The Logic of Chance, 3rd edition / An Essay on the Foundations and Province of the Theory of Probability, With Especial Reference to Its Logical Bearings and Its Application to Moral and Social Science and to Statistics

by John Venn

CHAPTER VI.[*]

THE SUBJECTIVE SIDE OF PROBABILITY. MEASUREMENT OF BELIEF.

* Originally written in somewhat of a spirit of protest against what seemed to me the prevalent disposition to follow De Morgan in taking too subjective a view of the science. In reading it through now I cannot find any single sentence to which I could take distinct objection, though I must admit that if I were writing it entirely afresh I should endeavour to express myself with less emphasis, and I have made alterations in that direction. The reader who wishes to see a view not substantially very different from mine, but expressed with a somewhat opposite emphasis, can refer to Mr F. Y. Edgeworth's article on “The Philosophy of Chance” (Mind, Vol. IX.)

§ 1. Having now obtained a clear conception of a certain kind of series, the next enquiry is, What is to be done with this series? How is it to be employed as a means of making inferences? The general step that we are now about to take might be described as one from the objective to the subjective, from the things themselves to the state of our minds in contemplating them.

The reader should observe that a substitution has, in a great number of cases, already been made as a first stage towards bringing the things into a shape fit for calculation. This substitution, as described in former chapters, is, in a measure, a process of idealization. The series we actually meet with are apt to show a changeable type, and the individuals of them will sometimes transgress their licensed irregularity. Hence they have to be pruned a little into shape, as natural objects almost always have before they are capable of being accurately reasoned about. The form in which the series emerges is that of a series with a fixed type. This imaginary or ideal series is the basis of our calculation.

§ 2. It must not be supposed that this is at all at variance with the assertion previously made, that Probability is a science of inference about real things; it is only by a substitution of the above kind that we are enabled to reason about the things. In nature nearly all phenomena present themselves in a form which departs from that rigorously accurate one which scientific purposes mostly demand, so we have to introduce an imaginary series, which shall be free from any such defects. The only condition to be fulfilled is, that the substitution is to be as little arbitrary, that is, to vary from the truth as slightly, as possible. This kind of substitution generally passes without notice when natural objects of any kind are made subjects of exact science. I direct distinct attention to it here simply from the apprehension that want of familiarity with the subject-matter might lead some readers to suppose that it involves, in this case, an exceptional deflection from accuracy in the formal process of inference.

It may be remarked also that the adoption of this imaginary series offers no countenance whatever to the doctrine criticised in the last chapter, in accordance with which it was supposed that our series possessed a fixed unchangeable type which was merely the “development of the probabilities” of things, to use Laplace's expression. It differs from anything contemplated on that hypothesis by the fact that it is to be recognized as a necessary substitution of our own for the actual series, and to be kept in as close conformity with facts as possible. It is a mere fiction or artifice necessarily resorted to for the purpose of calculation, and for this purpose only.

This caution is the more necessary, because in the example that I shall select, and which belongs to the most favourite class of examples in this subject, the substitution becomes accidentally unnecessary. The things, as has been repeatedly pointed out, may sometimes need no trimming, because in the form in which they actually present themselves they are almost idealized. In most cases a good deal of alteration is necessary to bring the series into shape, but in some—prominently in the case of games of chance—we find the alterations, for all practical purposes, needless.

§ 3. We start then, from such a series as this, upon the enquiry, What kind of inference can be made about it? It may assist the logical reader to inform him that our first step will be analogous to one class of what are commonly known as immediate inferences,—inferences, that is, of the type,—‘All men are mortal, therefore any particular man or men are mortal.’ This case, simple and obvious as it is in Logic, requires very careful consideration in Probability.

It is obvious that we must be prepared to form an opinion upon the propriety of taking the step involved in making such an inference. Hitherto we have had as little to do as possible with the irregular individuals; we have regarded them simply as fragments of a regular series. But we cannot long continue to neglect all consideration of them. Even if these events in the gross be tolerably certain, it is not only in the gross that we have to deal with them; they constantly come before us a few at a time, or even as individuals, and we have to form some opinion about them in this state. An insurance office, for instance, deals with numbers large enough to obviate most of the uncertainty, but each of their transactions has another party interested in it—What has the man who insures to say to their proceedings?

for to him this question becomes an individual one. And even the office itself receives its cases singly, and would therefore like to have as clear views as possible about these single cases. Now, the remarks made in the preceding chapters about the subjects which Probability discusses might seem to preclude all enquiries of this kind, for was not ignorance of the individual presupposed to such an extent that even (as will be seen hereafter) causation might be denied, within considerable limits, without affecting our conclusions? The answer to this enquiry will require us to turn now to the consideration of a totally distinct side of the question, and one which has not yet come before us. Our best introduction to it will be by the discussion of a special example.

§ 4. Let a penny be tossed up a very great many times; we may then be supposed to know for certain this fact (amongst many others) that in the long run head and tail will occur about equally often. But suppose we consider only a moderate number of throws, or fewer still, and so continue limiting the number until we come down to three or two, or even one? We have, as the extreme cases, certainty or something undistinguishably near it, and utter uncertainty. Have we not, between these extremes, all gradations of belief? There is a large body of writers, including some of the most eminent authorities upon this subject, who state or imply that we are distinctly conscious of such a variation of the amount of our belief, and that this state of our minds can be measured and determined with almost the same accuracy as the external events to which they refer. The principal mathematical supporter of this view is De Morgan, who has insisted strongly upon it in all his works on the subject. The clearest exposition of his opinions will be found in his Formal Logic, in which work he has made the view which we are now discussing the basis of his system. He holds that we have a certain amount of belief of every proposition which may be set before us, an amount which in its nature admits of determination, though we may practically find it difficult in any particular case to determine it. He considers, in fact, that Probability is a sort of sister science to Formal Logic,[1] speaking of it in the following words: “I cannot understand why the study of the effect, which partial belief of the premises produces with respect to the conclusion, should be separated from that of the consequences of supposing the former to be absolutely true.”[2] In other words, there is a science—Formal Logic—which investigates the rules according to which one proposition can be necessarily inferred from another; in close correspondence with this there is a science which investigates the rules according to which the amount of our belief of one proposition varies with the amount of our belief of other propositions with which it is connected.

The same view is also supported by another high authority, the late Prof.

Donkin, who says (Phil.

Mag.

May, 1851), “It will, I suppose, be generally admitted, and has often been more or less explicitly stated, that the subject-matter of calculation in the mathematical theory of Probabilities is quantity of belief.”

§ 5. Before proceeding to criticise this opinion, one remark may be made upon it which has been too frequently overlooked. It should be borne in mind that, even were this view of the subject not actually incorrect, it might be objected to as insufficient for the purpose of a definition, on the ground that variation of belief is not confined to Probability. It is a property with which that science is concerned, no doubt, but it is a property which meets us in other directions as well. In every case in which we extend our inferences by Induction or Analogy, or depend upon the witness of others, or trust to our own memory of the past, or come to a conclusion through conflicting arguments, or even make a long and complicated deduction by mathematics or logic, we have a result of which we can scarcely feel as certain as of the premises from which it was obtained. In all these cases then we are conscious of varying quantities of belief, but are the laws according to which the belief is produced and varied the same? If they cannot be reduced to one harmonious scheme, if in fact they can at best be brought to nothing but a number of different schemes, each with its own body of laws and rules, then it is vain to endeavour to force them into one science.

This opinion is strengthened by observing that most of the writers who adopt the definition in question do practically dismiss from consideration most of the above-mentioned examples of diminution of belief, and confine their attention to classes of events which have the property discussed in Chap I., viz.

‘ignorance of the few, knowledge of the many.’ It is quite true that considerable violence has to be done to some of these examples, by introducing exceedingly arbitrary suppositions into them, before they can be forced to assume a suitable form. But still there is little doubt that, if we carefully examine the language employed, we shall find that in almost every case assumptions are made which virtually imply that our knowledge of the individual is derived from propositions given in the typical form described in Chap I. This will be more fully proved when we come to consider some common misapplications of the science.

§ 6. Even then, if the above-mentioned view of the subject were correct, it would yet, I consider, be insufficient for the purpose of a definition; but it is at least very doubtful whether it is correct. Before we could properly assign to the belief side of the question the prominence given to it by De Morgan and others, certainly before the science could be defined from that side, it would be necessary, it appears, to establish the two following positions, against both of which strong objections can be brought.

(1) That our belief of every proposition is a thing which we can, strictly speaking, be said to measure; that there must be a certain amount of it in every case, which we can realize somehow in consciousness and refer to some standard so as to pronounce upon its value.

(2) That the value thus apprehended is the correct one according to the theory, viz.

that it is the exact fraction of full conviction that it should be. This statement will perhaps seem somewhat obscure at first; it will be explained presently.

§ 7. (I.) Now, in the first place, as regards the difficulty of obtaining any measure of the amount of our belief. One source of this difficulty is too obvious to have escaped notice; this is the disturbing influence produced on the quantity of belief by any strong emotion or passion. A deep interest in the matter at stake, whether it excite hope or fear, plays great havoc with the belief-meter, so that we must assume the mind to be quite unimpassioned in weighing the evidence. This is noticed and acknowledged by Laplace and others; but these writers seem to me to assume it to be the only source of error, and also to be of comparative unimportance. Even if it were the only source of error I cannot see that it would be unimportant. We experience hope or fear in so very many instances, that to omit such influences from consideration would be almost equivalent to saying that whilst we profess to consider the whole quantity of our belief we will in reality consider only a portion of it. Very strong feelings are, of course, exceptional, but we should nevertheless find that the emotional element, in some form or other, makes itself felt on almost every occasion. It is very seldom that we cannot speak of our surprise or expectation in reference to any particular event. Both of these expressions, but especially the former, seem to point to something more than mere belief. It is true that the word ‘expectation’ is generally defined in treatises on Probability as equivalent to belief; but it seems doubtful whether any one who attends to the popular use of the terms would admit that they were exactly synonymous. Be this however as it may, the emotional element is present upon almost every occasion, and its disturbing influence therefore is constantly at work.

§ 8. Another cause, which co-operates with the former, is to be found in the extreme complexity and variety of the evidence on which our belief of any proposition depends. Hence it results that our actual belief at any given moment is one of the most fugitive and variable things possible, so that we can scarcely ever get sufficiently clear hold of it to measure it. This is not confined to the times when our minds are in a turmoil of excitement through hope or fear. In our calmest moments we shall find it no easy thing to give a precise answer to the question, How firmly do I hold this or that belief? There may be one or two prominent arguments in its favour, and one or two corresponding objections against it, but this is far from comprising all the causes by which our state of belief is produced. Because such reasons as these are all that can be practically introduced into oral or written controversies, we must not conclude that it is by these only that our conviction is influenced. On the contrary, our conviction generally rests upon a sort of chaotic basis composed of an infinite number of inferences and analogies of every description, and these moreover distorted by our state of feeling at the time, dimmed by the degree of our recollection of them afterwards, and probably received from time to time with varying force according to the way in which they happen to combine in our consciousness at the moment. To borrow a striking illustration from Abraham Tucker, the substructure of our convictions is not so much to be compared to the solid foundations of an ordinary building, as to the piles of the houses of Rotterdam which rest somehow in a deep bed of soft mud. They bear their weight securely enough, but it would not be easy to point out accurately the dependence of the different parts upon one another. Directly we begin to think of the amount of our belief, we have to think of the arguments by which it is produced—in fact, these arguments will intrude themselves without our choice. As each in turn flashes through the mind, it modifies the strength of our conviction; we are like a person listening to the confused hubbub of a crowd, where there is always something arbitrary in the particular sound we choose to listen to. There may be reasons enough to suffice abundantly for our ultimate choice, but on examination we shall find that they are by no means apprehended with the same force at different times. The belief produced by some strong argument may be very decisive at the moment, but it will often begin to diminish when the argument is not actually before the mind. It is like being dazzled by a strong light; the impression still remains, but begins almost immediately to fade away. I think that this is the case, however we try to limit the sources of our conviction.

§ 9. (II.) But supposing that it were possible to strike a sort of average of this fluctuating state, should we find this average to be of the amount assigned by theory? In other words, is our natural belief in the happening of two different events in direct proportion to the frequency with which those events happen in the long run? There is a lottery with 100 tickets and ten prizes; is a man's belief that he will get a prize fairly represented by one-tenth of certainty? The mere reference to a lottery should be sufficient to disprove this. Lotteries have flourished at all times, and have never failed to be abundantly supported, in spite of the most perfect conviction, on the part of many, if not of most, of those who put into them, that in the long run all will lose. Deductions should undoubtedly be made for those who act from superstitious motives, from belief in omens, dreams, and so on. But apart from these, and supposing any one to come fortified by all that mathematics can do for him, it is difficult to believe that his natural impressions about single events would be always what they should be according to theory. Are there many who can honestly declare that they would have no desire to buy a single ticket? They would probably say to themselves that the sum they paid away was nothing worth mentioning to lose, and that there was a chance of gaining a great deal; in other words, they are not apportioning their belief in the way that theory assigns.

What bears out this view is, that the same persons who would act in this way in single instances would often not think of doing so in any but single instances. In other words, the natural tendency here is to attribute too great an amount of belief where it is or should be small; i.e.

to depreciate the risk in proportion to the contingent advantage. They would very likely, when argued with, attach disparaging epithets to this state of feeling, by calling it an unaccountable fascination, or something of that kind, but of its existence there can be little doubt. We are speaking now of what is the natural tendency of our minds, not of that into which they may at length be disciplined by education and thought. If, however, educated persons have succeeded for the most part in controlling this tendency in games of chance, the spirit of reckless speculation has scarcely yet been banished from commerce. On examination, this tendency will be found so prevalent in all ages, ranks, and dispositions, that it would be inadmissible to neglect it in order to bring our supposed instincts more closely into accordance with the commonly received theories of Probability.

§ 10. There is another aspect of this question which has been often overlooked, but which seems to deserve some attention. Granted that we have an instinct of credence, why should it be assumed that this must be just of that intensity which subsequent experience will justify? Our instincts are implanted in us for good purposes, and are intended to act immediately and unconsciously. They are, however, subject to control, and have to be brought into accordance with what we believe to be true and right. In other departments of psychology we do not assume that every spontaneous prompting of nature is to be left just as we find it, or even that on the average, omitting individual variations, it is set at that pitch that will be found in the end to be the best when we come to think about it and assign its rules. Take, for example, the case of resentment. Here we have an instinctive tendency, and one that on the whole is good in its results. But moralists are agreed that almost all our efforts at self-control are to be directed towards subduing it and keeping it in its right direction. It is assumed to be given as a sort of rough protection, and to be set, if one might so express oneself, at too high a pitch to be deliberately and consciously acted on in society. May not something of this kind be the case also with our belief? I only make a passing reference to this point here, as on the theory of Probability adopted in this work it does not appear to be at all material to the science. But it seems a strong argument against the expediency of commencing the study of the science from the subjective side, or even of assigning any great degree of prominence to this side.

That men do not believe in exact accordance with this theory must have struck almost every one, but this has probably been considered as mere exception and irregularity; the assumption being made that on the average, and in far the majority of cases, they do so believe. As stated above, it is very doubtful whether the tendency which has just been discussed is not so widely prevalent that it might with far more propriety be called the rule than the exception. And it may be better that this should be so: many good results may follow from that cheerful disposition which induces a man sometimes to go on trying after some great good, the chance of which he overvalues. He will keep on through trouble and disappointment, without serious harm perhaps, when the cool and calculating bystander sees plainly that his ‘measure of belief’ is much higher than it should be. So, too, the tendency also so common, of underrating the chance of a great evil may also work for good. By many men death might be looked upon as an almost infinite evil, at least they would so regard it themselves; suppose they kept this contingency constantly before them at its right value, how would it be possible to get through the practical work of life? Men would be stopping indoors because if they went out they might be murdered or bitten by a mad dog. To say this is not to advocate a return to our instincts; indeed when we have once reached the critical and conscious state, it is hardly possible to do so; but it should be noticed that the advantage gained by correcting them is at best but a balanced one.[3] What is most to our present purpose, it suggests the inexpediency of attempting to found an exact theory on what may afterwards prove to be a mere instinct, unauthorized in its full extent by experience.

§ 11. It may be replied, that though people, as a matter of fact, do not apportion belief in this exact way, yet they ought to do so. The purport of this remark will be examined presently; it need only be said here that it grants all that is now contended for. For it admits that the degree of our belief is capable of modification, and may need it. But in accordance with what is the belief to be modified?

obviously in accordance with experience; it cannot be trusted to by itself, but the fraction at which it is to be rated must be determined by the comparative frequency of the events to which it refers. Experience then furnishing the standard, it is surely most reasonable to start from this experience, and to found the theory of our processes upon it.

If we do not do this, it should be observed that we are detaching Probability altogether from the study of things external to us, and making it nothing else in effect than a portion of Psychology. If we refuse to be controlled by experience, but confine our attention to the laws according to which belief is naturally or instinctively compounded and distributed in our minds, we have no right then to appeal to experience afterwards even for illustrations, unless under the express understanding that we do not guarantee its accuracy. Our belief in some single events, for example, might be correct, and yet that in a compound of several (if derived merely from our instinctive laws of belief) very possibly might not be correct, but might lead us into practical mistakes if we determined to act upon it. Even if the two were in accordance, this accordance would have to be proved, which would lead us round, by what I cannot but think a circuitous process, to the point which has been already chosen for commencing with.

§ 12. De Morgan seems to imply that the doctrine criticised above finds a justification from the analogy of Formal Logic. If the laws of necessary inference can be studied apart from all reference to external facts (except by way of illustration), why not those of probable inference? There does not, however, seem to be much force in any such analogy. Formal Logic, at any rate under its modern or Kantian mode of treatment, is based upon the assumption that there are laws of thought as distinguished from laws of things, and that these laws of thought can be ascertained and studied without taking into account their reference to any particular object. Now so long as we are confined to necessary or irreversible laws, as is of course the case in ordinary Formal Logic, this assumption leads to no special difficulties. We mean by this, that no conflict arises between these subjective and objective necessities. The two exist in perfect harmony side by side, the one being the accurate counterpart of the other. So precise is the correspondence between them, that few persons would notice, until study of metaphysics had called their attention to such points, that there were these two sides to the question. They would make their appeal to either with equal confidence, saying indifferently, ‘the thing must be so,’ or, ‘we cannot conceive its being otherwise.’ In fact it is only since the time of Kant that this mental analysis has been to any extent appreciated and accepted. And even now the dominant experience school of philosophy would not admit that there are here two really distinct sides to the phenomenon; they maintain either that the subjective necessity is nothing more than the consequence by inveterate association of the objective uniformity, or else that this so-called necessity (say in the Law of Contradiction) is after all merely verbal, merely a different way of saying the same thing over again in other words. Whatever the explanation adopted, the general result is that fallacies, as real acts of thought, are impossible within the domain of pure logic; error within that province is only possibly by a momentary lapse of attention, that is of consciousness.

§ 13. But though this perfect harmony between subjective and objective uniformities or laws may exist within the domain of pure logic, it is far from existing within that of probability. The moment we make the quantity of our belief an integral part of the subject to be studied, any such invariable correspondence ceases to exist. In the former case, we could not consciously think erroneously even though we might try to do so; in the latter, we not only can believe erroneously but constantly do so. Far from the quantity of our belief being so exactly adjusted in conformity with the facts to which it refers that we cannot even in imagination go astray, we find that it frequently exists in excess or defect of that which subsequent judgment will approve. Our instincts of credence are unquestionably in frequent hostility with experience; and what do we do then? We simply modify the instincts into accordance with the things. We are constantly performing this practice, and no cultivated mind would find it possible to do anything else. No man would think of divorcing his belief from the things on which it was exercised, or would suppose that the former had anything else to do than to follow the lead of the latter. Hence it results that that separation of the subjective necessity from the objective, and that determination to treat the former as a science apart by itself, for which a plausible defence could be made in the case of pure logic, is entirely inadmissible in the case of probability. However we might contrive to ‘think’ aright without appeal to facts, we cannot believe aright without incessantly checking our proceedings by such appeals. Whatever then may be the claims of Formal Logic to rank as a separate science, it does not appear that it can furnish any support to the theory of Probability at present under examination.

§ 14. The point in question is sometimes urged as follows. Suppose a man with two, and only two, alternatives before him, one of which he knows must involve success and the other failure. He knows nothing more about them than this, and he is forced to act. Would he not regard them with absolutely similar and equal feelings of confidence, without the necessity of referring them to any real or imaginary series? If so, is not this equivalent to saying that his belief of either, since one of them must come to pass, is equal to that of the other, and therefore that his belief of each is one-half of full confidence? Similarly if there are more than two alternatives: let it be supposed that there are any number of them, amongst which no distinctions whatever can be discerned except in such particulars as we know for certain will not affect the result; should we not feel equally confident in respect of each of them?

and so here again should we riot have a fractional estimate of our absolute amount of belief? It is thus attempted to lay the basis of a pure science of Probability, determining the distribution and combination of our belief hypothetically; viz.

if the contingencies are exactly alike, then our belief is so apportioned, the question whether the contingencies are equal being of course decided as the objective data of Logic or Mathematics are decided.

To discuss this question fully would require a statement at some length of the reasons in favour of the objective or material view of Logic, as opposed to the Formal or Conceptualist. I shall have to speak on this subject in another chapter, and will not therefore enter upon it here. But one conclusive objection which is applicable more peculiarly to Probability may be offered at once. To pursue the line of enquiry just indicated, is, as already remarked, to desert the strictly logical ground, and to take up that appropriate to psychology; the proper question, in all these cases, being not what do men believe, but what ought they to believe? Admitting, as was done above, that in the case of Formal Logic these two enquiries, or rather those corresponding to them, practically run into one, owing to the fact that men cannot consciously ‘think’ wrongly; it cannot be too strongly insisted on that in Probability the two are perfectly separable and distinct. It is of no use saying what men do or will believe, we want to know what they will be right in believing; and this can never be settled without an appeal to the phenomena themselves.

§ 15. But apart from the above considerations, this way of putting the case does not seem to me at all conclusive. Take the following example. A man[4] finds himself on the sands of the Wash or Morecambe Bay, in a dense mist, when the spring-tide is coming in; and knows therefore that to be once caught by the tide would be fatal. He hears a church-bell at a distance, but has no means of knowing whether it is on the same side of the water with himself or on the opposite side. He cannot tell therefore whether by following its sound he will be led out into the mid-stream and be lost, or led back to dry land and safety. Here there can be no repetition of the event, and the cases are indistinguishably alike, to him, in the only circumstances which can affect the issue: is not then his prospect of death, it will be said, necessarily equal to one-half? A proper analysis of his state of mind would be a psychological rather than a logical enquiry, and in any case, as above remarked, the decision of this question does not touch our logical position. But according to the best introspection I can give I should say that what really passes through the mind in such a case is something of this kind: In most doubtful positions and circumstances we are accustomed to decide our conduct by a consideration of the relative advantages and disadvantages of each side, that is by the observed or inferred frequency with which one or the other alternative has succeeded. In proportion as these become more nearly balanced, we are more frequently mistaken in the individual cases; that is, it becomes more and more nearly what would be called ‘a mere toss up’ whether we are right or wrong. The case in question seems merely the limiting case, in which it has been contrived that there shall be no appreciable difference between the alternatives, by which to decide in favour of one or other, and we accordingly feel no confidence in the particular result. Having to decide, however, we decide according to the precedent of similar cases which have occurred before. To stand still and wait for better information is certain death, and we therefore appeal to and employ the only rule we know of; or rather we feel, or endeavour to feel, as we have felt before when acting in the presence of alternatives as nearly balanced as possible. But I can neither perceive in my own case, nor feel convinced in that of others, that this appeal, in a case which cannot be repeated,[5] to a rule acted on and justified in cases which can be and are repeated, at all forces us to admit that our state of mind is the same in each case.

§ 16. This example serves to bring out very clearly a point which has been already mentioned, and which will have to be insisted upon again, viz.

that all which Probability discusses is the statistical frequency of events, or, if we prefer so to put it, the quantity of belief with which any one of these events should be individually regarded, but leaves all the subsequent conduct dependent upon that frequency, or that belief, to the choice of the agents. Suppose there are two travellers in the predicament in question: shall they keep together, or separate in opposite directions? In either case alike the chance of safety to each is the same, viz.

one-half, but clearly their circumstances must decide which course it is preferable to adopt. If they are husband and wife, they will probably prefer to remain together; if they are sole depositaries of an important state secret, they may decide to part. In other words, we have to select here between the two alternatives of the certainty of a single loss, and the even chance of a double loss; alternatives which the common mathematical statement of their chances has a decided tendency to make us regard as indistinguishable from one another. But clearly the decision must be grounded on the desires, feelings, and conscience of the agents. Probability cannot say a word upon this question. As I have pointed out elsewhere, there has been much confusion on this matter in applications of the science to betting, and in the discussion of the Petersburg problem.

We have thus examined the doctrine in question with a minuteness which may seem tedious, but in consequence of the eminence of its supporters it would have been presumptuous to have rejected it without the strongest grounds. The objections which have been urged might be summarised as follows:—the amount of our belief of any given proposition, supposing it to be in its nature capable of accurate determination (which does not seem to be the case), depends upon a great variety of causes, of which statistical frequency—the subject of Probability—is but one. That even if we confine our attention to this one cause, the natural amount of our belief is not necessarily what theory would assign, but has to be checked by appeal to experience. The subjective side of Probability therefore, though very interesting and well deserving of examination, seems a mere appendage of the objective, and affords in itself no safe ground for a science of inference.

§ 17. The conception then of the science of Probability as a science of the laws of belief seems to break down at every point. We must not however rest content with such merely negative criticism. The degree of belief we entertain of a proposition may be hard to get at accurately, and when obtained may be often wrong, and may need therefore to be checked by an appeal to the objects of belief. Still in popular estimation we do seem to be able with more or less accuracy to form a graduated scale of intensity of belief. What we have to examine now is whether this be possible, and, if so, what is the explanation of the fact?

That it is generally believed that we can form such a scale scarcely admits of doubt. There is a whole vocabulary of common expressions such as, ‘I feel almost sure,’ ‘I do not feel quite certain,’ ‘I am less confident of this than of that,’ and so on. When we make use of any one of these phrases we seldom doubt that we have a distinct meaning to convey by means of it. Nor do we feel much at a loss, under any given circumstances, as to which of these expressions we should employ in preference to the others. If we were asked to arrange in order, according to the intensity of the belief with which we respectively hold them, things broadly marked off from one another, we could do it from our consciousness of belief alone, without a fresh appeal to the evidence upon which the belief depended. Passing over the looser propositions which are used in common conversation, let us take but one simple example from amongst those which furnish numerical data. Do I not feel more certain that some one will die this week in the whole town, than in the particular street in which I live?

and if the town is known to contain a population one hundred times greater than that in the street, would not almost any one be prepared to assert on reflection that he felt a hundred times more sure of the first proposition than of the second? Or to take a non-numerical example, are we not often able to say unhesitatingly which of two propositions we believe the most, and to some rough degree how much more we believe one than the other, at a time when all the evidence upon which each rests has faded from the mind, so that each has to be judged, as we may say, solely on its own merits?

Here then a problem proposes itself. If popular opinion, as illustrated in common language, be correct,—and very considerable weight must of course be attributed to it,—there does exist something which we call partial belief in reference to any proposition of the numerical kind described above. Now what we want to do is to find some test or justification of this belief, to obtain in fact some intelligible answer to the question, Is it correct? We shall find incidentally that the answer to this question will throw a good deal of light upon another question nearly as important and far more intricate, viz.

What is the meaning of this partial belief?

§ 18. We shall find it advisable to commence by ascertaining how such enquiries as the above would be answered in the case of ordinary full belief. Such a step would not offer the slightest difficulty. Suppose, to take a simple example, that we have obtained the following proposition,—whether by induction, or by the rules of ordinary deductive logic, does not matter for our present purpose,—that a certain mixture of oxygen and hydrogen is explosive. Here we have an inference, and consequent belief of a proposition. Now suppose there were any enquiry as to whether our belief were correct, what should we do? The simplest way of settling the matter would be to find out by a distinct appeal to experience whether the proposition was true. Since we are reasoning about things, the justification of the belief, that is, the test of its correctness, would be most readily found in the truth of the proposition. If by any process of inference I have come to believe that a certain mixture will explode, I consider my belief to be justified, that is to be correct, if under proper circumstances the explosion always does occur; if it does not occur the belief was wrong.

Such an answer, no doubt, goes but a little way, or rather no way at all, towards explaining what is the nature of belief in itself; but it is sufficient for our present purpose, which is merely that of determining what is meant by the correctness of our belief, and by the test of its correctness. In all inferences about things, in which the amount of our belief is not taken into account, such an explanation as the above is quite sufficient; it would be the ordinary one in any question of science. It is moreover perfectly intelligible, whether the conclusion is particular or universal. Whether we believe that ‘some men die’, or that ‘all men die’, our belief may with equal ease be tested by the appropriate train of experience.

§ 19. But when we attempt to apply the same test to partial belief, we shall find ourselves reduced to an awkward perplexity. A difficulty now emerges which has been singularly overlooked by those who have treated of the subject. As a simple example will serve our purpose, we will take the case of a penny. I am about to toss one up, and I therefore half believe, to adopt the current language, that it will give head. Now it seems to be overlooked that if we appeal to the event, as we did in the case last examined, our belief must inevitably be wrong, and therefore the test above mentioned will fail. For the thing must either happen or not happen: i.e.

in this case the penny must either give head, or not give it; there is no third alternative. But whichever way it occurs, our half-belief, so far as such a state of mind admits of interpretation, must be wrong. If head does come, I am wrong in not having expected it enough; for I only half believed in its occurrence. If it does not happen, I am equally wrong in having expected it too much; for I half believed in its occurrence, when in fact it did not occur at all.

The same difficulty will occur in every case in which we attempt to justify our state of partial belief in a single contingent event. Let us take another example, slightly differing from the last. A man is to receive £1 if a die gives six, to pay 1s.

if it gives any other number. It will generally be admitted that he ought to give 2s.

6d.

for the chance, and that if he does so he will be paying a fair sum. This example only differs from the last in the fact that instead of simple belief in a proposition, we have taken what mathematicians call ‘the value of the expectation’. In other words, we have brought into a greater prominence, not merely the belief, but the conduct which is founded upon the belief. But precisely the same difficulty recurs here. For appealing to the event,—the single event, that is,—we see that one or other party must lose his money without compensation. In what sense then can such an expectation be said to be a fair one?

§ 20. A possible answer to this, and so far as appears the only possible answer, will be, that what we really mean by saying that we half believe in the occurrence of head is to express our conviction that head will certainly happen on the average every other time. And similarly, in the second example, by calling the sum a fair one it is meant that in the long run neither party will gain or lose. As we shall recur presently to the point raised in this form of answer, the only notice that need be taken of it at this point is to call attention to the fact that it entirely abandons the whole question in dispute, for it admits that this partial belief does not in any strict sense apply to the individual event, since it clearly cannot be justified there. At such a result indeed we cannot be surprised; at least we cannot on the theory adopted throughout this Essay. For bearing in mind that the employment of Probability postulates ignorance of the single event, it is not easy to see how we are to justify any other opinion or statement about the single event than a confession of such ignorance.

§ 21. So far then we do not seem to have made the slightest approximation to a solution of the particular question now under examination. The more closely we have analysed special examples, the more unmistakeably are we brought to the conclusion that in the individual instance no justification of anything like quantitative belief is to be found; at least none is to be found in the same sense in which we expect it in ordinary scientific conclusions, whether Inductive or Deductive. And yet we have to face and account for the fact that common impressions, as attested by a whole vocabulary of common phrases, are in favour of the existence of this quantitative belief. How are we to account for this? If we appeal to an example again, and analyse it somewhat more closely, we may yet find our way to some satisfactory explanation.

In our previous analysis (§ 18) we found it sufficient to stop at an early stage, and to give as the justification of our belief the fact of the proposition being true. Stopping however at that stage, we have found this explanation fail altogether to give a justification of partial belief; fail, that is, when applied to the individual instance. The two states of belief and disbelief correspond admirably to the two results of the event happening and not happening respectively, and unless for psychological purposes we saw no reason to analyse further; but to partial belief there is nothing corresponding in the result, for the event cannot partially happen in such cases as we are concerned with. Suppose then we advance a step further in the analysis, and ask again what is meant by the proposition being true? This introduces us, of course, to a very long and intricate path; but in the short distance along it which we shall advance, we shall not, it is to be hoped, find any very serious difficulty. As before, we will illustrate the analysis by first applying it to the case of ordinary full belief.

§ 22. Whatever opinion then may be held about the essential nature of belief, it will probably be admitted that a readiness to act upon the proposition believed is an inseparable accompaniment of that state of mind. There can be no alteration in our belief (at any rate in the case of sane persons) without a possible alteration in our conduct, nor anything in our conduct which is not connected with something in our belief. We will first take an example in connection with the penny, in which there is full belief; we will analyse it a step further than we did before, and then attempt to apply the same analysis to an example of a similar kind, but one in which the belief is partial instead of full.

Suppose that I am about to throw a penny up, and contemplate the prospect of its falling upon one of its sides and not upon its edge. We feel perfectly confident that it will do so. Now whatever else may be implied in our belief, we certainly mean this; that we are ready to stake our conduct upon its falling thus. All our betting, and everything else that we do, is carried on upon this supposition. Any risk whatever that might ensue upon its falling otherwise will be incurred without fear. This, it must be observed, is equally the case whether we are speaking of a single throw or of a long succession of throws.

But now let us take the case of a penny falling, not upon one side or the other, but upon a given side, head. To a certain extent this example resembles the last. We are perfectly ready to stake our conduct upon what comes to pass in the long run. When we are considering the result of a large number of throws, we are ready to act upon the supposition that head comes every other time. If e.g.

we are betting upon it, we shall not object to paying £1 every time that head comes, on condition of receiving £1 every time that head does not come. This is nothing else than the translation, as we may call it, into practice, of our belief that head and tail occur equally often.

Now it will be obvious, on a moment's consideration, that our conduct is capable of being slightly varied: of being varied, that is, in form, whilst it remains identical in respect of its results. It is clear that to pay £1 every time we lose, and to get £1 every time we gain, comes to precisely the same thing, in the case under consideration, as to pay ten shillings every time without exception, and to receive £1 every time that head occurs. It is so, because heads occur, on the average, every other time. In the long run the two results coincide; but there is a marked difference between the two cases, considered individually. The difference is two-fold. In the first place we depart from the notion of a payment every other time, and come to that of one made every time. In the second place, what we pay every time is half of what we get in the cases in which we do get anything. The difference may seem slight; but mark the effect when our conduct is translated back again into the subjective condition upon which it depends, viz.

into our belief. It is in consequence of such a translation, as it appears to me, that the notion has been acquired that we have an accurately determinable amount of belief as to every such proposition. To have losses and gains of equal amount, and to incur them equally often, was the experience connected with our belief that the two events, head and tail, would occur equally often. This was quite intelligible, for it referred to the long run. To find that this could be commuted for a payment made every time without exception, a payment, observe, of half the amount of what we occasionally receive, has very naturally been interpreted to mean that there must be a state of half-belief which refers to each individual throw.

§ 23. One such example, of course, does not go far towards establishing a theory. But the reader will bear in mind that almost all our conduct tends towards the same result; that it is not in betting only, but in every course of action in which we have to count the events, that such a numerical apportionment of our conduct is possible. Hence, by the ordinary principles of association, it would appear exceedingly likely that, not exactly a numerical condition of mind, but rather numerical associations, become inseparably connected with each particular event which we know to occur in a certain proportion of times. Once in six times a die gives ace; a knowledge of this fact, taken in combination with all the practical results to which it leads, produces, one cannot doubt, an inseparable notion of one-sixth connected with each single throw. But it surely cannot be called belief to the amount of one-sixth; at least it admits neither of justification nor explanation in these single cases, to which alone the fractional belief, if such existed, ought to apply.

It is in consequence, I apprehend, of such association that we act in such an unhesitating manner in reference to any single contingent event, even when we have no expectation of its being repeated. A die is going to be thrown up once, and once only. I bet 5 to 1 against ace, not, as is commonly asserted, because I feel one-sixth part of certainty in the occurrence of ace; but because I know that such conduct would be justified in the long run of such cases, and I apply to the solitary individual the same rule that I should apply to it if I knew it were one of a long series. This accounts for my conduct being the same in the two cases; by association, moreover, we probably experience very similar feelings in regard to them both.

§ 24. And here, on the view of the subject adopted in this Essay, we might stop. We are bound to explain the ‘measure of our belief’ in the occurrence of a single event when we judge solely from the statistical frequency with which such events occur, for such a series of events was our starting-point; but we are not bound to inquire whether in every case in which persons have, or claim to have, a certain measure of belief there must be such a series to which to refer it, and by which to justify it. Those who start from the subjective side, and regard Probability as the science of quantitative belief, are obliged to do this, but we are free from the obligation.

Still the question is one which is so naturally raised in connection with this subject, that it cannot be altogether passed by. I think that to a considerable extent such a justification as that mentioned above will be found applicable in other cases. The fact is that we are very seldom called upon to decide and act upon a single contingency which cannot be viewed as being one of a series. Experience introduces us, it must be remembered, not merely to a succession of events neatly arranged in a single series (as we have hitherto assumed them to be for the purpose of illustration), but to an infinite number belonging to a vast variety of different series. A man is obliged to be acting, and therefore exercising his belief about one thing or another, almost the whole of every day of his life. Any one person will have to decide in his time about a multitude of events, each one of which may never recur again within his own experience. But by the very fact of there being a multitude, though they are all of different kinds, we shall still find that order is maintained, and so a course of conduct can be justified. In a plantation of trees we should find that there is order of a certain kind if we measure them in any one direction, the trees being on an average about the same distance from each other. But a somewhat similar order would be found if we were to examine them in any other direction whatsoever. So in nature generally; there is regularity in a succession of events of the same kind. But there may also be regularity if we form a series by taking successively a number out of totally distinct kinds.

It is in this circumstance that we find an extension of the practical justification of the measure of our belief. A man, say, buys a life annuity, insures his life on a railway journey, puts into a lottery, and so on. Now we may make a series out of these acts of his, though each is in itself a single event which he may never intend to repeat. His conduct, and therefore his belief, measured by the result in each individual

instance, will not be justified, but the reverse, as shown in § 19. Could he indeed repeat each kind of action often enough it would be justified; but from this, by the conditions of life, he is debarred. Now it is perfectly conceivable that in the new series, formed by his successive acts of different kinds, there should be no regularity. As a matter of fact, however, it is found that there is regularity. In this way the equalization of his gains and losses, for which he cannot hope in annuities, insurances, and lotteries taken separately, may yet be secured to him out of these events taken collectively. If in each case he values his chance at its right proportion (and acts accordingly) he will in the course of his life neither gain nor lose. And in the same way if, whenever he has the alternative of different courses of conduct, he acts in accordance with the estimate of his belief described above, i.e.

chooses the event whose chance is the best, he will in the end gain more in this way than by any other course. By the existence, therefore, of these cross-series, as we may term them, there is an immense addition to the number of actions which may be fairly considered to belong to those courses of conduct which offer many successive opportunities of equalizing gains and losses. All these cases then may be regarded as admitting of justification in the way now under discussion.

§ 25. In the above remarks it will be observed that we have been giving what is to be regarded as a justification of his belief from the point of view of the individual agent himself. If we suppose the existence of an enlarged fellow-feeling, the applicability of such a justification becomes still more extensive. We can assign a very intelligible sense to the assertion that it is 999 to 1 that I shall not get a prize in a lottery, even if this be stated in the form that my belief in my so doing is represented by the fraction ¹/₁₀₀₀th of certainty. Properly it means that in a very large number of throws I should gain once in 1000 times. If we include other contingencies of the same kind, as described in the last section, each individual may be supposed to reach to something like this experience within the limits of his own life. He could not do it in this particular line of conduct alone, but he could do it in this line combined with others. Now introduce the possibility of each man feeling that the gain of others offers some analogy to his own gains, which we may conceive his doing except in the case of the gains of those against whom he is directly competing, and the above justification becomes still more extensively applicable.

The following would be a fair illustration to test this view. I know that I must die on some day of the week, and there are but seven days. My belief, therefore, that I shall die on a Sunday is one-seventh. Here the contingent event is clearly one that does not admit of repetition; and yet would not the belief of every man have the value assigned it by the formula? It would appear that the same principle will be found to be at work here as in the former examples. It is quite true that I have only the opportunity of dying once myself, but I am a member of a class in which deaths occur with frequency, and I form my opinion upon evidence drawn from that class. If, for example, I had insured my life for £1000, I should feel a certain propriety in demanding £7000 in case the office declared that it would only pay in the event of my dying on a Sunday. I, indeed, for my own private part, might not find the arrangement an equitable one; but mankind at large, in case they acted on such a principle, might fairly commute their aggregate gains in such a way, whilst to the Insurance Office it would not make any difference at all.

§ 26. The results of the last few sections might be summarised as follows:—the different amounts of belief which we entertain upon different events, and which are recognized by various phrases in common use, have undoubtedly some meaning. But the greater part of their meaning, and certainly their only justification, are to be sought in the series of corresponding events to which they belong; in regard to

which it may be shown that far more events are capable of being referred to a series than might be supposed at first sight. The test and justification of belief are to be found in conduct; in this test applied to the series as a whole, there is nothing peculiar, it differs in no way from the similar test when we are acting on our belief about any single event. But so applied, from the nature of the case it is applied successively to each of the individuals of the series; here our conduct generally admits of being separately considered in reference to each particular event; and this has been understood to denote a certain amount of belief which should be a fraction of certainty. Probably on the principles of association, a peculiar condition of mind is produced in reference to each single event. And these associations are not unnaturally retained even when we contemplate any one of these single events isolated from any series to which it belongs. When it is found alone we treat it, and feel towards it, as we do when it is in company with the rest of the series.

§ 27. We may now see, more clearly than we could before, why it is that we are free from any necessity of assuming the existence of causation, in the sense of necessary invariable sequence, in the case of the events which compose our series. Against such a view it might very plausibly be urged, that we constantly talk of the probability of a single event; but how can this be done, it may reasonably be said, if we once admit the possibility of that event occurring fortuitously? Take an instance from human life; the average duration of the lives of a batch of men aged thirty will be about thirty-four years. We say therefore to any individual of them, Your expectation of life is thirty-four years. But how can this be said if we admit that the train of events composing his life is liable to be destitute of all regular sequence of cause and effect? To this it may be replied that the denial of causation enables us to say neither more nor less than its assertion, in reference to the length of the individual life, for of this we are ignorant in each case alike. By assigning, as above, an expectation in reference to the individual, we mean nothing more than to make a statement about the average of his class. Whether there be causation or not in these individual cases does not affect our knowledge of the average, for this by supposition rests on independent experience. The legitimate inferences are the same on either hypothesis, and of equal value. The only difference is that on the hypothesis of non-causation we have forced upon our attention the impropriety of talking of the ‘proper’ expectation of the individual, owing to the fact that all knowledge of its amount is formally impossible; on the other hypothesis the impropriety is overlooked from the fact of such knowledge being only practically unattainable. As a matter of fact the amount of our knowledge is the same in each case; it is a knowledge of the average, and of that only.[6]

§ 28. We may conclude, then, that the limits within which we are thus able to justify the amount of our belief are far more extensive than might appear at first sight. Whether every case in which persons feel an amount of belief short of perfect confidence could be forced into the province of Probability is a wider question. Even, however, if the belief could be supposed capable of justification on its principles, its rules could never in such cases be made use of. Suppose, for example, that a father were in doubt whether to give a certain medicine to his sick child. On the one hand, the doctor declared that the child would die unless the medicine were given; on the other, through a mistake, the father cannot feel quite sure that the medicine he has is the right one. It is conceivable that some mathematicians, in their conviction that everything has its definite numerical probability, would declare that the man's belief had some ‘value’ (if they could only find out what it is), say nine-tenths; by which they would mean that in nine cases out of ten in which he entertained a belief of that particular value he proved to be right. So with his belief and doubt on the other side of the question. Putting the two together, there is but one course which, as a prudent man and a good father, he can possibly follow. It may be so, but when (as here) the identification of an event in a series depends on purely subjective conditions, as in this case upon the degree of vividness of his conviction, of which no one else can judge, no test is possible, and therefore no proof can be found.

§ 29. So much then for the attempts, so frequently made, to found the science on a subjective basis; they can lead, as it has here been endeavoured to show, to no satisfactory result. Still our belief is so inseparably connected with our action, that something of a defence can be made for the attempts described above; but when it is attempted, as is often the case, to import other sentiments besides pure belief, and to find a justification for them also in the results of our science, the confusion becomes far worse. The following extract from Archbishop Thomson's Laws of Thought (§ 122, Ed. II.)

will show what kind of applications of the science are contemplated here: “In applying the doctrine of chances to that subject in connexion with which it was invented—games of chance,—the principles of what has been happily termed ‘moral arithmetic’ must not be forgotten. Not only would it be difficult for a gamester to find an antagonist on terms, as to fortune and needs, precisely equal, but also it is impossible that with such an equality the advantage of a considerable gain should balance the harm of a serious loss. ‘If two men,’ says Buffon, ‘were to determine to play for their whole property, what would be the effect of this agreement? The one would only double his fortune, and the other reduce his to naught. What proportion is there between the loss and the gain? The same that there is between all and nothing. The gain of the one is but a moderate sum,—the loss of the other is numerically infinite, and morally so great that the labour of his whole life may not perhaps suffice to restore his property.’ ”

As moral advice this is all very true and good. But if it be regarded as a contribution to the science of the subject it is quite inappropriate, and seems calculated to cause confusion. The doctrine of chances pronounces upon certain kinds of events in respect of number and magnitude; it has absolutely nothing to do with any particular person's feelings about these relations. We might as well append a corollary to the rules of arithmetic, to point out that although it is very true that twice two are four it does not follow that four, horses will give twice as much pleasure to the owner as two will. If two men play on equal terms their chances are equal; in other words, if they were often to play in this manner each would lose as frequently as he would gain. That is all that Probability can say; what under the circumstances may be the determination and opinions of the men in question, it is for them and them alone to decide. There are many persons who cannot bear mediocrity of any kind, and to whom the prospect of doubling their fortune would outweigh a greater chance of losing it altogether. They alone are the judges.

If we will introduce such a balance of pleasure and pain the individual must make the calculation for himself. The supposition is that total ruin is very painful, partial loss painful in a less proportion than that assigned by the ratio of the losses themselves; the inference is therefore drawn that on the average more pain is caused by occasional great losses than by frequent small ones, though the money value of the losses in the long run may be the same in each case. But if we suppose a country where the desire of spending largely is very strong, and where owing to abundant production loss is easily replaced, the calculation might incline the other way. Under such circumstances it is quite possible that more happiness might result from playing for high than for low stakes. The fact is that all emotional considerations of this kind are irrelevant; they are, at most, mere applications of the theory, and such as each individual is alone competent to make for himself. Some more remarks will be made upon this subject in the chapter upon Insurance and Gambling.

§ 30. It is by the introduction of such considerations as these that the Petersburg Problem has been so perplexed. Having already given some description of this problem we will refer to it very briefly here. It presents us with a sequence of sets of throws for each of which sets I am to receive something, say a shilling, as the minimum receipt. My receipts increase in proportion to the rarity of each particular kind of set, and each kind is observed or inferred to grow more rare in a certain definite but unlimited order. By the wording of the problem, properly interpreted, I am supposed never to stop. Clearly therefore, however large a fee I pay for each of these sets, I shall be sure to make it up in time. The mathematical expression of this is, that I ought always to pay an infinite sum. To this the objection is opposed, that no sensible man would think of advancing even a large finite sum, say £50. Certainly he would not; but why? Because neither he nor those who are to pay him would be likely to live long enough for him to obtain throws good enough to remunerate him for one-tenth of his outlay; to say nothing of his trouble and loss of time. We must not suppose that the problem, as stated in the ideal form, will coincide with the practical form in which it presents itself in life. A carpenter might as well object to Euclid's second postulate, because his plane came to a stop in six feet on the plank on which he was at work. Many persons have failed to perceive this, and have assumed that, besides enabling us to draw numerical inferences about the members of a series, the theory ought also to be called upon to justify all the opinions which average respectable men might be inclined to form about them, as well as the conduct they might choose to pursue in consequence. It is obvious that to enter upon such considerations as these is to diverge from our proper ground. We are concerned, in these cases, with the actions of men only, as given in statistics; with the emotions they experience in the performance of these actions we have no direct concern whatever. The error is the same as if any one were to confound, in political economy, value in use with value in exchange, and object to measuring the value of a loaf by its cost of production, because bread is worth more to a man when he is hungry than it is just after his dinner.

§ 31. One class of emotions indeed ought to be excepted, which, from the apparent uniformity and consistency with which they show themselves in different persons and at different times, do really present some better claim to consideration. In connection with a science of inference they can never indeed be regarded as more than an accident of what is essential to the subject, but compared with other emotions they seem to be inseparable accidents.

The reader will remember that attention was drawn in the earlier part of this chapter to the compound nature of the state of mind which we term belief. It is partly intellectual, partly also emotional; it professes to rest upon experience, but in reality the experience acts through the distorting media of hopes and fears and other disturbing agencies. So long as we confine our attention to the state of mind of the person who believes, it appears to me that these two parts of belief are quite inseparable. Indeed, to speak of them as two parts may convey a wrong impression; for though they spring from different sources, they so entirely merge in one result as to produce what might be called an indistinguishable compound. Every kind of inference, whether in probability or not, is liable to be disturbed in this way. A timid man may honestly believe that he will be wounded in a coming battle, when others, with the same experience but calmer judgments, see that the chance is too small to deserve consideration. But such a man's belief, if we look only to that, will not differ in its nature from sound belief. His conduct also in consequence of his belief will by itself afford no ground of discrimination; he will make his will as sincerely as a man who is unmistakeably on his death-bed. The only resource is to check and correct his belief by appealing to past and current experience.[7] This was advanced as an objection to the theory on which probability is regarded as concerned primarily with laws of belief. But on the view taken in this Essay in which we are supposed to be concerned with laws of inference about things, error and difficulty from this source vanish. Let us bear clearly in mind that we are concerned with inferences about things, and whatever there may be in belief which does not depend on experience will disappear from notice.

§ 32. These emotions then can claim no notice as an integral portion of any science of inference, and should in strictness be rigidly excluded from it. But if any of them are uniform and regular in their production and magnitude, they may be fairly admitted as accidental and extraneous accompaniments. This is really the case to some extent with our surprise. This emotion does show a considerable degree of uniformity. The rarer any event is the more am I, in common with most other men, surprised at it when it does happen. This surprise may range through all degrees, from the most languid form of interest up to the condition which we term ‘being startled’. And since the surprise seems to be pretty much the same, under similar circumstances, at different times, and in the case of different persons, it is free from that extreme irregularity which is found in most of the other mental conditions which accompany the contemplation of unexpected events. Hence our surprise, though, as stated above, having no proper claim to admission into the science of Probability, is such a constant and regular accompaniment of that which Probability is concerned with, that notice must often be taken of it. References will occasionally be found to this aspect of the question in the following chapters.

It may be remarked in passing, for the sake of further illustration of the subject, that this emotional accompaniment of surprise, to which we are thus able to assign something like a fractional value, differs in two important respects from the commonly accepted fraction of belief. In the first place, it has what may be termed an independent existence; it is intelligible by itself. The belief, as we endeavoured to show, needs explanation and finds it in our consequent conduct. Not so with the emotion; this stands upon its own footing, and may be examined in and by itself. Hence, in the second place, it is as applicable, and as capable of any kind of justification, in relation to the single event, as to a series of events. In this respect, as will be remembered, it offers a complete contrast to our state of belief about any one contingent event. May not these considerations help to account for the general acceptance of the doctrine, that we have a certain definite and measurable amount of belief about these events? I cannot help thinking that what is so obviously true of the emotional portion of the belief, has been unconsciously transferred to the other or intellectual portion of the compound condition, to which it is not applicable, and where it cannot find a justification.

§ 33. A further illustration may now be given of the subjective view of Probability at present under discussion.

An appeal to common language is always of service, as the employment of any distinct word is generally a proof that mankind have observed some distinct properties in the things, which have caused them to be singled out and have that name appropriated to them. There is such a class of words assigned by popular usage to the kind of events of which Probability takes account. If we examine them we shall find, I think, that they direct us unmistakeably to the two-fold aspect of the question,—the objective and the subjective, the quality in the events and the state of our minds in considering them,—that have occupied our attention during the former chapters.

The word ‘extraordinary’, for instance, seems to point to the observed fact, that events are arranged in a sort of ordo or rank. No one of them might be so exactly placed that we could have inferred its position, but when we take a great many into account together, running our eye, as it were, along the line, we begin to see that they really do for the most part stand in order. Those which stand away from the line have this divergence observed, and are called extraordinary, the rest ordinary, or in the line. So too ‘irregular’ and ‘abnormal’ are doubtless used from the appearance of things, when examined in large numbers, being that of an arrangement by rule or measure. This only holds when there are a good many; we could not speak of the single events being so arranged. Again the word ‘law’, in its philosophical sense, has now become quite popularised. How the term became introduced is not certain, but there can be little doubt that it was somewhat in this way:—The effect of a law, in its usual application to human conduct, is to produce regularity where it did not previously exist; when then a regularity began to be perceived in nature, the same word was used, whether the cause was supposed to be the same or not. In each case there was the same generality of agreement, subject to occasional deflection.[8]

On the other hand, observe the words ‘wonderful’, ‘unexpected’, ‘incredible’. Their connotation describes states of mind simply; they are of course not confined to Probability, in the sense of statistical frequency, but imply simply that the events they denote are such as from some cause we did not expect would happen, and at which therefore, when they do happen, we are surprised.

Now when we bear in mind that these two classes of words are in their origin perfectly distinct;—the one denoting simply events of a certain character; the other, though also denoting events, connoting simply states of mind;—and yet that they are universally applied to the same events, so as to be used as perfectly synonymous, we have in this a striking illustration of the two sides under which Probability may be viewed, and of the universal recognition of a close connection between them. The words are popularly used as synonymous, and we must not press their meaning too far; but if it were to be observed, as I am rather inclined to think it could, that the application of the words which denote mental states is wider than that of the others, we should have an illustration of what has been already observed, viz.

that the province of Probability is not so extensive as that over which variation of belief might be observed. Probability only considers the case in which this variation is brought about in a certain definite statistical way.

§ 34. It will be found in the end both interesting and important to have devoted some attention to this subjective side of the question. In the first place, as a mere speculative inquiry the quantity of our belief of any proposition deserves notice. To study it at all deeply would be to trespass into the province of Psychology, but it is so intimately connected with our own subject that we cannot avoid all reference to it. We therefore discuss the laws under which our expectation and surprise at isolated events increases or diminishes, so as to account for these states of mind in any individual instance, and, if necessary, to correct them when they vary from their proper amount.

But there is another more important reason than this. It is quite true that when the subjects of our discussion in any particular instance lie entirely within the province of Probability, they may be treated without any reference to our belief. We may or we may not employ this side of the question according to our pleasure. If, for example, I am asked whether it is more likely that A. B. will die this year, than that it will rain to-morrow, I may calculate the chance (which really is at bottom the same thing as my belief) of each, find them respectively, one-sixth and one-seventh, say, and therefore decide that my ‘expectation’ of the former is the greater, viz.

that this is the more likely event. In this case the process is precisely the same whether we suppose our belief to be introduced or not; our mental state is, in fact, quite immaterial to the question. But, in other cases, it may be different. Suppose that we are comparing two things, of which one is wholly alien to Probability, in the sense that it is hopeless to attempt to assign any degree of numerical frequency to it, the only ground they have in common may be the amount of belief to which they are respectively entitled. We cannot compare the frequency of their occurrence, for one may occur too seldom to judge by, perhaps it may be unique. It has been already said, that our belief of many events rests upon a very complicated and extensive basis. My belief may be the product of many conflicting arguments, and many analogies more or less remote; these proofs themselves may have mostly faded from my mind, but they will leave their effect behind them in a weak or strong conviction. At the time, therefore, I may still be able to say, with some degree of accuracy, though a very slight degree, what amount of belief I entertain upon the subject. Now we cannot compare things that are heterogeneous: if, therefore, we are to decide between this and an event determined naturally and properly by Probability, it is impossible to appeal to chances or frequency of occurrence. The measure of belief is the only common ground, and we must therefore compare this quantity in each case. The test afforded will be an exceedingly rough one, for the reasons mentioned above, but it will be better than none; in some cases it will be found to furnish all we want.

Suppose, for example, that one letter in a million is lost in the Post Office, and that in any given instance I wish to know which is more likely, that a letter has been so lost, or that my servant has stolen it? If the latter alternative could, like the former, be stated in a numerical form, the comparison would be simple. But it cannot be reduced to this form, at least not consciously and directly. Still, if we could feel that our belief in the man's dishonesty was greater than one-millionth, we should then have homogeneous things before us, and therefore comparison would be possible.

§ 35. We are now in a position to give a tolerably accurate definition of a phrase which we have frequently been obliged to employ, or incidentally to suggest, and of which the reader may have looked for a definition already, viz.

the probability of an event, or what is equivalent to this, the chance of any given event happening. I consider that these terms presuppose a series; within the indefinitely numerous class which composes this series a smaller class is distinguished by the presence or absence of some attribute or attributes, as was fully illustrated and explained in a previous chapter. These larger and smaller classes respectively are commonly spoken of as instances of the ‘event,’ and of ‘its happening in a given particular way.’ Adopting this phraseology, which with proper explanations is suitable enough, we may define the probability or chance (the terms are here regarded as synonymous) of the event happening in that particular way as the numerical fraction which represents the proportion between the two different classes in the long run. Thus, for example, let the probability be that of a given infant living to be eighty years of age. The larger series will comprise all infants, the smaller all who live to eighty. Let the proportion of the former to the latter be 9 to 1; in other words, suppose that one infant in ten lives to eighty. Then the chance or probability that any given infant will live to eighty is the numerical fraction ¹/₁₀. This assumes that the series are of indefinite extent, and of the kind which we have described as possessing a fixed type. If this be not the case, but the series be supposed terminable, or regularly or irregularly fluctuating, as might be the case, for instance, in a society where owing to sanitary or other causes the average longevity was steadily undergoing a change, then in so far as this is the case the series ceases to be a subject of science. What we have to do under these circumstances, is to substitute a series of the right kind for the inappropriate one presented by nature, choosing it, of course, with as little deflection as possible from the observed facts. This is nothing more than has to be done, and invariably is done, whenever natural objects are made subjects of strict science.

§ 36. A word or two of explanation may be added about the expression employed above, ‘the proportion in the long run.’ The run must be supposed to be very long indeed, in fact never to stop. As we keep on taking more terms of the series we shall find the proportion still fluctuating a little, but its fluctuations will grow less. The proportion, in fact, will gradually approach towards some fixed numerical value, what mathematicians term its limit. This fractional value is the one spoken of above. In the cases in which deductive reasoning is possible, this fraction may be obtained without direct appeal to statistics, from reasoning about the conditions under which the events occur, as was explained in the fourth chapter.

Here becomes apparent the full importance of the distinction so frequently insisted on, between the actual irregular series before us and the substituted one of calculation, and the meaning of the assertion (Ch. I.

§ 13), that it was in the case of the latter only that strict scientific inferences could be made. For how can we have a ‘limit’ in the case of those series which ultimately exhibit irregular fluctuations? When we say, for instance, that it is an even chance that a given person recovers from the cholera, the meaning of this assertion is that in the long run one half of the persons attacked by that disease do recover. But if we examined a sufficiently extensive range of statistics, we might find that the manners and customs of society had produced such a change in the type of the disease or its treatment, that we were no nearer approaching towards a fixed limit than we were at first. The conception of an ultimate limit in the ratio between the numbers of the two classes in the series necessarily involves an absolute fixity of the type. When therefore nature does not present us with this absolute fixity, as she seldom or never does except in games of chance (and not demonstrably there), our only resource is to introduce such a series, in other words, as has so often been said, to substitute a series of the right kind.

§ 37. The above, which may be considered tolerably complete as a definition, might equally well have been given in the last chapter. It has been deferred however to the present place, in order to connect with it at once a proposition involving the conceptions introduced in this chapter; viz.

the state of our own minds, in reference to the amount of belief we entertain in contemplating any one of the events whose probability has just been described. Reasons were given against the opinion that our belief admitted of any exact apportionment like the numerical one just mentioned. Still, it was shown that a reasonable explanation could be given of such an expression as, ‘my belief is ¹/₁₀th of certainty’, though it was an explanation which pointed unmistakeably to a series of events, and ceased to be intelligible, or at any rate justifiable, when it was not viewed in such a relation to a series. In so far, then, as this explanation is adopted, we may say that our belief is in proportion to the above fraction. This referred to the purely intellectual part of belief which cannot be conceived to be separable, even in thought, from the things upon which it is exercised. With this intellectual part there are commonly associated various emotions. These we can to a certain extent separate, and, when separated, can measure with that degree of accuracy which is possible in the case of other emotions. They are moreover intelligible in reference to the individual events. They will be found to increase and diminish in accordance, to some extent, with the fraction which represents the scarcity of the event. The emotion of surprise does so with some degree of accuracy.

The above investigation describes, though in a very brief form, the amount of truth which appears to me to be contained in the assertion frequently made, that the fraction expressive of the probability represents also the fractional part of full certainty to which our belief of the individual event amounts. Any further analysis of the matter would seem to belong to Psychology rather than to Probability.

---

[1] In the ordinary signification of this term. As De Morgan uses it he makes Formal Logic include Probability, as one of its branches, as indicated in his title “Formal Logic, or the Calculus of Inference, necessary and probable.”

[2] Formal Logic. Preface, page v.

[3] An illustration of the points here insisted on has recently [1876] been given in a quarter where few would have expected it; I allude, as many readers will readily infer, to J. S. Mill's exceedingly interesting Essays on Theism. It is not within our province here to criticise any of their conclusions, but they have expressed in a very significant way the conviction entertained by him that beliefs which are not justified by evidence, and possibly may not be capable of justification (those for instance of immortality and the existence of the Deity), may nevertheless not only continue to exist in cultivated minds, but may also be profitably encouraged there, at any rate in the shape of hopes, for certain supposed advantages attendant on their retention, irrespective even of their truth.

[4] It is necessary to take an example in which the man is forced to act, or we should not be able to shew that he has any belief on the subject at all. He may declare that he neither knows nor cares anything about the matter, and that therefore there is nothing of the nature of belief to be extracted out of his mental condition. He very likely would take this ground if we asked him, as De Morgan does, with a slightly different reference (Formal Logic, p. 183), whether he considers that there are volcanoes on the unseen side of the moon larger than those on the side turned towards us; or, with Jevons (Principles of Science, Ed. II. p. 212) whether he considers that a Platythliptic Coefficient is positive. These do not therefore seem good instances to illustrate the position that we always entertain a certain degree of belief on every question which can be stated, and that utter inability to give a reason in favour of either alternative corresponds to half belief.

[5] Except indeed on the principles indicated further on in §§ 24, 25.

[6] For a fuller discussion of this, see the Chapter on Causation.

[7] The best example I can recall of the distinction between judging from the subjective and the objective side, in such cases as these, occurred once in a railway train. I met a timid old lady who was in much fear of accidents. I endeavoured to soothe her on the usual statistical ground of the extreme rarity of such events. She listened patiently, and then replied, “Yes, Sir, that is all very well; but I don't see how the real danger will be a bit the less because I don't believe in it.”

[8] This would still hold of empirical laws which may be capable of being broken: we now have very much shifted the word, to denote an ultimate law which it is supposed cannot be broken.