A Preliminary Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy/Part 2, chap. 6
(137.) The first thing that a philosophic mind considers, when any new phenomenon presents itself, is its explanation, or reference to an immediate producing cause. If that cannot be ascertained, the next is to generalize the phenomenon, and include it, with others analogous to it, in the expression of some law, in the hope that its consideration, in a more advanced state of knowledge, may lead to the discovery of an adequate proximate cause.
(138.) Experience having shown us the manner in which one phenomenon depends on another in a great variety of cases, we find ourselves provided, as science extends, with a continually increasing stock of such antecedent phenomena, or causes (meaning at present merely proximate causes), competent, under different modifications, to the production of a great multitude of effects, besides those which originally led to a knowledge of them. To such causes Newton has applied the term veræ causæ; that is, causes recognized as having a real existence in nature, and not being mere hypotheses or figments of the mind. To exemplify the distinction:—The phenomenon of shells found in rocks, at a great height above the sea, has been attributed to several causes. By some it has been ascribed to a plastic virtue in the soil; by some, to fermentation; by some, to the influence of the celestial bodies; by some, to the casual passage of pilgrims with their scallops; by some, to birds feeding on shell-fish; and by all modern geologists, with one consent, to the life and death of real mollusca at the bottom of the sea, and a subsequent alteration of the relative level of the land and sea. Of these, the plastic virtue and celestial influence belong to the class of figments of fancy. Casual transport by pilgrims is a real cause, and might account for a few shells here and there dropped on frequented passes, but is not extensive enough for the purpose of explanation. Fermentation, generally, is a real cause, so far as that there is such a thing; but it is not a real cause of the production of a shell in a rock, since no such thing was ever witnessed as one of its effects, and rocks and stones do not ferment. On the other hand, for a shell-fish dying at the bottom of the sea to leave his shell in the mud, where it becomes silted over and imbedded, happens daily; and the elevation of the bottom of the sea to become dry land has really been witnessed so often, and on such a scale, as to qualify it for a vera causa available in sound philosophy.
(139.) To take another instance, likewise drawn from the same deservedly popular science:—The fact of a great change in the general climate of large tracts of the globe, if not of the whole earth, and of a diminution of general temperature, having been recognised by geologists, from their examination of the remains of animals and vegetables of former ages enclosed in the strata, various causes for such diminution of temperature have been assigned. Some consider the whole globe as having gradually cooled from absolute fusion; some regard the immensely superior activity of former volcanoes, and consequent more copious communication of internal heat to the surface, in former ages, as the cause. Neither of these can be regarded as real causes in the sense here intended; for we do not know that the globe has so cooled from fusion, nor are we sure that such supposed greater activity of former than of present volcanoes really did exist. A cause, possessing the essential requisites of a vera causa, has, however, been brought forward[1] in the varying influence of the distribution of land and sea over the surface of the globe: a change of such distribution, in the lapse of ages, by the degradation of the old continents, and the elevation of new, being a demonstrated fact; and the influence of such a change on the climates of particular regions, if not of the whole globe, being a perfectly fair conclusion, from what we know of continental, insular, and oceanic climates by actual observation. Here, then, we have, at least, a cause on which a philosopher may consent to reason; though, whether the changes actually going on are such as to warrant the whole extent of the conclusion, or are even taking place in the right direction, may be considered as undecided till the matter has been more thoroughly examined.
(140.) To this we may add another, which has likewise the essential characters of a vera causa, in the astronomical fact of the actual slow diminution of the eccentricity of the earth's orbit round the sun; and which, as a general one, affecting the mean temperature of the whole globe, and as one of which the effect is both inevitable, and susceptible, to a certain degree, of exact estimation, deserves consideration. It is evident that the mean temperature of the whole surface of the globe, in so far as it is maintained by the action of the sun at a higher degree than it would have were the sun extinguished, must depend on the mean quantity of the sun's rays which it receives, or, which comes to the same thing, on the total quantity received in a given invariable time: and the length of the year being unchangeable in all the fluctuations of the planetary system, it follows, that the total annual amount of solar radiation will determine, cœteris paribus, the general climate of the earth. Now, it is not difficult to show that this amount is inversely proportional to the minor axis of the ellipse described by the earth about the sun, regarded as slowly variable; and that, therefore, the major axis remaining, as we know it to be, constant, and the orbit being actually in a state of approach to a circle, and, consequently, the minor axis being on the increase, the mean annual amount of solar radiation received by the whole earth must be actually on the decrease. We have here, therefore, an evident real cause, of sufficient universality, and acting in the right direction, to account for the phenomenon. Its adequacy is another consideration.[2]
(141.) Whenever, therefore, any phenomenon presents itself for explanation, we naturally seek, in the first instance, to refer it to some one or other of those real causes which experience has shown to exist, and to be efficacious in producing similar phenomena. In this attempt our probability of success will, of course, mainly depend, 1st, On the number and variety of causes experience has placed at our disposal; 2dly, On our habit of applying them to the explanation of natural phenomena; and, 3dly, On the number of analogous phenomena we can collect, which have either been explained, or which admit of explanation by some one or other of those causes, and the closeness of their analogy with that in question.
(142.) Here, then, we see the great importance of possessing a stock of analogous instances or phenomena which class themselves with that under consideration, the explanation of one among which may naturally be expected to lead to that of all the rest. If the analogy of two phenomena be very close and striking, while, at the same time, the cause of one is very obvious, it becomes scarcely possible to refuse to admit the action of an analogous cause in the other, though not so obvious in itself For instance, when we see a stone whirled round in a sling, describing a circular orbit round the hand, keeping the string stretched, and flying away the moment it breaks, we never hesitate to regard it as retained in its orbit by the tension of the string, that is, by a force directed to the centre; for we feel that we do really exert such a force. We have here the direct perception of the cause. When, therefore, we see a great body like the moon circulating round the earth and not flying off, we cannot help believing it to be prevented from so doing, not indeed by a material tie, but by that which operates in the other case through the intermedium of the string,—a force directed constantly to the centre. It is thus that we are continually acquiring a knowledge of the existence of causes acting under circumstances of such concealment as effectually to prevent their direct discovery.
(143.) In general we must observe that motion, wherever produced or changed, invariably points out the existence of force as its cause; and thus the forces of nature become known and measured by the motions they produce. Thus, the force of magnetism becomes known by the deviation produced by iron in a compass needle, or by a needle leaping up to a magnet held over it, as certainly as by that adhesion to it, when in contact and at rest, which requires force to break the connection; and thus the currents produced in the surface of a quantity of quicksilver, electrified under a conducting fluid, have pointed out the existence and direction of forces of enormous intensity developed by the electric circuit, of which we should not otherwise have had the least suspicion.[3]
(144.) But when the cause of a phenomenon neither presents itself obviously on the consideration of the phenomenon itself, nor is as it were forced on our attention by a case of strong analogy, such as above described, we have then no resource but in a deliberate assemblage of all the parallel instances we can muster; that is, to the formation of a class of facts, having the phenomenon in question for a head of classification; and to a search among the individuals of this class for some other common points of agreement, among which the cause will of necessity be found. But if more than one cause should appear, we must then endeavour to find, or, if we cannot find, to produce, new facts, in which each of these in succession shall be wanting, while yet they agree in the general point in question. Here we find the use of what Bacon terms "crucial instances," which are phenomena brought forward to decide between two causes, each having the same analogies in its favour. And here, too, we perceive the utility of experiment as distinguished from mere passive observation. We make an experiment of the crucial kind when we form combinations, and put in action causes from which some particular one shall be deliberately excluded, and some other purposely admitted; and by the agreement or disagreement of the resulting phenomena with those of the class under examination, we decide our judgment.
(145.) When we would lay down general rules for guiding and facilitating our search, among a great mass of assembled facts, for their common cause, we must have regard to the characters of that relation which we intend by cause and effect. Now, these are,—
1st, Invariable connection, and, in particular, invariable antecedence of the cause and consequence of the effect, unless prevented by some counteracting cause. But it must be observed, that, in a great number of natural phenomena, the effect is produced gradually, while the cause often goes on increasing in intensity; so that the antecedence of the one and consequence of the other becomes difficult to trace, though it really exists. On the other hand, the effect often follows the cause so instantaneously, that the interval cannot be perceived. In consequence of this, it is sometimes difficult to decide, of two phenomena constantly accompanying one another, which is cause or which effect.
2d, Invariable negation of the effect with absence of the cause, unless some other cause be capable of producing the same effect.
3d, Increase or diminution of the effect, with the increased or diminished intensity of the cause, in cases which admit of increase and diminution.
4th, Proportionality of the effect to its cause in all cases of direct unimpeded action.
5th, Reversal of the effect with that of the cause.
(146.) From these characters we are led to the following observations, which may be considered as so many propositions readily applicable to particular cases, or rules of philosophizing: we conclude, 1st, That if in our group of facts there be one in which any assigned peculiarity, or attendant circumstance, is wanting or opposite, such peculiarity cannot be the cause we seek.
(147.) 2d, That any circumstance in which all the facts without exception agree, may be the cause in question, or, if not, at least a collateral effect of the same cause: if there be but one such point of agreement, this possibility becomes a certainty; and, on the other hand, if there be more than one, they may be concurrent causes.
(148.) 3d, That we are not to deny the existence of a cause in favour of which we have a unanimous agreement of strong analogies, though it may not be apparent how such a cause can produce the effect, or even though it may be difficult to conceive its existence under the circumstances of the case; in such cases we should rather appeal to experience when possible, than decide à priori against the cause, and try whether it cannot be made apparent.
(149.) For instance: seeing the sun vividly luminous, every analogy leads us to conclude it intensely hot. How heat can produce light, we know not; and how such a heat can be maintained, we can form no conception. Yet we are not, therefore, entitled to deny the inference.
(150.) 4th, That contrary or opposing facts are equally instructive for the discovery of causes with favourable ones.
(151.) For instance: when air is confined with moistened iron filings in a close vessel over water, its bulk is diminished, by a certain portion of it being abstracted and combining with the iron, producing rust. And, if the remainder be examined, it is found that it will not support flame or animal life. This contrary fact shows that the cause of the support of flame and animal life is to be looked for in that part of the air which the iron abstracts, and which rusts it.
(152.) 5th, That causes will very frequently become obvious, by a mere arrangement of our facts in the order of intensity in which some peculiar quality subsists; though not of necessity, because counteracting or modifying causes may be at the same time in action.
(153.) For example: sound consists in impulses communicated to our ears by the air. If a series of impulses of equal force be communicated to it at equal intervals of time, at first in slow succession, and by degrees more and more rapidly, we hear at first a rattling noise, then a low murmur, and then a hum, which by degrees acquires the character of a musical note, rising higher and higher in acuteness, till its pitch becomes too high for the ear to follow. And from this correspondence between the pitch of the note and the rapidity of succession of the impulse, we conclude that our sensation of the different pitches of musical notes originates in the different rapidities with which their impulses are communicated to our ears.
(154.) 6th, That such counteracting or modifying causes may subsist unperceived, and annul the effects of the cause we seek, in instances which, but for their action, would have come into our class of favourable facts; and that, therefore, exceptions may often be made to disappear by removing or allowing for such counteracting causes. This remark becomes of the greatest importance, when (as is often the case) a single striking exception stands out, as it were, against an otherwise unanimous array of facts in favour of a certain cause.
(155.) Thus, in chemistry, the alkaline quality of the alkaline and earthy bases is found to be due to the presence of oxygen combined with one or other of a peculiar set of metals. Ammonia is, however, a violent outstanding exception, such as here alluded to, being a compound of azote and hydrogen: but there are almost certain indications that this exception is not a real one, but assumes that appearance in consequence of some modifying cause not understood.
(156.) 7th, If we can either find produced by nature, or produce designedly for ourselves, two instances which agree exactly in all but one particular, and differ in that one, its influence in producing the phenomenon, if it have any, must thereby be rendered sensible. If that particular be present in one instance and wanting altogether in the other, the production or non-production of the phenomenon will decide whether it be or be not the only cause: still more evidently, if it be present contrariwise in the two cases, and the effect be thereby reversed. But if its total presence or absence only produces a change in the degree or intensity of the phenomenon, we can then only conclude that it acts as a concurrent cause or condition with some other to be sought elsewhere. In nature, it is comparatively rare to find instances pointedly differing in one circumstance and agreeing in every other; but when we call experiment to our aid, it is easy to produce them; and this is, in fact, the grand application of experiments of enquiry in physical researches. They become more valuable, and their results clearer, in proportion as they possess this quality (of agreeing exactly in all their circumstances but one), since the question put to nature becomes thereby more pointed, and its answer more decisive.
(157.) 8th, If we cannot obtain a complete negative or opposition of the circumstance whose influence we would ascertain, we must endeavour to find cases where it varies considerably in degree. If this cannot be done, we may perhaps be able to weaken or exalt its influence by the introduction of some fresh circumstance, which, abstractedly considered, seems likely to produce this effect, and thus obtain indirect evidence of its influence. But then we are always to remember, that the evidence so obtained is indirect, and that the new circumstance introduced may have a direct influence of its own, or may exercise a modifying one on some other circumstance.
(158.) 9th, Complicated phenomena, in which several causes concurring, opposing, or quite independent of each other, operate at once, so as to produce a compound effect, may be simplified by subducting the effect of all the known causes, as well as the nature of the case permits, either by deductive reasoning or by appeal to experience, and thus leaving, as it were, a residual phenomenon to be explained. It is by this process, in fact, that science, in its present advanced state, is chiefly promoted. Most of the phenomena which nature presents are very complicated; and when the effects of all known causes are estimated with exactness, and subducted, the residual facts are constantly appearing in the form of phenomena altogether new, and leading to the most important conclusions.
(159.) For example: the return of the comet predicted by professor Encke, a great many times in succession, and the general good agreement of its calculated with its observed place during any one of its periods of visibility, would lead us to say that its gravitation towards the sun and planets is the sole and sufficient cause of all the phenomena of its orbitual motion; but when the effect of this cause is strictly calculated and subducted from the observed motion, there is found to remain behind a residual phenomenon, which would never have been otherwise ascertained to exist, which is a small anticipation of the time of its reappearances or a diminution of its periodic time, which cannot be accounted for by gravity, and whose cause is therefore to be enquired into. Such an anticipation would be caused by the resistance of a medium disseminated through the celestial regions; and as there are other good reasons for believing this to be a vera causa, it has therefore been ascribed to such a resistance.
(160.) This 9th observation is of such importance in science, that we shall exemplify it by another instance or two. M. Arago, having suspended a magnetic needle by a silk thread, and set it in vibration, observed, that it came much sooner to a state of rest when suspended over a plate of copper, than when no such plate was beneath it. Now, in both cases there were two veræ causæ why it should come at length to rest, viz. the resistance of the air, which opposes, and at length destroys, all motions performed in it; and the want of perfect mobility in the silk thread. But the effect of these causes being exactly known by the observation made in the absence of the copper, and being thus allowed for and subducted, a residual phenomenon appeared, in the fact that a retarding influence was exerted by the copper itself; and this fact, once ascertained, speedily led to the knowledge of an entirely new and unexpected class of relations. To add one more instance. If it be true (as M. Fourrier considers it demonstrated to be) that the celestial regions have a temperature independent of the sun, not greatly inferior to that at which quicksilver congeals, and much superior to some degrees of cold which have been artificially produced, two causes suggest themselves: one is that assigned by the author above mentioned; the radiation of the stars; another may be proposed in the ether or elastic medium mentioned in the last section, which the phenomena of light and the resistance of comets give us reason to believe fills all space, and which, in analogy to all the elastic media known, may be supposed to possess a temperature and a specific heat of its own, which it is capable of communicating to bodies surrounded by it. Now, if we consider that the heat radiated by the sun follows the same proportion as its light, and regard it as reasonable to admit with respect to stellar heat what holds good of solar; the effect of stellar radiation in maintaining a temperature in space should be as much inferior to that of the radiation of the sun as the light of a moonless midnight is to that of an equatorial noon; that is to say, almost inconceivably smaller. Allowing, then, the full effect for this cause, there would still remain a great residuum due to the presence of the ether.
(161.) Many of the new elements of chemistry have been detected in the investigation of residual phenomena. Thus, Arfwedson discovered lithia by perceiving an excess of weight in the sulphate produced from a small portion of what he considered as magnesia present in a mineral he had analysed. It is on this principle, too, that the small concentrated residues of great operations in the arts are almost sure to be the lurking places of new chemical ingredients: witness iodine, brome, selenium, and the new metals accompanying platina in the experiments of Wollaston and Tennant. It was a happy thought of Glauber to examine what every body else threw away.
(162.) Finally, we have to observe, that the detection of a possible cause, by the comparison of assembled cases, must lead to one of two things: either, 1st, The detection of a real cause, and of its manner of acting, so as to furnish a complete explanation of the facts; or, 2dly, The establishment of an abstract law of nature, pointing out two phenomena of a general kind as invariably connected; and asserting, that where one is, there the other will always be found. Such invariable connection is itself a phenomenon of a higher order than any particular fact; and when many such are discovered, we may again proceed to classify, combine, and examine them, with a view to the detection of their causes, or the discovery of still more general laws, and so on without end.
(163.) Let us now exemplify this inductive search for a cause by one general example: suppose dew were the phenomenon proposed, whose cause we would know. In the first place, we must separate dew from rain and the moisture of fogs, and limit the application of the term to what is really meant, which is, the spontaneous appearance of moisture on substances exposed in the open air when no rain or visible wet is falling. Now, here we have analogous phenomena in the moisture which bedews a cold metal or stone when we breathe upon it; that which appears on a glass of water fresh from the well in hot weather; that which appears on the inside of windows when sudden rain or hail chills the external air; that which runs down our walls when, after a long frost, a warm moist thaw comes on: all these instances agree in one point (Rule 2. § 147.), the coldness of the object dewed, in comparison with the air in contact with it.
(164.) But, in the case of the night dew, is this a real cause—is it a fact that the object dewed is colder than the air? Certainly not, one would at first be inclined to say; for what is to make it so? But the analogies are cogent and unanimous; and, therefore, (pursuant to Rule 3. § 148.) we are not to discard their indications; and, besides, the experiment is easy: we have only to lay a thermometer in contact with the dewed substance, and hang one at a little distance above it out of reach of its influence. The experiment has been therefore made; the question has been asked, and the answer has been invariably in the affirmative. Whenever an object contracts dew, it is colder than the air. Here, then, we have an invariable concomitant circumstance: but is this chill an effect of dew, or its cause? That dews are accompanied with a chill is a common remark; but vulgar prejudice would make the cold the effect rather than the cause. We must, therefore, collect more facts, or, which comes to the same thing, vary the circumstances; since every instance in which the circumstances differ is a fresh fact; and, especially, we must note the contrary or negative cases (Rule 4. § 150.), i. e. where no dew is produced.
(165.) Now, 1st, no dew is produced on the surface of polished metals, but it is very copiously on glass, both exposed with their faces upwards, and in some cases the under side of a horizontal plate of glass is also dewed; which last circumstance (by Rule 1. § 146.) excludes the fall of moisture from the sky in an invisible form, which would naturally suggest itself as a cause. In the cases of polished metal and polished glass, the contrast shows evidently that the substance has much to do with the phenomenon; therefore, let the substance alone be diversified as much as possible, by exposing polished surfaces of various kinds. This done, a scale of intensity becomes obvious (Rule 5. § 152.). Those polished substances are found to be most strongly dewed which conduct heat worst; while those which conduct well resist dew most effectually. Here we encounter a law of the first degree of generality. But, if we expose rough surfaces, instead of polished, we sometimes find this law interfered with (Rule 5. § 152.). Thus, roughened iron, especially if painted over or blackened, becomes dewed sooner than varnished paper: the kind of surface therefore has a great influence. Expose, then, the same material in very diversified states as to surface (Rule 7. § 156.), and another scale of intensity becomes at once apparent; those surfaces which part with their heat most readily by radiation are found to contract dew most copiously: and thus we have detected another law of the same generality with the former, by a comparison of two classes of facts, one relating to dew, the other to the radiation of heat from surfaces. Again, the influence ascertained to exist of substance and surface leads us to consider that of texture: and here, again, we are presented on trial with remarkable differences, and with a third scale of intensity, pointing out substances of a close firm texture, such as stones, metals, &c. as unfavourable, but those of a loose one, as cloth, wool, velvet, eiderdown, cotton, &c. as eminently favourable, to the contraction of dew: and these are precisely those which are best adapted for clothing, or for impeding the free passage of heat from the skin into the air, so as to allow their outer surfaces to be very cold while they remain warm within.
(166.) Lastly, among the negative instances, (§ 150.) it is observed, that dew is never copiously deposited in situations much screened from the open sky, and not at all in a cloudy night; but if the clouds withdraw, even for a few minutes, and leave a clear opening, a deposition of dew presently begins, and goes on increasing. Here, then, a cause is distinctly pointed out by its antecedence to the effect in question (§ 145.). A clear view of the cloudless sky, then, is an essential condition, or, which comes to the same thing, clouds or surrounding objects act as opposing causes. This is so much the case, that dew formed in clear intervals will often even evaporate again when the sky becomes thickly overcast (Rule 4. § 150.).
(167.) When we now come to assemble these partial inductions so as to raise from them a general conclusion, we consider, 1st, That all the conclusions we have come to have a reference to that first general fact—the cooling of the exposed surface of the body dewed below the temperature of the air. Those surfaces which part with their heat outwards most readily, and have it supplied from within most slowly, will, of course, become coldest if there be an opportunity for their heat to escape, and not be restored to them from without. Now, a clear sky affords such an opportunity. It is a law well known to those who are conversant with the nature of heat, that heat is constantly escaping from all bodies in rays, or by radiation, but is as constantly restored to them by the similar radiation of others surrounding them. Clouds and surrounding objects therefore act as opposing causes by replacing the whole or a great part of the heat so radiated away, which can escape effectually, without being replaced, only through openings into infinite space. Thus, at length, we arrive at the general proximate cause of dew, in the cooling of the dewed surface by radiation faster than its heat can be restored to it, by communication with the ground, or by counter-radiation; so as to become colder than the air, and thereby to cause a condensation of its moisture.
(168.) We have purposely selected this theory of dew, first developed by the late Dr. Wells, as one of the most beautiful specimens we can call to mind of inductive experimental enquiry lying within a moderate compass. It is not possible in so brief a space to do it justice; but we earnestly recommend his work[4] (a short and very entertaining one) for perusal to the student of natural philosophy, as a model with which he will do well to become familiar.
(169.) In the analysis above given, the formation of dew is referred to two more general phenomena; the radiation of heat, and the condensation of invisible vapour by cold. The cause of the former is a much higher enquiry, and may be said, indeed, to be totally unknown; that of the latter actually forms a most important branch of physical enquiry. In such a case, when we reason upwards till we reach an ultimate fact, we regard a phenomenon as fully explained; as we consider the branch of a tree to terminate when traced to its insertion in the trunk, or a twig to its junction with the branch; or rather, as a rivulet retains its importance and its name till lost in some larger tributary, or in the main river which delivers it into the ocean. This, however, always supposes that, on a reconsideration of the case, we see clearly how the admission of such a fact, with all its attendant laws, will perfectly account for every particular—as well those which, in the different stages of the induction, have led us to a knowledge of it, as those which we had neglected, or considered less minutely than the rest. But, had we no previous knowledge of the radiation of heat, this same induction would have made it known to us, and, duly considered, might have led to the knowledge of many of its laws.
(170.) In the study of nature, we must not, therefore, be scrupulous as to how we reach to a knowledge of such general facts: provided only we verify them carefully when once detected, we must be content to seize them wherever they are to be found. And this brings us to consider the verification of inductions.
(171.) If, in our induction, every individual case has actually been present to our minds, we are sure that it will find itself duly represented in our final conclusion: but this is impossible for such cases as were unknown to us; and hardly ever happens even with all the known cases; for such is the tendency of the human mind to speculation, that on the least idea of an analogy between a few phenomena, it leaps forward, as it were, to a cause or law, to the temporary neglect of all the rest; so that, in fact, almost all our principal inductions must be regarded as a series of ascents and descents, and of conclusions from a few cases, verified by trial on many.
(172.) Whenever, therefore, we think we have been led by induction to the knowledge of the proximate cause of a phenomenon or of a law of nature, our next business is to examine deliberately and seriatim all the cases we have collected of its occurrence, in order to satisfy ourselves that they are explicable by our cause, or fairly included in the expression of our law: and in case any exception occurs, it must be carefully noted and set aside for re-examination at a more advanced period, when, possibly, the cause of exception may appear, and the exception itself, by allowing for the effect of that cause, be brought over to the side of our induction; but should exceptions prove numerous and various in their features, our faith in the conclusion will be proportionally shaken, and at all events its importance lessened by the destruction of its universality.
(173.) In the conduct of this verification, we are to consider whether the cause or law to which we are conducted be one already known and recognised as a more general one, whose nature is well understood, and of which the phenomenon in question is but one more case in addition to those already known, or whether it be one less general, less known, or altogether new. In the latter case, our verification will suffice, if it merely shows that all the cases considered are plainly cases in point. But in the former, the process of verification is of a much more severe and definite kind. We must trace the action of our cause with distinctness and precision, as modified by all the circumstances of each case; we must estimate its effects, and show that nothing unexplained remains behind; at least, in so far as the presence of unknown modifying causes is not concerned.
(174.) Now, this is precisely the sort of process in which residual phenomena (such as spoken of in art. 158.) may be expected to occur. If our induction be really a valid and a comprehensive one, whatever remains unexplained in the comparison of its conclusion with particular cases, under all their circumstances, is such a phenomenon, and comes in its turn to be a subject of inductive reasoning to discover its cause or laws. It is thus that we may be said to witness facts with the eyes of reason; and it is thus that we are continually attaining a knowledge of new phenomena and new laws which lie beneath the surface of things, and give rise to the creation of fresh branches of science more and more remote from common observation.
(175.) Physical astronomy affords numerous and splendid instances of this. The law, for example, which asserts that the planets are retained in their orbits about the sun, and satellites about their primaries, by an attractive force, decreasing as the square of the distances increases, comes to be verified in each particular case by deducing from it the exact motions which, under the circumstances, ought to take place, and comparing them with fact. This comparison, while it verifies in general the existence of the law of gravitation as supposed, and its adequacy to explain all the principal motions of every body in the system, yet leaves some small deviations in those of the planets, and some very considerable ones in that of the moon and other satellites, still unaccounted for; residual phenomena, which still remain to be traced up to causes. By further examining these, their causes have at length been ascertained, and found to consist in the mutual actions of the planets on each other, and the disturbing influence of the sun on the motions of the satellites.
(176.) But a law of nature has not that degree of generality which fits it for a stepping-stone to greater inductions, unless it be universal in its application. We cannot rely on its enabling us to extend our views beyond the circle of instances from which it was obtained, unless we have already had experience of its power to do so; unless it actually has enabled us before trial to say what will take place in cases analogous to those originally contemplated; unless, in short, we have studiously placed ourselves in the situation of its antagonists, and even perversely endeavoured to find exceptions to it without success. It is in the precise proportion that a law once obtained endures this extreme severity of trial, that its value and importance are to be estimated; and our next step in the verification of an induction must therefore consist in extending its application to cases not originally contemplated; in studiously varying the circumstances under which our causes act, with a view to ascertain whether their effect is general; and in pushing the application of our laws to extreme cases.
(177.) For example, a fair induction from a great number of facts led Galileo to conclude that the accelerating power of gravity is the same on all sorts of bodies, and on great and small masses indifferently; and this he exemplified by letting bodies of very different natures and weights fall at the same instant from a high tower, when it was observed that they struck the ground at the same moment, abating a certain trifling difference, due, as he justly believed it to be, to the greater proportional resistance of the air to light than to heavy bodies. The experiment could not, at that time, be fairly tried with extremely light substances, such as cork, feathers, cotton, &c. because of the great resistance experienced by these in their fall; no means being then known of removing this cause of disturbance. It was not, therefore, till after the invention of the air-pump that this law could be put to the severe test of an extreme case. A guinea and a downy feather were let drop at once from the upper part of a tall exhausted glass, and struck the bottom at the same moment. Let any one make the trial in the air, and he will perceive the force of an extreme case.
(178.) In the verification of a law whose expression is quantitative, not only must its generality be established by the trial of it in as various circumstances as possible, but every such trial must be one of precise measurement. And in such cases the means taken for subjecting it to trial ought to be so devised as to repeat and multiply a great number of times any deviation (if any exist); so that, let it be ever so small, it shall at last become sensible.
(179.) For instance, let the law to be verified be, that the gravity of every material body is in the direct proportion of its mass, which is only another mode of expressing Galileo's law above mentioned. The time of falling from any moderate height cannot be measured with precision enough for our purpose: but if it can be repeated a very great multitude of times without any loss or gain in the intervals, and the whole amount of the times of fall so repeated measured by a clock; and if at the same time the resistance of the air can be rendered exactly alike for all the bodies tried, we have here Galileo's trial in a much more refined state; and it is evident that almost unlimited exactness may be obtained. Now, all this Newton accomplished by the simple and elegant contrivance of enclosing in a hollow pendulum the same weights of a great number of substances the most different that could be found in all respects, as gold, glass, wood, water, wheat, &c.[5], and ascertaining the time required for the pendulum so charged to make a great number of oscillations; in each of which it is clear the weights had to fall, and be raised again successively, without loss of time, through the same identical spaces. Thus any difference, however inconsiderable, that might exist in the time of one such fall and rise would be multiplied and accumulated till they became sensible. And none having been discovered by so delicate a process in any case, the law was considered verified both in respect of generality and exactness. This, however, is nothing to the verifications afforded by astronomical phenomena, where the deviations, if any, accumulate for thousands of years instead of a few hours.
(180.) The surest and best characteristic of a well-founded and extensive induction, however, is when verifications of it spring up, as it were, spontaneously, into notice, from quarters where they might be least expected, or even among instances of that very kind which were at first considered hostile to them. Evidence of this kind is irresistible, and compels assent with a weight which scarcely any other possesses. To give an example: M. Mitscherlich had announced a law to this effect—that the chemical elements of which all bodies consist are susceptible of being classified in distinct groups, which he termed isomorphous groups; and that these groups are so related, that when similar combinations are formed of individuals belonging to two, three, or more of them, such combinations will crystallize in the same geometrical forms. To this curious and important law there appeared a remarkable exception. According to professor Mitscherlich, the arsenic and phosphoric acids are similar combinations coming under the meaning of his law, and their combinations with soda and water, forming the salts known to chemists under the names of arseniate and phosphate of soda, ought, if the law were general, to crystallize in identical shapes. The fact, however, was understood to be otherwise. But lately, Mr. Clarke, a British chemist, having examined the two salts attentively, ascertained the fact that their compositions deviate essentially from that similarity which M. Mitscherlich's law requires; and that, therefore, the exception in question disappears. This was something: but, pursuing the subject further, the same ingenious enquirer happily succeeded in producing a new phosphate of soda, differing from that generally known in containing a different proportion of water, and agreeing in composition exactly with the arseniate. The crystals of this new salt, when examined, were found by him to be precisely identical in form with those of the arseniate: thus verifying, in a most striking and totally unexpected manner, the law in question, or, as it is called, the law of isomorphism.
(181.) Unexpected and peculiarly striking confirmations of inductive laws frequently occur in the form of residual phenomena, in the course of investigations of a widely different nature from those which gave rise to the inductions themselves. A very elegant example may be cited in the unexpected confirmation of the law of the developement of heat in elastic fluids by compression, which is afforded by the phenomena of sound. The enquiry into the cause of sound had led to conclusions respecting its mode of propagation, from which its velocity in the air could be precisely calculated. The calculations were performed; but, when compared with fact, though the agreement was quite sufficient to show the general correctness of the cause and mode of propagation assigned, yet the whole velocity could not be shown to arise from this theory. There was still a residual velocity to be accounted for, which placed dynamical philosophers for a long time in a great dilemma. At length La Place struck on the happy idea, that this might arise from the heat developed in the act of that condensation which necessarily takes place at every vibration by which sound is conveyed. The matter was subjected to exact calculation, and the result was at once the complete explanation of the residual phenomenon, and a striking confirmation of the general law of the developement of heat by compression, under circumstances beyond artificial imitation.
(182.) In extending our inductions to cases not originally contemplated, there is one step which always strikes the mind with peculiar force, and with such a sensation of novelty and surprise, as often gives it a weight beyond its due philosophic value. It is the transition from the little to the great, and vice versâ, but especially the former. It is so beautiful to see, for instance, an experiment performed in a watch-glass, or before a blowpipe, succeed, in a great manufactory, on many tons of matter, or, in the bosom of a volcano, upon millions of cubic fathoms of lava, that we almost forget that these great masses are made up of watch-glassfuls, and blowpipe-beads. We see the enormous intervals between the stars and planets of the heavens, which afford room for innumerable processes to be carried on, for light and heat to circulate, and for curious and complicated motions to go forward among them: we look more attentively, and we see sidereal systems, probably not less vast and complicated than our own, crowded apparently into a small space (from the effect of their distance from us), and forming groups resembling bodies of a substantial appearance, having form and outline: yet we recoil with incredulous surprise when we are asked why we cannot conceive the atoms of a grain of sand to be as remote from each other (proportionally to their sizes) as the stars of the firmament; and why there may not be going on, in that little microcosm, processes as complicated and wonderful as those of the great world around us. Yet the student who makes any progress in natural philosophy will encounter numberless cases in which this transfer of ideas from the one extreme of magnitude to the other will be called for: he will find, for instance, the phenomena of the propagation of winds referred to the same laws which regulate the propagation of motions through the smallest masses of air; those of lightning assimilated to the mere communication of an electric spark, and those of earthquakes to the tremors of a stretched wire: in short, he must lay his account to finding the distinction of great and little altogether annihilated in nature: and it is well for man that such is the case, and that the same laws, which he can discover and verify in his own circumscribed sphere of power, should prove available to him when he comes to apply them on the greatest scale; since it is thus only that he is enabled to become an exciting cause in operations of any considerable magnitude, and to vindicate his importance in creation.
(183.) But the business of induction does not end here: its final result must be followed out into all its consequences, and applied to all those cases which seem even remotely to bear upon the subject of enquiry. Every new addition to our stock of causes becomes a means of fresh attack with new vantage ground upon all those unexplained parts of former phenomena which have resisted previous efforts. It can hardly be pressed forcibly enough on the attention of the student of nature, that there is scarcely any natural phenomenon which can be fully and completely explained in all its circumstances, without a union of several, perhaps of all, the sciences. The great phenomena of astronomy, indeed, may be considered exceptions; but this is merely because their scale is so vast that one only of the most widely extending forces of nature takes the lead, and all those agents whose sphere of action is limited to narrower bounds, and which determine the production of phenomena nearer at hand, are thrown into the back ground, and become merged and lost in comparative insignificance. But in the more intimate phenomena which surround us it is far otherwise. Into what a complication of different branches of science are we not led by the consideration of such a phenomenon as rain, for instance, or flame, or a thousand others, which are constantly going on before our eyes? Hence, it is hardly possible to arrive at the knowledge of a law of any degree of generality in any branch of science, but it immediately furnishes us with a means of extending our knowledge of innumerable others, the most remote from the point we set out from; so that, when once embarked in any physical research, it is impossible for any one to predict where it may ultimately lead him.
(184.) This remark rather belongs to the inverse or deductive process, by which we pursue laws into their remote consequences. But it is very important to observe, that the successful process of scientific inquiry demands continually the alternate use of both the inductive and deductive method. The path by which we rise to knowledge must be made smooth and beaten in its lower steps, and often ascended and descended, before we can scale our way to any eminence, much less climb to the summit. The achievement is too great for a single effort; stations must be established, and communications kept open with all below. To quit metaphor; there is nothing so instructive, or so likely to lead to the acquisition of general views, as this pursuit of the consequences of a law once arrived at into every subject where it may seem likely to have an influence. The discovery of a new law of nature, a new ultimate fact, or one that even temporarily puts on that appearance, is like the discovery of a new element in chemistry. Thus, selenium was hardly discovered by Berzelius in the vitriol works of Fahlun, when it presently made its appearance in the sublimates of Stromboli, and the rare and curious products of the Hungarian mines. And thus it is with every new law, or general fact. It is hardly announced before its traces are found every where, and every one is astonished at its having so long remained concealed. And hence it happens that unexpected lights are shed at length over parts of science that had been abandoned in despair, and given over to hopeless obscurity.
(185.) The verification of quantitative laws has been already spoken of (178.); but their importance in physical science is so very great, inasmuch as they alone afford a handle to strict mathematical deductive application, that something ought to be said of the nature of the inductions by which they are to be arrived at. In their simplest or least general stages (of which alone we speak at present) they usually express some numerical relation between two quantities dependent on each other, either as collateral effects of a common cause, or as the amount of its effect under given numerical circumstances or data. For example, the law of refraction before noticed (§ 22.) expresses, by a very simple relation, the amount of angular deviation of a ray of light from its course, when the angle at which it is inclined to the refracting surface is known, viz. that the sine of the angle which the incident ray makes with a perpendicular to the surface is always to that of the angle made by the refracted ray with the same perpendicular, in a constant proportion, so long as the refracting substance is the same. To arrive inductively at laws of this kind, where one quantity depends on or varies with another, all that is required is a series of careful and exact measures in every different state of the datum and quæsitum. Here, however, the mathematical form of the law being of the highest importance, the greatest attention must be given to the extreme cases as well as to all those points where the one quantity changes rapidly with a small change of the other.[6] The results must be set down in a table in which the datum gradually increases in magnitude from the lowest to the highest limit of which it is susceptible. It will depend then entirely on our habit of treating mathematical subjects, how far we may be able to include such a table in the distinct statement of a mathematical law. The discovery of such laws is often remarkably facilitated by the contemplation of a class of phenomena to be noticed further on, under the head of Collective Instances, (see § 194.) in which the nature of the mathematical expression in which the law sought is comprehended, is pointed out by the figure of some curve brought under inspection by a proper mode of experimenting.
(186.) After all, unless our induction embraces a series of cases which absolutely include the whole scale of variation of which the quantities in question admit, the mathematical expression so obtained cannot be depended upon as the true one, and if the scale actually embraced be small, the extension of laws so derived to extreme cases will in all probability be exceedingly fallacious. For example, air is an elastic fluid, and as such, if enclosed in a confined space and squeezed, its bulk diminishes: now, from a great number of trials made in cases where the air has been compressed into a half, a third, &c. even as far as a fiftieth of its bulk, or less, it has been concluded that "the density of air is proportional to the compressing force," or the bulk it occupies inversely as that force; and when the air is rarefied by taking off part of its natural pressure, the same is found to be the case, within very extensive limits. Yet it is impossible that this should be, strictly or mathematically speaking, the true law; for, if it were so, there could be no limit to the condensation of air, while yet we have the strongest analogies to show that long before it had reached any very enormous pitch the air would be reduced into a liquid, and even, perhaps, if pressed yet more violently, into a solid form.
(187.) Laws thus derived, by the direct process of including in mathematical formulæ the results of a greater or less number of measurements, are called "empirical laws." A good example of such a law is that given by Dr. Young (Phil. Trans. 1826,) for the decrement of life, or the law of mortality. Empirical laws in this state are evidently unverified inductions, and are to be received and reasoned on with the utmost reserve. No confidence can ever be placed in them beyond the limits of the data from which they are derived; and even within those limits they require a special and severe scrutiny to examine how nearly they do represent the observed facts; that is to say, whether, in the comparison of their results with the observed quantities, the differences are such as may fairly be attributed to error of observation. When so carefully examined, they become, however, most valuable; and frequently, when afterwards verified theoretically by a deductive process (as will be explained in our next chapter), turn out to be rigorous laws of nature, and afford the noblest and most convincing supports of which theories themselves are susceptible. The finest instances of this kind are the great laws of the planetary motions deduced by Kepler, entirely from a comparison of observations with each other, with no assistance from theory. These laws, viz. that the planets move in ellipses round the sun; that each describes about the sun's centre equal areas in equal times; and that in the orbits of different planets the squares of the periodical times are proportional to the cubes of the distances; were the results of inconceivable labour of calculation and comparison: but they amply repaid the labour bestowed on them, by affording afterwards the most conclusive and unanswerable proofs of the Newtonian system. On the other hand, when empirical laws are unduly relied on beyond the limits of the observations from which they were deduced, there is no more fertile source of fatal mistakes. The formulæ which have been empirically deduced for the elasticity of steam (till very recently), and those for the resistance of fluids, and other similar subjects, have almost invariably failed to support the theoretical structures which have been erected on them.
(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, and almost by a single step, 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.) "Collective instances," in Bacon's classification, 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.[7] 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,) but 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.
- ↑ Lyell's Principles of Geology, vol. i. Fourrier, Mém. de l'Acad. des Sciences, tom. vii. p. 592. "L'établissement et le progrès des sociétés humaines, factions des forces naturelles, peuvent changer notablement, et dans de vastes contrées, l'état de la surface du sol, la distribution des eaux, et les grands mouvemens de l'air. De tels effets sont propres à faire varier, dans le cours de plusieurs siècles, le dégré de la chaleur moyenne ; car les expressions analytiques comprennent des coefficiens qui se rapportent à l'état superficiel, et qui influent beaucoup sur la valeur de la température." In this enumeration, by M. Fourrier, of causes which may vary the general relation of the surface of extensive continents to heat, it is but justice to Mr. Lyell to observe, that the gradual shifting of the places of the continents themselves on the surface of the globe, by the abrading action of the sea on the one hand, and the elevating agency of subterranean forces on the other, does not expressly occur, and cannot be fairly included in the general sense of the passage, which confines itself to the consideration of such changes as may take place on the existing surface of the land.
- ↑ The reader will find this subject further developed in a paper lately communicated to the Geological Society.
- ↑ Phil. Trans. 1824.
- ↑ Wells on Dew.
- ↑ Principia, book iii. prop. 6.
- ↑ A very curious instance of the pursuit of a law completely empirical into an extreme case is to be found in Newton's rule for the dilatation of his coloured rings seen between glasses at great obliquities. Optics, book ii. part i. obs. 7.
- ↑ See Phil. Trans. 1819.