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<h2> CHAPTER VI. ON INDUCTION </h2>
<p>In almost all our previous discussions we have been concerned in the
attempt to get clear as to our data in the way of knowledge of existence.
What things are there in the universe whose existence is known to us owing
to our being acquainted with them? So far, our answer has been that we are
acquainted with our sense-data, and, probably, with ourselves. These we
know to exist. And past sense-data which are remembered are known to have
existed in the past. This knowledge supplies our data.</p>
<p>But if we are to be able to draw inferences from these data—if we
are to know of the existence of matter, of other people, of the past
before our individual memory begins, or of the future, we must know
general principles of some kind by means of which such inferences can be
drawn. It must be known to us that the existence of some one sort of
thing, A, is a sign of the existence of some other sort of thing, B,
either at the same time as A or at some earlier or later time, as, for
example, thunder is a sign of the earlier existence of lightning. If this
were not known to us, we could never extend our knowledge beyond the
sphere of our private experience; and this sphere, as we have seen, is
exceedingly limited. The question we have now to consider is whether such
an extension is possible, and if so, how it is effected.</p>
<p>Let us take as an illustration a matter about which none of us, in fact,
feel the slightest doubt. We are all convinced that the sun will rise
to-morrow. Why? Is this belief a mere blind outcome of past experience, or
can it be justified as a reasonable belief? It is not easy to find a test
by which to judge whether a belief of this kind is reasonable or not, but
we can at least ascertain what sort of general beliefs would suffice, if
true, to justify the judgement that the sun will rise to-morrow, and the
many other similar judgements upon which our actions are based.</p>
<p>It is obvious that if we are asked why we believe that the sun will rise
to-morrow, we shall naturally answer 'Because it always has risen every
day'. We have a firm belief that it will rise in the future, because it
has risen in the past. If we are challenged as to why we believe that it
will continue to rise as heretofore, we may appeal to the laws of motion:
the earth, we shall say, is a freely rotating body, and such bodies do not
cease to rotate unless something interferes from outside, and there is
nothing outside to interfere with the earth between now and to-morrow. Of
course it might be doubted whether we are quite certain that there is
nothing outside to interfere, but this is not the interesting doubt. The
interesting doubt is as to whether the laws of motion will remain in
operation until to-morrow. If this doubt is raised, we find ourselves in
the same position as when the doubt about the sunrise was first raised.</p>
<p>The <i>only</i> reason for believing that the laws of motion will remain
in operation is that they have operated hitherto, so far as our knowledge
of the past enables us to judge. It is true that we have a greater body of
evidence from the past in favour of the laws of motion than we have in
favour of the sunrise, because the sunrise is merely a particular case of
fulfilment of the laws of motion, and there are countless other particular
cases. But the real question is: Do <i>any</i> number of cases of a law
being fulfilled in the past afford evidence that it will be fulfilled in
the future? If not, it becomes plain that we have no ground whatever for
expecting the sun to rise to-morrow, or for expecting the bread we shall
eat at our next meal not to poison us, or for any of the other scarcely
conscious expectations that control our daily lives. It is to be observed
that all such expectations are only <i>probable</i>; thus we have not to
seek for a proof that they <i>must</i> be fulfilled, but only for some
reason in favour of the view that they are <i>likely</i> to be fulfilled.</p>
<p>Now in dealing with this question we must, to begin with, make an
important distinction, without which we should soon become involved in
hopeless confusions. Experience has shown us that, hitherto, the frequent
repetition of some uniform succession or coexistence has been a <i>cause</i>
of our expecting the same succession or coexistence on the next occasion.
Food that has a certain appearance generally has a certain taste, and it
is a severe shock to our expectations when the familiar appearance is
found to be associated with an unusual taste. Things which we see become
associated, by habit, with certain tactile sensations which we expect if
we touch them; one of the horrors of a ghost (in many ghost-stories) is
that it fails to give us any sensations of touch. Uneducated people who go
abroad for the first time are so surprised as to be incredulous when they
find their native language not understood.</p>
<p>And this kind of association is not confined to men; in animals also it is
very strong. A horse which has been often driven along a certain road
resists the attempt to drive him in a different direction. Domestic
animals expect food when they see the person who usually feeds them. We
know that all these rather crude expectations of uniformity are liable to
be misleading. The man who has fed the chicken every day throughout its
life at last wrings its neck instead, showing that more refined views as
to the uniformity of nature would have been useful to the chicken.</p>
<p>But in spite of the misleadingness of such expectations, they nevertheless
exist. The mere fact that something has happened a certain number of times
causes animals and men to expect that it will happen again. Thus our
instincts certainly cause us to believe that the sun will rise to-morrow,
but we may be in no better a position than the chicken which unexpectedly
has its neck wrung. We have therefore to distinguish the fact that past
uniformities <i>cause</i> expectations as to the future, from the question
whether there is any reasonable ground for giving weight to such
expectations after the question of their validity has been raised.</p>
<p>The problem we have to discuss is whether there is any reason for
believing in what is called 'the uniformity of nature'. The belief in the
uniformity of nature is the belief that everything that has happened or
will happen is an instance of some general law to which there are no
exceptions. The crude expectations which we have been considering are all
subject to exceptions, and therefore liable to disappoint those who
entertain them. But science habitually assumes, at least as a working
hypothesis, that general rules which have exceptions can be replaced by
general rules which have no exceptions. 'Unsupported bodies in air fall'
is a general rule to which balloons and aeroplanes are exceptions. But the
laws of motion and the law of gravitation, which account for the fact that
most bodies fall, also account for the fact that balloons and aeroplanes
can rise; thus the laws of motion and the law of gravitation are not
subject to these exceptions.</p>
<p>The belief that the sun will rise to-morrow might be falsified if the
earth came suddenly into contact with a large body which destroyed its
rotation; but the laws of motion and the law of gravitation would not be
infringed by such an event. The business of science is to find
uniformities, such as the laws of motion and the law of gravitation, to
which, so far as our experience extends, there are no exceptions. In this
search science has been remarkably successful, and it may be conceded that
such uniformities have held hitherto. This brings us back to the question:
Have we any reason, assuming that they have always held in the past, to
suppose that they will hold in the future?</p>
<p>It has been argued that we have reason to know that the future will
resemble the past, because what was the future has constantly become the
past, and has always been found to resemble the past, so that we really
have experience of the future, namely of times which were formerly future,
which we may call past futures. But such an argument really begs the very
question at issue. We have experience of past futures, but not of future
futures, and the question is: Will future futures resemble past futures?
This question is not to be answered by an argument which starts from past
futures alone. We have therefore still to seek for some principle which
shall enable us to know that the future will follow the same laws as the
past.</p>
<p>The reference to the future in this question is not essential. The same
question arises when we apply the laws that work in our experience to past
things of which we have no experience—as, for example, in geology,
or in theories as to the origin of the Solar System. The question we
really have to ask is: 'When two things have been found to be often
associated, and no instance is known of the one occurring without the
other, does the occurrence of one of the two, in a fresh instance, give
any good ground for expecting the other?' On our answer to this question
must depend the validity of the whole of our expectations as to the
future, the whole of the results obtained by induction, and in fact
practically all the beliefs upon which our daily life is based.</p>
<p>It must be conceded, to begin with, that the fact that two things have
been found often together and never apart does not, by itself, suffice to
<i>prove</i> demonstratively that they will be found together in the next
case we examine. The most we can hope is that the oftener things are found
together, the more probable it becomes that they will be found together
another time, and that, if they have been found together often enough, the
probability will amount <i>almost</i> to certainty. It can never quite
reach certainty, because we know that in spite of frequent repetitions
there sometimes is a failure at the last, as in the case of the chicken
whose neck is wrung. Thus probability is all we ought to seek.</p>
<p>It might be urged, as against the view we are advocating, that we know all
natural phenomena to be subject to the reign of law, and that sometimes,
on the basis of observation, we can see that only one law can possibly fit
the facts of the case. Now to this view there are two answers. The first
is that, even if <i>some</i> law which has no exceptions applies to our
case, we can never, in practice, be sure that we have discovered that law
and not one to which there are exceptions. The second is that the reign of
law would seem to be itself only probable, and that our belief that it
will hold in the future, or in unexamined cases in the past, is itself
based upon the very principle we are examining.</p>
<p>The principle we are examining may be called the <i>principle of induction</i>,
and its two parts may be stated as follows:</p>
<p>(a) When a thing of a certain sort A has been found to be associated with
a thing of a certain other sort B, and has never been found dissociated
from a thing of the sort B, the greater the number of cases in which A and
B have been associated, the greater is the probability that they will be
associated in a fresh case in which one of them is known to be present;</p>
<p>(b) Under the same circumstances, a sufficient number of cases of
association will make the probability of a fresh association nearly a
certainty, and will make it approach certainty without limit.</p>
<p>As just stated, the principle applies only to the verification of our
expectation in a single fresh instance. But we want also to know that
there is a probability in favour of the general law that things of the
sort A are <i>always</i> associated with things of the sort B, provided a
sufficient number of cases of association are known, and no cases of
failure of association are known. The probability of the general law is
obviously less than the probability of the particular case, since if the
general law is true, the particular case must also be true, whereas the
particular case may be true without the general law being true.
Nevertheless the probability of the general law is increased by
repetitions, just as the probability of the particular case is. We may
therefore repeat the two parts of our principle as regards the general
law, thus:</p>
<p>(a) The greater the number of cases in which a thing of the sort A has
been found associated with a thing of the sort B, the more probable it is
(if no cases of failure of association are known) that A is always
associated with B;</p>
<p>b) Under the same circumstances, a sufficient number of cases of the
association of A with B will make it nearly certain that A is always
associated with B, and will make this general law approach certainty
without limit.</p>
<p>It should be noted that probability is always relative to certain data. In
our case, the data are merely the known cases of coexistence of A and B.
There may be other data, which <i>might</i> be taken into account, which
would gravely alter the probability. For example, a man who had seen a
great many white swans might argue, by our principle, that on the data it
was <i>probable</i> that all swans were white, and this might be a
perfectly sound argument. The argument is not disproved ny the fact that
some swans are black, because a thing may very well happen in spite of the
fact that some data render it improbable. In the case of the swans, a man
might know that colour is a very variable characteristic in many species
of animals, and that, therefore, an induction as to colour is peculiarly
liable to error. But this knowledge would be a fresh datum, by no means
proving that the probability relatively to our previous data had been
wrongly estimated. The fact, therefore, that things often fail to fulfil
our expectations is no evidence that our expectations will not <i>probably</i>
be fulfilled in a given case or a given class of cases. Thus our inductive
principle is at any rate not capable of being <i>disproved</i> by an
appeal to experience.</p>
<p>The inductive principle, however, is equally incapable of being <i>proved</i>
by an appeal to experience. Experience might conceivably confirm the
inductive principle as regards the cases that have been already examined;
but as regards unexamined cases, it is the inductive principle alone that
can justify any inference from what has been examined to what has not been
examined. All arguments which, on the basis of experience, argue as to the
future or the unexperienced parts of the past or present, assume the
inductive principle; hence we can never use experience to prove the
inductive principle without begging the question. Thus we must either
accept the inductive principle on the ground of its intrinsic evidence, or
forgo all justification of our expectations about the future. If the
principle is unsound, we have no reason to expect the sun to rise
to-morrow, to expect bread to be more nourishing than a stone, or to
expect that if we throw ourselves off the roof we shall fall. When we see
what looks like our best friend approaching us, we shall have no reason to
suppose that his body is not inhabited by the mind of our worst enemy or
of some total stranger. All our conduct is based upon associations which
have worked in the past, and which we therefore regard as likely to work
in the future; and this likelihood is dependent for its validity upon the
inductive principle.</p>
<p>The general principles of science, such as the belief in the reign of law,
and the belief that every event must have a cause, are as completely
dependent upon the inductive principle as are the beliefs of daily life
All such general principles are believed because mankind have found
innumerable instances of their truth and no instances of their falsehood.
But this affords no evidence for their truth in the future, unless the
inductive principle is assumed.</p>
<p>Thus all knowledge which, on a basis of experience tells us something
about what is not experienced, is based upon a belief which experience can
neither confirm nor confute, yet which, at least in its more concrete
applications, appears to be as firmly rooted in us as many of the facts of
experience. The existence and justification of such beliefs—for the
inductive principle, as we shall see, is not the only example—raises
some of the most difficult and most debated problems of philosophy. We
will, in the next chapter, consider briefly what may be said to account
for such knowledge, and what is its scope and its degree of certainty.</p>
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