experience possible, to my mind, which vitiates the empirical conclusions of Helmholtz and Erdmann. Why certain conditions should be necessary for experience--whether on account of the constitution of the mind, or for some other reason--is a further question, which introduces the relation of the _à priori_ to the subjective. But in discussing the question as to what knowledge is _à priori_, as opposed to the question concerning the further consequences of apriority, it is well to keep to the purely logical criterion, and so preserve our independence of psychological controversies. The fact, if it be a fact, that the world might be such as to defy our attempts to know it, will not, with the above criterion, invalidate the conclusion that certain elements in knowledge are _à priori_; for whether fulfilled or not, they remain necessary conditions for the existence of any knowledge at all.

=84.= With this caution as to the meaning of apriority, we shall find, I think, that the conclusions of Erdmann's final chapter, on the principles of a theory of Geometry, are largely invalidated by the diversity and inadequacy of his tests of the _à priori_. He begins by asserting, in conformity with the quantitative bias noticed above, that the question as to the nature of geometrical axioms is completely analogous to the corresponding question of the foundations of pure mathematics (p. 138). This is, I think, a radical error: for the function of the axioms seems to be, to establish that qualitative basis on which, as we saw, all qualitative comparison must rest. But in pure mathematics, this qualitative basis is irrelevant, for we deal there with pure quantity, _i.e._ with the merely quantitative result of quantitative comparison, wherever it is possible, independently of the qualities underlying the comparison. Geometry, as Grassmann insists[98], ought not to be classed with pure mathematics, for it deals with a matter which is given to the intellect, not created by it. The axioms give the means by which this matter is made amenable to quantity, and cannot, therefore, be themselves deduced from purely quantitative considerations.

Leaving this point aside, however, let us return to Erdmann. He distinguishes, within space, a form and a matter: the form is to contain the properties common to all extents, the matter the properties which distinguish space from other extents. This distinction, he says, is purely logical, and does not correspond with Kant's: matter and form, for Erdmann, are alike empirical. The axioms and definitions of Geometry, he says, deal exclusively with the matter of space. It seems a pity, having made this distinction, to put it to so little use: after a few pages, it is dropped, and no epistemological consequences are drawn from it. The reason is, I think, that Erdmann has not perceived how much can be deduced from his definition of an extent, as a manifold in which the dimensions are homogeneous and interchangeable. For this property suffices to prove the complete homogeneity of an extent, and hence--from the absence of qualitative differences among elements--the relativity of position and the axiom of Congruence. This deduction will be made at length in the sequel[99]; at present, I have only to observe that every extent, on this view, possesses all the properties (except the three dimensions) common to Euclidean and non-Euclidean spaces. The axioms which express these properties, therefore, apply to the form of space, and follow from homogeneity alone, which Erdmann allows (p. 171) as the principle of any theory of space. The above distinction of form and matter, therefore, corresponds, when its full consequences are deduced, to the distinction between the axioms which follow from the homogeneity of space and those which do not. Since, then, homogeneity is equivalent to the relativity of position, and the relativity of position is of the very essence of a form of externality, it would seem that his distinction of form and matter can also be made coextensive with the distinction of the _à priori_ and empirical in Geometry. On this subject, I shall have more to say in Chapter III.

In the remainder of the chapter, Erdmann insists that the straight line, etc., though not abstracted from experience, which nowhere presents straight lines, must yet, as applicable to admittedly empirical sciences, be empirical (p. 159)--a criterion which he appears to employ only when all other grounds for an empirical opinion fail, and one which, obviously, can never refuse to do its work, since all elements of knowledge are susceptible of employment on some empirical material. He also defines the straight line (p. 155) as a line of constant curvature zero, as though curvature could be measured independently of the straight line. Even the arithmetical axioms are declared empirical (p. 165), since in a world where things were all hopelessly different from one another, these axioms could not be applied. After this reminder of Mill, we are not surprised, a few pages later (p. 172), at a vague appeal to "English logicians" as having proved Geometry to be an inductive science. Nevertheless, Erdmann declares, almost on the last page of his book (p. 173), that Geometry is distinguished from all other sciences by the homogeneity of its material: a principle of which no single application occurs throughout his book, and which, as we shall see in Chapter III., flatly contradicts the philosophical theories advocated throughout his preceding pages.

On the whole, then, it cannot be said that Erdmann has done much to strengthen the philosophical position of Riemann and Helmholtz. I have criticized him at length, because his book has the appearance of great thoroughness, and because it is undoubtedly the best defence extant of the position which it takes up. We shall now have the opposite task to perform, in defending Metageometry, on its mathematical side, from the attacks of Lotze and others, and in vindicating for it that measure of philosophical importance--far inferior, indeed, to the hopes of Erdmann--which it seems really to possess.

Lotze.

=85.= Lotze's argument as regards Geometry[100]--which follows a metaphysical argument as to the ontological nature of space, and assumes the results of this argument--consists of two parts: the first discusses the various meanings logically assignable (pp. 233-247) to the proposition that other spaces than Euclid's are possible, and the second criticizes, in detail, the procedure of Metageometry. The first of these questions is very important, and demands considerable care as to the logical import of a judgment of possibility. Although Lotze's discussion is excellent in many respects, I cannot persuade myself that he has hit on the only true sense in which non-Euclidean spaces are possible. I shall endeavour to make good this statement in the following pages.

=86.= Lotze opens with a somewhat startling statement, which, though philosophically worthy to be true, does not appear to be historically borne out. Euclidean Geometry has been chiefly shaken, he says, by the Kantian notion of the exclusive subjectivity of space--if space is only our private form of intuition, to which there exists no analogue in the objective world, then other beings may have other spaces, without supposing any difference in the world which they arrange in these spaces (p. 233). This certainly seems a legitimate deduction from the subjectivity of space, which, so far from establishing the universal validity of Euclid, establishes his validity only after an empirical investigation of the nature of space as intuited by Tom, Dick or Harry. But as a matter of fact, those who have done most to further non-Euclidean Geometry--with the exception of Riemann, who was a disciple of Herbart--have usually inherited from Newton a naïve realism as regards absolute space. I might instance the passage quoted from Bolyai in Chapter I., or Clifford, who seems to have thought that we actually see the images of things on the retina[101], or again Helmholtz's belief in the dependence of Geometry on the behaviour of rigid bodies. This belief led to the view that Geometry, like Physics, is an experimental science, in which objective truth can be attained, it is true, but only by empirical methods. However, Lotze's ground for uncertainty about Euclid is a philosophically tenable ground, and it will be instructive to observe the various possibilities which arise from it.

If space is only a subjective form--so Lotze opens his argument--other beings may have a different form. If this corresponds to a different world, the difference, he says, is uninteresting: for our world alone is relevant to any metaphysical discussion. But if this different space corresponds to the same world which we know under the Euclidean form, then, in his opinion, we get a question of genuine philosophic interest. And here he distinguishes two cases: _either_ the relations between things, which are presented to these hypothetical beings under the form of some different space, are relations which do not appear to us, or at any rate do not appear spatial; _or_ they are the same relations which appear to us as figures in Euclidean space (p. 235). The first possibility would be illustrated, he says, by beings to whom the tone or colour-manifolds appeared extended; but we cannot, in his opinion, imagine a manifold, such as is required for this case, to have its dimensions homogeneous and comparable _inter se_, and therefore the contents of the various presentations constituting such a manifold could not be combined into a single content containing them all. But the possibility of such a combination is of the essence of anything worth calling a space: therefore the first of the above possibilities is unmotived and uninteresting. Lotze's conclusion on this point, I think, is undeniable, but I doubt whether his argument is very cogent. However, as this possibility has no connection with that contemplated by non-Euclideans, it is not worth while to discuss it further.

The second possibility also, Lotze thinks, is not that of Metageometry, but in truth it comes nearer to it than any of the other possibilities discussed. If a non-Euclidean were at the same time a believer in the subjectivity of space, he would have to be an adherent of this view. Let us see more precisely what the view is. In Book II., Chapter I., Lotze has accepted the argument of the Transcendental Aesthetic, but rejected that of the mathematical antinomies: he has decided that space is, as Kant believed, subjective, but possesses nevertheless, what Kant denied it, an objective counterpart. The relation of presented space to its objective counterpart, as conceived by Lotze, is rather hard to understand. It seems scarcely to resemble the relation of sensation to its object--_e.g._ of light to ether-vibrations--for if it did, space would not be in any peculiar sense subjective. It seems rather to resemble the relation of a perceived bodily motion to the state of mind of the person willing the motion. However this may be, the objective counterpart of space is supposed to consist of certain immediate interactions of monads, who experience the interactions as modifications of their internal states. Such interactions, it is plain, do not form the subject-matter of Geometry, which deals only with our resulting perceptions of spatial figures. Now if Lotze's construction of space be correct, there seems certainly no reason why these resulting perceptions should not, for one and the same interaction between monads, be very different in beings differently constituted from ourselves. But if they were different, says Lotze, they would have to be utterly different--as different, for example, as the interval between two notes is from a straight line. The possibility is, therefore, in his opinion, one about which we can know nothing, and one which must remain always a mere empty idea. This seems to me to go too far: for whatever the objective counterpart may be, any argument which gives us information about it must, when reversed, give us information about any possible form of intuition in which this counterpart is presented. The argument which Lotze has used in his former chapter, for example, deducing, from the relativity of position, the merely relational nature of the objective counterpart, allows us, conversely, to infer, from this relational nature, the complete relativity of position in any possible space-intuition--unless, indeed, it bore a wholly deceitful relation to those interactions of monads which form its objective counterpart. But the complete relativity of position, as I shall endeavour to establish in Chapter III., suffices to prove that our Geometry must be Euclidean, elliptic, spherical or pseudo-spherical. We have, therefore, it would seem, very considerable knowledge, on Lotze's theory of space, of the manner in which what appears to us as space _must_ appear to any beings with our laws of thought. We cannot know, it is true, what _psychological_ theory of space-perception would apply to such beings: they might have a sense different from any of ours, and they might have no sense in any way resembling ours, but yet their Geometry would have points of resemblance to ours, as that of the blind coincides with that of the seeing. If space has any objective counterpart whatever, in short, and if any inference is possible, as Lotze holds it to be, from space to its counterpart, then a converse argument is also possible, though it may give some only of the qualities of Euclidean space, since some only of these qualities may be found to have a necessary analogue in the counterpart.

=87.= Admitting, then, in Lotze's sense, the subjectivity of space, the above possibility does not seem so empty as he imagines. He discusses it briefly, however, in order to pass on to what he regards as the real meaning of Metageometry. In this he is guilty of a mathematical mistake, which causes much irrelevant reasoning. For he believes that Metageometry constructs its spaces out of straight lines and angles in all respects similar to Euclid's, whence he derives an easy victory in proving that these elements can lead only to the one space. In this he has been misled by the phraseology of non-Euclideans, as well as by Euclid's separation of definitions and axioms. For the fact is, of course, that straight lines are only fully defined when we add to the formal definition the axioms of the straight line and of parallels. Within Euclidean space, Euclid's definition suffices to distinguish the straight line from all other curves; the two axioms referred to are then absorbed into the definition of space. But apart from the restriction to Euclidean space, the definition has to be supplemented by the two axioms, in order to define completely the Euclidean straight line. Thus Lotze has misconceived the bearing of non-Euclidean constructions, and has simply missed the point in arguing as he does. The possibility contemplated by a non-Euclidean, if it fell under any of Lotze's cases, would fall under the second case discussed above.

=88.= But the bearing of Metageometry is really, I think, different from anything imagined by Lotze; and as few writers seem clear on this point, I will enter somewhat fully into what I conceive to be its purpose.

In the first place, there are some writers--notably Clifford--who, being naïve realists as regards space, hold that our evidence is wholly insufficient, as yet, to decide as to its nature in the infinite or in the infinitesimal (cf. Essays, Vol. I. p. 320): these writers are not concerned with any possibility of beings different from ourselves, but simply with the everyday space we know, which they investigate in the spirit of a chemist discussing whether hydrogen is a metal, or an astronomer discussing the nebular hypothesis.

But these are a minority: most, more cautious, admit that our space, so far as observation extends, is Euclidean, and if not accurately Euclidean, must be only slightly spherical or pseudo-spherical. Here again, it is the space of daily life which is under discussion, and here further the discussion is, I think, independent of any philosophical assumption as to the nature of our space-intuition. For even if this be purely subjective, the translation of an intuition into a conception can only be accomplished approximately, within the errors of observation incident to self-analysis; and until the intuition of space has become a conception, we get no scientific Geometry. The apodeictic certainty of the axiom of parallels shrinks to an unmotived subjective conviction, and vanishes altogether in those who entertain non-Euclidean doubts. To reinforce the Euclidean faith, reason must now be brought to the aid of intuition; but reason, unfortunately, abandons us, and we are left to the mercy of approximate observations of stellar triangles--a meagre support, indeed, for the cherished religion of our childhood.

=89.= But the possibility of an inaccuracy so slight, that our finest instruments and our most distant parallaxes show no trace of it, would trouble men's minds no more than the analogous chance of inaccuracy in the law of gravitation, were it not for the philosophical import of even the slenderest possibility in this sphere. And it is the philosophical bearing of Metageometry alone, I think, which constitutes its real importance. Even if, as we will suppose for the moment, observation had established, beyond the possibility of doubt, that our space might be safely regarded as Euclidean, still Metageometry would have shown a philosophical possibility, and on this ground alone it could claim, I think, very nearly all the attention which it at present deserves.

But what is this possibility? A thing is possible, according to Bradley (Logic, p. 187), when it would follow from a certain number of conditions, some of which are known to be realized. Now the conditions to which a form of externality must conform, in order to be affirmed, are: first, of course, that it should be experienced, or legitimately inferred from something experienced; but secondly, that it should conform to certain logical conditions, detailed in