Chapter I (4)

(188.) It is a remarkable and happy fact, that the shortest and most direct of all inductions should be that which has led at once, or by very few steps, to the highest of all natural laws,--we mean those of motion and force. Nothing can be more simple, precise, and general, than the enunciation of these laws; and, as we have once before observed, their application to particular facts in the descending or deductive method is limited by nothing but the limited extent of our mathematics. It would seem, then, that dynamical science were taken thenceforward out of the pale of induction, and transformed into a matter of absolute _à priori_ reasoning, as much as geometry; and so it would be, were our mathematics perfect, and all the _data_ known. Unhappily, the first is so far from being the case, that in many of the most interesting branches of dynamical enquiry they leave us completely at a loss. In what relates to the motions of fluids, for instance, this is severely felt. We can include our problems, it is true, in algebraical equations, and we can demonstrate that they _contain_ the solutions; but the equations themselves are so intractable, and present such insuperable difficulties, that they often leave us quite as much in the dark as before. But even were these difficulties overcome, recourse to experience must still be had, to establish the _data_ on which particular applications are to depend; and although mathematical analysis affords very powerful means of _representing_ in general terms the data of any proposed case, and _afterwards_, by comparison of its results with fact, determining _what_ those data must be to explain the observed phenomena, still, in any mode of considering the matter, an appeal to experience in every particular instance of application is unavoidable, even when the general principles are regarded as sufficiently established without it. Now, in all such cases of difficulty we must recur to our inductive processes, and regard the branches of dynamical science where this takes place as purely experimental. By this we gain an immense advantage, viz. that in all those points of them where the abstract dynamical principles _do_ afford distinct conclusions, we obtain verifications for our inductions of the highest and finest possible kind. When we work our way up inductively to one of these results, we cannot help feeling the strongest assurance of the validity of the induction.

(189.) The necessity of this appeal to experiment in every thing relating to the motions of fluids on the large scale has long been felt. Newton himself, who laid the first foundations of hydrodynamical science (so this branch of dynamics is called), distinctly perceived it, and set the example of laborious and exact experiments on their resistance to motion, and other particulars. Venturi, Bernoulli, and many others, have applied the method of experiment to the motions of fluids in pipes and canals; and recently the brothers Weber have published an elaborate and excellent experimental enquiry into the phenomena of waves. One of the greatest and most successful attempts, however, to bring an important, and till then very obscure, branch of dynamical enquiry back to the dominion of experiment, has been made by Chladni and Savart in the case of sound and vibratory motion in general; and it is greatly to be wished that the example may be followed in many others hardly less abstruse and impracticable when theoretically treated. In such cases the inductive and deductive methods of enquiry may be said to go hand in hand, the one verifying the conclusions deduced by the other; and the combination of experiment and theory, which may thus be brought to bear in such cases, forms an engine of discovery infinitely more powerful than either taken separately. This state of any department of science is perhaps of all others the most interesting, and that which promises the most to research.

(190.) It can hardly be expected that we should terminate this division of our subject without some mention of the “prerogatives of instances” of Bacon, by which he understands characteristic phenomena, selected from the great miscellaneous mass of facts which occur in nature, and which, by their number, indistinctness, and complication, tend rather to confuse than to direct the mind in its search for causes and general heads of induction. Phenomena so selected on account of some peculiarly forcible way in which they strike the reason, and impress us with a kind of sense of causation, or a particular aptitude for generalization, he considers, and justly, as holding a kind of prerogative dignity, and claiming our first and especial attention in physical enquiries.

(191.) We have already observed that, in forming inductions, it will most commonly happen that we are led to our conclusions by the especial force of some two or three strongly impressive facts, rather than by affording the whole mass of cases a regular consideration; and hence the need of cautious verification. Indeed, so strong is this propensity of the human mind, that there is hardly a more common thing than to find persons ready to assign a cause for every thing they see, and, in so doing, to join things the most incongruous, by analogies the most fanciful. This being the case, it is evidently of great importance that these first ready impulses of the mind should be made on the contemplation of the cases most likely to lead to good inductions. The misfortune, however, is, in natural philosophy, that the choice does not rest with us. We must take the instances as nature presents them. Even if we are furnished with a list of them in tabular order, we must understand and compare them with each other, before we can tell which _are_ the instances thus deservedly entitled to the highest consideration. And, after all, after much labour in vain, and groping in the dark, accident or casual observation will present a case which strikes us at once with a full insight into a subject, before we can even have time to determine to what class its _prerogative_ belongs. For example, the laws of crystallography were obscure, and its causes still more so, till Haüy fortunately dropped a beautiful crystal of calcareous spar on a stone pavement, and broke it. In piecing together the fragments, he observed their facets not to correspond with those of the crystal in its entire state, but to belong to another form; and, following out the hint offered by a “_glaring instance_” thus casually obtruded on his notice, he discovered the beautiful laws of the cleavage, and the primitive forms of minerals.

(192.) It has always appeared to us, we must confess, that the help which the classification of instances, under their different titles of prerogative, affords to inductions, however just such classification may be in itself, is yet more apparent than real. The force of the instance must be felt in the mind, before it can be referred to its place in the system; and, before it can be either referred or appretiated, it must be known; and when it _is_ appretiated, we are ready enough to interweave it in our web of induction, without greatly troubling ourselves with enquiring whence it derives the weight we acknowledge it to have in our decisions. However, since much importance is usually attached to this part of Bacon’s work, we shall here give a few examples to illustrate the nature of some of his principal cases. One, of what he calls “glaring instances,” has just been mentioned. In these, the _nature_ or cause enquired into, (which in this case is the cause of the assumption of a peculiar external form, or the internal _structure_ of a crystal,) “stands naked and alone, and this in an eminent manner, or in the highest degree of its power.” No doubt, such instances as these are highly instructive; but the difficulty in physics is to find such, not to perceive their force when found.

(193.) The contrary of glaring are “clandestine instances,” where “the nature sought is exhibited in its weakest and most imperfect state.” Of this, Bacon himself has given an admirable example in the cohesion of fluids, as a _clandestine instance_ of the “_nature_ or quality of consistence, or solidity.” Yet here, again, the same acute discrimination which enabled Bacon to perceive the analogy which connects fluids with solids, through the common property of cohesive attraction, would, at the same time, have enabled him to draw from it, if properly supported, every consequence necessary to forming just notions of the cohesive force; nor does its reference to the class of clandestine instances at all assist in bringing forward and maturing the final results. When, however, the final result is obtained,--when our induction is complete, and we would verify it,--this class of instances is of great use, being, in fact, frequently no other than that of _extreme cases_, such as we have already spoken of (in § 177.); which, by placing our conclusions, as it were, in violent circumstances, try their temper, and bring their vigour to the test.

(194.) Bacon’s “collective instances” (_instantiæ unionis_), are no other than general facts, or laws of some degree of generality, and are themselves the results of induction. But there is a species of collective instance which Bacon does not seem to have contemplated, of a peculiarly instructive character; and that is, where particular cases are offered to our observation in such numbers at once as to make the induction of their law a matter of ocular inspection. For example, the parabolic form assumed by a jet of water spouted from a round hole, is a _collective instance_ of the velocities and directions of the motions of all the particles which compose it _seen at once_, and which thus leads us, without trouble, to recognize the law of the motion of a projectile. Again, the beautiful figures exhibited by sand strewed on regular plates of glass or metal set in vibration, are _collective instances_ of an infinite number of points which remain at rest while the remainder of the plate vibrates; and in consequence afford us, as it were, a sight of the law which regulates their arrangement and sequence throughout the whole surface. The beautifully coloured lemniscates seen around the optic axes of crystals exposed to polarized light afford a superb example of the same kind, pointing at once to the general mathematical expression of the law which regulates their production.[46] Of such collective instances as these, it is easy to see the importance, and its reason. They lead us to a general law by an induction which offers itself spontaneously, and thus furnish advanced points in our enquiries; and when we start from these, already “a thousand steps are lost.”

(195.) A fine example of a collective instance is that of the system of Jupiter or Saturn with its satellites. We have here, in miniature, and seen at one view, a system similar to that of the planets about the sun; of which, from the circumstance of our being involved in it, and unfavourably situated for seeing it otherwise than in detail, we are incapacitated from forming a general idea but by slow progressive efforts of reason. Accordingly, the contemplation of the _circumjovial planets_ (as they were called) most materially assisted in securing the admission of the Copernican system.

(196.) Of “Crucial instances” we have also already spoken, as affording the readiest and securest means of eliminating extraneous causes, and deciding between rival hypotheses. Owing to the disposition of the mind to form hypotheses, and to prejudge cases, it constantly happens that, among all the possible suppositions which may occur, two or three principal ones occupy us, to the exclusion of the rest; or it may be that, if we have been less precipitate, out of a great multitude rejected for obvious inapplicability to some one or other case, two or three of better claims remain for decision; and this such instances enable us to do. One of the instances cited by Bacon in illustration of his crucial class is very remarkable, being neither more nor less than the proposal of a direct experiment to determine whether the tendency of heavy bodies downwards is a result of some peculiar mechanism in themselves, or of the attraction of the earth “by the corporeal mass thereof, as by a collection of bodies of the same nature.” If it be so, he says, “it will follow that the nearer all bodies approach to the earth, the stronger and with the greater force and velocity they will tend to it; but the farther they are, the weaker and slower:” and his experiment consists in comparing the effect of a spring and a weight in keeping up the motions of two “clocks,” regulated together, and removed alternately to the tops of high buildings and into the deepest mines. By _clocks_ he could not have meant pendulum clocks, which were not then known, (the first made in England was in 1662,) _fly_-clocks, so that the comparison, though too coarse, was not contrary to sound mechanical principles. In short, its principle was the comparison of the effect of a spring with that of a weight, in producing certain motions in certain times, on heights and in mines. Now, this is the very same thing that has really been done in the recent experiments of professors Airy and Whewell in Dolcoath mine: a pendulum (a weight moved by gravity) has been compared with a chronometer balance, moved and regulated by a spring. In his 37th aphorism, Bacon also speaks of gravity as an incorporeal power, acting at a distance, and _requiring time for its transmission_; a consideration which occurred at a later period to Laplace, in one of his most delicate investigations.

(197.) A well chosen and strongly marked crucial instance is, sometimes, of the highest importance; when two theories, which run parallel to each other (as is sometimes the case) in their explanation of great classes of phenomena, at length come to be placed at issue upon a single fact. A beautiful instance of this will be cited in the next section. We may add to the examples above given of such instances, that of the application of chemical tests, which are almost universally crucial experiments.

(198.) Bacon’s “travelling instances” are those in which the _nature_ or quality under investigation “travels,” or varies in degree; and thus (according to § 152.) afford an indication of a cause by a gradation of intensity in the effect. One of his instances is very happy, being that of “paper, which is white when dry, but proves less so when wet, and comes nearer to the state of transparency upon the exclusion of the air, and admission of water.” In reading this, and many other instances in the Novum Organum, one would almost suppose (had it been written) that its author had taken them from Newton’s Optics.

(199.) The travelling instances, as well as what Bacon terms “frontier instances,” are cases in which we are enabled to trace that general law which seems to pervade all nature--the law, as it is termed, of continuity, and which is expressed in the well known sentence, “Natura non agit per saltum.” The pursuit of this law into cases where its application is not at first sight obvious, has proved a fertile source of physical discovery, and led us to the knowledge of an analogy and intimate connection of phenomena between which at first we should never have expected to find any.

(200.) For example, the transparency of gold leaf, which permits a bluish-green light to pass through it, is a frontier instance between the transparency of pellucid bodies and the opacity of metals, and it prevents a breach of the law of continuity between transparent and opake bodies, by exhibiting a body of the class generally regarded the most opake in nature, as still possessed of some slight degree of transparency. It thus proves that the quality of opacity is not a _contrary_ or _antagonist_ quality to that of transparency, but only its extreme lowest degree.

CHAP. VII.

OF THE HIGHER DEGREES OF INDUCTIVE GENERALIZATION, AND OF THE
FORMATION AND VERIFICATION OF THEORIES.

(201.) As particular inductions and laws of the first degree of generality are obtained from the consideration of individual facts, so Theories result from a consideration of these laws, and of the proximate causes brought into view in the previous process, regarded all together as constituting a new set of phenomena, the creatures of reason rather than of sense, and each representing under general language innumerable particular facts. In raising these higher inductions, therefore, more scope is given to the exercise of pure reason than in slowly groping out our first results. The mind is more disencumbered of matter, and moves as it were in its own element. What is now before it, it perceives more intimately, and less through the medium of sense, or at least not in the same manner as when actually at work on the immediate objects of sense. But it must not be therefore supposed that, in the formation of theories, we are abandoned to the unrestrained exercise of imagination, or at liberty to lay down arbitrary principles, or assume the existence of mere fanciful causes. The liberty of speculation which we possess in the domains of theory is not like the wild licence of the slave broke loose from his fetters, but rather like that of the freeman who has learned the lessons of self-restraint in the school of just subordination. The ultimate objects we pursue in the highest theories are the same as those of the lowest inductions; and the means by which we can most securely attain them bear a close analogy to those which we have found successful in such inferior cases.

(202.) The immediate object we propose to ourselves in physical theories is the analysis of phenomena, and the knowledge of the hidden processes of nature in their production, so far as they can be traced by us. An important part of this knowledge consists in a discovery of the actual structure or mechanism of the universe and its parts, through which, and by which, those processes are executed; and of the agents which are concerned in their performance. Now, the mechanism of nature is for the most part either on too large or too small a scale to be immediately cognizable by our senses; and her agents in like manner elude direct observation, and become known to us only by their effects. It is in vain therefore that we desire to become witnesses to the processes carried on with such means, and to be admitted into the secret recesses and laboratories where they are effected. Microscopes have been constructed which magnify more than a thousand times in _linear_ dimension, so that the smallest visible grain of sand may be enlarged to the appearance of one a thousand million times more bulky; yet the only impression we receive by viewing it through such a magnifier is, that it reminds us of some vast fragment of a rock, while the intimate structure on which depend its colour, its hardness, and its chemical properties, remains still concealed: we do not seem to have made even an approach to a closer analysis of it by any such scrutiny.

(203.) On the other hand, the mechanism of the great system of which our planet forms a part escapes immediate observation by the immensity of its scale, nay, even by the slowness of its evolutions. The motion of the minute hand of a watch can hardly be perceived without the closest attention, and that of the hour hand not at all. But what are these, in respect of the impression of slowness they produce in our minds, compared with a revolving movement which takes a whole year, or twelve, thirty, or eighty years to complete, as is the case with the planets in their revolutions round the sun. Yet no sooner do we come to reflect on the linear dimensions of these orbs, (which however we do not _see_, nor can we measure them but by a long, circuitous, and difficult process,) than we are lost in astonishment at the swiftness of the very motions which before seemed so slow.[47] The motion of the sails of a windmill offers (on a small scale) an illustrative case. At a distance the rotation seems slow and steady--but when we stand close to one of the sails in its sweep, we are surprised at the swiftness with which it rushes by us.

(204.) Again, the agents employed by nature to act on material structures are invisible, and only to be traced by the effects they produce. Heat dilates matter with an irresistible force; but what heat is, remains yet a problem. A current of electricity passing along a wire moves a magnetized needle at a distance; but except from this effect we perceive no difference between the condition of the wire when it conveys and when it does not convey the stream: and we apply the terms current, or stream, to the electricity only because in some of its relations it reminds us of something we have observed in a stream of air or water. In like manner we see that the moon circulates about the earth; and because we believe it to be a solid mass, and have never seen one solid substance revolve round another within our reach to handle and examine unless retained by a force or united by a tie, we conclude that there _is_ a force, and a mode of connection, between the moon and the earth; though, what that mode can be, we have no conception, nor can imagine _how_ such a force can be exerted at a distance, and with empty space, or at most an invisible fluid, between. (See § 148.)

(205.) Yet are we not to despair, since we see regular and beautiful results brought about in human works by means which nobody would, at first sight, think could have any thing to do with them. A sheet of blank paper is placed upon a frame, and shoved forwards, and after winding its way successively over and under half a dozen rollers, and performing many other strange evolutions, comes out printed on both sides. And, after all, the acting cause in this process is nothing more than a few gallons of water boiled in an iron vessel, at a distance from the scene of operations. But _why_ the water so boiled should be capable of producing the active energy which sets the whole apparatus in motion is, and will probably long remain, a secret to us.

(206.) This, however, does not at all prevent our having a very perfect comprehension of the whole subsequent process. We might frequent printing-houses, and form a theory of printing, and having worked our way up to the point where the mechanical action commenced (the boiler of the steam-engine), and verified it by taking to pieces, and putting together again, the train of wheels and the presses, and by sound theoretical examination of all the transfers of motion from one part to another; we should, at length, pronounce our theory good, and declare that we understood printing thoroughly. Nay, we might even go away and apply the principles of mechanism we had learned in this enquiry to other widely different purposes; construct other machines, and put them in motion by the same moving power, and all without arriving at any correct idea as to the ultimate source of the force employed. But, if we were inclined to theorize farther, we might do so; and it is easy to imagine how two theorists might form very different _hypotheses_ as to the origin of the power which alternately raised and depressed the piston-rod of the engine. One, for example, might maintain that the boiler (whose contents we will suppose that neither theorist has been permitted to examine) was the den of some powerful unknown animal, and he would not be without plausible analogies in the warmth, the supply of fuel and water, the breathing noises, the smoke, and above all, the mechanical power exerted. He would say (not without a show of reason), that where there is a positive and wonderful effect, and many strong analogies, such as materials consumed, and all the usual signs of life maintained, we are not to deny the existence of animal life because we know no animal that consumes such food. Nay, he might observe with truth, that the fuel actually consists of the chemical ingredients which constitute the chief food of all animals, &c.; while, on the other hand, his brother theorist, who caught a glimpse of the fire, and detected the peculiar sounds of ebullition, might acquire a better notion of the case, and form a theory more in consonance with fact.

(207.) Now, nothing is more common in physics than to find two, or even many, _theories_ maintained as to the origin of a natural phenomenon. For instance, in the case of heat itself, one considers it as a really existing material fluid, of such exceeding subtlety as to penetrate all bodies, and even to be capable of combining with them chemically; while another regards it as nothing but a rapid vibratory or rotatory motion in the ultimate particles of the bodies heated; and produces a singularly ingenious train of mechanical reasoning to show, that there is nothing contradictory to sound dynamical principles in such a doctrine. Thus, again, with light: one considers it as consisting in actual particles darted forth from luminous bodies, and acted upon in their progress by forces of extreme intensity residing in the substances on which they strike; another, in the vibratory motion of the particles of luminous bodies, communicated to a peculiar subtle and highly elastic ethereal medium, filling all space, and conveyed through it into our eyes, as sounds are to our ears, by the undulations of the air.

(208.) Now, are we to be deterred from framing hypotheses and constructing theories, because we meet with such dilemmas, and find ourselves frequently beyond our depth? Undoubtedly not. _Est quodam prodire tenus si non datur ultra._ Hypotheses, with respect to theories, are what presumed proximate causes are with respect to particular inductions: they afford us motives for searching into analogies; grounds of citation to bring before us all the cases which seem to bear upon them, for examination. A well imagined hypothesis, if it have been suggested by a fair inductive consideration of general laws, can hardly fail at least of enabling us to generalize a step farther, and group together several such laws under a more universal expression. But this is taking a very limited view of the value and importance of hypotheses: it may happen (and it has happened in the case of the undulatory doctrine of light) that such a weight of analogy and probability may become accumulated on the side of an hypothesis, that we are compelled to admit one of two things; either that it is an actual statement of what really passes in nature, or that the reality, whatever it be, must run so close a parallel with it, as to admit of some mode of expression common to both, at least in so far as the phenomena actually known are concerned. Now, this is a very great step, not only for its own sake, as leading us to a high point in philosophical speculation, but for its applications; because whatever conclusions we deduce from an hypothesis so supported must have at least a strong presumption in their favour: and we may be thus led to the trial of many curious experiments, and to the imagining of many useful and important contrivances, which we should never otherwise have thought of, and which, at all events, if verified in practice, are real additions to our stock of knowledge and to the arts of life.

(209.) In framing a theory which shall render a rational account of any natural phenomenon, we have _first_ to consider the agents on which it depends, or the causes to which we regard it as ultimately referable. These agents are not to be arbitrarily assumed; they must be such as we have good inductive grounds to believe do exist in nature, and do perform a part in phenomena analogous to those we would render an account of; or such, whose presence in the actual case can be demonstrated by unequivocal signs. They must be _veræ causæ_, in short, which we can not only show to exist and to act, but the laws of whose action we can derive independently, by direct induction, from experiments purposely instituted; or at least make such suppositions respecting them as shall not be contrary to our experience, and which will remain to be verified by the coincidence of the conclusions we shall deduce from them, with facts. For example, in the theory of gravitation we suppose an agent,--_viz._ force, or mechanical power,--to act on _any_ material body which is placed in the presence of _any_ other, and to urge the two mutually towards each other. This is a _vera causa_; for heavy bodies (that is, all bodies, but some more, some less,) tend to, or endeavour to reach, the earth, and require the exertion of force to counteract this endeavour, or to keep them up. Now, that which opposes and neutralizes force _is_ force. And again, a plumb-line, which, when allowed to hang freely, always hangs perpendicularly; is found to hang observably aside from the perpendicular when in the neighbourhood of a considerable mountain; thereby proving that a force is exerted upon it, which draws it towards the mountain. Moreover, since it is a fact that the moon does circulate about the earth, it must be drawn towards the earth by a force; for if there were no force acting upon it, it would go on in a straight line without turning aside to circulate in an orbit, and would, therefore, soon go away and be lost in space. This force, then, which we call the _force_ of gravity, is a real cause.

(210.) We have next to consider the laws which regulate the action of these our primary agents; and these we can only arrive at in three ways: 1st, By inductive reasoning; that is, by examining all the cases in which we know them to be exercised, inferring, as well as circumstances will permit, its amount or intensity in each particular case, and then piecing together, as it were, these _disjecta membra_, generalizing from them, and so arriving at the laws desired; 2dly, By forming at once a bold hypothesis, particularizing the law, and trying the truth of it by following out its consequences and comparing them with facts; or, 3dly, By a process partaking of both these, and combining the advantages of both without their defects, viz. by assuming indeed the laws we would discover, but so generally expressed, that they shall include an unlimited variety of particular laws;--following out the consequences of this assumption, by the application of such general principles as the case admits;--comparing them in succession with all the particular cases within our knowledge; and, lastly, _on this comparison_, so modifying and restricting the general enunciation of our laws as to _make the results agree_.

(211.) All these three processes for the discovery of those general elementary laws on which the higher theories are grounded are applicable with different advantage in different circumstances. We might exemplify their successive application to the case of gravitation: but as this would rather lead into a disquisition too particular for the objects of this discourse, and carry us too much into the domain of technical mathematics, we shall content ourselves with remarking, that the method last mentioned is that which mathematicians (especially such as have a considerable command of those general modes of representing and reasoning on quantity, which constitute the higher analysis,) find the most universally applicable, and the most efficacious; and that it is applicable with especial advantage in cases where subordinate inductions of the kind described in the last section have already led to laws of a certain generality admitting of mathematical expression. Such a case, for instance, is the elliptic motion of a planet, which is a general proposition including the statement of an infinite number of particular _places_, in which the laws of its motion allow it to be some time or other found, and for which, of course, the law of force must be so assumed as to account.

(212.) With regard to the first process of the three above enumerated, it is in fact an induction of the kind described in § 185.; and all the remarks we there made on that kind of induction apply to it in this stage. The direct assumption of a particular hypothesis has been occasionally practised very successfully. As examples, we may mention Coulomb’s and Poisson’s theories of electricity and magnetism, in both which, phenomena of a very complicated and interesting nature are referred to the actions of attractive and repulsive forces, following a law similar in its expression to the law of gravitation. But the difficulty and labour, which, in the greater theories, always attends the pursuit of a fundamental law into its remote consequences, effectually precludes this method from being commonly resorted to as a means of discovery, unless we have some good reason, from analogy or otherwise, for believing that the attempt will prove successful, or have been first led by partial inductions to particular laws which naturally point it out for trial.

(213.) In this case the law assumes all the characters of a general phenomenon resulting from an induction of particulars, but not yet verified by comparison with _all_ the particulars, nor extended to all that it is capable of including. (See § 171.) It is the verification of such inductions which constitutes theory in its largest sense, and which embraces an estimation of the influence of all such circumstances as may modify the effect of the cause whose laws of action we have arrived at and would verify. To return to our example: particular inductions drawn from the motions of the several planets about the sun, and of the satellites round their primaries, &c. having led us to the general conception of an attractive force exerted by every particle of matter in the universe on every other according to the law to which we attach the name of gravitation; when we would verify this induction, we must set out with assuming this law, considering the whole system as subjected to its influence and implicitly obeying it, and nothing interfering with its action; we then, for the first time, perceive a train of modifying circumstances which had not occurred to us when reasoning upwards from particulars to obtain the fundamental law; we perceive that _all the planets_ must attract _each other_, must therefore draw each other out of the orbits which they would have if acted on only by the sun; and as this was never contemplated in the inductive process, its validity becomes a question, which can only be determined by ascertaining precisely how great a deviation this new class of mutual actions will produce. To do this is no easy task, or rather, it is the most difficult task which the genius of man has ever yet accomplished: still, it _has_ been accomplished by the mere application of the general laws of dynamics; and the result (undoubtedly a most beautiful and satisfactory one) is, that all those observed deviations in the motions of our system which stood out as exceptions (§ 154.), or were noticed as residual phenomena and reserved for further enquiry (§ 158.), in that imperfect view of the subject which we got in the subordinate process by which we rose to our general conclusion, prove to be the immediate consequences of the above-mentioned mutual actions. As such, they are neither exceptions nor residual facts, but fulfilments of general rules, and essential features in the statement of the case, _without_ which our induction would be invalid, and the law of gravitation positively untrue.

(214.) In the theory of gravitation, the law is all in all, applying itself at once to the materials, and directly producing the result. But in many other cases we have to consider not merely the laws which regulate the actions of our ultimate causes, but a system of mechanism, or a structure of parts, through the intervention of which their effects become sensible to us. Thus, in the delicate and curious electro-dynamic theory of Ampere, the mutual attraction or repulsion of two magnets is referred to a more universal phenomenon, the mutual action of electric currents, according to a certain fundamental law. But, in order to bring the case of a magnet within the range of this law, he is obliged to make a supposition of a peculiar structure or mechanism, which constitutes a body a magnet, viz. that around each particle of the body there shall be constantly circulating, in a certain stated direction, a small current of electric fluid.

(215.) This, we may say, is too complex; it is artificial, and cannot be granted: yet, if the admission of this or any other structure tenfold more artificial and complicated will enable any one to present in a general point of view a great number of particular facts,--to make them a part of one system, and enable us to reason from the known to the unknown, and actually to _predict facts before trial_,--we would ask, why should it _not_ be granted? When we examine those instances of nature’s workmanship which we can take to pieces and understand, we find them in the highest degree artificial in our own sense of the word. Take, for example, the structure of an eye, or of the skeleton of an animal,--what complexity and what artifice! In the one, a _pellucid muscle_; a lens formed with elliptical surfaces; a circular aperture capable of enlargement or contraction without loss of form. In the other, a framework of the most curious carpentry; in which occurs not a single straight line, nor any known geometrical curve, yet all evidently systematic, and constructed by rules which defy our research. Or examine a crystallized mineral, which we can in some measure dissect, and thus obtain direct evidence of an internal structure. Neither artifice nor complication are here wanting; and though it is easy to assert that these appearances are, after all, produced by something which would be very simple, if we did but know it, it is plain that the same might be _said_ of a steam-engine executing the most complicated movements, previous to any investigation of its nature, or any knowledge of the source of its power.

(216.) In estimating, however, the value of a theory, we are not to look, _in the first instance_, to the question, whether it establishes satisfactorily, or not, a particular process or mechanism; for of this, after all, we can never obtain more than that indirect evidence which consists in its leading to the same results. What, in the actual state of science, is far more important for us to know, is whether our theory truly represent _all_ the facts, and include _all_ the laws, to which observation and induction lead. A theory which did this would, no doubt, go a great way to establish any hypothesis of mechanism or structure, which might form an essential part of it: but this is very far from being the case, except in a few limited instances; and, till it is so, to lay any great stress on hypotheses of the kind, except in as much as they serve as a scaffold for the erection of general laws, is to “quite mistake the scaffold for the pile.” Regarded in this light, hypotheses have often an eminent use: and a facility in framing them, if attended with an equal facility in laying them aside when they have served their turn, is one of the most valuable qualities a philosopher can possess; while, on the other hand, a bigoted adherence to them, or indeed to peculiar views of any kind, in opposition to the tenor of facts as they arise, is the bane of all philosophy.

(217.) There is no doubt, however, that the safest course, when it can be followed, is to rise by inductions carried on among laws, as among facts, from law to law, perceiving, as we go on, how laws which we have looked upon as unconnected become particular cases, either one of the other, or all of one still more general, and, at length, blend altogether in the point of view from which we learn to regard them. An example will illustrate what we mean. It is a general law, that all hot bodies throw out or _radiate_ heat in all directions, (by which we mean, not that heat is an actual substance darted out from hot bodies, but only that the laws of the transmission of heat to distant objects are similar to those which would regulate the distribution of particles thrown forth in all directions,) and that other colder bodies placed in their neighbourhood become hot, _as if_ they received the heat so radiated. Again, all solid bodies which become heated in one part _conduct_, or diffuse, the heat from that part through their whole substance. Here we have two modes of communicating heat,--by radiation, and by conduction; and both these have their peculiar, and, to all appearance, very different laws. Now, let us bring a hot and a cold body (of the same substance) gradually nearer and nearer together,--as they approach, the heat will be communicated from the hot to the cold one by the _laws of radiation_; and from the nearer to the farther part of the colder one, as it gradually grows warm, by _those of conduction_. Let their distance be diminished till they just lightly touch. How does the heat _now_ pass from one to the other? Doubtless, by radiation; for it may be proved, that in such a contact there is yet an interval. Let them then be _forced_ together, and it will seem clear that it must now be by _conduction_. Yet their _interval_ must diminish gradually, as the force by which they are pressed together increases, till they actually cohere, and form one. The law of continuity, then, of which we have before spoken (§ 199.), forbids us to suppose that the intimate nature of the process of communication is changed in this transition from light to violent contact, and from that to actual union. If so, we might ask, at what point does the change happen? Especially since it is also demonstrable, that the particles of the most solid body are not, really, in contact. _Therefore_, the laws of conduction and radiation have a mutual dependence, and the former are only extreme cases of the latter. If, then, we would rightly understand what passes, or what is the process of nature in the slow communication of heat through the substance of a solid, we must ground our enquiries upon what takes place at a distance, and then urge the laws to which we have arrived, up to their extreme case.

(218.) When two theories run parallel to each other, and each explains a great many facts in common with the other, any experiment which affords a crucial instance to decide between them, or by which one or other must fall, is of great importance. In thus verifying theories, since they are grounded on general laws, we may appeal, not merely to particular cases, but to whole classes of facts; and we therefore have a great range among the individuals of these for the selection of some particular effect which ought to take place oppositely in the event of one of the two suppositions at issue being right and the other wrong. A curious example is given by M. Fresnel, as decisive, in his mind, of the question between the two great opinions on the nature of light, which, since the time of Newton and Huyghens, have divided philosophers. (See § 207.) When two very clean glasses are laid one on the other, if they be not perfectly flat, but one or both in an almost imperceptible degree convex or prominent, beautiful and vivid colours will be seen between them; and if these be viewed through a red glass, their appearance will be that of alternate dark and bright stripes. These stripes are formed _between_ the two surfaces in apparent contact, as any one may satisfy himself by using, instead of a flat _plate_ of glass for the upper one, a triangular-shaped piece, called a prism, like a three-cornered stick, and looking through the inclined side of it next the eye, by which arrangement the reflection of light from the upper surface is prevented from intermixing with that from the surfaces in contact. Now, the coloured stripes thus produced are explicable on both theories, and are appealed to by both as strong confirmatory facts; but there is a difference in one circumstance according as one or the other theory is employed to explain them. In the case of the Huyghenian doctrine, the intervals between the bright stripes ought to appear _absolutely black_; in the other, _half bright_, when so viewed through a prism. This curious case of difference was tried as soon as the opposing consequences of the two theories were noted by M. Fresnel, and the result is stated by him to be decisive in favour of that theory which makes light to consist in the vibrations of an elastic medium.

(219.) Theories are best arrived at by the consideration of general laws; but most securely verified by comparing them with particular facts, because this serves as a verification of the whole train of induction, from the lowest term to the highest. But then, the comparison must be made with facts purposely selected so as to include every variety of case, not omitting extreme ones, and in sufficient number to afford every reasonable probability of detecting error. A single numerical coincidence in a final conclusion, however striking the coincidence or important the subject, is not sufficient. Newton’s theory of sound, for example, leads to a numerical expression for the actual velocity of sound, differing but little from that afforded by the correct theory afterwards explained by Lagrange, and (when certain considerations not contemplated by him are allowed for) agreeing with fact; yet this coincidence is no verification of Newton’s view of the general subject of sound, which is defective in an essential point, as the great geometer last named has very satisfactorily shown. This example is sufficient to inspire caution in resting the verification of theories upon any thing but a very extensive comparison with a great mass of observed facts.

(220.) But, on the other hand, when a theory will bear the test of such extensive comparison, it matters little how it has been originally framed. However strange and, at first sight, inadmissible its postulates may appear, or however singular it may seem that such postulates should have been fixed upon,--if they only lead us, by legitimate reasonings, to conclusions in exact accordance with numerous observations purposely made under such a variety of circumstances as fairly to embrace the whole range of the phenomena which the theory is intended to account for, we cannot refuse to admit them; or if we still hesitate to regard them as demonstrated truths, we cannot, at least, object to receive them as temporary substitutes for such truths, until the latter shall become known. If they suffice to explain all the phenomena known, it becomes highly improbable that they will not explain more; and if all their conclusions we have tried have proved correct, it is probable that others yet untried will be found so too; so that _in rejecting them altogether, we should reject all the discoveries to which they may lead_.

(221.) In all theories which profess to give a true account of the process of nature in the production of any class of phenomena, by referring them to general laws, or to the action of general causes, through a train of modifying circumstances; before we can apply those laws, or trace the action of those causes in any assigned case, we require to know the circumstances: we must have data whereon to ground their application. Now, these can be learned only from observation; and it may seem to be arguing in a vicious circle to have recourse to observation for any part of those theoretical conclusions, by whose comparison with fact the theory itself is to be tried. The consideration of an example will enable us to remove this difficulty. The most general law which has yet been discovered in chemistry is this, that all the elementary substances in nature are susceptible of entering into combination with each other only in fixed or _definite proportions_ by weight, and not arbitrarily; so that when any two substances are put together with a view to unite them, if their weights are not in some certain determinate proportion, a complete combination will not take place, but some part of one or the other ingredient will remain over and above, and uncombined. Suppose, now, we have found a substance having all the outward characters of a homogeneous or unmixed body, but which, on analysis, we discover to consist of sulphur, and lead in the proportion of 20 parts of the former to 130 of the latter ingredient; and we would know whether this is to be regarded as a verification of the law of definite proportions or an exception to it. The question is reduced to this, whether the proportion 20 to 130 be or be not _that_ fixed and definite proportion, (or one of them, if there be more than one proportion possible,) in which, according to the law in question, sulphur and lead can combine; now, this can never be decided by merely looking at the law in all its generality. It is clear, that when particularized by restricting its expression to sulphur and lead, the law should state _what are_ those particular fixed proportions in which these bodies can combine. That is to say, there must be certain data or numbers, by which these are distinguished from all other bodies in nature, and which require to be known before we can apply the general law to the particular case. To determine such data, observation must be consulted; and if we were to have recourse to that of the combination of the two substances in question with each other, no doubt there would be ground for the logical objection of a vicious circle: but this is not done; the determination of these numerical data is derived from experiments purposely made on a great variety of different combinations, among which that under consideration does not of necessity occur, and all these being found, independently of each other, to agree in giving the same results, they are therefore safely assumed as part of the system. Thus, the law of definite proportions, when applied to the actual state of nature, requires two separate statements, the one announcing the general law of combination, the other particularizing the numbers appropriate to the several elements of which natural bodies consist, or the data of nature. Among these data, if arranged in a list, there will be found opposite to the element sulphur the number 16, and opposite to lead, 104[48]; and since 20 is to 130 in the exact proportion of 16 to 104, it appears that the combination in question affords a satisfactory verification of the law.

(222.) The great importance of physical data of this description, and the advantage of having them well determined, will be obvious, if we consider, that a list of them, when taken in combination with the general law, affords the means of determining at once the exact proportion of the ingredients of all natural compounds, if we only know the place they hold in the system. In chemistry, the number of admitted elements is between fifty and sixty, and new ones are added continually as the science advances. Now, the moment the number corresponding to any new substance added to the list is determined, we have, in fact, ascertained all the proportions in which it can enter into combination with all the others, so that a careful experiment made with the object of determining this number is, in fact, equivalent to as many different experiments as there are binary, ternary, or yet more complicated combinations capable of existing, into which the new substance may enter, as an ingredient.

(223.) The importance of obtaining exact physical data can scarcely be too much insisted on, for without them the most elaborate theories are little better than mere inapplicable forms of words. It would be of little consequence to be informed, abstractedly, that the sun and planets attract each other, with forces proportional to their masses, and inversely as the squares of their distances: but, as soon as we know the data of our system, as soon as we have an accurate statement (no matter how obtained) of the distances, masses, and actual motions of the several bodies which compose it, we need no more to enable us to predict all the movements of its several parts, and the changes that will happen in it for thousands of years to come; and even to extend our views backwards into time, and recover from the past, phenomena, which no observation has noted, and no history recorded, and which yet (it is possible) may have left indelible traces of their existence in their influence on the state of nature in our own globe, and those of the other planets.