We earlier treated the matter of a metric on a topological space, in a series of essays beginning here:
Now, as lagniappe, we offer a pair of Metrization Epigrams, which the budding mathematician, stuck for an opener with that leotard-clad vision at the espresso bar, can use for a pick-up line:
A discrete space is like the autistic atomism of the Tractatus, or Leibnizian monads.
An indiscrete space is (as one writer charmingly put it), “really quite crowded: each point is an accumulation point of every other set.” (One pictures the Jellyby children in Bleak House, ever tripping over one another’s legs.)
(Believe me, chicks go wild over such things. Or at least, if you are like most gangly Adam's-apple-challenged graduate-students in math, it’s your last best shot.)
It is by no means only topological spaces that one might wish to subject to a metric: all kinds of things, really: Which species lie how close to which others (and different metrics -- phenotypic, cladistic, etc. -- yield different results); which languages are neighbors in linguistic space (again there is a phenotypic/cladistic distinction: descent vs. Sprachbund); which people have a natural affinity with which other (seating-plans at dinner-parties; blind dates; etc.) And more generally, what is the curvature tensor of the noösphere?
As (from a philosopher of science):
One sometimes wants to say that a theory has much more testable content than some other statement: for instance, the Newtonian theory has much more testable content than ‘The moon orbits the earth’. But our apparatus, as it stands, does not entitle us to say this. We have no metric for testable content.
--John Watkins, Science and Skepticism (1984), p. 185
Compare Keynes’ critique of relative subjective probabilities.
Here a noted philologian on the notion as applied to languages:
Was nun die Sache selbst anlangt, so meine ich daß immer Sprache und Sprache, mögen sie auch noch so weit auseinander liegen, in wissenschaftlichem Sinn enger zusammengehören als Sprache und Literature, seien es auch die desselben Volkes.
-- Hugo Schuchardt, “Über die Lautgesetze” (1885), in Leo Spitzer, ed., Hugo Schuchardt-Brevier (1921; 2nd edn. 1928), p. 85
And here, indeed, he polemicizes against the nominalist treatment or ‘indiscrete toplogy” of diachronic linguistics:
Ist es denn nun nicht an sich ganz gleichgültig, ob rom. andare von adnare oder addare oder ambulare oder einem keltischen Verbalstamm herkommt; ob in diesem Dialecte l zu r und in jenem r zu l wird usw.? Welchen Sinn haben alle die Tausende etymologischer und morphologischer Korrespondenzen, die Tausende von Lautgesetzen, solange sie isoliert bleiben, solange sie nicht in höhere Ordnungen aufgelöst werden?
-- Hugo Schuchardt, “Über die Lautgesetze” (1885), in Leo Spitzer, ed., Hugo Schuchardt-Brevier (1921; 2nd edn. 1928), p. 84
This metaphor of ‘metrization’, outside the exact sciences, is very loose, as it is not strictly needed -- for taxonomic purposes, a more approximate neighborhood-system will suffice (a “Uniformity”) so to speak -- and still less is to be obtained.
As, a pair of British linguists comments:
One recent attempt by French researchers has given us the term dialectometry, which describes a formula for indexing the dialect ‘distance’ of any two speakers in a survey. So far, the utility of the index has not been demonstrated.
--J.K. Chambers & Peter Trudgill, Dialectology (1980), p. 112
This, in the synchronic arena, is reminiscent of the glottochronology of Morris Swadesh, who attempted a sort of carbon-dating of linguistic evolution, based on an assumed universal rate of lexical decay, in the absence of direct evidence.
[Update 17 January 2016] Another cautionary tale about the fetishization of metrics:
Two of our most vital industries, health care and education, have become increasingly subjected to metrics and measurements. Of course, we need to hold professionals accountable. But the focus on numbers has gone too far. We’re hitting the targets, but missing the point.
Whether, in that opening paragraph, the author wrote “metrics and measurements” intending to refer to two distinct though related concepts, or whether it was just an idle bit of synonymic accumulation like “bequeath and bestow” for those who might be unfamiliar with the somewhat technical word metric, is there unclear. But it does raise a linguistic point.
The word metric, and its close kin meter, metrical, metrization, derive from Greek.
Mensuration and commensurable go back to Latin mensura.
Measure comes ultimately from that Latin word as well, but via the phonetics of medieval French.
The same Indo-European root is said to lie at the base of all of them.
English, an etymological patchwork, has some tendency to layer its vocabulary by origin, Greek roots being reserved for the most technical, followed by Latin, with the Saxon vocabulary as jack of all work. In this, it contrasts with German: to Graeco-English oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen correspond homely-sounding Germanic compounds Sauerstoff (‘sour-stuff’), Wasserstoff, Stickstoff. And Freud’s German originals for the English ego and id, were nothing but nominalizations of the ordinary pronouns, das Ich & das Es.
Roughly such tiering is at work in our Wortfeld of ‘measure’.
Measure sounds reasonably English (though partly just because it chimes with pleasure and leisure, which are likewise French words in disguise), and is in everyday use for all purposes (though it also has technical specializations, as in mathematical measure theory).
Latinate mensuration (little used) is scarcely more than a stuffy synonym for ‘measuring’; commensurate is literate and has everyday though businesslike uses (“a salary commensurate with the job responsibilities”); while commensurable is mostly technical, whether in its mathematical sense, or its more recent philosophic sense (“commensurable discourses”).
Metric is kind of a green-eyeshade/clipboard sort of word at best. If becomes fully technical in mathematical uses like metric space and semi-metric, finally soaring off into the intellectual empyrean with metrizable.
Still wearing our lexicographer’s hat, here is an attestation for a word with which I had previously been unfamiliar, used by a philosopher of science. After a rather confusing Gedankenexperiment judging the verifiability of a physical geometric hypothesis, involving all sorts of skulduggery with measuring rods, and “tampering with the semantic anchorage of the word congruent” (that’ll get you two weeks in the clinky without the option), and in which Albert Einstein (from beyond the grave) plays a role like that of Fantomas, battling the equally post-mortem shade of Pierre Duhem, our professor writes:
The required resort to the introduction of a spatial dependence of the thermal coefficients might well not be open to Einstein. Hence, in order to retain Euclideanism, it would then be necessary to remetrize the space. …. Einstein’s geometric articulation of that thesis does not leave room for saving it by resorting to a remetrization in the sense of making the length of the rod vary with position or orientation even after it has been corrected for idiosyncratic distortions. But why saddle the Duhemian thesis as such with a restriction peculiar to Einstein’s particular version of it? And thus why not allow Duhem to save his thesis by countenancing those alterations in the congruence definition which are remetrizations?
-- “The Falsifiability of Theories”, in: Adolf Grünbaum, Collected Works, vol. I (2013), p. 72-3
As indicated, I couldn’t really follow the dialectical taffy-pull in that conterfactual-strewn discussion, but simply cite the passage as though on one of those “citation slips” we used to rely on at Merriam-Webster.
I just now happened upon a passage which we quoted earlier in another context (here): a use, by a mathematician (or if you prefer, a logician) of the in-itself-not-expressly-mathematical term measurement, not in a technical mathematical sense such as measure zero or measure theory, but sliding mathwards towards concepts very far from any plain man’s conception of “measurement” (as: wholly non-numerical, non-quantitative fundamental group):
Mathematics is, as it has always been, largely the science of measurement. But “measurement” must here be understood as referring to more than the meter stick. The genus of a topological figures measures one of its aspects; objects of genus zero are in a sense simpler than those of higher genus.
There are many dimensions of measurement ….: characteristic, transcendence degree, cardinality, fundamental group … Occasionally we are so successful in the science of measurement that we can completely characterize an object … by giving, as it were, its latitude and longitude: its measurements in the relevant dimensions.
-- Herbert Enderton, “Elements of Recursion Theory”, in: Jon Barwise, ed. Handbook of Mathematical Logic (1977), p. 554
I originally cited that as a not-especially-successful attempt (in its first sentence) at a one-line characterization of What Mathematics Is. Measurement, in the usual sense, is common to a great many studious activities, from chemistry to engineering to dressmaking. He only manages, in what follows, to make that characterization more or less work, by moving the goalposts and re-defining measurement in his own Pickwickian sense.
A philosophically alert historian of physics calls attention to a linguistico-philosophical subtlety in the word measurement as it is used in quantum theory:
In all cases, an observation is accompanied by a measurement. The converse is not true, however, for we may quite well perform a measurement and yet fail to observe the result. [ndlr: That much is true but trifling, but then he goes on to make his point.] Now in considering the disturbance generated by an observation, we must make clear that the disturbance is caused by the physical measurement, and not by the cognitive act whereby the result of the measurement is comprehended by the percipient. … The observation is rendered possible by the collision of the photon with the particle, and hence it is this collision which constitutes the measurement.
-- A. D’Abro, The Rise of the New Physics (1939), vol. II, p. 667
Here he is not making an actio/actum distinction in the term measurement (though one exists; for the actum, “Her measurements are 36, 28, 36”), for we are still dealing with actio here: but he is at pains to remove the connotation of a (human) action -- a human act, which one foggy school of thought has deemed central and essential to all of quantum physics. Observation, D’Abro is saying, is a human action; measurement is whatever triggers the collapse of the wave-function.
This whole question of measurement is, for the man meditating over brandy, frankly pretty annoying. We want to know the scheme of things -- if equations be at the base of it, well and good, the more general the better. (As: Hamiltonian dynamics; Set Theory; Topology.) Beholding Saint Peter’s or the Taj Mahal, we wish to savor the whole, and perhaps to penetrate to the aesthetic and formal ideas behind them; but we do not wish to know the length or this or that member in centimenters, nor how much the materials cost, etc. Such matters are distinctly hypo-ouranian.
In latterday musings upon quantum theory, measurement has been lifted to a role rather like that of (in earlier days) action, or conservation of energy -- or rather, like that of the Demiurge, bringing entities (or the values of their parameters) into existence. Yet in practice, they don’t always even tell you much about what you are trying to measure.
Measurements on the force of attraction between two electric charges will not in general verify Coulomb’s law. We observe that the force depends in some peculiar way upon the position of external charges, which suggests to us that the measured effects are not entirely due to the system in question, namely, the two test charges.
-- Robert Lindsay & Henry Margenau, Foundations of Physics (1936), p. 524