CHAPTER XVIII: MATHEMATICS AND LOGIC

[page 194]

Mathematics and logic, historically speaking, have been entirely distinct studies. Mathematics has been connected with science, logic with Greek. But both have developed in modern times: logic has become more mathematical and mathematics has become more logical. The consequence is that it has now become wholly impossible to draw a line between the two; in fact, the two are one. They differ as boy and man: logic is the youth of mathematics and mathematics is the manhood of logic. This view is resented by logicians who, having spent their time in the study of classical texts, are incapable of following a piece of symbolic reasoning, and by mathematicians who have learnt a technique without troubling to inquire into its meaning or justification. Both types are now fortunately growing rarer. So much of modern mathematical work is obviously on the border-line of logic, so much of modern logic is symbolic and formal, that the very close relationship of logic and mathematics has become obvious to every instructed student. The proof of their identity is, of course, a matter of detail: starting with premisses which would be universally admitted to belong to logic, and arriving by deduction at results which as obviously belong to mathematics, we find that there is no point at which a sharp line can be drawn, with logic to the left and mathematics to the right. If there are still those who do not admit the identity of logic and mathematics, we may challenge them to indicate at what point, in the successive definitions and [page 195] deductions of Principia Mathematica, they consider that logic ends and mathematics begins. It will then be obvious that any answer must be quite arbitrary.

In the earlier chapters of this book, starting from the natural numbers, we have first defined “cardinal number” and shown how to generalise the conception of number, and have then analysed the conceptions involved in the definition, until we found ourselves dealing with the fundamentals of logic. In a synthetic, deductive treatment these fundamentals come first, and the natural numbers are only reached after a long journey. Such treatment, though formally more correct than that which we have adopted, is more difficult for the reader, because the ultimate logical concepts and propositions with which it starts are remote and unfamiliar as compared with the natural numbers. Also they represent the present frontier of knowledge, beyond which is the still unknown; and the dominion of knowledge over them is not as yet very secure.

It used to be said that mathematics is the science of “quantity.” “Quantity” is a vague word, but for the sake of argument we may replace it by the word “number.” The statement that mathematics is the science of number would be untrue in two different ways. On the one hand, there are recognised branches of mathematics which have nothing to do with number—all geometry that does not use co-ordinates or measurement, for example: projective and descriptive geometry, down to the point at which co-ordinates are introduced, does not have to do with number, or even with quantity in the sense of greater and less. On the other hand, through the definition of cardinals, through the theory of induction and ancestral relations, through the general theory of series, and through the definitions of the arithmetical operations, it has become possible to generalise much that used to be proved only in connection with numbers. The result is that what was formerly the single study of Arithmetic has now become divided into a number of separate studies, no one of which is specially concerned with numbers. The most [page 196] elementary properties of numbers are concerned with one-one relations, and similarity between classes. Addition is concerned with the construction of mutually exclusive classes respectively similar to a set of classes which are not known to be mutually exclusive. Multiplication is merged in the theory of “selections,” i.e. of a certain kind of one-many relations. Finitude is merged in the general study of ancestral relations, which yields the whole theory of mathematical induction. The ordinal properties of the various kinds of number-series, and the elements of the theory of continuity of functions and the limits of functions, can be generalised so as no longer to involve any essential reference to numbers. It is a principle, in all formal reasoning, to generalise to the utmost, since we thereby secure that a given process of deduction shall have more widely applicable results; we are, therefore, in thus generalising the reasoning of arithmetic, merely following a precept which is universally admitted in mathematics. And in thus generalising we have, in effect, created a set of new deductive systems, in which traditional arithmetic is at once dissolved and enlarged; but whether any one of these new deductive systems—for example, the theory of selections—is to be said to belong to logic or to arithmetic is entirely arbitrary, and incapable of being decided rationally.

We are thus brought face to face with the question: What is this subject, which may be called indifferently either mathematics or logic? Is there any way in which we can define it?

Certain characteristics of the subject are clear. To begin with, we do not, in this subject, deal with particular things or particular properties: we deal formally with what can be said about any thing or any property. We are prepared to say that one and one are two, but not that Socrates and Plato are two, because, in our capacity of logicians or pure mathematicians, we have never heard of Socrates and Plato. A world in which there were no such individuals would still be a world in which one and one are two. It is not open to us, as pure mathematicians or logicians, to mention anything at all, because, if we do so, [page 197] we introduce something irrelevant and not formal. We may make this clear by applying it to the case of the syllogism. Traditional logic says: “All men are mortal, Socrates is a man, therefore Socrates is mortal.” Now it is clear that what we mean to assert, to begin with, is only that the premisses imply the conclusion, not that premisses and conclusion are actually true; even the most traditional logic points out that the actual truth of the premisses is irrelevant to logic. Thus the first change to be made in the above traditional syllogism is to state it in the form: “If all men are mortal and Socrates is a man, then Socrates is mortal.” We may now observe that it is intended to convey that this argument is valid in virtue of its form, not in virtue of the particular terms occurring in it. If we had omitted “Socrates is a man” from our premisses, we should have had a non-formal argument, only admissible because Socrates is in fact a man; in that case we could not have generalised the argument. But when, as above, the argument is formal, nothing depends upon the terms that occur in it. Thus we may substitute α for men, β for mortals, and x for Socrates, where α and β are any classes whatever, and x is any individual. We then arrive at the statement: “No matter what possible values x and α and β may have, if all α’s are β’s and x is an α, then x is a β”; in other words, “the propositional function ‘if all α’s are β’s and x is an α, then x is a β’ is always true.” Here at last we have a proposition of logic—the one which is only suggested by the traditional statement about Socrates and men and mortals.

It is clear that, if formal reasoning is what we are aiming at, we shall always arrive ultimately at statements like the above, in which no actual things or properties are mentioned; this will happen through the mere desire not to waste our time proving in a particular case what can be proved generally. It would be ridiculous to go through a long argument about Socrates, and then go through precisely the same argument again about Plato. If our argument is one (say) which holds of all men, we shall prove it concerning “x,” with the hypothesis “if x is a man.” With [page 198] this hypothesis, the argument will retain its hypothetical validity even when x is not a man. But now we shall find that our argument would still be valid if, instead of supposing x to be a man, we were to suppose him to be a monkey or a goose or a Prime Minister. We shall therefore not waste our time taking as our premiss “x is a man” but shall take “x is an α,” where α is any class of individuals, or “φx” where φ is any propositional function of some assigned type. Thus the absence of all mention of particular things or properties in logic or pure mathematics is a necessary result of the fact that this study is, as we say, “purely formal.”

At this point we find ourselves faced with a problem which is easier to state than to solve. The problem is: “What are the constituents of a logical proposition?” I do not know the answer, but I propose to explain how the problem arises.

Take (say) the proposition “Socrates was before Aristotle.” Here it seems obvious that we have a relation between two terms, and that the constituents of the proposition (as well as of the corresponding fact) are simply the two terms and the relation, i.e. Socrates, Aristotle, and before. (I ignore the fact that Socrates and Aristotle are not simple; also the fact that what appear to be their names are really truncated descriptions. Neither of these facts is relevant to the present issue.) We may represent the general form of such propositions by “xRy,” which may be read “x has the relation R to y.” This general form may occur in logical propositions, but no particular instance of it can occur. Are we to infer that the general form itself is a constituent of such logical propositions?

Given a proposition, such as “Socrates is before Aristotle,” we have certain constituents and also a certain form. But the form is not itself a new constituent; if it were, we should need a new form to embrace both it and the other constituents. We can, in fact, turn all the constituents of a proposition into variables, while keeping the form unchanged. This is what we do when we use such a schema as “xRy,” which stands for any [page 199] one of a certain class of propositions, namely, those asserting relations between two terms. We can proceed to general assertions, such as “xRy is sometimes true”—i.e. there are cases where dual relations hold. This assertion will belong to logic (or mathematics) in the sense in which we are using the word. But in this assertion we do not mention any particular things or particular relations; no particular things or relations can ever enter into a proposition of pure logic. We are left with pure forms as the only possible constituents of logical propositions.

I do not wish to assert positively that pure forms—e.g. the form “xRy”—do actually enter into propositions of the kind we are considering. The question of the analysis of such propositions is a difficult one, with conflicting considerations on the one side and on the other. We cannot embark upon this question now, but we may accept, as a first approximation, the view that forms are what enter into logical propositions as their constituents. And we may explain (though not formally define) what we mean by the “form” of a proposition as follows:—

The “form” of a proposition is that, in it, that remains unchanged when every constituent of the proposition is replaced by another.

Thus “Socrates is earlier than Aristotle” has the same form as “Napoleon is greater than Wellington,” though every constituent of the two propositions is different.

We may thus lay down, as a necessary (though not sufficient) characteristic of logical or mathematical propositions, that they are to be such as can be obtained from a proposition containing no variables (i.e. no such words as all, some, a, the, etc.) by turning every constituent into a variable and asserting that the result is always true or sometimes true, or that it is always true in respect of some of the variables that the result is sometimes true in respect of the others, or any variant of these forms. And another way of stating the same thing is to say that logic (or mathematics) is concerned only with forms, and is concerned with them only in the way of stating that they are always or [page 200] sometimes true—with all the permutations of “always” and “sometimes” that may occur.

There are in every language some words whose sole function is to indicate form. These words, broadly speaking, are commonest in languages having fewest inflections. Take “Socrates is human.” Here “is” is not a constituent of the proposition, but merely indicates the subject-predicate form. Similarly in “Socrates is earlier than Aristotle,” “is” and “than” merely indicate form; the proposition is the same as “Socrates precedes Aristotle,” in which these words have disappeared and the form is otherwise indicated. Form, as a rule, can be indicated otherwise than by specific words: the order of the words can do most of what is wanted. But this principle must not be pressed. For example, it is difficult to see how we could conveniently express molecular forms of propositions (i.e. what we call “truth-functions”) without any word at all. We saw in Chapter XIV. that one word or symbol is enough for this purpose, namely, a word or symbol expressing incompatibility. But without even one we should find ourselves in difficulties. This, however, is not the point that is important for our present purpose. What is important for us is to observe that form may be the one concern of a general proposition, even when no word or symbol in that proposition designates the form. If we wish to speak about the form itself, we must have a word for it; but if, as in mathematics, we wish to speak about all propositions that have the form, a word for the form will usually be found not indispensable; probably in theory it is never indispensable.

Assuming—as I think we may—that the forms of propositions can be represented by the forms of the propositions in which they are expressed without any special words for forms, we should arrive at a language in which everything formal belonged to syntax and not to vocabulary. In such a language we could express all the propositions of mathematics even if we did not know one single word of the language. The language of [page 201] mathematical logic, if it were perfected, would be such a language. We should have symbols for variables, such as “x” and “R” and “y,” arranged in various ways; and the way of arrangement would indicate that something was being said to be true of all values or some values of the variables. We should not need to know any words, because they would only be needed for giving values to the variables, which is the business of the applied mathematician, not of the pure mathematician or logician. It is one of the marks of a proposition of logic that, given a suitable language, such a proposition can be asserted in such a language by a person who knows the syntax without knowing a single word of the vocabulary.

But, after all, there are words that express form, such as “is” and “than.” And in every symbolism hitherto invented for mathematical logic there are symbols having constant formal meanings. We may take as an example the symbol for incompatibility which is employed in building up truth-functions. Such words or symbols may occur in logic. The question is: How are we to define them?

Such words or symbols express what are called “logical constants.” Logical constants may be defined exactly as we defined forms; in fact, they are in essence the same thing. A fundamental logical constant will be that which is in common among a number of propositions, any one of which can result from any other by substitution of terms one for another. For example, “Napoleon is greater than Wellington” results from “Socrates is earlier than Aristotle” by the substitution of “Napoleon” for “Socrates,” “Wellington” for “Aristotle,” and “greater” for “earlier.” Some propositions can be obtained in this way from the prototype “Socrates is earlier than Aristotle” and some cannot; those that can are those that are of the form “xRy,” i.e. express dual relations. We cannot obtain from the above prototype by term-for-term substitution such propositions as “Socrates is human” or “the Athenians gave the hemlock to Socrates,” because the first is of the subject- [page 202] predicate form and the second expresses a three-term relation. If we are to have any words in our pure logical language, they must be such as express “logical constants,” and “logical constants” will always either be, or be derived from, what is in common among a group of propositions derivable from each other, in the above manner, by term-for-term substitution. And this which is in common is what we call “form.”

In this sense all the “constants” that occur in pure mathematics are logical constants. The number 1, for example, is derivative from propositions of the form: “There is a term c such that φx is true when, and only when, x is c.” This is a function of φ, and various different propositions result from giving different values to φ. We may (with a little omission of intermediate steps not relevant to our present purpose) take the above function of φ as what is meant by “the class determined by φ is a unit class” or “the class determined by φ is a member of 1” (1 being a class of classes). In this way, propositions in which 1 occurs acquire a meaning which is derived from a certain constant logical form. And the same will be found to be the case with all mathematical constants: all are logical constants, or symbolic abbreviations whose full use in a proper context is defined by means of logical constants.

But although all logical (or mathematical) propositions can be expressed wholly in terms of logical constants together with variables, it is not the case that, conversely, all propositions that can be expressed in this way are logical. We have found so far a necessary but not a sufficient criterion of mathematical propositions. We have sufficiently defined the character of the primitive ideas in terms of which all the ideas of mathematics can be defined, but not of the primitive propositions from which all the propositions of mathematics can be deduced. This is a more difficult matter, as to which it is not yet known what the full answer is.

We may take the axiom of infinity as an example of a proposition which, though it can be enunciated in logical terms, [page 203] cannot be asserted by logic to be true. All the propositions of logic have a characteristic which used to be expressed by saying that they were analytic, or that their contradictories were self-contradictory. This mode of statement, however, is not satisfactory. The law of contradiction is merely one among logical propositions; it has no special pre-eminence; and the proof that the contradictory of some proposition is self-contradictory is likely to require other principles of deduction besides the law of contradiction. Nevertheless, the characteristic of logical propositions that we are in search of is the one which was felt, and intended to be defined, by those who said that it consisted in deducibility from the law of contradiction. This characteristic, which, for the moment, we may call tautology, obviously does not belong to the assertion that the number of individuals in the universe is n, whatever number n may be. But for the diversity of types, it would be possible to prove logically that there are classes of n terms, where n is any finite integer; or even that there are classes of ℵ0 terms. But, owing to types, such proofs, as we saw in Chapter XIII., are fallacious. We are left to empirical observation to determine whether there are as many as n individuals in the world. Among “possible” worlds, in the Leibnizian sense, there will be worlds having one, two, three, … individuals. There does not even seem any logical necessity why there should be even one individual1—why, in fact, there should be any world at all. The ontological proof of the existence of God, if it were valid, would establish the logical necessity of at least one individual. But it is generally recognised as invalid, and in fact rests upon a mistaken view of existence—i.e. it fails to realise that existence can only be asserted of something described, not of something named, so that it is meaningless to argue from “this is the so-and-so” and “the so-and-so exists” to “this exists.” If we reject the ontological [page 204] argument, we seem driven to conclude that the existence of a world is an accident—i.e. it is not logically necessary. If that be so, no principle of logic can assert “existence” except under a hypothesis, i.e. none can be of the form “the propositional function so-and-so is sometimes true.” Propositions of this form, when they occur in logic, will have to occur as hypotheses or consequences of hypotheses, not as complete asserted propositions. The complete asserted propositions of logic will all be such as affirm that some propositional function is always true. For example, it is always true that if p implies q and q implies r then p implies r, or that, if all α’s are β’s and x is an α then x is a β. Such propositions may occur in logic, and their truth is independent of the existence of the universe. We may lay it down that, if there were no universe, all general propositions would be true; for the contradictory of a general proposition (as we saw in Chapter XV.) is a proposition asserting existence, and would therefore always be false if no universe existed.

Logical propositions are such as can be known a priori, without study of the actual world. We only know from a study of empirical facts that Socrates is a man, but we know the correctness of the syllogism in its abstract form (i.e. when it is stated in terms of variables) without needing any appeal to experience. This is a characteristic, not of logical propositions in themselves, but of the way in which we know them. It has, however, a bearing upon the question what their nature may be, since there are some kinds of propositions which it would be very difficult to suppose we could know without experience.

It is clear that the definition of “logic” or “mathematics” must be sought by trying to give a new definition of the old notion of “analytic” propositions. Although we can no longer be satisfied to define logical propositions as those that follow from the law of contradiction, we can and must still admit that they are a wholly different class of propositions from those that we come to know empirically. They all have the characteristic which, a moment ago, we agreed to call “tautology.” This, [page 205] combined with the fact that they can be expressed wholly in terms of variables and logical constants (a logical constant being something which remains constant in a proposition even when all its constituents are changed)—will give the definition of logic or pure mathematics. For the moment, I do not know how to define “tautology.”2 It would be easy to offer a definition which might seem satisfactory for a while; but I know of none that I feel to be satisfactory, in spite of feeling thoroughly familiar with the characteristic of which a definition is wanted. At this point, therefore, for the moment, we reach the frontier of knowledge on our backward journey into the logical foundations of mathematics.

We have now come to an end of our somewhat summary introduction to mathematical philosophy. It is impossible to convey adequately the ideas that are concerned in this subject so long as we abstain from the use of logical symbols. Since ordinary language has no words that naturally express exactly what we wish to express, it is necessary, so long as we adhere to ordinary language, to strain words into unusual meanings; and the reader is sure, after a time if not at first, to lapse into attaching the usual meanings to words, thus arriving at wrong notions as to what is intended to be said. Moreover, ordinary grammar and syntax is extraordinarily misleading. This is the case, e.g., as regards numbers; “ten men” is grammatically the same form as “white men,” so that 10 might be thought to be an adjective qualifying “men.” It is the case, again, wherever propositional functions are involved, and in particular as regards existence and descriptions. Because language is misleading, as well as because it is diffuse and inexact when applied to logic (for which it was never intended), logical symbolism is absolutely necessary to any exact or thorough treatment of our subject. Those readers, [page 206] therefore, who wish to acquire a mastery of the principles of mathematics, will, it is to be hoped, not shrink from the labour of mastering the symbols—a labour which is, in fact, much less than might be thought. As the above hasty survey must have made evident, there are innumerable unsolved problems in the subject, and much work needs to be done. If any student is led into a serious study of mathematical logic by this little book, it will have served the chief purpose for which it has been written.

[Chapter XVIII notes]

1. The primitive propositions in Principia Mathematica are such as to allow the inference that at least one individual exists. But I now view this as a defect in logical purity.

2. The importance of “tautology” for a definition of mathematics was pointed out to me by my former pupil Ludwig Wittgenstein, who was working on the problem. I do not know whether he has solved it, or even whether he is alive or dead.