A System of Logic: Ratiocinative and Inductive, 7th Edition, Vol. II — Key Ideas to Explore
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XPLANATION OF LAWS OF NATURE; AND OF HYPOTHESES.
§ 1. The preceding considerations have led us to recognise a distinction between two kinds of laws, or observed uniformities in nature: ultimate laws, and what may be termed derivative laws. Derivative laws are such as are deducible from, and may, in any of the modes which we have pointed out, be resolved into, other and more general ones. Ultimate laws are those which cannot. We are not sure that any of the uniformities with which we are yet acquainted are ultimate laws; but we know that there must be ultimate laws; and that every resolution of a derivative law into more general laws, brings us nearer to them.
Since we are continually discovering that uniformities, not previously known to be other than ultimate, are derivative, and resolvable into more general laws; since (in other words) we are continually discovering the explanation of some sequence which was previously known only as a fact; it becomes an interesting question whether there are any necessary limits to this philosophical operation, or whether it may proceed until all the uniform sequences in nature are resolved into some one universal law. For this seems, at first sight, to be the ultimatum towards which the progress of induction, by the Deductive Method resting on a basis of observation and experiment, is tending. Projects of this kind were universal in the infancy of philosophy; any speculations which held out a less brilliant prospect, being in those early times deemed not worth pursuing. And the idea receives so much apparent countenance from the nature of the most remarkable achievements of modern science, that speculators are even now frequently appearing, who profess either to have solved the problem, or to suggest modes in which it may one day be solved. Even where pretensions of this magnitude are not made, the character of the solutions which are given or sought of particular classes of phenomena, often involves such conceptions of what constitutes explanation, as would render the notion of explaining all phenomena whatever by means of some one cause or law, perfectly admissible.
§ 2. It is therefore useful to remark, that the ultimate Laws of Nature cannot possibly be less numerous than the distinguishable sensations or other feelings of our nature;--those, I mean, which are distinguishable from one another in quality, and not merely in quantity or degree. For example; since there is a phenomenon _sui generis_, called colour, which our consciousness testifies to be not a particular degree of some other phenomenon, as heat or odour or motion, but intrinsically unlike all others, it follows that there are ultimate laws of colour; that though the facts of colour may admit of explanation, they never can be explained from laws of heat or odour alone, or of motion alone, but that however far the explanation may be carried, there will always remain in it a law of colour. I do not mean that it might not possibly be shown that some other phenomenon, some chemical or mechanical action for example, invariably precedes, and is the cause of, every phenomenon of colour. But though this, if proved, would be an important extension of our knowledge of nature, it would not explain how or why a motion, or a chemical action, can produce a sensation of colour; and however diligent might be our scrutiny of the phenomena, whatever number of hidden links we might detect in the chain of causation terminating in the colour, the last link would still be a law of colour, not a law of motion, nor of any other phenomenon whatever. Nor does this observation apply only to colour, as compared with any other of the great classes of sensations; it applies to every particular colour, as compared with others. White colour can in no manner be explained exclusively by the laws of the production of red colour. In any attempt to explain it, we cannot but introduce, as one element of the explanation, the proposition that some antecedent or other produces the sensation of white.
The ideal limit, therefore, of the explanation of natural phenomena (towards which as towards other ideal limits we are constantly tending, without the prospect of ever completely attaining it) would be to show that each distinguishable variety of our sensations, or other states of consciousness, has only one sort of cause; that, for example, whenever we perceive a white colour, there is some one condition or set of conditions which is always present, and the presence of which always produces in us that sensation. As long as there are several known modes of production of a phenomenon, (several different substances, for instance, which have the property of whiteness, and between which we cannot trace any other resemblance,) so long it is not impossible that one of these modes of production may be resolved into another, or that all of them may be resolved into some more general mode of production not hitherto recognised. But when the modes of production are reduced to one, we cannot, in point of simplification, go any further. This one may not, after all, be the ultimate mode; there may be other links to be discovered between the supposed cause and the effect; but we can only further resolve the known law, by introducing some other law hitherto unknown; which will not diminish the number of ultimate laws.
In what cases, accordingly, has science been most successful in explaining phenomena, by resolving their complex laws into laws of greater simplicity and generality? Hitherto chiefly in cases of the propagation of various phenomena through space: and, first and principally, the most extensive and important of all facts of that description, the fact of motion. Now this is exactly what might be expected from the principles here laid down. Not only is motion one of the most universal of all phenomena, it is also (as might be expected from that circumstance) one of those which, apparently at least, are produced in the greatest number of ways; but the phenomenon itself is always, to our sensations, the same in every respect but degree. Differences of duration, or of velocity, are evidently differences in degree only; and differences of direction in space, which alone has any semblance of being a distinction in kind, entirely disappear (so far as our sensations are concerned) by a change in our own position; indeed the very same motion appears to us, according to our position, to take place in every variety of direction, and motions in every different direction to take place in the same. And again, motion in a straight line and in a curve are no otherwise distinct than that the one is motion continuing in the same direction, the other is motion which at each instant changes its direction. There is, therefore, according to the principles I have stated, no absurdity in supposing that all motion may be produced in one and the same way; by the same kind of cause. Accordingly, the greatest achievements in physical science have consisted in resolving one observed law of the production of motion into the laws of other known modes of production, or the laws of several such modes into one more general mode; as when the fall of bodies to the earth, and the motions of the planets, were brought under the one law of the mutual attraction of all particles of matter; when the motions said to be produced by magnetism were shown to be produced by electricity; when the motions of fluids in a lateral direction, or even contrary to the direction of gravity, were shown to be produced by gravity; and the like. There is an abundance of distinct causes of motion still unresolved into one another; gravitation, heat, electricity, chemical action, nervous action, and so forth; but whether the efforts of the present generation of savans to resolve all these different modes of production into one, are ultimately successful or not, the attempt so to resolve them is perfectly legitimate. For though these various causes produce, in other respects, sensations intrinsically different, and are not, therefore, capable of being resolved into one another, yet in so far as they all produce motion, it is quite possible that the immediate antecedent of the motion may in all these different cases be the same; nor is it impossible that these various agencies themselves may, as the new doctrines assert, all of them have for their own immediate antecedent, modes of molecular motion.
We need not extend our illustration to other cases, as for instance to the propagation of light, sound, heat, electricity, &c. through space, or any of the other phenomena which have been found susceptible of explanation by the resolution of their observed laws into more general laws. Enough has been said to display the difference between the kind of explanation and resolution of laws which is chimerical, and that of which the accomplishment is the great aim of science; and to show into what sort of elements the resolution must be effected, if at all.
§ 3. As, however, there is scarcely any one of the principles of a true method of philosophizing which does not require to be guarded against errors on both sides, I must enter a caveat against another misapprehension, of a kind directly contrary to the preceding. M. Comte, among other occasions on which he has condemned, with some asperity, any attempt to explain phenomena which are "evidently primordial," (meaning, apparently, no more than that every peculiar phenomenon must have at least one peculiar and therefore inexplicable law,) has spoken of the attempt to furnish any explanation of the colour belonging to each substance, "la couleur élémentaire propre à chaque substance," as essentially illusory. "No one," says he, "in our time attempts to explain the particular specific gravity of each substance or of each structure. Why should it be otherwise as to the specific colour, the notion of which is undoubtedly no less primordial?"[1]
Now although, as he elsewhere observes, a colour must always remain a different thing from a weight or a sound, varieties of colour might nevertheless follow, or correspond to, given varieties of weight, or sound, or some other phenomenon as different as these are from colour itself. It is one question what a thing is, and another what it depends on; and though to ascertain the conditions of an elementary phenomenon is not to obtain any new insight into the nature of the phenomenon itself, that is no reason against attempting to discover the conditions. The interdict against endeavouring to reduce distinctions of colour to any common principle, would have held equally good against a like attempt on the subject of distinctions of sound; which nevertheless have been found to be immediately preceded and caused by distinguishable varieties in the vibrations of elastic bodies: though a sound, no doubt, is quite as different as a colour is from any motion of particles, vibratory or otherwise. We might add, that, in the case of colours, there are strong positive indications that they are not ultimate properties of the different kinds of substances, but depend on conditions capable of being superinduced upon all substances; since there is no substance which cannot, according to the kind of light thrown upon it, be made to assume almost any colour; and since almost every change in the mode of aggregation of the particles of the same substance, is attended with alterations in its colour, and in its optical properties generally.
The real defect in the attempts which have been made to account for colours by the vibrations of a fluid, is not that the attempt itself is unphilosophical, but that the existence of the fluid, and the fact of its vibratory motion, are not proved; but are assumed, on no other ground than the facility they are supposed to afford of explaining the phenomena. And this consideration leads to the important question of the proper use of scientific hypotheses; the connexion of which with the subject of the explanation of the phenomena of nature, and of the necessary limits to that explanation, needs not be pointed out.
§ 4. An hypothesis is any supposition which we make (either without actual evidence, or on evidence avowedly insufficient) in order to endeavour to deduce from it conclusions in accordance with facts which are known to be real; under the idea that if the conclusions to which the hypothesis leads are known truths, the hypothesis itself either must be, or at least is likely to be, true. If the hypothesis relates to the cause, or mode of production of a phenomenon, it will serve, if admitted, to explain such facts as are found capable of being deduced from it. And this explanation is the purpose of many, if not most, hypotheses. Since explaining, in the scientific sense, means resolving an uniformity which is not a law of causation, into the laws of causation from which it results, or a complex law of causation into simpler and more general ones from which it is capable of being deductively inferred; if there do not exist any known laws which fulfil this requirement, we may feign or imagine some which would fulfil it; and this is making an hypothesis.
An hypothesis being a mere supposition, there are no other limits to hypotheses than those of the human imagination; we may, if we please, imagine, by way of accounting for an effect, some cause of a kind utterly unknown, and acting according to a law altogether fictitious. But as hypotheses of this sort would not have any of the plausibility belonging to those which ally themselves by analogy with known laws of nature, and besides would not supply the want which arbitrary hypotheses are generally invented to satisfy, by enabling the imagination to represent to itself an obscure phenomenon in a familiar light; there is probably no hypothesis in the history of science in which both the agent itself and the law of its operation were fictitious. Either the phenomenon assigned as the cause is real, but the law according to which it acts, merely supposed; or the cause is fictitious, but is supposed to produce its effects according to laws similar to those of some known class of phenomena. An instance of the first kind is afforded by the different suppositions made respecting the law of the planetary central force, anterior to the discovery of the true law, that the force varies as the inverse square of the distance; which also suggested itself to Newton, in the first instance, as an hypothesis, and was verified by proving that it led deductively to Kepler's laws. Hypotheses of the second kind are such as the vortices of Descartes, which were fictitious, but were supposed to obey the known laws of rotatory motion; or the two rival hypotheses respecting the nature of light, the one ascribing the phenomena to a fluid emitted from all luminous bodies, the other (now generally received) attributing them to vibratory motions among the particles of an ether pervading all space. Of the existence of either fluid there is no evidence, save the explanation they are calculated to afford of some of the phenomena; but they are supposed to produce their effects according to known laws; the ordinary laws of continued locomotion in the one case, and in the other, those of the propagation of undulatory movements among the particles of an elastic fluid.
According to the foregoing remarks, hypotheses are invented to enable the Deductive Method to be earlier applied to phenomena. But[2] in order to discover the cause of any phenomenon by the Deductive Method, the process must consist of three parts; induction, ratiocination, and verification. Induction, (the place of which, however, may be supplied by a prior deduction,) to ascertain the laws of the causes; ratiocination, to compute from those laws, how the causes will operate in the particular combination known to exist in the case in hand; verification, by comparing this calculated effect with the actual phenomenon. No one of these three parts of the process can be dispensed with. In the deduction which proves the identity of gravity with the central force of the solar system, all the three are found. First, it is proved from the moon's motions, that the earth attracts her with a force varying as the inverse square of the distance. This (though partly dependent on prior deductions) corresponds to the first, or purely inductive, step, the ascertainment of the law of the cause. Secondly, from this law, and from the knowledge previously obtained of the moon's mean distance from the earth, and of the actual amount of her deflexion from the tangent, it is ascertained with what rapidity the earth's attraction would cause the moon to fall, if she were no further off, and no more acted upon by extraneous forces, than terrestrial bodies are: that is the second step, the ratiocination. Finally, this calculated velocity being compared with the observed velocity with which all heavy bodies fall, by mere gravity, towards the surface of the earth, (sixteen feet in the first second, forty-eight in the second, and so forth, in the ratio of the odd numbers, 1, 3, 5, &c.,) the two quantities are found to agree. The order in which the steps are here presented, was not that of their discovery; but it is their correct logical order, as portions of the proof that the same attraction of the earth which causes the moon's motion, causes also the fall of heavy bodies to the earth: a proof which is thus complete in all its parts.
Now, the Hypothetical Method suppresses the first of the three steps, the induction to ascertain the law; and contents itself with the other two operations, ratiocination and verification; the law which is reasoned from, being assumed, instead of proved.
This process may evidently be legitimate on one supposition, namely, if the nature of the case be such that the final step, the verification, shall amount to, and fulfil the conditions of, a complete induction. We want to be assured that the law we have hypothetically assumed is a true one; and its leading deductively to true results will afford this assurance, provided the case be such that a false law cannot lead to a true result; provided no law, except the very one which we have assumed, can lead deductively to the same conclusions which that leads to. And this proviso is often realized. For example, in the very complete specimen of deduction which we just cited, the original major premise of the ratiocination, the law of the attractive force, was ascertained in this mode; by this legitimate employment of the Hypothetical Method. Newton began by an assumption, that the force which at each instant deflects a planet from its rectilineal course, and makes it describe a curve round the sun, is a force tending directly towards the sun. He then proved that if this be so, the planet will describe, as we know by Kepler's first law that it does describe, equal areas in equal times; and, lastly, he proved that if the force acted in any other direction whatever, the planet would not describe equal areas in equal times. It being thus shown that no other hypothesis would accord with the facts, the assumption was proved; the hypothesis became an inductive truth. Not only did Newton ascertain by this hypothetical process the direction of the deflecting force; he proceeded in exactly the same manner to ascertain the law of variation of the quantity of that force. He assumed that the force varied inversely as the square of the distance; showed that from this assumption the remaining two of Kepler's laws might be deduced; and finally, that any other law of variation would give results inconsistent with those laws, and inconsistent, therefore, with the real motions of the planets, of which Kepler's laws were known to be a correct expression.
John Stuart Mill's A System of Logic: Ratiocinative and Inductive, Volume II, continues his investigation into the principles of evidence and scientific method, focusing on induction. The catalog subjects—Science—Methodology, Knowledge, Theory of, and Logic—accurately reflect the work's scope, but the excerpts reveal a more nuanced engagement with the practical constraints of inductive reasoning. Mill repeatedly emphasizes that derivative laws are contingent on collocations, which are not reducible to any law, and that empirical laws cannot be relied upon beyond actual experience. This tension between the aspiration for universal laws and the recognition of their limits is a recurring theme.
Empirical Laws and the Limits of Experience
Mill defines an empirical law as a uniformity of sequence that has not been resolved into any ultimate law. In Chapter XVI, he argues that such laws commonly depend on collocations—the particular arrangements of permanent causes—which themselves are not subject to law. This means that generalizations resting solely on the Method of Agreement can only be received as empirical laws, and they cannot be trusted beyond the bounds of actual experience. Mill's phrasing is precise: he states that derivative laws are 'almost always contingent on collocations' (Chapter XIX), and that the collocations of permanent causes are 'not reducible to any law' (Chapter XVI). This directly challenges any simplistic view of induction as a straightforward accumulation of facts.
Chance, Causation, and the Calculation of Probabilities
Mill devotes two chapters to chance and its elimination, grounding the doctrine of chances ultimately in causation. He defines chance as the absence of law, but insists that the calculation of chances depends on the assumption of causation. In Chapter XVIII, he writes that the doctrine's 'ultimate dependence on causation' is its true foundation, and he provides a theorem relating to the cause of a given event. This is not a mathematical treatise but a philosophical justification: Mill is concerned with how we can eliminate chance to discover residual phenomena. His discussion of the 'elimination of chance' (Chapter XVII) shows a careful attempt to reconcile probabilistic reasoning with deterministic causation.
Classification, Types, and Nomenclature in Science
In the later chapters, Mill turns to classification and nomenclature, using concrete examples from chemistry and natural history. He introduces the concept of a 'type-species' for inductive inquiry—the one that exhibits the phenomenon under investigation 'in the most eminent degree.' This is not a mere taxonomic convenience but a methodological necessity. Mill also praises the nomenclature of elementary chemistry, where the name of a compound expresses its composition, calling it 'an ideally perfect Nomenclature.' He notes that such perfection is rare because most kinds require many characters for distinction. These passages reveal Mill's attention to the practical tools of science, not just abstract principles.
Readers approaching Volume II should note that Mill's argument is cumulative: earlier chapters on empirical laws and chance prepare the ground for his later treatment of classification. The excerpts show a philosopher deeply engaged with the limitations of inductive inference, yet committed to refining its methods. Pay attention to how Mill distinguishes between ultimate laws, derivative laws, and empirical generalizations—this hierarchy is central to his system. The work rewards careful reading of its examples, which often carry as much weight as the theoretical claims.
There’s a particular ache in finishing Mill’s careful stripping away of chance—how he shows that what we call certain is only experience holding its breath. It reminded me, strangely, of Freud’s quieter admissions in Reflections on War and Death — Text and Context, where even our most reasoned frameworks buckle under grief. Some collocations we never fully classify; we just learn to live beside them.
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