The Analysis of Matter

upon observation, which may or may not be deducible by a celestial mathematician from the laws governing electrons, but are not likely ever to be deducible by mathematicians on this planet. And when we come to such matters as physiology, the laws are no longer such as to enable us to say, with any confidence, just what is going to happen; they give tendencies rather than precise mathematical rules. It would be rash to maintain that such rules must exist; we may do well to look for them, but not well to feel quite certain that they are to be found. On the whole, the tendency of the foregoing discussion has been to suggest that it is easy to exaggerate the evidence for simple laws in the physical world. Where we know most— i.e. in regard to the structure of the atom—there is, so far as we know, a complete absence of law in certain very important respects. Where we know less, the laws may be purely statistical. The amount of law known to exist in the physical world is, therefore, less surprising than it seems at first sight, and there is no conclusive reason for believing that all natural[Pg 237] occurrences happen in accordance with laws which suffice to determine them given a sufficient knowledge of their antecedents. Science must continue to postulate laws, since it is coextensive with the domain of natural law. But it need not assume that there are laws everywhere; it need only assume, what is evident since it is a tautology, that there are laws wherever there is science. FOOTNOTES: [50] Chap, I., especially p. 5 ff. [51] Cf. "On the Notion of Cause," in Mysticism and Logic. [Pg 238] CHAPTER XXIII SUBSTANCE THE question of substance in the philosophy of physics has three branches: logical, physical, and epistemological. The first is a problem in pure philosophy: is the notion of "substance" in any sense a "category," i.e. forced upon us by the general nature either of facts or of knowledge? The second is a question of the interpretation of mathematical physics: is it (a) necessary or (b) convenient to interpret our formulæ in terms of permanent entities with changing states and relations? The third concerns the special topics with which we are concerned in Part II.—namely, the relation of perception to the physical world. The first and second problems really belong to other portions of the philosophy of matter, but I shall discuss them here in order to obtain a unified discussion of the problem of substance. Logically, "substance" has played a very important part in the past, and is still perhaps less obsolete than might be supposed. A substance may be defined in purely logical terms as "that which can only enter into a proposition as subject, never as predicate or relation." This definition is practically that of Leibniz, except that he does not mention relations, since he held them to be unreal. We shall do well, however, to include them, because the logical position of substance is not much affected thereby, and it may, I hope, be now taken for granted that relations areas "real" as predicates. Metaphysically, substances have generally been held to be indestructible. But this opinion is not justified by the logical definition, though many philosophers have supposed that it[Pg 239] was. When I wish to discuss a substance having this further attribute, I shall speak of it as a "permanent substance"; when I use the word "substance" without qualification, I shall mean only substance in the logical sense, leaving the question of duration open. It is extraordinarily difficult, in considering substance from the point of view of logic, to avoid being unduly influenced by the structure of language. All languages commonly known to civilized people consist of sentences which can be analyzed into subject and predicate, two subjects and a dyadic relation, three subjects and a triadic relation, etc., together with relations between such units, expressed by "or" or "if" or some analogous word. I do not know whether the same can be said of African, Australian, or other uncivilized languages. But certainly it can be said of all the languages that philosophers have known. Logic, as ordinarily conceived, takes over this linguistic scheme, and is inclined to attribute metaphysical importance to it. We can hardly resist the belief that the structure of the sentence reproduces the structure of the fact which it asserts, or, in the case of false sentences, of the fact which would exist if the assertion were true. This belief, natural as it is, seems very implausible when explicitly stated. Nevertheless, I believe that it has some element of truth, though it is very hard to disentangle this element. An attempt was made by Wittgenstein,[52] and I have been much influenced by his point of view. If we admit, as it seems natural to do, that some sentences, taken in their usual meaning, correspond to facts, while others do not, we must suppose that the structure of sentences is related, in some way, to the structure of facts, since otherwise such correspondence would be impossible. Moreover, a sentence is a physical fact, and may therefore be expected to be capable of correspondence with other physical facts. These[Pg 240] two arguments come from quite different intellectual regions, the one being logical, the other physical. If we were discussing anything other than physics, they would work in opposite directions, and tend to show that we cannot understand (at least verbally) anything having a structure radically different from that of events in space-time. For our purposes, however, the two arguments are concurrent. Let us, for a moment, consider a sentence as a physical occurrence. We must distinguish between spoken and written sentences, since the former are evanescent events while the latter are pieces of matter. We must also distinguish between a sentence in the sense in which it is unique on each occasion when it is uttered or written, and a sentence in the sense in which the same sentence occurs at a given place in each copy of the same book. E.g. Jeremiah xvii. 9 is a sentence in the latter sense; in the former sense, the particular series of shapes at that point in my Bible constitute a sentence, while those in yours constitute another (similar) sentence. The former sense comes first when we are considering a sentence as a physical occurrence; the latter, when we are considering it as having "meaning." A spoken sentence, considered physically, is a series of noises from the point of view of the hearer, and a series of movements in the mouth and throat from the point of view of the speaker. The "meaning" of the sentence depends upon the causes of the spoken words and the effects of the heard words.[53] But for the moment let us ignore "meaning." Then we find that the sentence consists essentially of noises in order: the order is as essential as the character of the noises. (In a language like Latin, this is not so true of the separate words as in a modern language, but it is just as true of the parts of words: "Roma" is a different word from "amor.") Considered as physical occurrences, the words expressing different[Pg 241] parts of speech are indistinguishable; nevertheless there are relations which are symbolized by relations among words, not by words. Consider "Brutus killed Cæsar" and "Cæsar killed Brutus." The difference between these two statements is indicated, in an uninflected language, not by a word, but by a relation among words. Thus a spoken sentence consists of certain noises in a certain temporal order. In the sentence, we can distinguish terms and relations: the terms are the words (or, more strictly, the elementary noises which, in a phonetic system, would each be represented by a separate letter), and the relations are temporal relations among events. According to our definition, the elementary noises composing the sentence may count as "substances," in spite of the fact that they are evanescent. In the case of written words, the sentence is no longer a temporal series of events, but a spatial series of material structures. It is not essential to a written sentence that its parts should stand for sounds: in some languages (e.g. Chinese) this is not the case, and there is some reason to think that writing developed from pictures, not from the attempt to symbolize speech. We may therefore treat the written language as an independent method of conveying meaning. It is obvious that its efficacy in this respect depends upon its capacity for causing visual perceptions (or tactual perceptions in the case of "Braille"). Written words, even Chinese ideograms, consist essentially of parts with a structure, and the structure is essential to the meaning. This is equally the case with a sentence, even in Latin. Take "Cæsar amat Brutum" and "Cæsarem amat Brutus." Here the case-endings may be regarded as separate words (which they probably were originally), whose position relative to the stem "Brut" or "Cæsar" indicates the "sense" of the relation asserted. The written language depends upon the causal theory of[Pg 242] perception and the existence of physical objects; the spoken language involves the former, but not the latter. Thus in the written language the "substantial" elements have a permanence (throughout some finite time) which they do not have in the spoken language. Their permanence, however, is not metaphysical or absolute; it is only like that of houses or trees. It depends upon the fact that matter arranged in certain patterns will often retain those patterns for a long time, though not for ever. And the essential thing about writing is its capacity for causing visual events. So far, we have seen no reason to suppose that the suggestions of language are misleading where the physical world is concerned, since language is a physical phenomenon, and must share whatever structure all such phenomena have in common. But the philosophy which has been based on language—or, perhaps, has moulded language—has further elements which are more dubious. These are derived from the distinctions between parts of speech. Philosophers have, as a rule, failed to notice more than two types of sentence, exemplified by the two statements "this is yellow" and "buttercups are yellow." They mistakenly supposed that these two were one and the same type, and also that all propositions were of this type. The former error was exposed by Frege and Peano; the latter was found to make the explanation of order impossible. Consequently the traditional view that all propositions ascribe a predicate to a subject collapsed, and with it the metaphysical systems which were based upon it, consciously or unconsciously. This did away with the objections to pluralism as a metaphysic. But there remain certain linguistic distinctions which may have metaphysical importance. There are proper names, adjectives, verbs, prepositions, and conjunctions. It is natural to hold that, in an ideal language, proper names would indicate substances, adjectives would indicate the properties[Pg 243] by means of which substances are collected into classes, verbs and prepositions would indicate relations, and conjunctions would indicate the relations between propositions by means of which we build up what are called "truth-functions."[54] If there really are these categories in the world, it is desirable that language should symbolize them, and metaphysical errors are likely to result if language performs this task inaccurately. For my part, I believe that there are such categories, except, perhaps, conjunctions. But I will not argue the question at this point, since I wish, as far as possible, to avoid metaphysic. One point in which language tends to mislead is that the words which symbolize relations are themselves just as substantial as other words. If we say "Cæsar loves Brutus," the word "loves," considered as a physical event, is of exactly the same kind as the words "Cæsar" and "Brutus," but is supposed to mean something of a totally different kind. It follows that the relation of a word