Similarly, in all other cases of inductive inference, where we seem to pass from some particular instances to a new instance, we go through the same process. We form an hypothesis as to the logical conditions under which the given instances might occur; we calculate inversely the probability of that hypothesis, and compounding this with the probability that a new instance would proceed from the same conditions, we gain the absolute probability of occurrence of the new instance in virtue of this hypothesis. But as several, or many, or even an infinite number of mutually inconsistent hypotheses may be possible, we must repeat the calculation for each such conceivable hypothesis, and then the complete probability of the future instance will be the sum of the separate probabilities. The complication of this process is often very much reduced in practice, owing to the fact that one hypothesis may be almost certainly true, and other hypotheses, though conceivable, may be so improbable as to be neglected without appreciable error.

When we possess no knowledge whatever of the conditions from which the events proceed, we may be unable to form any probable hypotheses as to their mode of origin. We have now to fall back upon the general solution of the problem effected by Laplace, which consists in admitting on an equal footing every conceivable ratio of favourable and unfavourable chances for the production of the event, and then accepting the aggregate result as the best which can be obtained. This solution is only to be accepted in the absence of all better means, but like other results of the calculus of probability, it comes to our aid where knowledge is at an end and ignorance begins, and it prevents us from over-estimating the knowledge we possess. The general results of the solution are in accordance with common sense, namely, that the more often an event has happened the more probable, as a general rule, is its subsequent recurrence. With the extension of experience this probability increases, but at the same time the probability is slight that events will long continue to happen as they have previously happened.

We have now pursued the theory of inductive inference, as far as can be done with regard to simple logical or numerical relations. The laws of nature deal with time and space, which are infinitely divisible. As we passed from pure logic to numerical logic, so we must now pass from questions of discontinuous, to questions of continuous quantity, encountering fresh considerations of much difficulty. Before, therefore, we consider how the great inductions and generalisations of physical science illustrate the views of inductive reasoning just explained, we must break off for a time, and review the means which we possess of measuring and comparing magnitudes of time, space, mass, force, momentum, energy, and the various manifestations of energy in motion, heat, electricity, chemical change, and the other phenomena of nature.

BOOK III.
METHODS OF MEASUREMENT.

CHAPTER XIII.
THE EXACT MEASUREMENT OF PHENOMENA.

As physical science advances, it becomes more and more accurately quantitative. Questions of simple logical fact after a time resolve themselves into questions of degree, time, distance, or weight. Forces hardly suspected to exist by one generation, are clearly recognised by the next, and precisely measured by the third generation. But one condition of this rapid advance is the invention of suitable instruments of measurement. We need what Francis Bacon called Instantiæ citantes, or evocantes, methods of rendering minute phenomena perceptible to the senses; and we also require Instantiæ radii or curriculi, that is measuring instruments. Accordingly, the introduction of a new instrument often forms an epoch in the history of science. As Davy said, “Nothing tends so much to the advancement of knowledge as the application of a new instrument. The native intellectual powers of men in different times are not so much the causes of the different success of their labours, as the peculiar nature of the means and artificial resources in their possession.”

In the absence indeed of advanced theory and analytical power, a very precise instrument would be useless. Measuring apparatus and mathematical theory should advance pari passu, and with just such precision as the theorist can anticipate results, the experimentalist should be able to compare them with experience. The scrupulously accurate observations of Flamsteed were the proper complement to the intense mathematical powers of Newton.

Every branch of knowledge commences with quantitative notions of a very rude character. After we have far progressed, it is often amusing to look back into the infancy of the science, and contrast present with past methods. At Greenwich Observatory in the present day, the hundredth part of a second is not thought an inconsiderable portion of time. The ancient Chaldæans recorded an eclipse to the nearest hour, and the early Alexandrian astronomers thought it superfluous to distinguish between the edge and centre of the sun. By the introduction of the astrolabe, Ptolemy and the later Alexandrian astronomers could determine the places of the heavenly bodies within about ten minutes of arc. Little progress then ensued for thirteen centuries, until Tycho Brahe made the first great step towards accuracy, not only by employing better instruments, but even more by ceasing to regard an instrument as correct. Tycho, in fact, determined the errors of his instruments, and corrected his observations. He also took notice of the effects of atmospheric refraction, and succeeded in attaining an accuracy often sixty times as great as that of Ptolemy. Yet Tycho and Hevelius often erred several minutes in the determination of a star’s place, and it was a great achievement of Rœmer and Flamsteed to reduce this error to seconds. Bradley, the modern Hipparchus, carried on the improvement, his errors in right ascension, according to Bessel, being under one second of time, and those of declination under four seconds of arc. In the present day the average error of a single observation is probably reduced to the half or quarter of what it was in Bradley’s time; and further extreme accuracy is attained by the multiplication of observations, and their skilful combination according to the theory of error. Some of the more important constants, for instance that of nutation, have been determined within the tenth part of a second of space.‍[180]

It would be a matter of great interest to trace out the dependence of this progress upon the introduction of new instruments. The astrolabe of Ptolemy, the telescope of Galileo, the pendulum of Galileo and Huyghens, the micrometer of Horrocks, and the telescopic sights and micrometer of Gascoygne and Picard, Rœmer’s transit instrument, Newton’s and Hadley’s quadrant, Dollond’s achromatic lenses, Harrison’s chronometer, and Ramsden’s dividing engine—such were some of the principal additions to astronomical apparatus. The result is, that we now take note of quantities, 300,000 or 400,000 times as small as in the time of the Chaldæans.