Probably while he was working on his contribution for the “Science and Immortality” series, possibly slightly later, Peirce wrote a paper entitled “Logical Machines” (sel. 15) for the November inaugural issue of G. Stanley Hall’s American Journal of Psychology. Peirce argued for the superiority of Allan Marquand’s logic machine over that of Jevons, but he offered some improvements and suggested that it should be possible to construct a machine “which should work the logic of relations with a large number of terms.” Peirce believed that the study of such machines was a good way to improve logic. In this paper Peirce did not mention his recent recommendation to Marquand to use electrical switching circuits for logical operations (W5:421–22),9 but he did, in passing, make some interesting remarks about “the secret of all reasoning machines” and the appropriateness of calling such machines “reasoning machines,” and then suggested that to some extent every machine is a reasoning machine—to the extent that they depend on “the objective reason embodied in the laws of nature.” Peirce claimed that “reasoning machines” are destitute of originality and initiative: “it cannot find its own problems; … it cannot direct itself between different possible procedures.” The absence of originality, however, is no defect for a machine: “we no more want an original machine, than a house-builder would want an original journeyman, or an American board of college trustees would hire an original professor”—a clear reference to himself.
It is not surprising that what we see of Peirce’s life mirrored in his writings from this period appears as troubled and somewhat embittered. He had been forced to leave Johns Hopkins and, though not without hope, saw no good prospect of an appointment at another university. The Coast Survey was in disarray and he knew that it was just a matter of time until his career there would come to an end. His one hope was his correspondence course. He felt sure it could succeed—but without the capital to begin his scheme at full strength it would have to grow to a critical mass before he could devote himself to it fully, and reaching that point would take time. Could he and Juliette survive in New York while they waited? On 3 April, Peirce wrote to his mother:
It seems to be pretty certain that there is going to be enough to live on from my lessons any way, even in New York. But I shall go into the country the first of May and economize a little; and can stay there next winter if necessary. The expenses have so far eaten largely into the profits, but I have made arrangements to reduce the cost of my advertising, and at the same time make it more effective. My clerks will get trained and will make the letters less costly, and the purchases of type-writers, etc. will cease, or nearly so, as I reach my maximum. For the next few months, this will be a heavy expense, but then I expect to retain the Coast Survey two, and perhaps three, months more. That gives me more than enough to pay for type-writers. I think I shall eventually make a handsome thing of this. At any rate, I shall make a living, and earn the everlasting gratitude of the country, when the effects of the training come to be seen. I have had an enormous quantity of extremely interesting letters from teachers, professors, lawyers, business men, etc. I am also getting numerous suggestions to invest money. But I have not yet been obliged to purchase a steam coupon-cutting machine.
Peirce’s spirits sound high but he must have been putting his best face on for his mother—in fact, during most of this period he was in emotional turmoil. He was under constant, often extreme, pressure from Thorn to submit reports, yet congressional budget cuts made it virtually impossible for him to receive sustained computing assistance, especially since he had moved out of Washington. There were some exceptions, but Peirce was left to his own devices most of the time. He thus confronted a mountain of data at the very time he found his powers as a mathematical computer to be weakening. A few years later, in December 1891, as he was about to resign, Peirce wrote to then Superintendent T. C. Mendenhall what amounted to a confession about his hidden struggle with his loss of computing proficiency.
My mind, as it seems to me, is generally sound and decidedly strong. But of late years, in a certain direction a singular weakness has been growing upon me; though I cannot but believe that with a good rest I should recover. When Thorn had been in about a year I think it was that I found I got all mixed up about my computations, and at first complained of it openly. Then, I began to see that it would injure me and kept quiet about it. We were constantly expecting that Mr. Thorn would go, and I was determined that when he did I would ask to be sent into the field. Then I came into the country and found myself better at first. Besides, I got upon hydrodynamics which did not affect me the same way. I worked very hard, and could find nobody who could give me much help. But my tendency to become confused about complicated computations increased, and was aggravated by having no aid. I became almost incapable of reading certain kinds of mathematics, though other kinds, much more difficult to most minds, afford me little difficulty. The more trouble I had, the less I liked to acknowledge it. So I temporized and got along as well as I could … (18 December 91)
It is easy to imagine Peirce’s frustration when Thorn pushed him beyond limits he was prepared to acknowledge. Peirce’s relations with Thorn grew acrimonious and they became impatient and sarcastic with each other. To make matters worse, Peirce imagined that there was some kind of conspiracy to get him out of the Survey. While this may have been a paranoid response, there is evidence that B. A. Colonna (who during Thorn’s tenure10 was officially in charge of the Survey’s Washington office but unofficially acted as the de facto superintendent) was working behind the scenes to turn Thorn against Peirce. It was Colonna who had created a stir in the scientific community during the 1885 investigation of the Survey by describing Peirce’s gravity work as of “meager value” (see W5:xxix) and Peirce’s letters to Thorn frequently contain marginal notes added by Colonna, seemingly intended to dispose Thorn against him. For example, in the margin of a 30 September 1886 letter to Thorn in which Peirce outlined some of his concerns with the Greely data and asked for help with the computations, Colonna wrote: “It is plainly evident that if we depend on Peirce we get nothing. I would suggest a letter to him directing that he turn over to the office all the Greely records and any others that he may already have made bearing on them & that he do so at once.” And when on 9 July 1887 Peirce sent in a few unpaid vouchers from his pendulum operations at Hoboken the previous year, Colonna sent this exasperated note to Thorn: “Mr. Peirce extended time and time again his allotment and still left these bills unpaid. Open with him again and where will you stop?” The simple fact is, there was bad blood between Peirce and Colonna,11 and whatever his motives, Colonna did want Peirce out of the Survey: “Charles Peirce about crazes me. He has no system, no idea of order or business & with all his talent is a dead-weight. I wish he could get a larger salary somewhere else and leave us. We could spare his talent for the sake of a better order.”12
More stressful than his career instability were his increasingly bad relations with his family and friends over his marriage to Juliette. Established society wanted no part of Juliette and even old friends, including Samuel P. Langley, withdrew from Peirce. Peirce’s Aunt Elisabeth (Lizzie), who owned the house his mother and brother Jem lived in, despised Juliette, and made it plain that she was not welcome in her home. Aunt Lizzie wrote to Peirce’s sister Helen after the death of Herbert’s (Bert’s) baby girl: “I had a little talk with Berts about Juliette & he feels about her just as I do…. It seems she is studying for the theater to learn how to act; it will be an easy lesson for her—though I don’t see that there is much left for her to learn” (22 April 1886). She wrote later (4 July 1886): “I have many sad hours thinking of Charles. He did wrong to marry Zina—& he suffered for it—but he was young then. Now there is no excuse for him in tying himself to that miserable Juliette—whom we ought not & cannot receive. There is no question about it. She is, I feel sure, a very dangerous