An Essay on the Foundations of Geometry

51. We have now traced the mathematical development of the theory of geometrical axioms, from the first revolt against Euclid to the present day. We may hope, therefore, to have at our command the technical knowledge required for the philosophy of the subject. The importance of Geometry, in the theories of knowledge which have arisen in the past, can scarcely be exaggerated. In Descartes, we find the whole theory of method dominated by analytical Geometry, of whose fruitfulness he was justly proud. In Spinoza, the paramount influence of Geometry is too obvious to require comment. Among mathematicians, Newton's belief in absolute space was long supreme, and is still responsible for the current formulation of the laws of motion. Against this belief on the one hand, and against Leibnitz's theory of space on the other, and not, as Caird has pointed out[67], against Hume's empiricism, was directed that keystone of the Critical Philosophy, the Kantian doctrine of space. Thus Geometry has been, throughout, of supreme importance in the theory of knowledge. But in a criticism of representative modern theories of Geometry, which is designed to be, not a history of the subject, but an introduction to, and defence of, the views of the author, it will not be necessary to discuss any more ancient theory than that of Kant. Kant's views on this subject, true or false, have so dominated subsequent thought, that whether they were accepted or rejected, they seemed equally potent in forming the opinions, and the manner of exposition, of almost all later writers. Kant. 52. It is not my purpose, in this chapter, to add to the voluminous literature of Kantian criticism, but only to discuss the bearing of Metageometry on the argument of the Transcendental Aesthetic, and the aspect under which this argument must be viewed in a discussion of Geometry[68]. On this point several misunderstandings seem to me to have had wide prevalence, both among friends and foes, and these misunderstandings I shall endeavour, if I can, to remove. In the first place, what does Kant's doctrine mean for Geometry? Obviously not the aspect of the doctrine which has been attacked by psychologists, the "Kantian machine-shop" as James calls it—at any rate, if this can be clearly separated from the logical aspect. The question whether space is given in sensation, or whether, as Kant maintained, it is given by an intuition to which no external matter corresponds, may for the present be disregarded. If, indeed, we held the view which seems crudely to sum up the standpoint of the Critique, the view that all certain knowledge is self-knowledge, then we should be committed, if we had decided that Geometry was apodeictic, to the view that space is subjective. But even then, the psychological question could only arise when the epistemological question had been solved, and could not, therefore, be taken into account in our first investigation. The question before us is precisely the question whether, or how far, Geometry is apodeictic, and for the moment we have only to investigate this question, without fear of psychological consequences. 53. Now on this question, as on almost all questions in the Aesthetic or the Analytic, Kant's argument is twofold. On the one hand, he says, Geometry is known to have apodeictic certainty: therefore space must be à priori and subjective. On the other hand, it follows, from grounds independent of Geometry, that space is subjective and à priori; therefore Geometry must have apodeictic certainty. These two arguments are not clearly distinguished in the Aesthetic, but a little analysis, I think, will disentangle them. Thus in the first edition, the first two arguments deduce, from non-geometrical grounds, the apriority of space; the third deduces the apodeictic certainty of Geometry, and maintains, conversely, that no other view can account for this certainty[69]; the last two arguments only maintain that space is an intuition, not a concept. In the second edition, the double argument is clearer, the apriority of space being proved independently of Geometry in the metaphysical deduction, and deduced from the certainty of Geometry, as the only possible explanation of this, in the transcendental deduction. In the Prolegomena, the latter argument alone is used, but in the Critique both are employed. 54. Now it must be admitted, I think, that Metageometry has destroyed the legitimacy of the argument from Geometry to space; we can no longer affirm, on purely geometrical grounds, the apodeictic certainty of Euclid. But unless Metageometry has done more than this—unless it has proved, what I believe it alone cannot prove, that Euclid has not apodeictic certainty—then Kant's other line of argument retains what force it may ever have had. The actual space we know, it may say, is admittedly Euclidean, and is proved, without any reference to Geometry, to be à priori; hence Euclid has apodeictic certainty, and non-Euclid stands condemned. To this it is no answer to urge, with the Metageometers, that non-Euclidean systems are logically self-consistent; for Kant is careful to argue that geometrical reasoning, by virtue of our intuition of space, is synthetic, and cannot, though à priori, be upheld by the principle of contradiction alone[70]. Unless non-Euclideans can prove, what they have certainly failed to prove up to the present, that we can frame an intuition of non-Euclidean spaces, Kant's position cannot be upset by Metageometry alone, but must also be attacked, if it is to be successfully attacked, on its purely philosophical side. 55. For such an attack, two roads lie open: either we may disprove the first two arguments of the Aesthetic, or we may criticize, from the standpoint of general logic, the Kantian doctrine of synthetic à priori judgments and their connection with subjectivity. Both these attacks, I believe, could be conducted with some success; but if we are to disprove the apodeictic certainty of Geometry, one or other is essential, and both, I believe, will be found only partially successful. It will be my aim to prove, in discussing these two lines of attack, (1) that the distinction of synthetic and analytic judgments is untenable, and further, that the principle of contradiction can only give fruitful results on the assumption that experience in general, or, in a particular science, some special branch of experience, is to be formally possible; (2) that the first two arguments of the Transcendental Aesthetic suffice to prove, not Euclidean space, but some form of externality—which may be sensational or intuitional, but not merely conceptual—a necessary prerequisite of experience of an external world. In the third and fourth chapters, I shall contend, as a result of these conclusions, that those axioms, which Euclid and Metageometry have in common, coincide with those properties of any form of externality which are deducible, by the principle of contradiction, from the possibility of experience of an external world. These properties, then, may be said, though not quite in the Kantian sense, to be à priori properties of space, and as to these, I think, a modified Kantian position may be maintained. But the question of the subjective or objective nature of space may be left wholly out of account during the course of this discussion, which will gain by dealing exclusively with logical, as opposed to psychological points of view. 56. (1) Kant's logical position. The doctrine of synthetic and analytic judgments—at any rate if this is taken as the corner-stone of Epistemology—has been so completely rejected by most modern logicians[71], that it would demand little attention here, but for the fact that an enthusiastic French Kantian, M. Renouvier, has recently appealed to it, with perfect confidence, on the very question of Geometry[72]. And it must be owned, with M. Renouvier, that if such judgments existed, in the Kantian sense, non-Euclidean Geometry, which makes no appeal to intuition, could have nothing to say against them. M. Renouvier's contention, therefore, forces us briefly to review the arguments against Kant's doctrine, and briefly to discuss what logical canon is to replace it. Every judgment—so modern logic contends—is both synthetic and analytic; it combines parts into a whole, and analyses a whole into parts[73]. If this be so, the distinction of analysis and synthesis, whatever may be its importance in pure Logic, can have no value in Epistemology. But such a doctrine, it must be observed, allows full scope to the principle of contradiction: this criterion, since all judgments, in one aspect at least, are analytic, is applicable to all judgments alike. On the other hand, the whole which is analysed must be supposed already given, before the parts can be mutually contradictory: for only by connection in a given whole can two parts or adjectives be incompatible. Thus the principle of contradiction remains barren until we already have some judgments, and even some inference: for the parts may be regarded, to some extent, as an inference from the whole, or vice versâ. When once the arch of knowledge is constructed, the parts support one another, and the principle of contradiction is the keystone: but until the arch is built, the keystone remains suspended, unsupported and unsupporting, in the empty air. In other words, knowledge once existent can be analysed, but knowledge which should have to win every inch of the way against a critical scepticism, could never begin, and could never attain that circular condition in which alone it can stand. But Kant's doctrine, if true, is designed to restrain a critical scepticism even where it might be effective. Certain fundamental propositions, he says, are not deducible from logic, i.e. their contradictories are not self-contradictory; they combine a subject and predicate which cannot, in any purely logical way, be shewn to have any connection, and yet these judgments have apodeictic certainty. But concerning such judgments, Kant is generally careful not to rely upon the mere subjective conviction that they are undeniable: he proves, with every precaution, that without them experience would be impossible. Experience consists in the combination of terms which formal logic leaves apart, and presupposes, therefore, certain judgments by which a framework is made for bringing such terms together. Without these judgments—so Kant contends—all synthesis and all experience would be impossible. If, therefore, the detail of the Kantian reasoning be sound, his results may be obtained by the principle of contradiction plus the possibility of experience, as well as by his distinction of synthetic and analytic judgments. Logic, at the present day, arrogates to itself at once a wider and a narrower sphere than Kant allowed to it. Wider, because it believes itself capable of condemning any false principle or postulate; narrower, because it believes that its law of contradiction, without a given whole or a given hypothesis, is powerless, and that two terms, per se, though they may be different, cannot be contradictories, but acquire this relation only by combination in a whole about which something is known, or by connection with a postulate which, for some reason, must be preserved. Thus no judgment, per se, is either analytic or synthetic, for the severance of a judgment from its context robs it of its vitality, and makes it not truly a judgment at all. But in its proper context it is neither purely synthetic nor purely analytic; for while it is the further determination of a given whole, and thus in so far analytic, it also involves the emergence of new relations within this whole, and is so far synthetic. 57. We may retain, however, a distinction roughly corresponding to the Kantian à priori and à posteriori, though less rigid, and more liable to change with the degree of organisation of knowledge. Kant usually endeavoured to prove, as observed above, that his synthetic à priori propositions were necessary prerequisites of experience; now although we cannot retain the term synthetic, we can retain the term à priori, for those assumptions, or those postulates, from which alone the possibility of experience follows. Whatever can be deduced from these postulates, without the aid of the matter of experience, will also, of course, be à priori. From