diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-27 10:21:13 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-27 10:21:13 -0800 |
| commit | 30c4b6a8485c01a68958c5637859a3ddadfcb2b2 (patch) | |
| tree | 8c1f725e85995623424501bc3a3c86e8940f6a37 | |
| parent | f6ee34671a344cf9a68e8871c68d715f8a9c451a (diff) | |
| -rw-r--r-- | old/old-2025-02-27/5827-8.txt | 4376 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/old-2025-02-27/5827-8.zip | bin | 87966 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/old-2025-02-27/5827-h.zip | bin | 91111 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/old-2025-02-27/5827-h/5827-h.htm | 4876 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/old-2025-02-27/5827.txt | 4376 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/old-2025-02-27/5827.zip | bin | 87948 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/prphi10.txt | 4463 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/prphi10.zip | bin | 87667 -> 0 bytes |
8 files changed, 0 insertions, 18091 deletions
diff --git a/old/old-2025-02-27/5827-8.txt b/old/old-2025-02-27/5827-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 06d322c..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-02-27/5827-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4376 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Problems of Philosophy, by Bertrand Russell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Problems of Philosophy - -Author: Bertrand Russell - -Release Date: June, 2004 [EBook #5827] -Posting Date: May 2, 2009 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROBLEMS OF PHILOSOPHY *** - - - - -Produced by Gordon Keener - - - - - - - - -THE PROBLEMS OF PHILOSOPHY - - -By Bertrand Russell - - - - -PREFACE - -In the following pages I have confined myself in the main to those -problems of philosophy in regard to which I thought it possible to say -something positive and constructive, since merely negative criticism -seemed out of place. For this reason, theory of knowledge occupies a -larger space than metaphysics in the present volume, and some topics -much discussed by philosophers are treated very briefly, if at all. - -I have derived valuable assistance from unpublished writings of G. E. -Moore and J. M. Keynes: from the former, as regards the relations -of sense-data to physical objects, and from the latter as regards -probability and induction. I have also profited greatly by the -criticisms and suggestions of Professor Gilbert Murray. - -1912 - - - - -CHAPTER I. APPEARANCE AND REALITY - -Is there any knowledge in the world which is so certain that no -reasonable man could doubt it? This question, which at first sight might -not seem difficult, is really one of the most difficult that can -be asked. When we have realized the obstacles in the way of a -straightforward and confident answer, we shall be well launched on the -study of philosophy--for philosophy is merely the attempt to answer -such ultimate questions, not carelessly and dogmatically, as we do in -ordinary life and even in the sciences, but critically, after exploring -all that makes such questions puzzling, and after realizing all the -vagueness and confusion that underlie our ordinary ideas. - -In daily life, we assume as certain many things which, on a closer -scrutiny, are found to be so full of apparent contradictions that only a -great amount of thought enables us to know what it is that we really may -believe. In the search for certainty, it is natural to begin with our -present experiences, and in some sense, no doubt, knowledge is to be -derived from them. But any statement as to what it is that our immediate -experiences make us know is very likely to be wrong. It seems to me that -I am now sitting in a chair, at a table of a certain shape, on which I -see sheets of paper with writing or print. By turning my head I see out -of the window buildings and clouds and the sun. I believe that the sun -is about ninety-three million miles from the earth; that it is a hot -globe many times bigger than the earth; that, owing to the earth's -rotation, it rises every morning, and will continue to do so for an -indefinite time in the future. I believe that, if any other normal -person comes into my room, he will see the same chairs and tables and -books and papers as I see, and that the table which I see is the same as -the table which I feel pressing against my arm. All this seems to be -so evident as to be hardly worth stating, except in answer to a man who -doubts whether I know anything. Yet all this may be reasonably doubted, -and all of it requires much careful discussion before we can be sure -that we have stated it in a form that is wholly true. - -To make our difficulties plain, let us concentrate attention on the -table. To the eye it is oblong, brown and shiny, to the touch it is -smooth and cool and hard; when I tap it, it gives out a wooden sound. -Any one else who sees and feels and hears the table will agree with this -description, so that it might seem as if no difficulty would arise; -but as soon as we try to be more precise our troubles begin. Although -I believe that the table is 'really' of the same colour all over, the -parts that reflect the light look much brighter than the other parts, -and some parts look white because of reflected light. I know that, if -I move, the parts that reflect the light will be different, so that the -apparent distribution of colours on the table will change. It follows -that if several people are looking at the table at the same moment, no -two of them will see exactly the same distribution of colours, because -no two can see it from exactly the same point of view, and any change in -the point of view makes some change in the way the light is reflected. - -For most practical purposes these differences are unimportant, but to -the painter they are all-important: the painter has to unlearn the habit -of thinking that things seem to have the colour which common sense says -they 'really' have, and to learn the habit of seeing things as they -appear. Here we have already the beginning of one of the distinctions -that cause most trouble in philosophy--the distinction between -'appearance' and 'reality', between what things seem to be and what they -are. The painter wants to know what things seem to be, the practical man -and the philosopher want to know what they are; but the philosopher's -wish to know this is stronger than the practical man's, and is more -troubled by knowledge as to the difficulties of answering the question. - -To return to the table. It is evident from what we have found, that -there is no colour which pre-eminently appears to be _the_ colour of the -table, or even of any one particular part of the table--it appears to -be of different colours from different points of view, and there is -no reason for regarding some of these as more really its colour than -others. And we know that even from a given point of view the colour will -seem different by artificial light, or to a colour-blind man, or to a -man wearing blue spectacles, while in the dark there will be no colour -at all, though to touch and hearing the table will be unchanged. This -colour is not something which is inherent in the table, but something -depending upon the table and the spectator and the way the light falls -on the table. When, in ordinary life, we speak of _the_ colour of the -table, we only mean the sort of colour which it will seem to have to a -normal spectator from an ordinary point of view under usual conditions -of light. But the other colours which appear under other conditions -have just as good a right to be considered real; and therefore, to avoid -favouritism, we are compelled to deny that, in itself, the table has any -one particular colour. - -The same thing applies to the texture. With the naked eye one can see -the grain, but otherwise the table looks smooth and even. If we looked -at it through a microscope, we should see roughnesses and hills and -valleys, and all sorts of differences that are imperceptible to the -naked eye. Which of these is the 'real' table? We are naturally tempted -to say that what we see through the microscope is more real, but that in -turn would be changed by a still more powerful microscope. If, then, we -cannot trust what we see with the naked eye, why should we trust what we -see through a microscope? Thus, again, the confidence in our senses with -which we began deserts us. - -The shape of the table is no better. We are all in the habit of judging -as to the 'real' shapes of things, and we do this so unreflectingly that -we come to think we actually see the real shapes. But, in fact, as we -all have to learn if we try to draw, a given thing looks different -in shape from every different point of view. If our table is 'really' -rectangular, it will look, from almost all points of view, as if it had -two acute angles and two obtuse angles. If opposite sides are parallel, -they will look as if they converged to a point away from the spectator; -if they are of equal length, they will look as if the nearer side were -longer. All these things are not commonly noticed in looking at a table, -because experience has taught us to construct the 'real' shape from the -apparent shape, and the 'real' shape is what interests us as practical -men. But the 'real' shape is not what we see; it is something inferred -from what we see. And what we see is constantly changing in shape as we -move about the room; so that here again the senses seem not to give us -the truth about the table itself, but only about the appearance of the -table. - -Similar difficulties arise when we consider the sense of touch. It is -true that the table always gives us a sensation of hardness, and we feel -that it resists pressure. But the sensation we obtain depends upon how -hard we press the table and also upon what part of the body we press -with; thus the various sensations due to various pressures or various -parts of the body cannot be supposed to reveal _directly_ any definite -property of the table, but at most to be _signs_ of some property which -perhaps _causes_ all the sensations, but is not actually apparent in any -of them. And the same applies still more obviously to the sounds which -can be elicited by rapping the table. - -Thus it becomes evident that the real table, if there is one, is not the -same as what we immediately experience by sight or touch or hearing. The -real table, if there is one, is not _immediately_ known to us at all, -but must be an inference from what is immediately known. Hence, two very -difficult questions at once arise; namely, (1) Is there a real table at -all? (2) If so, what sort of object can it be? - -It will help us in considering these questions to have a few simple -terms of which the meaning is definite and clear. Let us give the name -of 'sense-data' to the things that are immediately known in sensation: -such things as colours, sounds, smells, hardnesses, roughnesses, and -so on. We shall give the name 'sensation' to the experience of being -immediately aware of these things. Thus, whenever we see a colour, -we have a sensation _of_ the colour, but the colour itself is a -sense-datum, not a sensation. The colour is that _of_ which we are -immediately aware, and the awareness itself is the sensation. It is -plain that if we are to know anything about the table, it must be -by means of the sense-data--brown colour, oblong shape, smoothness, -etc.--which we associate with the table; but, for the reasons which have -been given, we cannot say that the table is the sense-data, or even -that the sense-data are directly properties of the table. Thus a problem -arises as to the relation of the sense-data to the real table, supposing -there is such a thing. - -The real table, if it exists, we will call a 'physical object'. Thus -we have to consider the relation of sense-data to physical objects. -The collection of all physical objects is called 'matter'. Thus our two -questions may be re-stated as follows: (1) Is there any such thing as -matter? (2) If so, what is its nature? - -The philosopher who first brought prominently forward the reasons -for regarding the immediate objects of our senses as not existing -independently of us was Bishop Berkeley (1685-1753). His _Three -Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous, in Opposition to Sceptics and -Atheists_, undertake to prove that there is no such thing as matter at -all, and that the world consists of nothing but minds and their ideas. -Hylas has hitherto believed in matter, but he is no match for Philonous, -who mercilessly drives him into contradictions and paradoxes, and makes -his own denial of matter seem, in the end, as if it were almost common -sense. The arguments employed are of very different value: some are -important and sound, others are confused or quibbling. But Berkeley -retains the merit of having shown that the existence of matter is -capable of being denied without absurdity, and that if there are any -things that exist independently of us they cannot be the immediate -objects of our sensations. - -There are two different questions involved when we ask whether matter -exists, and it is important to keep them clear. We commonly mean by -'matter' something which is opposed to 'mind', something which we think -of as occupying space and as radically incapable of any sort of thought -or consciousness. It is chiefly in this sense that Berkeley denies -matter; that is to say, he does not deny that the sense-data which we -commonly take as signs of the existence of the table are really signs -of the existence of _something_ independent of us, but he does deny -that this something is non-mental, that it is neither mind nor ideas -entertained by some mind. He admits that there must be something which -continues to exist when we go out of the room or shut our eyes, and that -what we call seeing the table does really give us reason for believing -in something which persists even when we are not seeing it. But he -thinks that this something cannot be radically different in nature from -what we see, and cannot be independent of seeing altogether, though it -must be independent of _our_ seeing. He is thus led to regard the 'real' -table as an idea in the mind of God. Such an idea has the required -permanence and independence of ourselves, without being--as matter would -otherwise be--something quite unknowable, in the sense that we can only -infer it, and can never be directly and immediately aware of it. - -Other philosophers since Berkeley have also held that, although the -table does not depend for its existence upon being seen by me, it does -depend upon being seen (or otherwise apprehended in sensation) by -_some_ mind--not necessarily the mind of God, but more often the whole -collective mind of the universe. This they hold, as Berkeley does, -chiefly because they think there can be nothing real--or at any rate -nothing known to be real except minds and their thoughts and feelings. -We might state the argument by which they support their view in some -such way as this: 'Whatever can be thought of is an idea in the mind of -the person thinking of it; therefore nothing can be thought of except -ideas in minds; therefore anything else is inconceivable, and what is -inconceivable cannot exist.' - -Such an argument, in my opinion, is fallacious; and of course those who -advance it do not put it so shortly or so crudely. But whether valid or -not, the argument has been very widely advanced in one form or another; -and very many philosophers, perhaps a majority, have held that there is -nothing real except minds and their ideas. Such philosophers are called -'idealists'. When they come to explaining matter, they either say, like -Berkeley, that matter is really nothing but a collection of ideas, -or they say, like Leibniz (1646-1716), that what appears as matter is -really a collection of more or less rudimentary minds. - -But these philosophers, though they deny matter as opposed to mind, -nevertheless, in another sense, admit matter. It will be remembered that -we asked two questions; namely, (1) Is there a real table at all? (2) If -so, what sort of object can it be? Now both Berkeley and Leibniz admit -that there is a real table, but Berkeley says it is certain ideas in the -mind of God, and Leibniz says it is a colony of souls. Thus both of them -answer our first question in the affirmative, and only diverge from the -views of ordinary mortals in their answer to our second question. In -fact, almost all philosophers seem to be agreed that there is a real -table: they almost all agree that, however much our sense-data--colour, -shape, smoothness, etc.--may depend upon us, yet their occurrence is -a sign of something existing independently of us, something differing, -perhaps, completely from our sense-data, and yet to be regarded as -causing those sense-data whenever we are in a suitable relation to the -real table. - -Now obviously this point in which the philosophers are agreed--the view -that there _is_ a real table, whatever its nature may be--is vitally -important, and it will be worth while to consider what reasons there are -for accepting this view before we go on to the further question as -to the nature of the real table. Our next chapter, therefore, will be -concerned with the reasons for supposing that there is a real table at -all. - -Before we go farther it will be well to consider for a moment what it -is that we have discovered so far. It has appeared that, if we take any -common object of the sort that is supposed to be known by the senses, -what the senses _immediately_ tell us is not the truth about the object -as it is apart from us, but only the truth about certain sense-data -which, so far as we can see, depend upon the relations between us and -the object. Thus what we directly see and feel is merely 'appearance', -which we believe to be a sign of some 'reality' behind. But if the -reality is not what appears, have we any means of knowing whether there -is any reality at all? And if so, have we any means of finding out what -it is like? - -Such questions are bewildering, and it is difficult to know that even -the strangest hypotheses may not be true. Thus our familiar table, -which has roused but the slightest thoughts in us hitherto, has become a -problem full of surprising possibilities. The one thing we know about it -is that it is not what it seems. Beyond this modest result, so far, we -have the most complete liberty of conjecture. Leibniz tells us it is a -community of souls: Berkeley tells us it is an idea in the mind of God; -sober science, scarcely less wonderful, tells us it is a vast collection -of electric charges in violent motion. - -Among these surprising possibilities, doubt suggests that perhaps there -is no table at all. Philosophy, if it cannot _answer_ so many questions -as we could wish, has at least the power of _asking_ questions which -increase the interest of the world, and show the strangeness and wonder -lying just below the surface even in the commonest things of daily life. - - - -CHAPTER II. THE EXISTENCE OF MATTER - -In this chapter we have to ask ourselves whether, in any sense at all, -there is such a thing as matter. Is there a table which has a certain -intrinsic nature, and continues to exist when I am not looking, or is -the table merely a product of my imagination, a dream-table in a very -prolonged dream? This question is of the greatest importance. For if -we cannot be sure of the independent existence of objects, we cannot -be sure of the independent existence of other people's bodies, and -therefore still less of other people's minds, since we have no grounds -for believing in their minds except such as are derived from observing -their bodies. Thus if we cannot be sure of the independent existence of -objects, we shall be left alone in a desert--it may be that the whole -outer world is nothing but a dream, and that we alone exist. This is an -uncomfortable possibility; but although it cannot be strictly proved to -be false, there is not the slightest reason to suppose that it is true. -In this chapter we have to see why this is the case. - -Before we embark upon doubtful matters, let us try to find some more -or less fixed point from which to start. Although we are doubting the -physical existence of the table, we are not doubting the existence -of the sense-data which made us think there was a table; we are not -doubting that, while we look, a certain colour and shape appear to us, -and while we press, a certain sensation of hardness is experienced by -us. All this, which is psychological, we are not calling in question. -In fact, whatever else may be doubtful, some at least of our immediate -experiences seem absolutely certain. - -Descartes (1596-1650), the founder of modern philosophy, invented a -method which may still be used with profit--the method of systematic -doubt. He determined that he would believe nothing which he did not see -quite clearly and distinctly to be true. Whatever he could bring himself -to doubt, he would doubt, until he saw reason for not doubting it. -By applying this method he gradually became convinced that the only -existence of which he could be _quite_ certain was his own. He imagined -a deceitful demon, who presented unreal things to his senses in a -perpetual phantasmagoria; it might be very improbable that such a demon -existed, but still it was possible, and therefore doubt concerning -things perceived by the senses was possible. - -But doubt concerning his own existence was not possible, for if he did -not exist, no demon could deceive him. If he doubted, he must exist; if -he had any experiences whatever, he must exist. Thus his own existence -was an absolute certainty to him. 'I think, therefore I am,' he said -(_Cogito, ergo sum_); and on the basis of this certainty he set to work -to build up again the world of knowledge which his doubt had laid in -ruins. By inventing the method of doubt, and by showing that subjective -things are the most certain, Descartes performed a great service to -philosophy, and one which makes him still useful to all students of the -subject. - -But some care is needed in using Descartes' argument. 'I think, -therefore I am' says rather more than is strictly certain. It might seem -as though we were quite sure of being the same person to-day as we were -yesterday, and this is no doubt true in some sense. But the real Self is -as hard to arrive at as the real table, and does not seem to have that -absolute, convincing certainty that belongs to particular experiences. -When I look at my table and see a certain brown colour, what is quite -certain at once is not '_I_ am seeing a brown colour', but rather, -'a brown colour is being seen'. This of course involves something (or -somebody) which (or who) sees the brown colour; but it does not of -itself involve that more or less permanent person whom we call 'I'. So -far as immediate certainty goes, it might be that the something which -sees the brown colour is quite momentary, and not the same as the -something which has some different experience the next moment. - -Thus it is our particular thoughts and feelings that have primitive -certainty. And this applies to dreams and hallucinations as well as to -normal perceptions: when we dream or see a ghost, we certainly do have -the sensations we think we have, but for various reasons it is held that -no physical object corresponds to these sensations. Thus the certainty -of our knowledge of our own experiences does not have to be limited in -any way to allow for exceptional cases. Here, therefore, we have, for -what it is worth, a solid basis from which to begin our pursuit of -knowledge. - -The problem we have to consider is this: Granted that we are certain of -our own sense-data, have we any reason for regarding them as signs of -the existence of something else, which we can call the physical object? -When we have enumerated all the sense-data which we should naturally -regard as connected with the table, have we said all there is to say -about the table, or is there still something else--something not a -sense-datum, something which persists when we go out of the room? Common -sense unhesitatingly answers that there is. What can be bought and sold -and pushed about and have a cloth laid on it, and so on, cannot be -a _mere_ collection of sense-data. If the cloth completely hides the -table, we shall derive no sense-data from the table, and therefore, if -the table were merely sense-data, it would have ceased to exist, and -the cloth would be suspended in empty air, resting, by a miracle, in -the place where the table formerly was. This seems plainly absurd; but -whoever wishes to become a philosopher must learn not to be frightened -by absurdities. - -One great reason why it is felt that we must secure a physical object -in addition to the sense-data, is that we want the same object for -different people. When ten people are sitting round a dinner-table, -it seems preposterous to maintain that they are not seeing the same -tablecloth, the same knives and forks and spoons and glasses. But the -sense-data are private to each separate person; what is immediately -present to the sight of one is not immediately present to the sight of -another: they all see things from slightly different points of view, and -therefore see them slightly differently. Thus, if there are to be public -neutral objects, which can be in some sense known to many different -people, there must be something over and above the private and -particular sense-data which appear to various people. What reason, then, -have we for believing that there are such public neutral objects? - -The first answer that naturally occurs to one is that, although -different people may see the table slightly differently, still they all -see more or less similar things when they look at the table, and -the variations in what they see follow the laws of perspective and -reflection of light, so that it is easy to arrive at a permanent object -underlying all the different people's sense-data. I bought my table from -the former occupant of my room; I could not buy _his_ sense-data, -which died when he went away, but I could and did buy the confident -expectation of more or less similar sense-data. Thus it is the fact that -different people have similar sense-data, and that one person in a given -place at different times has similar sense-data, which makes us suppose -that over and above the sense-data there is a permanent public object -which underlies or causes the sense-data of various people at various -times. - -Now in so far as the above considerations depend upon supposing that -there are other people besides ourselves, they beg the very question at -issue. Other people are represented to me by certain sense-data, such as -the sight of them or the sound of their voices, and if I had no -reason to believe that there were physical objects independent of my -sense-data, I should have no reason to believe that other people exist -except as part of my dream. Thus, when we are trying to show that there -must be objects independent of our own sense-data, we cannot appeal to -the testimony of other people, since this testimony itself consists of -sense-data, and does not reveal other people's experiences unless our -own sense-data are signs of things existing independently of us. We must -therefore, if possible, find, in our own purely private experiences, -characteristics which show, or tend to show, that there are in the world -things other than ourselves and our private experiences. - -In one sense it must be admitted that we can never prove the existence -of things other than ourselves and our experiences. No logical absurdity -results from the hypothesis that the world consists of myself and my -thoughts and feelings and sensations, and that everything else is mere -fancy. In dreams a very complicated world may seem to be present, and -yet on waking we find it was a delusion; that is to say, we find that -the sense-data in the dream do not appear to have corresponded with such -physical objects as we should naturally infer from our sense-data. (It -is true that, when the physical world is assumed, it is possible to -find physical causes for the sense-data in dreams: a door banging, for -instance, may cause us to dream of a naval engagement. But although, in -this case, there is a physical cause for the sense-data, there is not a -physical object corresponding to the sense-data in the way in which an -actual naval battle would correspond.) There is no logical impossibility -in the supposition that the whole of life is a dream, in which we -ourselves create all the objects that come before us. But although this -is not logically impossible, there is no reason whatever to suppose that -it is true; and it is, in fact, a less simple hypothesis, viewed as a -means of accounting for the facts of our own life, than the common-sense -hypothesis that there really are objects independent of us, whose action -on us causes our sensations. - -The way in which simplicity comes in from supposing that there really -are physical objects is easily seen. If the cat appears at one moment in -one part of the room, and at another in another part, it is natural -to suppose that it has moved from the one to the other, passing over -a series of intermediate positions. But if it is merely a set of -sense-data, it cannot have ever been in any place where I did not see -it; thus we shall have to suppose that it did not exist at all while I -was not looking, but suddenly sprang into being in a new place. If -the cat exists whether I see it or not, we can understand from our own -experience how it gets hungry between one meal and the next; but if -it does not exist when I am not seeing it, it seems odd that appetite -should grow during non-existence as fast as during existence. And if the -cat consists only of sense-data, it cannot be hungry, since no hunger -but my own can be a sense-datum to me. Thus the behaviour of the -sense-data which represent the cat to me, though it seems quite natural -when regarded as an expression of hunger, becomes utterly inexplicable -when regarded as mere movements and changes of patches of colour, which -are as incapable of hunger as a triangle is of playing football. - -But the difficulty in the case of the cat is nothing compared to the -difficulty in the case of human beings. When human beings speak--that -is, when we hear certain noises which we associate with ideas, and -simultaneously see certain motions of lips and expressions of face--it -is very difficult to suppose that what we hear is not the expression -of a thought, as we know it would be if we emitted the same sounds. Of -course similar things happen in dreams, where we are mistaken as to the -existence of other people. But dreams are more or less suggested by what -we call waking life, and are capable of being more or less accounted for -on scientific principles if we assume that there really is a physical -world. Thus every principle of simplicity urges us to adopt the natural -view, that there really are objects other than ourselves and our -sense-data which have an existence not dependent upon our perceiving -them. - -Of course it is not by argument that we originally come by our belief in -an independent external world. We find this belief ready in ourselves as -soon as we begin to reflect: it is what may be called an _instinctive_ -belief. We should never have been led to question this belief but for -the fact that, at any rate in the case of sight, it seems as if the -sense-datum itself were instinctively believed to be the independent -object, whereas argument shows that the object cannot be identical -with the sense-datum. This discovery, however--which is not at all -paradoxical in the case of taste and smell and sound, and only slightly -so in the case of touch--leaves undiminished our instinctive belief that -there _are_ objects _corresponding_ to our sense-data. Since this belief -does not lead to any difficulties, but on the contrary tends to simplify -and systematize our account of our experiences, there seems no good -reason for rejecting it. We may therefore admit--though with a slight -doubt derived from dreams--that the external world does really exist, -and is not wholly dependent for its existence upon our continuing to -perceive it. - -The argument which has led us to this conclusion is doubtless less -strong than we could wish, but it is typical of many philosophical -arguments, and it is therefore worth while to consider briefly its -general character and validity. All knowledge, we find, must be built -up upon our instinctive beliefs, and if these are rejected, nothing -is left. But among our instinctive beliefs some are much stronger than -others, while many have, by habit and association, become entangled with -other beliefs, not really instinctive, but falsely supposed to be part -of what is believed instinctively. - -Philosophy should show us the hierarchy of our instinctive beliefs, -beginning with those we hold most strongly, and presenting each as much -isolated and as free from irrelevant additions as possible. It should -take care to show that, in the form in which they are finally set forth, -our instinctive beliefs do not clash, but form a harmonious system. -There can never be any reason for rejecting one instinctive belief -except that it clashes with others; thus, if they are found to -harmonize, the whole system becomes worthy of acceptance. - -It is of course _possible_ that all or any of our beliefs may be -mistaken, and therefore all ought to be held with at least some slight -element of doubt. But we cannot have _reason_ to reject a belief except -on the ground of some other belief. Hence, by organizing our instinctive -beliefs and their consequences, by considering which among them is most -possible, if necessary, to modify or abandon, we can arrive, on the -basis of accepting as our sole data what we instinctively believe, at an -orderly systematic organization of our knowledge, in which, though the -_possibility_ of error remains, its likelihood is diminished by the -interrelation of the parts and by the critical scrutiny which has -preceded acquiescence. - -This function, at least, philosophy can perform. Most philosophers, -rightly or wrongly, believe that philosophy can do much more than -this--that it can give us knowledge, not otherwise attainable, -concerning the universe as a whole, and concerning the nature of -ultimate reality. Whether this be the case or not, the more modest -function we have spoken of can certainly be performed by philosophy, and -certainly suffices, for those who have once begun to doubt the adequacy -of common sense, to justify the arduous and difficult labours that -philosophical problems involve. - - - -CHAPTER III. THE NATURE OF MATTER - -In the preceding chapter we agreed, though without being able to -find demonstrative reasons, that it is rational to believe that our -sense-data--for example, those which we regard as associated with my -table--are really signs of the existence of something independent of us -and our perceptions. That is to say, over and above the sensations of -colour, hardness, noise, and so on, which make up the appearance of -the table to me, I assume that there is something else, of which these -things are appearances. The colour ceases to exist if I shut my eyes, -the sensation of hardness ceases to exist if I remove my arm from -contact with the table, the sound ceases to exist if I cease to rap the -table with my knuckles. But I do not believe that when all these things -cease the table ceases. On the contrary, I believe that it is because -the table exists continuously that all these sense-data will reappear -when I open my eyes, replace my arm, and begin again to rap with my -knuckles. The question we have to consider in this chapter is: What -is the nature of this real table, which persists independently of my -perception of it? - -To this question physical science gives an answer, somewhat incomplete -it is true, and in part still very hypothetical, but yet deserving of -respect so far as it goes. Physical science, more or less unconsciously, -has drifted into the view that all natural phenomena ought to be reduced -to motions. Light and heat and sound are all due to wave-motions, which -travel from the body emitting them to the person who sees light or feels -heat or hears sound. That which has the wave-motion is either aether or -'gross matter', but in either case is what the philosopher would call -matter. The only properties which science assigns to it are position in -space, and the power of motion according to the laws of motion. Science -does not deny that it _may_ have other properties; but if so, such other -properties are not useful to the man of science, and in no way assist -him in explaining the phenomena. - -It is sometimes said that 'light _is_ a form of wave-motion', but this -is misleading, for the light which we immediately see, which we know -directly by means of our senses, is _not_ a form of wave-motion, but -something quite different--something which we all know if we are not -blind, though we cannot describe it so as to convey our knowledge to a -man who is blind. A wave-motion, on the contrary, could quite well be -described to a blind man, since he can acquire a knowledge of space by -the sense of touch; and he can experience a wave-motion by a sea voyage -almost as well as we can. But this, which a blind man can understand, is -not what we mean by _light_: we mean by _light_ just that which a blind -man can never understand, and which we can never describe to him. - -Now this something, which all of us who are not blind know, is not, -according to science, really to be found in the outer world: it is -something caused by the action of certain waves upon the eyes and nerves -and brain of the person who sees the light. When it is said that light -_is_ waves, what is really meant is that waves are the physical cause of -our sensations of light. But light itself, the thing which seeing people -experience and blind people do not, is not supposed by science to form -any part of the world that is independent of us and our senses. And very -similar remarks would apply to other kinds of sensations. - -It is not only colours and sounds and so on that are absent from the -scientific world of matter, but also _space_ as we get it through sight -or touch. It is essential to science that its matter should be in _a_ -space, but the space in which it is cannot be exactly the space we see -or feel. To begin with, space as we see it is not the same as space as -we get it by the sense of touch; it is only by experience in infancy -that we learn how to touch things we see, or how to get a sight of -things which we feel touching us. But the space of science is neutral as -between touch and sight; thus it cannot be either the space of touch or -the space of sight. - -Again, different people see the same object as of different shapes, -according to their point of view. A circular coin, for example, though -we should always _judge_ it to be circular, will _look_ oval unless we -are straight in front of it. When we judge that it _is_ circular, we are -judging that it has a real shape which is not its apparent shape, but -belongs to it intrinsically apart from its appearance. But this real -shape, which is what concerns science, must be in a real space, not -the same as anybody's _apparent_ space. The real space is public, the -apparent space is private to the percipient. In different people's -_private_ spaces the same object seems to have different shapes; thus -the real space, in which it has its real shape, must be different from -the private spaces. The space of science, therefore, though _connected_ -with the spaces we see and feel, is not identical with them, and the -manner of its connexion requires investigation. - -We agreed provisionally that physical objects cannot be quite like -our sense-data, but may be regarded as _causing_ our sensations. -These physical objects are in the space of science, which we may call -'physical' space. It is important to notice that, if our sensations -are to be caused by physical objects, there must be a physical space -containing these objects and our sense-organs and nerves and brain. We -get a sensation of touch from an object when we are in contact with it; -that is to say, when some part of our body occupies a place in physical -space quite close to the space occupied by the object. We see an object -(roughly speaking) when no opaque body is between the object and our -eyes in physical space. Similarly, we only hear or smell or taste an -object when we are sufficiently near to it, or when it touches the -tongue, or has some suitable position in physical space relatively to -our body. We cannot begin to state what different sensations we shall -derive from a given object under different circumstances unless we -regard the object and our body as both in one physical space, for it is -mainly the relative positions of the object and our body that determine -what sensations we shall derive from the object. - -Now our sense-data are situated in our private spaces, either the space -of sight or the space of touch or such vaguer spaces as other senses -may give us. If, as science and common sense assume, there is one public -all-embracing physical space in which physical objects are, the relative -positions of physical objects in physical space must more or less -correspond to the relative positions of sense-data in our private -spaces. There is no difficulty in supposing this to be the case. If we -see on a road one house nearer to us than another, our other senses will -bear out the view that it is nearer; for example, it will be reached -sooner if we walk along the road. Other people will agree that the house -which looks nearer to us is nearer; the ordnance map will take the -same view; and thus everything points to a spatial relation between the -houses corresponding to the relation between the sense-data which we see -when we look at the houses. Thus we may assume that there is a physical -space in which physical objects have spatial relations corresponding to -those which the corresponding sense-data have in our private spaces. It -is this physical space which is dealt with in geometry and assumed in -physics and astronomy. - -Assuming that there is physical space, and that it does thus correspond -to private spaces, what can we know about it? We can know _only_ what is -required in order to secure the correspondence. That is to say, we can -know nothing of what it is like in itself, but we can know the sort -of arrangement of physical objects which results from their spatial -relations. We can know, for example, that the earth and moon and sun -are in one straight line during an eclipse, though we cannot know what -a physical straight line is in itself, as we know the look of a straight -line in our visual space. Thus we come to know much more about the -_relations_ of distances in physical space than about the distances -themselves; we may know that one distance is greater than another, or -that it is along the same straight line as the other, but we cannot have -that immediate acquaintance with physical distances that we have with -distances in our private spaces, or with colours or sounds or other -sense-data. We can know all those things about physical space which a -man born blind might know through other people about the space of sight; -but the kind of things which a man born blind could never know about the -space of sight we also cannot know about physical space. We can know the -properties of the relations required to preserve the correspondence with -sense-data, but we cannot know the nature of the terms between which the -relations hold. - -With regard to time, our _feeling_ of duration or of the lapse of time -is notoriously an unsafe guide as to the time that has elapsed by the -clock. Times when we are bored or suffering pain pass slowly, times when -we are agreeably occupied pass quickly, and times when we are sleeping -pass almost as if they did not exist. Thus, in so far as time is -constituted by duration, there is the same necessity for distinguishing -a public and a private time as there was in the case of space. But in so -far as time consists in an _order_ of before and after, there is no need -to make such a distinction; the time-order which events seem to have is, -so far as we can see, the same as the time-order which they do have. At -any rate no reason can be given for supposing that the two orders are -not the same. The same is usually true of space: if a regiment of men -are marching along a road, the shape of the regiment will look different -from different points of view, but the men will appear arranged in the -same order from all points of view. Hence we regard the order as true -also in physical space, whereas the shape is only supposed to correspond -to the physical space so far as is required for the preservation of the -order. - -In saying that the time-order which events seem to have is the same as -the time-order which they really have, it is necessary to guard against -a possible misunderstanding. It must not be supposed that the various -states of different physical objects have the same time-order as the -sense-data which constitute the perceptions of those objects. Considered -as physical objects, the thunder and lightning are simultaneous; that is -to say, the lightning is simultaneous with the disturbance of the air in -the place where the disturbance begins, namely, where the lightning -is. But the sense-datum which we call hearing the thunder does not take -place until the disturbance of the air has travelled as far as to where -we are. Similarly, it takes about eight minutes for the sun's light -to reach us; thus, when we see the sun we are seeing the sun of eight -minutes ago. So far as our sense-data afford evidence as to the physical -sun they afford evidence as to the physical sun of eight minutes ago; if -the physical sun had ceased to exist within the last eight minutes, that -would make no difference to the sense-data which we call 'seeing -the sun'. This affords a fresh illustration of the necessity of -distinguishing between sense-data and physical objects. - -What we have found as regards space is much the same as what we find -in relation to the correspondence of the sense-data with their -physical counterparts. If one object looks blue and another red, we may -reasonably presume that there is some corresponding difference between -the physical objects; if two objects both look blue, we may presume a -corresponding similarity. But we cannot hope to be acquainted directly -with the quality in the physical object which makes it look blue or red. -Science tells us that this quality is a certain sort of wave-motion, and -this sounds familiar, because we think of wave-motions in the space we -see. But the wave-motions must really be in physical space, with which -we have no direct acquaintance; thus the real wave-motions have not that -familiarity which we might have supposed them to have. And what holds -for colours is closely similar to what holds for other sense-data. Thus -we find that, although the _relations_ of physical objects have all -sorts of knowable properties, derived from their correspondence with the -relations of sense-data, the physical objects themselves remain unknown -in their intrinsic nature, so far at least as can be discovered by means -of the senses. The question remains whether there is any other method of -discovering the intrinsic nature of physical objects. - -The most natural, though not ultimately the most defensible, hypothesis -to adopt in the first instance, at any rate as regards visual -sense-data, would be that, though physical objects cannot, for the -reasons we have been considering, be _exactly_ like sense-data, yet they -may be more or less like. According to this view, physical objects will, -for example, really have colours, and we might, by good luck, see an -object as of the colour it really is. The colour which an object seems -to have at any given moment will in general be very similar, though -not quite the same, from many different points of view; we might thus -suppose the 'real' colour to be a sort of medium colour, intermediate -between the various shades which appear from the different points of -view. - -Such a theory is perhaps not capable of being definitely refuted, but -it can be shown to be groundless. To begin with, it is plain that the -colour we see depends only upon the nature of the light-waves that -strike the eye, and is therefore modified by the medium intervening -between us and the object, as well as by the manner in which light is -reflected from the object in the direction of the eye. The intervening -air alters colours unless it is perfectly clear, and any strong -reflection will alter them completely. Thus the colour we see is a -result of the ray as it reaches the eye, and not simply a property of -the object from which the ray comes. Hence, also, provided certain waves -reach the eye, we shall see a certain colour, whether the object from -which the waves start has any colour or not. Thus it is quite gratuitous -to suppose that physical objects have colours, and therefore there is no -justification for making such a supposition. Exactly similar arguments -will apply to other sense-data. - -It remains to ask whether there are any general philosophical arguments -enabling us to say that, if matter is real, it must be of such and such -a nature. As explained above, very many philosophers, perhaps most, have -held that whatever is real must be in some sense mental, or at any rate -that whatever we can know anything about must be in some sense mental. -Such philosophers are called 'idealists'. Idealists tell us that what -appears as matter is really something mental; namely, either (as Leibniz -held) more or less rudimentary minds, or (as Berkeley contended) ideas -in the minds which, as we should commonly say, 'perceive' the matter. -Thus idealists deny the existence of matter as something intrinsically -different from mind, though they do not deny that our sense-data are -signs of something which exists independently of our private sensations. -In the following chapter we shall consider briefly the reasons--in my -opinion fallacious--which idealists advance in favour of their theory. - - - -CHAPTER IV. IDEALISM - -The word 'idealism' is used by different philosophers in somewhat -different senses. We shall understand by it the doctrine that whatever -exists, or at any rate whatever can be known to exist, must be in -some sense mental. This doctrine, which is very widely held among -philosophers, has several forms, and is advocated on several different -grounds. The doctrine is so widely held, and so interesting in itself, -that even the briefest survey of philosophy must give some account of -it. - -Those who are unaccustomed to philosophical speculation may be inclined -to dismiss such a doctrine as obviously absurd. There is no doubt that -common sense regards tables and chairs and the sun and moon and material -objects generally as something radically different from minds and the -contents of minds, and as having an existence which might continue if -minds ceased. We think of matter as having existed long before there -were any minds, and it is hard to think of it as a mere product of -mental activity. But whether true or false, idealism is not to be -dismissed as obviously absurd. - -We have seen that, even if physical objects do have an independent -existence, they must differ very widely from sense-data, and can only -have a _correspondence_ with sense-data, in the same sort of way in -which a catalogue has a correspondence with the things catalogued. Hence -common sense leaves us completely in the dark as to the true intrinsic -nature of physical objects, and if there were good reason to regard them -as mental, we could not legitimately reject this opinion merely because -it strikes us as strange. The truth about physical objects _must_ be -strange. It may be unattainable, but if any philosopher believes that -he has attained it, the fact that what he offers as the truth is strange -ought not to be made a ground of objection to his opinion. - -The grounds on which idealism is advocated are generally grounds derived -from the theory of knowledge, that is to say, from a discussion of the -conditions which things must satisfy in order that we may be able to -know them. The first serious attempt to establish idealism on such -grounds was that of Bishop Berkeley. He proved first, by arguments which -were largely valid, that our sense-data cannot be supposed to have an -existence independent of us, but must be, in part at least, 'in' the -mind, in the sense that their existence would not continue if there were -no seeing or hearing or touching or smelling or tasting. So far, his -contention was almost certainly valid, even if some of his arguments -were not so. But he went on to argue that sense-data were the only -things of whose existence our perceptions could assure us; and that -to be known is to be 'in' a mind, and therefore to be mental. Hence he -concluded that nothing can ever be known except what is in some mind, -and that whatever is known without being in my mind must be in some -other mind. - -In order to understand his argument, it is necessary to understand his -use of the word 'idea'. He gives the name 'idea' to anything which -is _immediately_ known, as, for example, sense-data are known. Thus a -particular colour which we see is an idea; so is a voice which we hear, -and so on. But the term is not wholly confined to sense-data. There will -also be things remembered or imagined, for with such things also we have -immediate acquaintance at the moment of remembering or imagining. All -such immediate data he calls 'ideas'. - -He then proceeds to consider common objects, such as a tree, for -instance. He shows that all we know immediately when we 'perceive' the -tree consists of ideas in his sense of the word, and he argues that -there is not the slightest ground for supposing that there is anything -real about the tree except what is perceived. Its being, he says, -consists in being perceived: in the Latin of the schoolmen its '_esse_' -is '_percipi_'. He fully admits that the tree must continue to exist -even when we shut our eyes or when no human being is near it. But this -continued existence, he says, is due to the fact that God continues to -perceive it; the 'real' tree, which corresponds to what we called the -physical object, consists of ideas in the mind of God, ideas more or -less like those we have when we see the tree, but differing in the fact -that they are permanent in God's mind so long as the tree continues -to exist. All our perceptions, according to him, consist in a -partial participation in God's perceptions, and it is because of this -participation that different people see more or less the same tree. Thus -apart from minds and their ideas there is nothing in the world, nor is -it possible that anything else should ever be known, since whatever is -known is necessarily an idea. - -There are in this argument a good many fallacies which have been -important in the history of philosophy, and which it will be as well to -bring to light. In the first place, there is a confusion engendered by -the use of the word 'idea'. We think of an idea as essentially something -in somebody's mind, and thus when we are told that a tree consists -entirely of ideas, it is natural to suppose that, if so, the tree -must be entirely in minds. But the notion of being 'in' the mind is -ambiguous. We speak of bearing a person in mind, not meaning that the -person is in our minds, but that a thought of him is in our minds. When -a man says that some business he had to arrange went clean out of his -mind, he does not mean to imply that the business itself was ever in his -mind, but only that a thought of the business was formerly in his mind, -but afterwards ceased to be in his mind. And so when Berkeley says that -the tree must be in our minds if we can know it, all that he really has -a right to say is that a thought of the tree must be in our minds. To -argue that the tree itself must be in our minds is like arguing that a -person whom we bear in mind is himself in our minds. This confusion -may seem too gross to have been really committed by any competent -philosopher, but various attendant circumstances rendered it possible. -In order to see how it was possible, we must go more deeply into the -question as to the nature of ideas. - -Before taking up the general question of the nature of ideas, we must -disentangle two entirely separate questions which arise concerning -sense-data and physical objects. We saw that, for various reasons of -detail, Berkeley was right in treating the sense-data which constitute -our perception of the tree as more or less subjective, in the sense that -they depend upon us as much as upon the tree, and would not exist if the -tree were not being perceived. But this is an entirely different point -from the one by which Berkeley seeks to prove that whatever can be -immediately known must be in a mind. For this purpose arguments of -detail as to the dependence of sense-data upon us are useless. It is -necessary to prove, generally, that by being known, things are shown to -be mental. This is what Berkeley believes himself to have done. It -is this question, and not our previous question as to the difference -between sense-data and the physical object, that must now concern us. - -Taking the word 'idea' in Berkeley's sense, there are two quite distinct -things to be considered whenever an idea is before the mind. There is -on the one hand the thing of which we are aware--say the colour of my -table--and on the other hand the actual awareness itself, the mental act -of apprehending the thing. The mental act is undoubtedly mental, but is -there any reason to suppose that the thing apprehended is in any sense -mental? Our previous arguments concerning the colour did not prove it to -be mental; they only proved that its existence depends upon the relation -of our sense organs to the physical object--in our case, the table. That -is to say, they proved that a certain colour will exist, in a certain -light, if a normal eye is placed at a certain point relatively to -the table. They did not prove that the colour is in the mind of the -percipient. - -Berkeley's view, that obviously the colour must be in the mind, seems -to depend for its plausibility upon confusing the thing apprehended -with the act of apprehension. Either of these might be called an 'idea'; -probably either would have been called an idea by Berkeley. The act -is undoubtedly in the mind; hence, when we are thinking of the act, -we readily assent to the view that ideas must be in the mind. Then, -forgetting that this was only true when ideas were taken as acts of -apprehension, we transfer the proposition that 'ideas are in the mind' -to ideas in the other sense, i.e. to the things apprehended by our acts -of apprehension. Thus, by an unconscious equivocation, we arrive at the -conclusion that whatever we can apprehend must be in our minds. This -seems to be the true analysis of Berkeley's argument, and the ultimate -fallacy upon which it rests. - -This question of the distinction between act and object in our -apprehending of things is vitally important, since our whole power of -acquiring knowledge is bound up with it. The faculty of being acquainted -with things other than itself is the main characteristic of a mind. -Acquaintance with objects essentially consists in a relation between the -mind and something other than the mind; it is this that constitutes the -mind's power of knowing things. If we say that the things known must be -in the mind, we are either unduly limiting the mind's power of knowing, -or we are uttering a mere tautology. We are uttering a mere tautology if -we mean by '_in_ the mind' the same as by '_before_ the mind', i.e. if -we mean merely being apprehended by the mind. But if we mean this, we -shall have to admit that what, _in this sense_, is in the mind, -may nevertheless be not mental. Thus when we realize the nature of -knowledge, Berkeley's argument is seen to be wrong in substance as well -as in form, and his grounds for supposing that 'ideas'--i.e. the objects -apprehended--must be mental, are found to have no validity whatever. -Hence his grounds in favour of idealism may be dismissed. It remains to -see whether there are any other grounds. - -It is often said, as though it were a self-evident truism, that we -cannot know that anything exists which we do not know. It is inferred -that whatever can in any way be relevant to our experience must be at -least capable of being known by us; whence it follows that if matter -were essentially something with which we could not become acquainted, -matter would be something which we could not know to exist, and which -could have for us no importance whatever. It is generally also implied, -for reasons which remain obscure, that what can have no importance for -us cannot be real, and that therefore matter, if it is not composed of -minds or of mental ideas, is impossible and a mere chimaera. - -To go into this argument fully at our present stage would be impossible, -since it raises points requiring a considerable preliminary discussion; -but certain reasons for rejecting the argument may be noticed at -once. To begin at the end: there is no reason why what cannot have any -_practical_ importance for us should not be real. It is true that, -if _theoretical_ importance is included, everything real is of _some_ -importance to us, since, as persons desirous of knowing the truth about -the universe, we have some interest in everything that the universe -contains. But if this sort of interest is included, it is not the case -that matter has no importance for us, provided it exists even if we -cannot know that it exists. We can, obviously, suspect that it may -exist, and wonder whether it does; hence it is connected with our desire -for knowledge, and has the importance of either satisfying or thwarting -this desire. - -Again, it is by no means a truism, and is in fact false, that we cannot -know that anything exists which we do not know. The word 'know' is here -used in two different senses. (1) In its first use it is applicable to -the sort of knowledge which is opposed to error, the sense in which -what we know is _true_, the sense which applies to our beliefs and -convictions, i.e. to what are called _judgements_. In this sense of the -word we know _that_ something is the case. This sort of knowledge may -be described as knowledge of _truths_. (2) In the second use of the word -'know' above, the word applies to our knowledge of _things_, which we -may call _acquaintance_. This is the sense in which we know sense-data. -(The distinction involved is roughly that between _savoir_ and -_connaître_ in French, or between _wissen_ and _kennen_ in German.) - -Thus the statement which seemed like a truism becomes, when re-stated, -the following: 'We can never truly judge that something with which we -are not acquainted exists.' This is by no means a truism, but on the -contrary a palpable falsehood. I have not the honour to be acquainted -with the Emperor of China, but I truly judge that he exists. It may -be said, of course, that I judge this because of other people's -acquaintance with him. This, however, would be an irrelevant retort, -since, if the principle were true, I could not know that any one else -is acquainted with him. But further: there is no reason why I should not -know of the existence of something with which nobody is acquainted. This -point is important, and demands elucidation. - -If I am acquainted with a thing which exists, my acquaintance gives -me the knowledge that it exists. But it is not true that, conversely, -whenever I can know that a thing of a certain sort exists, I or some one -else must be acquainted with the thing. What happens, in cases where I -have true judgement without acquaintance, is that the thing is known to -me by _description_, and that, in virtue of some general principle, the -existence of a thing answering to this description can be inferred -from the existence of something with which I am acquainted. In order -to understand this point fully, it will be well first to deal with -the difference between knowledge by acquaintance and knowledge by -description, and then to consider what knowledge of general principles, -if any, has the same kind of certainty as our knowledge of the existence -of our own experiences. These subjects will be dealt with in the -following chapters. - - - -CHAPTER V. KNOWLEDGE BY ACQUAINTANCE AND KNOWLEDGE BY DESCRIPTION - -In the preceding chapter we saw that there are two sorts of knowledge: -knowledge of things, and knowledge of truths. In this chapter we shall -be concerned exclusively with knowledge of things, of which in turn we -shall have to distinguish two kinds. Knowledge of things, when it is -of the kind we call knowledge by _acquaintance_, is essentially simpler -than any knowledge of truths, and logically independent of knowledge -of truths, though it would be rash to assume that human beings ever, -in fact, have acquaintance with things without at the same time knowing -some truth about them. Knowledge of things by _description_, on the -contrary, always involves, as we shall find in the course of the present -chapter, some knowledge of truths as its source and ground. But first of -all we must make clear what we mean by 'acquaintance' and what we mean -by 'description'. - -We shall say that we have _acquaintance_ with anything of which we are -directly aware, without the intermediary of any process of inference -or any knowledge of truths. Thus in the presence of my table I am -acquainted with the sense-data that make up the appearance of my -table--its colour, shape, hardness, smoothness, etc.; all these are -things of which I am immediately conscious when I am seeing and touching -my table. The particular shade of colour that I am seeing may have many -things said about it--I may say that it is brown, that it is rather -dark, and so on. But such statements, though they make me know truths -about the colour, do not make me know the colour itself any better -than I did before so far as concerns knowledge of the colour itself, as -opposed to knowledge of truths about it, I know the colour perfectly and -completely when I see it, and no further knowledge of it itself is even -theoretically possible. Thus the sense-data which make up the -appearance of my table are things with which I have acquaintance, things -immediately known to me just as they are. - -My knowledge of the table as a physical object, on the contrary, is not -direct knowledge. Such as it is, it is obtained through acquaintance -with the sense-data that make up the appearance of the table. We have -seen that it is possible, without absurdity, to doubt whether there is -a table at all, whereas it is not possible to doubt the sense-data. My -knowledge of the table is of the kind which we shall call 'knowledge -by description'. The table is 'the physical object which causes -such-and-such sense-data'. This describes the table by means of the -sense-data. In order to know anything at all about the table, we must -know truths connecting it with things with which we have acquaintance: -we must know that 'such-and-such sense-data are caused by a physical -object'. There is no state of mind in which we are directly aware of the -table; all our knowledge of the table is really knowledge of truths, and -the actual thing which is the table is not, strictly speaking, known -to us at all. We know a description, and we know that there is just one -object to which this description applies, though the object itself is -not directly known to us. In such a case, we say that our knowledge of -the object is knowledge by description. - -All our knowledge, both knowledge of things and knowledge of truths, -rests upon acquaintance as its foundation. It is therefore important to -consider what kinds of things there are with which we have acquaintance. - -Sense-data, as we have already seen, are among the things with which -we are acquainted; in fact, they supply the most obvious and striking -example of knowledge by acquaintance. But if they were the sole example, -our knowledge would be very much more restricted than it is. We should -only know what is now present to our senses: we could not know anything -about the past--not even that there was a past--nor could we know any -truths about our sense-data, for all knowledge of truths, as we shall -show, demands acquaintance with things which are of an essentially -different character from sense-data, the things which are sometimes -called 'abstract ideas', but which we shall call 'universals'. We have -therefore to consider acquaintance with other things besides sense-data -if we are to obtain any tolerably adequate analysis of our knowledge. - -The first extension beyond sense-data to be considered is acquaintance -by _memory_. It is obvious that we often remember what we have seen or -heard or had otherwise present to our senses, and that in such cases we -are still immediately aware of what we remember, in spite of the fact -that it appears as past and not as present. This immediate knowledge by -memory is the source of all our knowledge concerning the past: without -it, there could be no knowledge of the past by inference, since we -should never know that there was anything past to be inferred. - -The next extension to be considered is acquaintance by _introspection_. -We are not only aware of things, but we are often aware of being aware -of them. When I see the sun, I am often aware of my seeing the sun; thus -'my seeing the sun' is an object with which I have acquaintance. When -I desire food, I may be aware of my desire for food; thus 'my desiring -food' is an object with which I am acquainted. Similarly we may be -aware of our feeling pleasure or pain, and generally of the events which -happen in our minds. This kind of acquaintance, which may be called -self-consciousness, is the source of all our knowledge of mental things. -It is obvious that it is only what goes on in our own minds that can be -thus known immediately. What goes on in the minds of others is known -to us through our perception of their bodies, that is, through the -sense-data in us which are associated with their bodies. But for our -acquaintance with the contents of our own minds, we should be unable to -imagine the minds of others, and therefore we could never arrive at -the knowledge that they have minds. It seems natural to suppose that -self-consciousness is one of the things that distinguish men from -animals: animals, we may suppose, though they have acquaintance with -sense-data, never become aware of this acquaintance. I do not mean -that they _doubt_ whether they exist, but that they have never become -conscious of the fact that they have sensations and feelings, nor -therefore of the fact that they, the subjects of their sensations and -feelings, exist. - -We have spoken of acquaintance with the contents of our minds as -_self_-consciousness, but it is not, of course, consciousness of our -_self_: it is consciousness of particular thoughts and feelings. The -question whether we are also acquainted with our bare selves, as opposed -to particular thoughts and feelings, is a very difficult one, upon which -it would be rash to speak positively. When we try to look into ourselves -we always seem to come upon some particular thought or feeling, and not -upon the 'I' which has the thought or feeling. Nevertheless there are -some reasons for thinking that we are acquainted with the 'I', though -the acquaintance is hard to disentangle from other things. To make clear -what sort of reason there is, let us consider for a moment what our -acquaintance with particular thoughts really involves. - -When I am acquainted with 'my seeing the sun', it seems plain that I am -acquainted with two different things in relation to each other. On the -one hand there is the sense-datum which represents the sun to me, on the -other hand there is that which sees this sense-datum. All acquaintance, -such as my acquaintance with the sense-datum which represents the sun, -seems obviously a relation between the person acquainted and the object -with which the person is acquainted. When a case of acquaintance is one -with which I can be acquainted (as I am acquainted with my acquaintance -with the sense-datum representing the sun), it is plain that the person -acquainted is myself. Thus, when I am acquainted with my -seeing the sun, the whole fact with which I am acquainted is -'Self-acquainted-with-sense-datum'. - -Further, we know the truth 'I am acquainted with this sense-datum'. It -is hard to see how we could know this truth, or even understand what is -meant by it, unless we were acquainted with something which we call 'I'. -It does not seem necessary to suppose that we are acquainted with a more -or less permanent person, the same to-day as yesterday, but it does seem -as though we must be acquainted with that thing, whatever its nature, -which sees the sun and has acquaintance with sense-data. Thus, in some -sense it would seem we must be acquainted with our Selves as opposed -to our particular experiences. But the question is difficult, and -complicated arguments can be adduced on either side. Hence, although -acquaintance with ourselves seems _probably_ to occur, it is not wise to -assert that it undoubtedly does occur. - -We may therefore sum up as follows what has been said concerning -acquaintance with things that exist. We have acquaintance in sensation -with the data of the outer senses, and in introspection with the data of -what may be called the inner sense--thoughts, feelings, desires, etc.; -we have acquaintance in memory with things which have been data either -of the outer senses or of the inner sense. Further, it is probable, -though not certain, that we have acquaintance with Self, as that which -is aware of things or has desires towards things. - -In addition to our acquaintance with particular existing things, we also -have acquaintance with what we shall call _universals_, that is to say, -general ideas, such as _whiteness_, _diversity_, _brotherhood_, and so -on. Every complete sentence must contain at least one word which stands -for a universal, since all verbs have a meaning which is universal. We -shall return to universals later on, in Chapter IX; for the present, it -is only necessary to guard against the supposition that whatever we can -be acquainted with must be something particular and existent. Awareness -of universals is called _conceiving_, and a universal of which we are -aware is called a _concept_. - -It will be seen that among the objects with which we are acquainted -are not included physical objects (as opposed to sense-data), nor other -people's minds. These things are known to us by what I call 'knowledge -by description', which we must now consider. - -By a 'description' I mean any phrase of the form 'a so-and-so' or -'the so-and-so'. A phrase of the form 'a so-and-so' I shall call an -'ambiguous' description; a phrase of the form 'the so-and-so' (in the -singular) I shall call a 'definite' description. Thus 'a man' is an -ambiguous description, and 'the man with the iron mask' is a definite -description. There are various problems connected with ambiguous -descriptions, but I pass them by, since they do not directly concern -the matter we are discussing, which is the nature of our knowledge -concerning objects in cases where we know that there is an object -answering to a definite description, though we are not acquainted with -any such object. This is a matter which is concerned exclusively with -definite descriptions. I shall therefore, in the sequel, speak simply of -'descriptions' when I mean 'definite descriptions'. Thus a description -will mean any phrase of the form 'the so-and-so' in the singular. - -We shall say that an object is 'known by description' when we know that -it is 'the so-and-so', i.e. when we know that there is one object, and -no more, having a certain property; and it will generally be implied -that we do not have knowledge of the same object by acquaintance. We -know that the man with the iron mask existed, and many propositions -are known about him; but we do not know who he was. We know that the -candidate who gets the most votes will be elected, and in this case we -are very likely also acquainted (in the only sense in which one can -be acquainted with some one else) with the man who is, in fact, the -candidate who will get most votes; but we do not know which of the -candidates he is, i.e. we do not know any proposition of the form 'A is -the candidate who will get most votes' where A is one of the candidates -by name. We shall say that we have 'merely descriptive knowledge' of the -so-and-so when, although we know that the so-and-so exists, and although -we may possibly be acquainted with the object which is, in fact, the -so-and-so, yet we do not know any proposition '_a_ is the so-and-so', -where _a_ is something with which we are acquainted. - -When we say 'the so-and-so exists', we mean that there is just one -object which is the so-and-so. The proposition '_a_ is the so-and-so' -means that _a_ has the property so-and-so, and nothing else has. 'Mr. -A. is the Unionist candidate for this constituency' means 'Mr. A. is -a Unionist candidate for this constituency, and no one else is'. 'The -Unionist candidate for this constituency exists' means 'some one is a -Unionist candidate for this constituency, and no one else is'. Thus, -when we are acquainted with an object which is the so-and-so, we know -that the so-and-so exists; but we may know that the so-and-so exists -when we are not acquainted with any object which we know to be the -so-and-so, and even when we are not acquainted with any object which, in -fact, is the so-and-so. - -Common words, even proper names, are usually really descriptions. That -is to say, the thought in the mind of a person using a proper name -correctly can generally only be expressed explicitly if we replace the -proper name by a description. Moreover, the description required to -express the thought will vary for different people, or for the same -person at different times. The only thing constant (so long as the name -is rightly used) is the object to which the name applies. But so long as -this remains constant, the particular description involved usually makes -no difference to the truth or falsehood of the proposition in which the -name appears. - -Let us take some illustrations. Suppose some statement made about -Bismarck. Assuming that there is such a thing as direct acquaintance -with oneself, Bismarck himself might have used his name directly to -designate the particular person with whom he was acquainted. In this -case, if he made a judgement about himself, he himself might be a -constituent of the judgement. Here the proper name has the direct use -which it always wishes to have, as simply standing for a certain object, -and not for a description of the object. But if a person who knew -Bismarck made a judgement about him, the case is different. What this -person was acquainted with were certain sense-data which he connected -(rightly, we will suppose) with Bismarck's body. His body, as a physical -object, and still more his mind, were only known as the body and the -mind connected with these sense-data. That is, they were known by -description. It is, of course, very much a matter af chance which -characteristics of a man's appearance will come into a friend's mind -when he thinks of him; thus the description actually in the friend's -mind is accidental. The essential point is that he knows that the -various descriptions all apply to the same entity, in spite of not being -acquainted with the entity in question. - -When we, who did not know Bismarck, make a judgement about him, the -description in our minds will probably be some more or less vague mass -of historical knowledge--far more, in most cases, than is required to -identify him. But, for the sake of illustration, let us assume that we -think of him as 'the first Chancellor of the German Empire'. Here all -the words are abstract except 'German'. The word 'German' will, again, -have different meanings for different people. To some it will recall -travels in Germany, to some the look of Germany on the map, and so on. -But if we are to obtain a description which we know to be applicable, -we shall be compelled, at some point, to bring in a reference to a -particular with which we are acquainted. Such reference is involved in -any mention of past, present, and future (as opposed to definite dates), -or of here and there, or of what others have told us. Thus it would seem -that, in some way or other, a description known to be applicable to a -particular must involve some reference to a particular with which we -are acquainted, if our knowledge about the thing described is not to be -merely what follows _logically_ from the description. For example, 'the -most long-lived of men' is a description involving only universals, -which must apply to some man, but we can make no judgements concerning -this man which involve knowledge about him beyond what the description -gives. If, however, we say, 'The first Chancellor of the German Empire -was an astute diplomatist', we can only be assured of the truth of our -judgement in virtue of something with which we are acquainted--usually a -testimony heard or read. Apart from the information we convey to others, -apart from the fact about the actual Bismarck, which gives importance -to our judgement, the thought we really have contains the one or more -particulars involved, and otherwise consists wholly of concepts. - -All names of places--London, England, Europe, the Earth, the Solar -System--similarly involve, when used, descriptions which start from some -one or more particulars with which we are acquainted. I suspect that -even the Universe, as considered by metaphysics, involves such a -connexion with particulars. In logic, on the contrary, where we are -concerned not merely with what does exist, but with whatever might or -could exist or be, no reference to actual particulars is involved. - -It would seem that, when we make a statement about something only known -by description, we often _intend_ to make our statement, not in the form -involving the description, but about the actual thing described. That -is to say, when we say anything about Bismarck, we should like, if we -could, to make the judgement which Bismarck alone can make, namely, -the judgement of which he himself is a constituent. In this we are -necessarily defeated, since the actual Bismarck is unknown to us. But -we know that there is an object B, called Bismarck, and that B was an -astute diplomatist. We can thus _describe_ the proposition we should -like to affirm, namely, 'B was an astute diplomatist', where B is the -object which was Bismarck. If we are describing Bismarck as 'the first -Chancellor of the German Empire', the proposition we should like to -affirm may be described as 'the proposition asserting, concerning the -actual object which was the first Chancellor of the German Empire, that -this object was an astute diplomatist'. What enables us to communicate -in spite of the varying descriptions we employ is that we know there is -a true proposition concerning the actual Bismarck, and that however we -may vary the description (so long as the description is correct) the -proposition described is still the same. This proposition, which is -described and is known to be true, is what interests us; but we are not -acquainted with the proposition itself, and do not know it, though we -know it is true. - -It will be seen that there are various stages in the removal from -acquaintance with particulars: there is Bismarck to people who knew him; -Bismarck to those who only know of him through history; the man with -the iron mask; the longest-lived of men. These are progressively further -removed from acquaintance with particulars; the first comes as near to -acquaintance as is possible in regard to another person; in the second, -we shall still be said to know 'who Bismarck was'; in the third, we do -not know who was the man with the iron mask, though we can know many -propositions about him which are not logically deducible from the fact -that he wore an iron mask; in the fourth, finally, we know nothing -beyond what is logically deducible from the definition of the man. There -is a similar hierarchy in the region of universals. Many universals, -like many particulars, are only known to us by description. But here, -as in the case of particulars, knowledge concerning what is known by -description is ultimately reducible to knowledge concerning what is -known by acquaintance. - -The fundamental principle in the analysis of propositions containing -descriptions is this: _Every proposition which we can understand must be -composed wholly of constituents with which we are acquainted_. - -We shall not at this stage attempt to answer all the objections which -may be urged against this fundamental principle. For the present, we -shall merely point out that, in some way or other, it must be possible -to meet these objections, for it is scarcely conceivable that we can -make a judgement or entertain a supposition without knowing what it is -that we are judging or supposing about. We must attach _some_ meaning -to the words we use, if we are to speak significantly and not utter mere -noise; and the meaning we attach to our words must be something with -which we are acquainted. Thus when, for example, we make a statement -about Julius Caesar, it is plain that Julius Caesar himself is not -before our minds, since we are not acquainted with him. We have in mind -some description of Julius Caesar: 'the man who was assassinated on the -Ides of March', 'the founder of the Roman Empire', or, perhaps, merely -'the man whose name was _Julius Caesar_'. (In this last description, -_Julius Caesar_ is a noise or shape with which we are acquainted.) -Thus our statement does not mean quite what it seems to mean, but means -something involving, instead of Julius Caesar, some description of him -which is composed wholly of particulars and universals with which we are -acquainted. - -The chief importance of knowledge by description is that it enables us -to pass beyond the limits of our private experience. In spite of the -fact that we can only know truths which are wholly composed of terms -which we have experienced in acquaintance, we can yet have knowledge by -description of things which we have never experienced. In view of the -very narrow range of our immediate experience, this result is vital, and -until it is understood, much of our knowledge must remain mysterious and -therefore doubtful. - - - -CHAPTER VI. ON INDUCTION - -In almost all our previous discussions we have been concerned in -the attempt to get clear as to our data in the way of knowledge of -existence. What things are there in the universe whose existence is -known to us owing to our being acquainted with them? So far, our answer -has been that we are acquainted with our sense-data, and, probably, -with ourselves. These we know to exist. And past sense-data which -are remembered are known to have existed in the past. This knowledge -supplies our data. - -But if we are to be able to draw inferences from these data--if we are -to know of the existence of matter, of other people, of the past before -our individual memory begins, or of the future, we must know general -principles of some kind by means of which such inferences can be drawn. -It must be known to us that the existence of some one sort of thing, A, -is a sign of the existence of some other sort of thing, B, either at -the same time as A or at some earlier or later time, as, for example, -thunder is a sign of the earlier existence of lightning. If this were -not known to us, we could never extend our knowledge beyond the -sphere of our private experience; and this sphere, as we have seen, is -exceedingly limited. The question we have now to consider is whether -such an extension is possible, and if so, how it is effected. - -Let us take as an illustration a matter about which none of us, in fact, -feel the slightest doubt. We are all convinced that the sun will rise -to-morrow. Why? Is this belief a mere blind outcome of past experience, -or can it be justified as a reasonable belief? It is not easy to find -a test by which to judge whether a belief of this kind is reasonable or -not, but we can at least ascertain what sort of general beliefs would -suffice, if true, to justify the judgement that the sun will rise -to-morrow, and the many other similar judgements upon which our actions -are based. - -It is obvious that if we are asked why we believe that the sun will rise -to-morrow, we shall naturally answer 'Because it always has risen every -day'. We have a firm belief that it will rise in the future, because it -has risen in the past. If we are challenged as to why we believe that -it will continue to rise as heretofore, we may appeal to the laws of -motion: the earth, we shall say, is a freely rotating body, and such -bodies do not cease to rotate unless something interferes from outside, -and there is nothing outside to interfere with the earth between now and -to-morrow. Of course it might be doubted whether we are quite certain -that there is nothing outside to interfere, but this is not the -interesting doubt. The interesting doubt is as to whether the laws -of motion will remain in operation until to-morrow. If this doubt is -raised, we find ourselves in the same position as when the doubt about -the sunrise was first raised. - -The _only_ reason for believing that the laws of motion will remain in -operation is that they have operated hitherto, so far as our knowledge -of the past enables us to judge. It is true that we have a greater body -of evidence from the past in favour of the laws of motion than we have -in favour of the sunrise, because the sunrise is merely a particular -case of fulfilment of the laws of motion, and there are countless other -particular cases. But the real question is: Do _any_ number of cases -of a law being fulfilled in the past afford evidence that it will be -fulfilled in the future? If not, it becomes plain that we have no ground -whatever for expecting the sun to rise to-morrow, or for expecting the -bread we shall eat at our next meal not to poison us, or for any of the -other scarcely conscious expectations that control our daily lives. It -is to be observed that all such expectations are only _probable_; thus -we have not to seek for a proof that they _must_ be fulfilled, but -only for some reason in favour of the view that they are _likely_ to be -fulfilled. - -Now in dealing with this question we must, to begin with, make an -important distinction, without which we should soon become involved -in hopeless confusions. Experience has shown us that, hitherto, the -frequent repetition of some uniform succession or coexistence has been a -_cause_ of our expecting the same succession or coexistence on the next -occasion. Food that has a certain appearance generally has a certain -taste, and it is a severe shock to our expectations when the familiar -appearance is found to be associated with an unusual taste. Things which -we see become associated, by habit, with certain tactile sensations -which we expect if we touch them; one of the horrors of a ghost (in -many ghost-stories) is that it fails to give us any sensations of touch. -Uneducated people who go abroad for the first time are so surprised as -to be incredulous when they find their native language not understood. - -And this kind of association is not confined to men; in animals also it -is very strong. A horse which has been often driven along a certain -road resists the attempt to drive him in a different direction. Domestic -animals expect food when they see the person who usually feeds them. We -know that all these rather crude expectations of uniformity are liable -to be misleading. The man who has fed the chicken every day throughout -its life at last wrings its neck instead, showing that more refined -views as to the uniformity of nature would have been useful to the -chicken. - -But in spite of the misleadingness of such expectations, they -nevertheless exist. The mere fact that something has happened a certain -number of times causes animals and men to expect that it will happen -again. Thus our instincts certainly cause us to believe that the sun -will rise to-morrow, but we may be in no better a position than the -chicken which unexpectedly has its neck wrung. We have therefore to -distinguish the fact that past uniformities _cause_ expectations as to -the future, from the question whether there is any reasonable ground for -giving weight to such expectations after the question of their validity -has been raised. - -The problem we have to discuss is whether there is any reason for -believing in what is called 'the uniformity of nature'. The belief in -the uniformity of nature is the belief that everything that has happened -or will happen is an instance of some general law to which there are no -exceptions. The crude expectations which we have been considering are -all subject to exceptions, and therefore liable to disappoint those who -entertain them. But science habitually assumes, at least as a working -hypothesis, that general rules which have exceptions can be replaced by -general rules which have no exceptions. 'Unsupported bodies in air fall' -is a general rule to which balloons and aeroplanes are exceptions. But -the laws of motion and the law of gravitation, which account for the -fact that most bodies fall, also account for the fact that balloons and -aeroplanes can rise; thus the laws of motion and the law of gravitation -are not subject to these exceptions. - -The belief that the sun will rise to-morrow might be falsified if the -earth came suddenly into contact with a large body which destroyed its -rotation; but the laws of motion and the law of gravitation would not -be infringed by such an event. The business of science is to find -uniformities, such as the laws of motion and the law of gravitation, -to which, so far as our experience extends, there are no exceptions. -In this search science has been remarkably successful, and it may be -conceded that such uniformities have held hitherto. This brings us back -to the question: Have we any reason, assuming that they have always held -in the past, to suppose that they will hold in the future? - -It has been argued that we have reason to know that the future will -resemble the past, because what was the future has constantly become the -past, and has always been found to resemble the past, so that we really -have experience of the future, namely of times which were formerly -future, which we may call past futures. But such an argument really begs -the very question at issue. We have experience of past futures, but not -of future futures, and the question is: Will future futures resemble -past futures? This question is not to be answered by an argument which -starts from past futures alone. We have therefore still to seek for some -principle which shall enable us to know that the future will follow the -same laws as the past. - -The reference to the future in this question is not essential. The same -question arises when we apply the laws that work in our experience to -past things of which we have no experience--as, for example, in geology, -or in theories as to the origin of the Solar System. The question we -really have to ask is: 'When two things have been found to be often -associated, and no instance is known of the one occurring without the -other, does the occurrence of one of the two, in a fresh instance, give -any good ground for expecting the other?' On our answer to this question -must depend the validity of the whole of our expectations as to the -future, the whole of the results obtained by induction, and in fact -practically all the beliefs upon which our daily life is based. - -It must be conceded, to begin with, that the fact that two things have -been found often together and never apart does not, by itself, suffice -to _prove_ demonstratively that they will be found together in the next -case we examine. The most we can hope is that the oftener things are -found together, the more probable it becomes that they will be found -together another time, and that, if they have been found together often -enough, the probability will amount _almost_ to certainty. It can -never quite reach certainty, because we know that in spite of frequent -repetitions there sometimes is a failure at the last, as in the case -of the chicken whose neck is wrung. Thus probability is all we ought to -seek. - -It might be urged, as against the view we are advocating, that we -know all natural phenomena to be subject to the reign of law, and that -sometimes, on the basis of observation, we can see that only one law -can possibly fit the facts of the case. Now to this view there are two -answers. The first is that, even if _some_ law which has no exceptions -applies to our case, we can never, in practice, be sure that we have -discovered that law and not one to which there are exceptions. The -second is that the reign of law would seem to be itself only probable, -and that our belief that it will hold in the future, or in unexamined -cases in the past, is itself based upon the very principle we are -examining. - -The principle we are examining may be called the _principle of -induction_, and its two parts may be stated as follows: - -(a) When a thing of a certain sort A has been found to be associated -with a thing of a certain other sort B, and has never been found -dissociated from a thing of the sort B, the greater the number of cases -in which A and B have been associated, the greater is the probability -that they will be associated in a fresh case in which one of them is -known to be present; - -(b) Under the same circumstances, a sufficient number of cases of -association will make the probability of a fresh association nearly a -certainty, and will make it approach certainty without limit. - -As just stated, the principle applies only to the verification of our -expectation in a single fresh instance. But we want also to know that -there is a probability in favour of the general law that things of the -sort A are _always_ associated with things of the sort B, provided a -sufficient number of cases of association are known, and no cases of -failure of association are known. The probability of the general law is -obviously less than the probability of the particular case, since if the -general law is true, the particular case must also be true, whereas -the particular case may be true without the general law being true. -Nevertheless the probability of the general law is increased by -repetitions, just as the probability of the particular case is. We may -therefore repeat the two parts of our principle as regards the general -law, thus: - -(a) The greater the number of cases in which a thing of the sort A has -been found associated with a thing of the sort B, the more probable it -is (if no cases of failure of association are known) that A is always -associated with B; - -b) Under the same circumstances, a sufficient number of cases of the -association of A with B will make it nearly certain that A is always -associated with B, and will make this general law approach certainty -without limit. - -It should be noted that probability is always relative to certain data. -In our case, the data are merely the known cases of coexistence of A and -B. There may be other data, which _might_ be taken into account, which -would gravely alter the probability. For example, a man who had seen a -great many white swans might argue, by our principle, that on the -data it was _probable_ that all swans were white, and this might be a -perfectly sound argument. The argument is not disproved by the fact that -some swans are black, because a thing may very well happen in spite of -the fact that some data render it improbable. In the case of the swans, -a man might know that colour is a very variable characteristic in many -species of animals, and that, therefore, an induction as to colour is -peculiarly liable to error. But this knowledge would be a fresh datum, -by no means proving that the probability relatively to our previous data -had been wrongly estimated. The fact, therefore, that things often fail -to fulfil our expectations is no evidence that our expectations will not -_probably_ be fulfilled in a given case or a given class of cases. Thus -our inductive principle is at any rate not capable of being _disproved_ -by an appeal to experience. - -The inductive principle, however, is equally incapable of being _proved_ -by an appeal to experience. Experience might conceivably confirm -the inductive principle as regards the cases that have been already -examined; but as regards unexamined cases, it is the inductive principle -alone that can justify any inference from what has been examined to what -has not been examined. All arguments which, on the basis of experience, -argue as to the future or the unexperienced parts of the past or -present, assume the inductive principle; hence we can never use -experience to prove the inductive principle without begging the -question. Thus we must either accept the inductive principle on the -ground of its intrinsic evidence, or forgo all justification of our -expectations about the future. If the principle is unsound, we have no -reason to expect the sun to rise to-morrow, to expect bread to be more -nourishing than a stone, or to expect that if we throw ourselves off -the roof we shall fall. When we see what looks like our best friend -approaching us, we shall have no reason to suppose that his body is not -inhabited by the mind of our worst enemy or of some total stranger. All -our conduct is based upon associations which have worked in the past, -and which we therefore regard as likely to work in the future; and this -likelihood is dependent for its validity upon the inductive principle. - -The general principles of science, such as the belief in the reign -of law, and the belief that every event must have a cause, are as -completely dependent upon the inductive principle as are the beliefs of -daily life All such general principles are believed because mankind have -found innumerable instances of their truth and no instances of their -falsehood. But this affords no evidence for their truth in the future, -unless the inductive principle is assumed. - -Thus all knowledge which, on a basis of experience tells us something -about what is not experienced, is based upon a belief which experience -can neither confirm nor confute, yet which, at least in its more -concrete applications, appears to be as firmly rooted in us as many -of the facts of experience. The existence and justification of such -beliefs--for the inductive principle, as we shall see, is not the only -example--raises some of the most difficult and most debated problems of -philosophy. We will, in the next chapter, consider briefly what may be -said to account for such knowledge, and what is its scope and its degree -of certainty. - - - -CHAPTER VII. ON OUR KNOWLEDGE OF GENERAL PRINCIPLES - -We saw in the preceding chapter that the principle of induction, while -necessary to the validity of all arguments based on experience, -is itself not capable of being proved by experience, and yet is -unhesitatingly believed by every one, at least in all its concrete -applications. In these characteristics the principle of induction does -not stand alone. There are a number of other principles which cannot be -proved or disproved by experience, but are used in arguments which start -from what is experienced. - -Some of these principles have even greater evidence than the principle -of induction, and the knowledge of them has the same degree of certainty -as the knowledge of the existence of sense-data. They constitute the -means of drawing inferences from what is given in sensation; and if what -we infer is to be true, it is just as necessary that our principles -of inference should be true as it is that our data should be true. The -principles of inference are apt to be overlooked because of their -very obviousness--the assumption involved is assented to without our -realizing that it is an assumption. But it is very important to realize -the use of principles of inference, if a correct theory of knowledge -is to be obtained; for our knowledge of them raises interesting and -difficult questions. - -In all our knowledge of general principles, what actually happens -is that first of all we realize some particular application of the -principle, and then we realize that the particularity is irrelevant, and -that there is a generality which may equally truly be affirmed. This is -of course familiar in such matters as teaching arithmetic: 'two and -two are four' is first learnt in the case of some particular pair of -couples, and then in some other particular case, and so on, until at -last it becomes possible to see that it is true of any pair of couples. -The same thing happens with logical principles. Suppose two men are -discussing what day of the month it is. One of them says, 'At least you -will admit that _if_ yesterday was the 15th to-day must be the 16th.' -'Yes', says the other, 'I admit that.' 'And you know', the first -continues, 'that yesterday was the 15th, because you dined with Jones, -and your diary will tell you that was on the 15th.' 'Yes', says the -second; 'therefore to-day _is_ the 16th.' - -Now such an argument is not hard to follow; and if it is granted that -its premisses are true in fact, no one will deny that the conclusion -must also be true. But it depends for its truth upon an instance of a -general logical principle. The logical principle is as follows: 'Suppose -it known that _if_ this is true, then that is true. Suppose it also -known that this _is_ true, then it follows that that is true.' When it -is the case that if this is true, that is true, we shall say that this -'implies' that, and that that 'follows from' this. Thus our principle -states that if this implies that, and this is true, then that is true. -In other words, 'anything implied by a true proposition is true', or -'whatever follows from a true proposition is true'. - -This principle is really involved--at least, concrete instances of it -are involved--in all demonstrations. Whenever one thing which we believe -is used to prove something else, which we consequently believe, this -principle is relevant. If any one asks: 'Why should I accept the results -of valid arguments based on true premisses?' we can only answer by -appealing to our principle. In fact, the truth of the principle is -impossible to doubt, and its obviousness is so great that at first sight -it seems almost trivial. Such principles, however, are not trivial to -the philosopher, for they show that we may have indubitable knowledge -which is in no way derived from objects of sense. - -The above principle is merely one of a certain number of self-evident -logical principles. Some at least of these principles must be granted -before any argument or proof becomes possible. When some of them have -been granted, others can be proved, though these others, so long as they -are simple, are just as obvious as the principles taken for granted. For -no very good reason, three of these principles have been singled out by -tradition under the name of 'Laws of Thought'. - -They are as follows: - -(1) _The law of identity_: 'Whatever is, is.' - -(2) _The law of contradiction_: 'Nothing can both be and not be.' - -(3) _The law of excluded middle_: 'Everything must either be or not be.' - -These three laws are samples of self-evident logical principles, but -are not really more fundamental or more self-evident than various other -similar principles: for instance, the one we considered just now, which -states that what follows from a true premiss is true. The name 'laws of -thought' is also misleading, for what is important is not the fact that -we think in accordance with these laws, but the fact that things behave -in accordance with them; in other words, the fact that when we think in -accordance with them we think _truly_. But this is a large question, to -which we must return at a later stage. - -In addition to the logical principles which enable us to prove from -a given premiss that something is _certainly_ true, there are other -logical principles which enable us to prove, from a given premiss, -that there is a greater or less probability that something is true. An -example of such principles--perhaps the most important example is the -inductive principle, which we considered in the preceding chapter. - -One of the great historic controversies in philosophy is the controversy -between the two schools called respectively 'empiricists' and -'rationalists'. The empiricists--who are best represented by the -British philosophers, Locke, Berkeley, and Hume--maintained that all -our knowledge is derived from experience; the rationalists--who are -represented by the Continental philosophers of the seventeenth century, -especially Descartes and Leibniz--maintained that, in addition to what -we know by experience, there are certain 'innate ideas' and 'innate -principles', which we know independently of experience. It has now -become possible to decide with some confidence as to the truth or -falsehood of these opposing schools. It must be admitted, for the -reasons already stated, that logical principles are known to us, and -cannot be themselves proved by experience, since all proof presupposes -them. In this, therefore, which was the most important point of the -controversy, the rationalists were in the right. - -On the other hand, even that part of our knowledge which is _logically_ -independent of experience (in the sense that experience cannot prove -it) is yet elicited and caused by experience. It is on occasion of -particular experiences that we become aware of the general laws which -their connexions exemplify. It would certainly be absurd to suppose that -there are innate principles in the sense that babies are born with a -knowledge of everything which men know and which cannot be deduced from -what is experienced. For this reason, the word 'innate' would not now be -employed to describe our knowledge of logical principles. The phrase -'_a priori_' is less objectionable, and is more usual in modern writers. -Thus, while admitting that all knowledge is elicited and caused by -experience, we shall nevertheless hold that some knowledge is _a -priori_, in the sense that the experience which makes us think of it -does not suffice to prove it, but merely so directs our attention that -we see its truth without requiring any proof from experience. - -There is another point of great importance, in which the empiricists -were in the right as against the rationalists. Nothing can be known to -_exist_ except by the help of experience. That is to say, if we wish to -prove that something of which we have no direct experience exists, we -must have among our premisses the existence of one or more things of -which we have direct experience. Our belief that the Emperor of China -exists, for example, rests upon testimony, and testimony consists, -in the last analysis, of sense-data seen or heard in reading or being -spoken to. Rationalists believed that, from general consideration as -to what must be, they could deduce the existence of this or that in the -actual world. In this belief they seem to have been mistaken. All the -knowledge that we can acquire _a priori_ concerning existence seems -to be hypothetical: it tells us that if one thing exists, another must -exist, or, more generally, that if one proposition is true, another must -be true. This is exemplified by the principles we have already dealt -with, such as '_if_ this is true, and this implies that, then that is -true', or '_if_ this and that have been repeatedly found connected, they -will probably be connected in the next instance in which one of them is -found'. Thus the scope and power of _a priori_ principles is strictly -limited. All knowledge that something exists must be in part dependent -on experience. When anything is known immediately, its existence is -known by experience alone; when anything is proved to exist, without -being known immediately, both experience and _a priori_ principles must -be required in the proof. Knowledge is called _empirical_ when it rests -wholly or partly upon experience. Thus all knowledge which asserts -existence is empirical, and the only _a priori_ knowledge concerning -existence is hypothetical, giving connexions among things that exist or -may exist, but not giving actual existence. - -_A priori_ knowledge is not all of the logical kind we have been -hitherto considering. Perhaps the most important example of non-logical -_a priori_ knowledge is knowledge as to ethical value. I am not speaking -of judgements as to what is useful or as to what is virtuous, for such -judgements do require empirical premisses; I am speaking of judgements -as to the intrinsic desirability of things. If something is useful, it -must be useful because it secures some end; the end must, if we have -gone far enough, be valuable on its own account, and not merely because -it is useful for some further end. Thus all judgements as to what is -useful depend upon judgements as to what has value on its own account. - -We judge, for example, that happiness is more desirable than misery, -knowledge than ignorance, goodwill than hatred, and so on. Such -judgements must, in part at least, be immediate and _a priori_. Like our -previous _a priori_ judgements, they may be elicited by experience, and -indeed they must be; for it seems not possible to judge whether anything -is intrinsically valuable unless we have experienced something of -the same kind. But it is fairly obvious that they cannot be proved by -experience; for the fact that a thing exists or does not exist cannot -prove either that it is good that it should exist or that it is bad. The -pursuit of this subject belongs to ethics, where the impossibility of -deducing what ought to be from what is has to be established. In the -present connexion, it is only important to realize that knowledge as to -what is intrinsically of value is _a priori_ in the same sense in -which logic is _a priori_, namely in the sense that the truth of such -knowledge can be neither proved nor disproved by experience. - -All pure mathematics is _a priori_, like logic. This was strenuously -denied by the empirical philosophers, who maintained that experience was -as much the source of our knowledge of arithmetic as of our knowledge of -geography. They maintained that by the repeated experience of seeing two -things and two other things, and finding that altogether they made four -things, we were led by induction to the conclusion that two things -and two other things would _always_ make four things altogether. If, -however, this were the source of our knowledge that two and two are -four, we should proceed differently, in persuading ourselves of its -truth, from the way in which we do actually proceed. In fact, a certain -number of instances are needed to make us think of two abstractly, -rather than of two coins or two books or two people, or two of any other -specified kind. But as soon as we are able to divest our thoughts of -irrelevant particularity, we become able to see the general principle -that two and two are four; any one instance is seen to be _typical_, and -the examination of other instances becomes unnecessary.(1) - -(1) Cf. A. N. Whitehead, _Introduction to Mathematics_ (Home University -Library). - -The same thing is exemplified in geometry. If we want to prove some -property of _all_ triangles, we draw some one triangle and reason about -it; but we can avoid making use of any property which it does not share -with all other triangles, and thus, from our particular case, we obtain -a general result. We do not, in fact, feel our certainty that two and -two are four increased by fresh instances, because, as soon as we have -seen the truth of this proposition, our certainty becomes so great as -to be incapable of growing greater. Moreover, we feel some quality of -necessity about the proposition 'two and two are four', which is -absent from even the best attested empirical generalizations. Such -generalizations always remain mere facts: we feel that there might be a -world in which they were false, though in the actual world they happen -to be true. In any possible world, on the contrary, we feel that two -and two would be four: this is not a mere fact, but a necessity to which -everything actual and possible must conform. - -The case may be made clearer by considering a genuinely-empirical -generalization, such as 'All men are mortal.' It is plain that we -believe this proposition, in the first place, because there is no known -instance of men living beyond a certain age, and in the second place -because there seem to be physiological grounds for thinking that an -organism such as a man's body must sooner or later wear out. Neglecting -the second ground, and considering merely our experience of men's -mortality, it is plain that we should not be content with one quite -clearly understood instance of a man dying, whereas, in the case of 'two -and two are four', one instance does suffice, when carefully considered, -to persuade us that the same must happen in any other instance. Also -we can be forced to admit, on reflection, that there may be some doubt, -however slight, as to whether _all_ men are mortal. This may be made -plain by the attempt to imagine two different worlds, in one of which -there are men who are not mortal, while in the other two and two make -five. When Swift invites us to consider the race of Struldbugs who never -die, we are able to acquiesce in imagination. But a world where two -and two make five seems quite on a different level. We feel that such a -world, if there were one, would upset the whole fabric of our knowledge -and reduce us to utter doubt. - -The fact is that, in simple mathematical judgements such as 'two and two -are four', and also in many judgements of logic, we can know the general -proposition without inferring it from instances, although some instance -is usually necessary to make clear to us what the general proposition -means. This is why there is real utility in the process of _deduction_, -which goes from the general to the general, or from the general to the -particular, as well as in the process of _induction_, which goes from -the particular to the particular, or from the particular to the general. -It is an old debate among philosophers whether deduction ever gives -_new_ knowledge. We can now see that in certain cases, at least, it does -do so. If we already know that two and two always make four, and we -know that Brown and Jones are two, and so are Robinson and Smith, we can -deduce that Brown and Jones and Robinson and Smith are four. This is -new knowledge, not contained in our premisses, because the general -proposition, 'two and two are four', never told us there were such -people as Brown and Jones and Robinson and Smith, and the particular -premisses do not tell us that there were four of them, whereas the -particular proposition deduced does tell us both these things. - -But the newness of the knowledge is much less certain if we take the -stock instance of deduction that is always given in books on logic, -namely, 'All men are mortal; Socrates is a man, therefore Socrates is -mortal.' In this case, what we really know beyond reasonable doubt is -that certain men, A, B, C, were mortal, since, in fact, they have died. -If Socrates is one of these men, it is foolish to go the roundabout way -through 'all men are mortal' to arrive at the conclusion that _probably_ -Socrates is mortal. If Socrates is not one of the men on whom our -induction is based, we shall still do better to argue straight from our -A, B, C, to Socrates, than to go round by the general proposition, 'all -men are mortal'. For the probability that Socrates is mortal is greater, -on our data, than the probability that all men are mortal. (This is -obvious, because if all men are mortal, so is Socrates; but if Socrates -is mortal, it does not follow that all men are mortal.) Hence we shall -reach the conclusion that Socrates is mortal with a greater approach to -certainty if we make our argument purely inductive than if we go by way -of 'all men are mortal' and then use deduction. - -This illustrates the difference between general propositions known _a -priori_ such as 'two and two are four', and empirical generalizations -such as 'all men are mortal'. In regard to the former, deduction is the -right mode of argument, whereas in regard to the latter, induction is -always theoretically preferable, and warrants a greater confidence in -the truth of our conclusion, because all empirical generalizations are -more uncertain than the instances of them. - -We have now seen that there are propositions known _a priori_, and that -among them are the propositions of logic and pure mathematics, as well -as the fundamental propositions of ethics. The question which must -next occupy us is this: How is it possible that there should be such -knowledge? And more particularly, how can there be knowledge of general -propositions in cases where we have not examined all the instances, and -indeed never can examine them all, because their number is infinite? -These questions, which were first brought prominently forward by -the German philosopher Kant (1724-1804), are very difficult, and -historically very important. - - - -CHAPTER VIII. HOW _A PRIORI_ KNOWLEDGE IS POSSIBLE - -Immanuel Kant is generally regarded as the greatest of the modern -philosophers. Though he lived through the Seven Years War and the -French Revolution, he never interrupted his teaching of philosophy at -Königsberg in East Prussia. His most distinctive contribution was the -invention of what he called the 'critical' philosophy, which, assuming -as a datum that there is knowledge of various kinds, inquired how such -knowledge comes to be possible, and deduced, from the answer to this -inquiry, many metaphysical results as to the nature of the world. -Whether these results were valid may well be doubted. But Kant -undoubtedly deserves credit for two things: first, for having perceived -that we have _a priori_ knowledge which is not purely 'analytic', i.e. -such that the opposite would be self-contradictory, and secondly, -for having made evident the philosophical importance of the theory of -knowledge. - -Before the time of Kant, it was generally held that whatever knowledge -was _a priori_ must be 'analytic'. What this word means will be best -illustrated by examples. If I say, 'A bald man is a man', 'A plane -figure is a figure', 'A bad poet is a poet', I make a purely analytic -judgement: the subject spoken about is given as having at least two -properties, of which one is singled out to be asserted of it. Such -propositions as the above are trivial, and would never be enunciated -in real life except by an orator preparing the way for a piece of -sophistry. They are called 'analytic' because the predicate is obtained -by merely analysing the subject. Before the time of Kant it was thought -that all judgements of which we could be certain _a priori_ were of this -kind: that in all of them there was a predicate which was only part -of the subject of which it was asserted. If this were so, we should be -involved in a definite contradiction if we attempted to deny anything -that could be known _a priori_. 'A bald man is not bald' would assert -and deny baldness of the same man, and would therefore contradict -itself. Thus according to the philosophers before Kant, the law of -contradiction, which asserts that nothing can at the same time have and -not have a certain property, sufficed to establish the truth of all _a -priori_ knowledge. - -Hume (1711-76), who preceded Kant, accepting the usual view as to what -makes knowledge _a priori_, discovered that, in many cases which had -previously been supposed analytic, and notably in the case of cause and -effect, the connexion was really synthetic. Before Hume, rationalists at -least had supposed that the effect could be logically deduced from the -cause, if only we had sufficient knowledge. Hume argued--correctly, as -would now be generally admitted--that this could not be done. Hence he -inferred the far more doubtful proposition that nothing could be known -_a priori_ about the connexion of cause and effect. Kant, who had been -educated in the rationalist tradition, was much perturbed by Hume's -scepticism, and endeavoured to find an answer to it. He perceived that -not only the connexion of cause and effect, but all the propositions -of arithmetic and geometry, are 'synthetic', i.e. not analytic: in -all these propositions, no analysis of the subject will reveal the -predicate. His stock instance was the proposition 7 + 5 = 12. He pointed -out, quite truly, that 7 and 5 have to be put together to give 12: the -idea of 12 is not contained in them, nor even in the idea of adding them -together. Thus he was led to the conclusion that all pure mathematics, -though _a priori_, is synthetic; and this conclusion raised a new -problem of which he endeavoured to find the solution. - -The question which Kant put at the beginning of his philosophy, namely -'How is pure mathematics possible?' is an interesting and difficult one, -to which every philosophy which is not purely sceptical must find -some answer. The answer of the pure empiricists, that our mathematical -knowledge is derived by induction from particular instances, we have -already seen to be inadequate, for two reasons: first, that the validity -of the inductive principle itself cannot be proved by induction; -secondly, that the general propositions of mathematics, such as 'two -and two always make four', can obviously be known with certainty by -consideration of a single instance, and gain nothing by enumeration of -other cases in which they have been found to be true. Thus our knowledge -of the general propositions of mathematics (and the same applies to -logic) must be accounted for otherwise than our (merely probable) -knowledge of empirical generalizations such as 'all men are mortal'. - -The problem arises through the fact that such knowledge is general, -whereas all experience is particular. It seems strange that we should -apparently be able to know some truths in advance about particular -things of which we have as yet no experience; but it cannot easily be -doubted that logic and arithmetic will apply to such things. We do not -know who will be the inhabitants of London a hundred years hence; but -we know that any two of them and any other two of them will make four of -them. This apparent power of anticipating facts about things of which -we have no experience is certainly surprising. Kant's solution of the -problem, though not valid in my opinion, is interesting. It is, however, -very difficult, and is differently understood by different philosophers. -We can, therefore, only give the merest outline of it, and even that -will be thought misleading by many exponents of Kant's system. - -What Kant maintained was that in all our experience there are two -elements to be distinguished, the one due to the object (i.e. to what we -have called the 'physical object'), the other due to our own nature. We -saw, in discussing matter and sense-data, that the physical object is -different from the associated sense-data, and that the sense-data are to -be regarded as resulting from an interaction between the physical -object and ourselves. So far, we are in agreement with Kant. But what -is distinctive of Kant is the way in which he apportions the shares of -ourselves and the physical object respectively. He considers that the -crude material given in sensation--the colour, hardness, etc.--is due -to the object, and that what we supply is the arrangement in space -and time, and all the relations between sense-data which result from -comparison or from considering one as the cause of the other or in any -other way. His chief reason in favour of this view is that we seem -to have _a priori_ knowledge as to space and time and causality and -comparison, but not as to the actual crude material of sensation. We can -be sure, he says, that anything we shall ever experience must show the -characteristics affirmed of it in our _a priori_ knowledge, because -these characteristics are due to our own nature, and therefore -nothing can ever come into our experience without acquiring these -characteristics. - -The physical object, which he calls the 'thing in itself',(1) he regards -as essentially unknowable; what can be known is the object as we have it -in experience, which he calls the 'phenomenon'. The phenomenon, being -a joint product of us and the thing in itself, is sure to have those -characteristics which are due to us, and is therefore sure to conform -to our _a priori_ knowledge. Hence this knowledge, though true of all -actual and possible experience, must not be supposed to apply outside -experience. Thus in spite of the existence of _a priori_ knowledge, we -cannot know anything about the thing in itself or about what is not -an actual or possible object of experience. In this way he tries to -reconcile and harmonize the contentions of the rationalists with the -arguments of the empiricists. - -(1) Kant's 'thing in itself' is identical in _definition_ with -the physical object, namely, it is the cause of sensations. In the -properties deduced from the definition it is not identical, since Kant -held (in spite of some inconsistency as regards cause) that we can know -that none of the categories are applicable to the 'thing in itself'. - -Apart from minor grounds on which Kant's philosophy may be criticized, -there is one main objection which seems fatal to any attempt to deal -with the problem of _a priori_ knowledge by his method. The thing to -be accounted for is our certainty that the facts must always conform to -logic and arithmetic. To say that logic and arithmetic are contributed -by us does not account for this. Our nature is as much a fact of the -existing world as anything, and there can be no certainty that it will -remain constant. It might happen, if Kant is right, that to-morrow -our nature would so change as to make two and two become five. This -possibility seems never to have occurred to him, yet it is one which -utterly destroys the certainty and universality which he is anxious -to vindicate for arithmetical propositions. It is true that this -possibility, formally, is inconsistent with the Kantian view that time -itself is a form imposed by the subject upon phenomena, so that our -real Self is not in time and has no to-morrow. But he will still have -to suppose that the time-order of phenomena is determined by -characteristics of what is behind phenomena, and this suffices for the -substance of our argument. - -Reflection, moreover, seems to make it clear that, if there is any truth -in our arithmetical beliefs, they must apply to things equally whether -we think of them or not. Two physical objects and two other physical -objects must make four physical objects, even if physical objects cannot -be experienced. To assert this is certainly within the scope of what -we mean when we state that two and two are four. Its truth is just as -indubitable as the truth of the assertion that two phenomena and two -other phenomena make four phenomena. Thus Kant's solution unduly limits -the scope of _a priori_ propositions, in addition to failing in the -attempt at explaining their certainty. - -Apart from the special doctrines advocated by Kant, it is very common -among philosophers to regard what is _a priori_ as in some sense mental, -as concerned rather with the way we must think than with any fact of -the outer world. We noted in the preceding chapter the three principles -commonly called 'laws of thought'. The view which led to their being so -named is a natural one, but there are strong reasons for thinking -that it is erroneous. Let us take as an illustration the law of -contradiction. This is commonly stated in the form 'Nothing can both be -and not be', which is intended to express the fact that nothing can at -once have and not have a given quality. Thus, for example, if a tree -is a beech it cannot also be not a beech; if my table is rectangular it -cannot also be not rectangular, and so on. - -Now what makes it natural to call this principle a law of _thought_ -is that it is by thought rather than by outward observation that we -persuade ourselves of its necessary truth. When we have seen that a tree -is a beech, we do not need to look again in order to ascertain whether -it is also not a beech; thought alone makes us know that this is -impossible. But the conclusion that the law of contradiction is a law -of _thought_ is nevertheless erroneous. What we believe, when we believe -the law of contradiction, is not that the mind is so made that it must -believe the law of contradiction. _This_ belief is a subsequent result -of psychological reflection, which presupposes the belief in the law of -contradiction. The belief in the law of contradiction is a belief about -things, not only about thoughts. It is not, e.g., the belief that if we -_think_ a certain tree is a beech, we cannot at the same time _think_ -that it is not a beech; it is the belief that if the tree _is_ a -beech, it cannot at the same time _be_ not a beech. Thus the law of -contradiction is about things, and not merely about thoughts; and -although belief in the law of contradiction is a thought, the law of -contradiction itself is not a thought, but a fact concerning the things -in the world. If this, which we believe when we believe the law of -contradiction, were not true of the things in the world, the fact -that we were compelled to _think_ it true would not save the law of -contradiction from being false; and this shows that the law is not a law -of _thought_. - -A similar argument applies to any other _a priori_ judgement. When we -judge that two and two are four, we are not making a judgement about our -thoughts, but about all actual or possible couples. The fact that our -minds are so constituted as to believe that two and two are four, though -it is true, is emphatically not what we assert when we assert that two -and two are four. And no fact about the constitution of our minds could -make it _true_ that two and two are four. Thus our _a priori_ knowledge, -if it is not erroneous, is not merely knowledge about the constitution -of our minds, but is applicable to whatever the world may contain, both -what is mental and what is non-mental. - -The fact seems to be that all our _a priori_ knowledge is concerned with -entities which do not, properly speaking, _exist_, either in the mental -or in the physical world. These entities are such as can be named by -parts of speech which are not substantives; they are such entities as -qualities and relations. Suppose, for instance, that I am in my room. I -exist, and my room exists; but does 'in' exist? Yet obviously the word -'in' has a meaning; it denotes a relation which holds between me and my -room. This relation is something, although we cannot say that it exists -_in the same sense_ in which I and my room exist. The relation 'in' is -something which we can think about and understand, for, if we could not -understand it, we could not understand the sentence 'I am in my room'. -Many philosophers, following Kant, have maintained that relations are -the work of the mind, that things in themselves have no relations, -but that the mind brings them together in one act of thought and thus -produces the relations which it judges them to have. - -This view, however, seems open to objections similar to those which we -urged before against Kant. It seems plain that it is not thought which -produces the truth of the proposition 'I am in my room'. It may be true -that an earwig is in my room, even if neither I nor the earwig nor any -one else is aware of this truth; for this truth concerns only the earwig -and the room, and does not depend upon anything else. Thus relations, as -we shall see more fully in the next chapter, must be placed in a world -which is neither mental nor physical. This world is of great importance -to philosophy, and in particular to the problems of _a priori_ -knowledge. In the next chapter we shall proceed to develop its nature -and its bearing upon the questions with which we have been dealing. - - - -CHAPTER IX. THE WORLD OF UNIVERSALS - -At the end of the preceding chapter we saw that such entities as -relations appear to have a being which is in some way different from -that of physical objects, and also different from that of minds and from -that of sense-data. In the present chapter we have to consider what is -the nature of this kind of being, and also what objects there are that -have this kind of being. We will begin with the latter question. - -The problem with which we are now concerned is a very old one, since it -was brought into philosophy by Plato. Plato's 'theory of ideas' is an -attempt to solve this very problem, and in my opinion it is one of the -most successful attempts hitherto made. The theory to be advocated in -what follows is largely Plato's, with merely such modifications as time -has shown to be necessary. - -The way the problem arose for Plato was more or less as follows. Let -us consider, say, such a notion as _justice_. If we ask ourselves what -justice is, it is natural to proceed by considering this, that, and the -other just act, with a view to discovering what they have in common. -They must all, in some sense, partake of a common nature, which will be -found in whatever is just and in nothing else. This common nature, in -virtue of which they are all just, will be justice itself, the pure -essence the admixture of which with facts of ordinary life produces the -multiplicity of just acts. Similarly with any other word which may be -applicable to common facts, such as 'whiteness' for example. The word -will be applicable to a number of particular things because they all -participate in a common nature or essence. This pure essence is what -Plato calls an 'idea' or 'form'. (It must not be supposed that 'ideas', -in his sense, exist in minds, though they may be apprehended by minds.) -The 'idea' _justice_ is not identical with anything that is just: it is -something other than particular things, which particular things partake -of. Not being particular, it cannot itself exist in the world of sense. -Moreover it is not fleeting or changeable like the things of sense: it -is eternally itself, immutable and indestructible. - -Thus Plato is led to a supra-sensible world, more real than the common -world of sense, the unchangeable world of ideas, which alone gives to -the world of sense whatever pale reflection of reality may belong to it. -The truly real world, for Plato, is the world of ideas; for whatever -we may attempt to say about things in the world of sense, we can only -succeed in saying that they participate in such and such ideas, which, -therefore, constitute all their character. Hence it is easy to pass -on into a mysticism. We may hope, in a mystic illumination, to see the -ideas as we see objects of sense; and we may imagine that the ideas -exist in heaven. These mystical developments are very natural, but the -basis of the theory is in logic, and it is as based in logic that we -have to consider it. - -The word 'idea' has acquired, in the course of time, many associations -which are quite misleading when applied to Plato's 'ideas'. We shall -therefore use the word 'universal' instead of the word 'idea', to -describe what Plato meant. The essence of the sort of entity that Plato -meant is that it is opposed to the particular things that are given in -sensation. We speak of whatever is given in sensation, or is of the same -nature as things given in sensation, as a _particular_; by opposition -to this, a _universal_ will be anything which may be shared by many -particulars, and has those characteristics which, as we saw, distinguish -justice and whiteness from just acts and white things. - -When we examine common words, we find that, broadly speaking, proper -names stand for particulars, while other substantives, adjectives, -prepositions, and verbs stand for universals. Pronouns stand for -particulars, but are ambiguous: it is only by the context or the -circumstances that we know what particulars they stand for. The word -'now' stands for a particular, namely the present moment; but like -pronouns, it stands for an ambiguous particular, because the present is -always changing. - -It will be seen that no sentence can be made up without at least one -word which denotes a universal. The nearest approach would be some such -statement as 'I like this'. But even here the word 'like' denotes -a universal, for I may like other things, and other people may like -things. Thus all truths involve universals, and all knowledge of truths -involves acquaintance with universals. - -Seeing that nearly all the words to be found in the dictionary stand -for universals, it is strange that hardly anybody except students of -philosophy ever realizes that there are such entities as universals. We -do not naturally dwell upon those words in a sentence which do not stand -for particulars; and if we are forced to dwell upon a word which stands -for a universal, we naturally think of it as standing for some one of -the particulars that come under the universal. When, for example, we -hear the sentence, 'Charles I's head was cut off', we may naturally -enough think of Charles I, of Charles I's head, and of the operation -of cutting off _his_ head, which are all particulars; but we do not -naturally dwell upon what is meant by the word 'head' or the word -'cut', which is a universal: We feel such words to be incomplete and -insubstantial; they seem to demand a context before anything can be -done with them. Hence we succeed in avoiding all notice of universals as -such, until the study of philosophy forces them upon our attention. - -Even among philosophers, we may say, broadly, that only those universals -which are named by adjectives or substantives have been much or often -recognized, while those named by verbs and prepositions have been -usually overlooked. This omission has had a very great effect upon -philosophy; it is hardly too much to say that most metaphysics, since -Spinoza, has been largely determined by it. The way this has occurred -is, in outline, as follows: Speaking generally, adjectives and common -nouns express qualities or properties of single things, whereas -prepositions and verbs tend to express relations between two or more -things. Thus the neglect of prepositions and verbs led to the belief -that every proposition can be regarded as attributing a property to a -single thing, rather than as expressing a relation between two or more -things. Hence it was supposed that, ultimately, there can be no such -entities as relations between things. Hence either there can be only -one thing in the universe, or, if there are many things, they cannot -possibly interact in any way, since any interaction would be a relation, -and relations are impossible. - -The first of these views, advocated by Spinoza and held in our own day -by Bradley and many other philosophers, is called _monism_; the second, -advocated by Leibniz but not very common nowadays, is called _monadism_, -because each of the isolated things is called a _monad_. Both these -opposing philosophies, interesting as they are, result, in my opinion, -from an undue attention to one sort of universals, namely the sort -represented by adjectives and substantives rather than by verbs and -prepositions. - -As a matter of fact, if any one were anxious to deny altogether that -there are such things as universals, we should find that we cannot -strictly prove that there are such entities as _qualities_, i.e. the -universals represented by adjectives and substantives, whereas we -can prove that there must be _relations_, i.e. the sort of universals -generally represented by verbs and prepositions. Let us take in -illustration the universal _whiteness_. If we believe that there is such -a universal, we shall say that things are white because they have the -quality of whiteness. This view, however, was strenuously denied by -Berkeley and Hume, who have been followed in this by later empiricists. -The form which their denial took was to deny that there are such things -as 'abstract ideas '. When we want to think of whiteness, they said, we -form an image of some particular white thing, and reason concerning this -particular, taking care not to deduce anything concerning it which we -cannot see to be equally true of any other white thing. As an account of -our actual mental processes, this is no doubt largely true. In geometry, -for example, when we wish to prove something about all triangles, we -draw a particular triangle and reason about it, taking care not to use -any characteristic which it does not share with other triangles. The -beginner, in order to avoid error, often finds it useful to draw several -triangles, as unlike each other as possible, in order to make sure that -his reasoning is equally applicable to all of them. But a difficulty -emerges as soon as we ask ourselves how we know that a thing is white -or a triangle. If we wish to avoid the universals _whiteness_ and -_triangularity_, we shall choose some particular patch of white or some -particular triangle, and say that anything is white or a triangle if it -has the right sort of resemblance to our chosen particular. But then the -resemblance required will have to be a universal. Since there are many -white things, the resemblance must hold between many pairs of particular -white things; and this is the characteristic of a universal. It will be -useless to say that there is a different resemblance for each pair, for -then we shall have to say that these resemblances resemble each other, -and thus at last we shall be forced to admit resemblance as a universal. -The relation of resemblance, therefore, must be a true universal. And -having been forced to admit this universal, we find that it is no longer -worth while to invent difficult and unplausible theories to avoid the -admission of such universals as whiteness and triangularity. - -Berkeley and Hume failed to perceive this refutation of their rejection -of 'abstract ideas', because, like their adversaries, they only thought -of _qualities_, and altogether ignored _relations_ as universals. We -have therefore here another respect in which the rationalists appear to -have been in the right as against the empiricists, although, owing to -the neglect or denial of relations, the deductions made by rationalists -were, if anything, more apt to be mistaken than those made by -empiricists. - -Having now seen that there must be such entities as universals, the next -point to be proved is that their being is not merely mental. By this is -meant that whatever being belongs to them is independent of their being -thought of or in any way apprehended by minds. We have already touched -on this subject at the end of the preceding chapter, but we must now -consider more fully what sort of being it is that belongs to universals. - -Consider such a proposition as 'Edinburgh is north of London'. Here we -have a relation between two places, and it seems plain that the relation -subsists independently of our knowledge of it. When we come to know that -Edinburgh is north of London, we come to know something which has to -do only with Edinburgh and London: we do not cause the truth of the -proposition by coming to know it, on the contrary we merely apprehend a -fact which was there before we knew it. The part of the earth's surface -where Edinburgh stands would be north of the part where London stands, -even if there were no human being to know about north and south, and -even if there were no minds at all in the universe. This is, of course, -denied by many philosophers, either for Berkeley's reasons or for -Kant's. But we have already considered these reasons, and decided that -they are inadequate. We may therefore now assume it to be true that -nothing mental is presupposed in the fact that Edinburgh is north of -London. But this fact involves the relation 'north of', which is a -universal; and it would be impossible for the whole fact to involve -nothing mental if the relation 'north of', which is a constituent part -of the fact, did involve anything mental. Hence we must admit that the -relation, like the terms it relates, is not dependent upon thought, but -belongs to the independent world which thought apprehends but does not -create. - -This conclusion, however, is met by the difficulty that the relation -'north of' does not seem to _exist_ in the same sense in which Edinburgh -and London exist. If we ask 'Where and when does this relation exist?' -the answer must be 'Nowhere and nowhen'. There is no place or time where -we can find the relation 'north of'. It does not exist in Edinburgh any -more than in London, for it relates the two and is neutral as between -them. Nor can we say that it exists at any particular time. Now -everything that can be apprehended by the senses or by introspection -exists at some particular time. Hence the relation 'north of' is -radically different from such things. It is neither in space nor in -time, neither material nor mental; yet it is something. - -It is largely the very peculiar kind of being that belongs to universals -which has led many people to suppose that they are really mental. We -can think _of_ a universal, and our thinking then exists in a perfectly -ordinary sense, like any other mental act. Suppose, for example, that -we are thinking of whiteness. Then _in one sense_ it may be said that -whiteness is 'in our mind'. We have here the same ambiguity as we noted -in discussing Berkeley in Chapter IV. In the strict sense, it is not -whiteness that is in our mind, but the act of thinking of whiteness. The -connected ambiguity in the word 'idea', which we noted at the same time, -also causes confusion here. In one sense of this word, namely the sense -in which it denotes the _object_ of an act of thought, whiteness is an -'idea'. Hence, if the ambiguity is not guarded against, we may come to -think that whiteness is an 'idea' in the other sense, i.e. an act of -thought; and thus we come to think that whiteness is mental. But in so -thinking, we rob it of its essential quality of universality. One man's -act of thought is necessarily a different thing from another man's; one -man's act of thought at one time is necessarily a different thing from -the same man's act of thought at another time. Hence, if whiteness were -the thought as opposed to its object, no two different men could think -of it, and no one man could think of it twice. That which many different -thoughts of whiteness have in common is their _object_, and this object -is different from all of them. Thus universals are not thoughts, though -when known they are the objects of thoughts. - -We shall find it convenient only to speak of things _existing_ when they -are in time, that is to say, when we can point to some time at which -they exist (not excluding the possibility of their existing at all -times). Thus thoughts and feelings, minds and physical objects exist. -But universals do not exist in this sense; we shall say that they -_subsist_ or _have being_, where 'being' is opposed to 'existence' -as being timeless. The world of universals, therefore, may also be -described as the world of being. The world of being is unchangeable, -rigid, exact, delightful to the mathematician, the logician, the builder -of metaphysical systems, and all who love perfection more than life. The -world of existence is fleeting, vague, without sharp boundaries, -without any clear plan or arrangement, but it contains all thoughts and -feelings, all the data of sense, and all physical objects, everything -that can do either good or harm, everything that makes any difference to -the value of life and the world. According to our temperaments, we shall -prefer the contemplation of the one or of the other. The one we do not -prefer will probably seem to us a pale shadow of the one we prefer, and -hardly worthy to be regarded as in any sense real. But the truth is that -both have the same claim on our impartial attention, both are real, -and both are important to the metaphysician. Indeed no sooner have we -distinguished the two worlds than it becomes necessary to consider their -relations. - -But first of all we must examine our knowledge of universals. This -consideration will occupy us in the following chapter, where we shall -find that it solves the problem of _a priori_ knowledge, from which we -were first led to consider universals. - - - -CHAPTER X. ON OUR KNOWLEDGE OF UNIVERSALS - -In regard to one man's knowledge at a given time, universals, like -particulars, may be divided into those known by acquaintance, those -known only by description, and those not known either by acquaintance or -by description. - -Let us consider first the knowledge of universals by acquaintance. It is -obvious, to begin with, that we are acquainted with such universals as -white, red, black, sweet, sour, loud, hard, etc., i.e. with qualities -which are exemplified in sense-data. When we see a white patch, we are -acquainted, in the first instance, with the particular patch; but by -seeing many white patches, we easily learn to abstract the whiteness -which they all have in common, and in learning to do this we are -learning to be acquainted with whiteness. A similar process will make us -acquainted with any other universal of the same sort. Universals of this -sort may be called 'sensible qualities'. They can be apprehended with -less effort of abstraction than any others, and they seem less removed -from particulars than other universals are. - -We come next to relations. The easiest relations to apprehend are those -which hold between the different parts of a single complex sense-datum. -For example, I can see at a glance the whole of the page on which I -am writing; thus the whole page is included in one sense-datum. But I -perceive that some parts of the page are to the left of other parts, -and some parts are above other parts. The process of abstraction in this -case seems to proceed somewhat as follows: I see successively a number -of sense-data in which one part is to the left of another; I perceive, -as in the case of different white patches, that all these sense-data -have something in common, and by abstraction I find that what they have -in common is a certain relation between their parts, namely the relation -which I call 'being to the left of'. In this way I become acquainted -with the universal relation. - -In like manner I become aware of the relation of before and after in -time. Suppose I hear a chime of bells: when the last bell of the chime -sounds, I can retain the whole chime before my mind, and I can perceive -that the earlier bells came before the later ones. Also in memory I -perceive that what I am remembering came before the present time. From -either of these sources I can abstract the universal relation of before -and after, just as I abstracted the universal relation 'being to the -left of'. Thus time-relations, like space-relations, are among those -with which we are acquainted. - -Another relation with which we become acquainted in much the same way is -resemblance. If I see simultaneously two shades of green, I can see -that they resemble each other; if I also see a shade of red: at the same -time, I can see that the two greens have more resemblance to each other -than either has to the red. In this way I become acquainted with the -universal _resemblance_ or _similarity_. - -Between universals, as between particulars, there are relations of which -we may be immediately aware. We have just seen that we can perceive -that the resemblance between two shades of green is greater than the -resemblance between a shade of red and a shade of green. Here we are -dealing with a relation, namely 'greater than', between two relations. -Our knowledge of such relations, though it requires more power of -abstraction than is required for perceiving the qualities of sense-data, -appears to be equally immediate, and (at least in some cases) equally -indubitable. Thus there is immediate knowledge concerning universals as -well as concerning sense-data. - -Returning now to the problem of _a priori_ knowledge, which we left -unsolved when we began the consideration of universals, we find -ourselves in a position to deal with it in a much more satisfactory -manner than was possible before. Let us revert to the proposition 'two -and two are four'. It is fairly obvious, in view of what has been said, -that this proposition states a relation between the universal 'two' and -the universal 'four'. This suggests a proposition which we shall -now endeavour to establish: namely, _All _a priori_ knowledge deals -exclusively with the relations of universals_. This proposition is -of great importance, and goes a long way towards solving our previous -difficulties concerning _a priori_ knowledge. - -The only case in which it might seem, at first sight, as if our -proposition were untrue, is the case in which an _a priori_ proposition -states that _all_ of one class of particulars belong to some other -class, or (what comes to the same thing) that _all_ particulars having -some one property also have some other. In this case it might seem -as though we were dealing with the particulars that have the property -rather than with the property. The proposition 'two and two are four' is -really a case in point, for this may be stated in the form 'any two -and any other two are four', or 'any collection formed of two twos is a -collection of four'. If we can show that such statements as this really -deal only with universals, our proposition may be regarded as proved. - -One way of discovering what a proposition deals with is to ask ourselves -what words we must understand--in other words, what objects we must be -acquainted with--in order to see what the proposition means. As soon as -we see what the proposition means, even if we do not yet know whether -it is true or false, it is evident that we must have acquaintance with -whatever is really dealt with by the proposition. By applying this test, -it appears that many propositions which might seem to be concerned with -particulars are really concerned only with universals. In the special -case of 'two and two are four', even when we interpret it as meaning -'any collection formed of two twos is a collection of four', it is plain -that we can understand the proposition, i.e. we can see what it is that -it asserts, as soon as we know what is meant by 'collection' and 'two' -and 'four'. It is quite unnecessary to know all the couples in the -world: if it were necessary, obviously we could never understand the -proposition, since the couples are infinitely numerous and therefore -cannot all be known to us. Thus although our general statement _implies_ -statements about particular couples, _as soon as we know that there are -such particular couples_, yet it does not itself assert or imply that -there are such particular couples, and thus fails to make any statement -whatever about any actual particular couple. The statement made is about -'couple', the universal, and not about this or that couple. - -Thus the statement 'two and two are four' deals exclusively with -universals, and therefore may be known by anybody who is acquainted -with the universals concerned and can perceive the relation between them -which the statement asserts. It must be taken as a fact, discovered -by reflecting upon our knowledge, that we have the power of sometimes -perceiving such relations between universals, and therefore of sometimes -knowing general _a priori_ propositions such as those of arithmetic and -logic. The thing that seemed mysterious, when we formerly considered -such knowledge, was that it seemed to anticipate and control experience. -This, however, we can now see to have been an error. _No_ fact -concerning anything capable of being experienced can be known -independently of experience. We know _a priori_ that two things and two -other things together make four things, but we do _not_ know _a priori_ -that if Brown and Jones are two, and Robinson and Smith are two, then -Brown and Jones and Robinson and Smith are four. The reason is that this -proposition cannot be understood at all unless we know that there are -such people as Brown and Jones and Robinson and Smith, and this we can -only know by experience. Hence, although our general proposition is _a -priori_, all its applications to actual particulars involve experience -and therefore contain an empirical element. In this way what seemed -mysterious in our _a priori_ knowledge is seen to have been based upon -an error. - -It will serve to make the point clearer if we contrast our genuine _a -priori_ judgement with an empirical generalization, such as 'all men are -mortals'. Here as before, we can _understand_ what the proposition -means as soon as we understand the universals involved, namely _man_ and -_mortal_. It is obviously unnecessary to have an individual acquaintance -with the whole human race in order to understand what our proposition -means. Thus the difference between an _a priori_ general proposition -and an empirical generalization does not come in the _meaning_ of the -proposition; it comes in the nature of the _evidence_ for it. In the -empirical case, the evidence consists in the particular instances. -We believe that all men are mortal because we know that there are -innumerable instances of men dying, and no instances of their living -beyond a certain age. We do not believe it because we see a connexion -between the universal _man_ and the universal _mortal_. It is true that -if physiology can prove, assuming the general laws that govern living -bodies, that no living organism can last for ever, that gives a -connexion between _man_ and _mortality_ which would enable us to assert -our proposition without appealing to the special evidence of _men_ -dying. But that only means that our generalization has been subsumed -under a wider generalization, for which the evidence is still of the -same kind, though more extensive. The progress of science is constantly -producing such subsumptions, and therefore giving a constantly wider -inductive basis for scientific generalizations. But although this gives -a greater _degree_ of certainty, it does not give a different _kind_: -the ultimate ground remains inductive, i.e. derived from instances, and -not an _a priori_ connexion of universals such as we have in logic and -arithmetic. - -Two opposite points are to be observed concerning _a priori_ general -propositions. The first is that, if many particular instances are known, -our general proposition may be arrived at in the first instance by -induction, and the connexion of universals may be only subsequently -perceived. For example, it is known that if we draw perpendiculars -to the sides of a triangle from the opposite angles, all three -perpendiculars meet in a point. It would be quite possible to be first -led to this proposition by actually drawing perpendiculars in many -cases, and finding that they always met in a point; this experience -might lead us to look for the general proof and find it. Such cases are -common in the experience of every mathematician. - -The other point is more interesting, and of more philosophical -importance. It is, that we may sometimes know a general proposition in -cases where we do not know a single instance of it. Take such a case as -the following: We know that any two numbers can be multiplied together, -and will give a third called their _product_. We know that all pairs -of integers the product of which is less than 100 have been actually -multiplied together, and the value of the product recorded in the -multiplication table. But we also know that the number of integers is -infinite, and that only a finite number of pairs of integers ever have -been or ever will be thought of by human beings. Hence it follows that -there are pairs of integers which never have been and never will be -thought of by human beings, and that all of them deal with integers the -product of which is over 100. Hence we arrive at the proposition: -'All products of two integers, which never have been and never will -be thought of by any human being, are over 100.' Here is a general -proposition of which the truth is undeniable, and yet, from the very -nature of the case, we can never give an instance; because any two -numbers we may think of are excluded by the terms of the proposition. - -This possibility, of knowledge of general propositions of which no -instance can be given, is often denied, because it is not perceived -that the knowledge of such propositions only requires a knowledge of the -relations of universals, and does not require any knowledge of instances -of the universals in question. Yet the knowledge of such general -propositions is quite vital to a great deal of what is generally -admitted to be known. For example, we saw, in our early chapters, -that knowledge of physical objects, as opposed to sense-data, is only -obtained by an inference, and that they are not things with which we are -acquainted. Hence we can never know any proposition of the form 'this -is a physical object', where 'this' is something immediately known. It -follows that all our knowledge concerning physical objects is such that -no actual instance can be given. We can give instances of the associated -sense-data, but we cannot give instances of the actual physical objects. -Hence our knowledge as to physical objects depends throughout upon this -possibility of general knowledge where no instance can be given. And the -same applies to our knowledge of other people's minds, or of any other -class of things of which no instance is known to us by acquaintance. - -We may now take a survey of the sources of our knowledge, as they have -appeared in the course of our analysis. We have first to distinguish -knowledge of things and knowledge of truths. In each there are two -kinds, one immediate and one derivative. Our immediate knowledge of -things, which we called _acquaintance_, consists of two sorts, according -as the things known are particulars or universals. Among particulars, we -have acquaintance with sense-data and (probably) with ourselves. Among -universals, there seems to be no principle by which we can decide which -can be known by acquaintance, but it is clear that among those that -can be so known are sensible qualities, relations of space and time, -similarity, and certain abstract logical universals. Our derivative -knowledge of things, which we call knowledge by _description_, always -involves both acquaintance with something and knowledge of truths. Our -immediate knowledge of _truths_ may be called _intuitive_ knowledge, -and the truths so known may be called _self-evident_ truths. Among such -truths are included those which merely state what is given in sense, and -also certain abstract logical and arithmetical principles, and (though -with less certainty) some ethical propositions. Our _derivative_ -knowledge of truths consists of everything that we can deduce from -self-evident truths by the use of self-evident principles of deduction. - -If the above account is correct, all our knowledge of truths depends -upon our intuitive knowledge. It therefore becomes important to consider -the nature and scope of intuitive knowledge, in much the same way as, -at an earlier stage, we considered the nature and scope of knowledge by -acquaintance. But knowledge of truths raises a further problem, which -does not arise in regard to knowledge of things, namely the problem of -_error_. Some of our beliefs turn out to be erroneous, and therefore -it becomes necessary to consider how, if at all, we can distinguish -knowledge from error. This problem does not arise with regard -to knowledge by acquaintance, for, whatever may be the object of -acquaintance, even in dreams and hallucinations, there is no error -involved so long as we do not go beyond the immediate object: error can -only arise when we regard the immediate object, i.e. the sense-datum, -as the mark of some physical object. Thus the problems connected -with knowledge of truths are more difficult than those connected -with knowledge of things. As the first of the problems connected -with knowledge of truths, let us examine the nature and scope of our -intuitive judgements. - - - -CHAPTER XI. ON INTUITIVE KNOWLEDGE - -There is a common impression that everything that we believe ought to be -capable of proof, or at least of being shown to be highly probable. It -is felt by many that a belief for which no reason can be given is an -unreasonable belief. In the main, this view is just. Almost all our -common beliefs are either inferred, or capable of being inferred, from -other beliefs which may be regarded as giving the reason for them. As a -rule, the reason has been forgotten, or has even never been consciously -present to our minds. Few of us ever ask ourselves, for example, what -reason there is to suppose the food we are just going to eat will not -turn out to be poison. Yet we feel, when challenged, that a perfectly -good reason could be found, even if we are not ready with it at the -moment. And in this belief we are usually justified. - -But let us imagine some insistent Socrates, who, whatever reason we -give him, continues to demand a reason for the reason. We must sooner -or later, and probably before very long, be driven to a point where we -cannot find any further reason, and where it becomes almost certain that -no further reason is even theoretically discoverable. Starting with the -common beliefs of daily life, we can be driven back from point to point, -until we come to some general principle, or some instance of a general -principle, which seems luminously evident, and is not itself capable -of being deduced from anything more evident. In most questions of -daily life, such as whether our food is likely to be nourishing and not -poisonous, we shall be driven back to the inductive principle, which we -discussed in Chapter VI. But beyond that, there seems to be no further -regress. The principle itself is constantly used in our reasoning, -sometimes consciously, sometimes unconsciously; but there is no -reasoning which, starting from some simpler self-evident principle, -leads us to the principle of induction as its conclusion. And the same -holds for other logical principles. Their truth is evident to us, and we -employ them in constructing demonstrations; but they themselves, or at -least some of them, are incapable of demonstration. - -Self-evidence, however, is not confined to those among general -principles which are incapable of proof. When a certain number of -logical principles have been admitted, the rest can be deduced from -them; but the propositions deduced are often just as self-evident as -those that were assumed without proof. All arithmetic, moreover, can -be deduced from the general principles of logic, yet the simple -propositions of arithmetic, such as 'two and two are four', are just as -self-evident as the principles of logic. - -It would seem, also, though this is more disputable, that there are some -self-evident ethical principles, such as 'we ought to pursue what is -good'. - -It should be observed that, in all cases of general principles, -particular instances, dealing with familiar things, are more evident -than the general principle. For example, the law of contradiction states -that nothing can both have a certain property and not have it. This is -evident as soon as it is understood, but it is not so evident as that a -particular rose which we see cannot be both red and not red. (It is of -course possible that parts of the rose may be red and parts not red, or -that the rose may be of a shade of pink which we hardly know whether to -call red or not; but in the former case it is plain that the rose as a -whole is not red, while in the latter case the answer is theoretically -definite as soon as we have decided on a precise definition of 'red'.) -It is usually through particular instances that we come to be able to -see the general principle. Only those who are practised in dealing with -abstractions can readily grasp a general principle without the help of -instances. - -In addition to general principles, the other kind of self-evident truths -are those immediately derived from sensation. We will call such truths -'truths of perception', and the judgements expressing them we will -call 'judgements of perception'. But here a certain amount of care -is required in getting at the precise nature of the truths that are -self-evident. The actual sense-data are neither true nor false. A -particular patch of colour which I see, for example, simply exists: it -is not the sort of thing that is true or false. It is true that there is -such a patch, true that it has a certain shape and degree of brightness, -true that it is surrounded by certain other colours. But the patch -itself, like everything else in the world of sense, is of a radically -different kind from the things that are true or false, and therefore -cannot properly be said to be _true_. Thus whatever self-evident truths -may be obtained from our senses must be different from the sense-data -from which they are obtained. - -It would seem that there are two kinds of self-evident truths of -perception, though perhaps in the last analysis the two kinds may -coalesce. First, there is the kind which simply asserts the _existence_ -of the sense-datum, without in any way analysing it. We see a patch -of red, and we judge 'there is such-and-such a patch of red', or more -strictly 'there is that'; this is one kind of intuitive judgement of -perception. The other kind arises when the object of sense is complex, -and we subject it to some degree of analysis. If, for instance, we see a -_round_ patch of red, we may judge 'that patch of red is round'. This is -again a judgement of perception, but it differs from our previous kind. -In our present kind we have a single sense-datum which has both colour -and shape: the colour is red and the shape is round. Our judgement -analyses the datum into colour and shape, and then recombines them by -stating that the red colour is round in shape. Another example of this -kind of judgement is 'this is to the right of that', where 'this' -and 'that' are seen simultaneously. In this kind of judgement the -sense-datum contains constituents which have some relation to each -other, and the judgement asserts that these constituents have this -relation. - -Another class of intuitive judgements, analogous to those of sense and -yet quite distinct from them, are judgements of _memory_. There is some -danger of confusion as to the nature of memory, owing to the fact that -memory of an object is apt to be accompanied by an image of the object, -and yet the image cannot be what constitutes memory. This is easily seen -by merely noticing that the image is in the present, whereas what is -remembered is known to be in the past. Moreover, we are certainly able -to some extent to compare our image with the object remembered, so -that we often know, within somewhat wide limits, how far our image is -accurate; but this would be impossible, unless the object, as opposed to -the image, were in some way before the mind. Thus the essence of memory -is not constituted by the image, but by having immediately before the -mind an object which is recognized as past. But for the fact of memory -in this sense, we should not know that there ever was a past at all, -nor should we be able to understand the word 'past', any more than a man -born blind can understand the word 'light'. Thus there must be intuitive -judgements of memory, and it is upon them, ultimately, that all our -knowledge of the past depends. - -The case of memory, however, raises a difficulty, for it is notoriously -fallacious, and thus throws doubt on the trustworthiness of intuitive -judgements in general. This difficulty is no light one. But let us -first narrow its scope as far as possible. Broadly speaking, memory is -trustworthy in proportion to the vividness of the experience and to its -nearness in time. If the house next door was struck by lightning half a -minute ago, my memory of what I saw and heard will be so reliable that -it would be preposterous to doubt whether there had been a flash at -all. And the same applies to less vivid experiences, so long as they are -recent. I am absolutely certain that half a minute ago I was sitting in -the same chair in which I am sitting now. Going backward over the day, -I find things of which I am quite certain, other things of which I am -almost certain, other things of which I can become certain by thought -and by calling up attendant circumstances, and some things of which I -am by no means certain. I am quite certain that I ate my breakfast this -morning, but if I were as indifferent to my breakfast as a philosopher -should be, I should be doubtful. As to the conversation at breakfast, -I can recall some of it easily, some with an effort, some only with a -large element of doubt, and some not at all. Thus there is a continual -gradation in the degree of self-evidence of what I remember, and a -corresponding gradation in the trustworthiness of my memory. - -Thus the first answer to the difficulty of fallacious memory is to say -that memory has degrees of self-evidence, and that these correspond -to the degrees of its trustworthiness, reaching a limit of perfect -self-evidence and perfect trustworthiness in our memory of events which -are recent and vivid. - -It would seem, however, that there are cases of very firm belief in a -memory which is wholly false. It is probable that, in these cases, what -is really remembered, in the sense of being immediately before the mind, -is something other than what is falsely believed in, though something -generally associated with it. George IV is said to have at last believed -that he was at the battle of Waterloo, because he had so often said that -he was. In this case, what was immediately remembered was his repeated -assertion; the belief in what he was asserting (if it existed) would -be produced by association with the remembered assertion, and would -therefore not be a genuine case of memory. It would seem that cases of -fallacious memory can probably all be dealt with in this way, i.e. they -can be shown to be not cases of memory in the strict sense at all. - -One important point about self-evidence is made clear by the case of -memory, and that is, that self-evidence has degrees: it is not a quality -which is simply present or absent, but a quality which may be more or -less present, in gradations ranging from absolute certainty down to an -almost imperceptible faintness. Truths of perception and some of the -principles of logic have the very highest degree of self-evidence; -truths of immediate memory have an almost equally high degree. The -inductive principle has less self-evidence than some of the other -principles of logic, such as 'what follows from a true premiss must be -true'. Memories have a diminishing self-evidence as they become remoter -and fainter; the truths of logic and mathematics have (broadly speaking) -less self-evidence as they become more complicated. Judgements of -intrinsic ethical or aesthetic value are apt to have some self-evidence, -but not much. - -Degrees of self-evidence are important in the theory of knowledge, -since, if propositions may (as seems likely) have some degree of -self-evidence without being true, it will not be necessary to abandon -all connexion between self-evidence and truth, but merely to say that, -where there is a conflict, the more self-evident proposition is to be -retained and the less self-evident rejected. - -It seems, however, highly probable that two different notions are -combined in 'self-evidence' as above explained; that one of them, -which corresponds to the highest degree of self-evidence, is really an -infallible guarantee of truth, while the other, which corresponds to -all the other degrees, does not give an infallible guarantee, but only a -greater or less presumption. This, however, is only a suggestion, which -we cannot as yet develop further. After we have dealt with the nature -of truth, we shall return to the subject of self-evidence, in connexion -with the distinction between knowledge and error. - - - -CHAPTER XII. TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD - -Our knowledge of truths, unlike our knowledge of things, has an -opposite, namely _error_. So far as things are concerned, we may know -them or not know them, but there is no positive state of mind which can -be described as erroneous knowledge of things, so long, at any rate, -as we confine ourselves to knowledge by acquaintance. Whatever we are -acquainted with must be something; we may draw wrong inferences from -our acquaintance, but the acquaintance itself cannot be deceptive. Thus -there is no dualism as regards acquaintance. But as regards knowledge of -truths, there is a dualism. We may believe what is false as well as -what is true. We know that on very many subjects different people -hold different and incompatible opinions: hence some beliefs must be -erroneous. Since erroneous beliefs are often held just as strongly -as true beliefs, it becomes a difficult question how they are to be -distinguished from true beliefs. How are we to know, in a given case, -that our belief is not erroneous? This is a question of the very -greatest difficulty, to which no completely satisfactory answer is -possible. There is, however, a preliminary question which is rather less -difficult, and that is: What do we _mean_ by truth and falsehood? It is -this preliminary question which is to be considered in this chapter. In -this chapter we are not asking how we can know whether a belief is true -or false: we are asking what is meant by the question whether a belief -is true or false. It is to be hoped that a clear answer to this question -may help us to obtain an answer to the question what beliefs are -true, but for the present we ask only 'What is truth?' and 'What is -falsehood?' not 'What beliefs are true?' and 'What beliefs are false?' -It is very important to keep these different questions entirely -separate, since any confusion between them is sure to produce an answer -which is not really applicable to either. - -There are three points to observe in the attempt to discover the nature -of truth, three requisites which any theory must fulfil. - -(1) Our theory of truth must be such as to admit of its opposite, -falsehood. A good many philosophers have failed adequately to satisfy -this condition: they have constructed theories according to which all -our thinking ought to have been true, and have then had the greatest -difficulty in finding a place for falsehood. In this respect our theory -of belief must differ from our theory of acquaintance, since in the case -of acquaintance it was not necessary to take account of any opposite. - -(2) It seems fairly evident that if there were no beliefs there could -be no falsehood, and no truth either, in the sense in which truth is -correlative to falsehood. If we imagine a world of mere matter, there -would be no room for falsehood in such a world, and although it would -contain what may be called 'facts', it would not contain any truths, in -the sense in which truths are things of the same kind as falsehoods. -In fact, truth and falsehood are properties of beliefs and statements: -hence a world of mere matter, since it would contain no beliefs or -statements, would also contain no truth or falsehood. - -(3) But, as against what we have just said, it is to be observed that -the truth or falsehood of a belief always depends upon something which -lies outside the belief itself. If I believe that Charles I died on the -scaffold, I believe truly, not because of any intrinsic quality of my -belief, which could be discovered by merely examining the belief, but -because of an historical event which happened two and a half centuries -ago. If I believe that Charles I died in his bed, I believe falsely: no -degree of vividness in my belief, or of care in arriving at it, prevents -it from being false, again because of what happened long ago, and not -because of any intrinsic property of my belief. Hence, although truth -and falsehood are properties of beliefs, they are properties dependent -upon the relations of the beliefs to other things, not upon any internal -quality of the beliefs. - -The third of the above requisites leads us to adopt the view--which has -on the whole been commonest among philosophers--that truth consists in -some form of correspondence between belief and fact. It is, however, by -no means an easy matter to discover a form of correspondence to which -there are no irrefutable objections. By this partly--and partly by the -feeling that, if truth consists in a correspondence of thought with -something outside thought, thought can never know when truth has been -attained--many philosophers have been led to try to find some definition -of truth which shall not consist in relation to something wholly outside -belief. The most important attempt at a definition of this sort is the -theory that truth consists in _coherence_. It is said that the mark of -falsehood is failure to cohere in the body of our beliefs, and that it -is the essence of a truth to form part of the completely rounded system -which is The Truth. - -There is, however, a great difficulty in this view, or rather two great -difficulties. The first is that there is no reason to suppose that -only _one_ coherent body of beliefs is possible. It may be that, with -sufficient imagination, a novelist might invent a past for the world -that would perfectly fit on to what we know, and yet be quite different -from the real past. In more scientific matters, it is certain that there -are often two or more hypotheses which account for all the known facts -on some subject, and although, in such cases, men of science endeavour -to find facts which will rule out all the hypotheses except one, there -is no reason why they should always succeed. - -In philosophy, again, it seems not uncommon for two rival hypotheses -to be both able to account for all the facts. Thus, for example, it is -possible that life is one long dream, and that the outer world has only -that degree of reality that the objects of dreams have; but although -such a view does not seem inconsistent with known facts, there is no -reason to prefer it to the common-sense view, according to which other -people and things do really exist. Thus coherence as the definition -of truth fails because there is no proof that there can be only one -coherent system. - -The other objection to this definition of truth is that it assumes the -meaning of 'coherence' known, whereas, in fact, 'coherence' presupposes -the truth of the laws of logic. Two propositions are coherent when both -may be true, and are incoherent when one at least must be false. Now in -order to know whether two propositions can both be true, we must -know such truths as the law of contradiction. For example, the two -propositions, 'this tree is a beech' and 'this tree is not a beech', -are not coherent, because of the law of contradiction. But if the law of -contradiction itself were subjected to the test of coherence, we should -find that, if we choose to suppose it false, nothing will any longer -be incoherent with anything else. Thus the laws of logic supply the -skeleton or framework within which the test of coherence applies, and -they themselves cannot be established by this test. - -For the above two reasons, coherence cannot be accepted as giving the -_meaning_ of truth, though it is often a most important _test_ of truth -after a certain amount of truth has become known. - -Hence we are driven back to _correspondence with fact_ as constituting -the nature of truth. It remains to define precisely what we mean by -'fact', and what is the nature of the correspondence which must subsist -between belief and fact, in order that belief may be true. - -In accordance with our three requisites, we have to seek a theory of -truth which (1) allows truth to have an opposite, namely falsehood, (2) -makes truth a property of beliefs, but (3) makes it a property wholly -dependent upon the relation of the beliefs to outside things. - -The necessity of allowing for falsehood makes it impossible to regard -belief as a relation of the mind to a single object, which could be said -to be what is believed. If belief were so regarded, we should find that, -like acquaintance, it would not admit of the opposition of truth and -falsehood, but would have to be always true. This may be made clear -by examples. Othello believes falsely that Desdemona loves Cassio. We -cannot say that this belief consists in a relation to a single object, -'Desdemona's love for Cassio', for if there were such an object, the -belief would be true. There is in fact no such object, and therefore -Othello cannot have any relation to such an object. Hence his belief -cannot possibly consist in a relation to this object. - -It might be said that his belief is a relation to a different object, -namely 'that Desdemona loves Cassio'; but it is almost as difficult to -suppose that there is such an object as this, when Desdemona does not -love Cassio, as it was to suppose that there is 'Desdemona's love for -Cassio'. Hence it will be better to seek for a theory of belief which -does not make it consist in a relation of the mind to a single object. - -It is common to think of relations as though they always held between -two terms, but in fact this is not always the case. Some relations -demand three terms, some four, and so on. Take, for instance, the -relation 'between'. So long as only two terms come in, the relation -'between' is impossible: three terms are the smallest number that render -it possible. York is between London and Edinburgh; but if London and -Edinburgh were the only places in the world, there could be nothing -which was between one place and another. Similarly _jealousy_ requires -three people: there can be no such relation that does not involve three -at least. Such a proposition as 'A wishes B to promote C's marriage with -D' involves a relation of four terms; that is to say, A and B and C and -D all come in, and the relation involved cannot be expressed otherwise -than in a form involving all four. Instances might be multiplied -indefinitely, but enough has been said to show that there are relations -which require more than two terms before they can occur. - -The relation involved in _judging_ or _believing_ must, if falsehood is -to be duly allowed for, be taken to be a relation between several terms, -not between two. When Othello believes that Desdemona loves Cassio, he -must not have before his mind a single object, 'Desdemona's love for -Cassio', or 'that Desdemona loves Cassio ', for that would require that -there should be objective falsehoods, which subsist independently of -any minds; and this, though not logically refutable, is a theory to be -avoided if possible. Thus it is easier to account for falsehood if -we take judgement to be a relation in which the mind and the various -objects concerned all occur severally; that is to say, Desdemona and -loving and Cassio must all be terms in the relation which subsists when -Othello believes that Desdemona loves Cassio. This relation, therefore, -is a relation of four terms, since Othello also is one of the terms of -the relation. When we say that it is a relation of four terms, we do not -mean that Othello has a certain relation to Desdemona, and has the same -relation to loving and also to Cassio. This may be true of some other -relation than believing; but believing, plainly, is not a relation which -Othello has to _each_ of the three terms concerned, but to _all_ of -them together: there is only one example of the relation of believing -involved, but this one example knits together four terms. Thus the -actual occurrence, at the moment when Othello is entertaining his -belief, is that the relation called 'believing' is knitting together -into one complex whole the four terms Othello, Desdemona, loving, and -Cassio. What is called belief or judgement is nothing but this relation -of believing or judging, which relates a mind to several things other -than itself. An _act_ of belief or of judgement is the occurrence -between certain terms at some particular time, of the relation of -believing or judging. - -We are now in a position to understand what it is that distinguishes a -true judgement from a false one. For this purpose we will adopt certain -definitions. In every act of judgement there is a mind which judges, and -there are terms concerning which it judges. We will call the mind the -_subject_ in the judgement, and the remaining terms the _objects_. Thus, -when Othello judges that Desdemona loves Cassio, Othello is the subject, -while the objects are Desdemona and loving and Cassio. The subject and -the objects together are called the _constituents_ of the judgement. -It will be observed that the relation of judging has what is called a -'sense' or 'direction'. We may say, metaphorically, that it puts its -objects in a certain _order_, which we may indicate by means of the -order of the words in the sentence. (In an inflected language, the same -thing will be indicated by inflections, e.g. by the difference between -nominative and accusative.) Othello's judgement that Cassio loves -Desdemona differs from his judgement that Desdemona loves Cassio, in -spite of the fact that it consists of the same constituents, because the -relation of judging places the constituents in a different order in the -two cases. Similarly, if Cassio judges that Desdemona loves Othello, -the constituents of the judgement are still the same, but their order is -different. This property of having a 'sense' or 'direction' is one which -the relation of judging shares with all other relations. The 'sense' -of relations is the ultimate source of order and series and a host of -mathematical concepts; but we need not concern ourselves further with -this aspect. - -We spoke of the relation called 'judging' or 'believing' as knitting -together into one complex whole the subject and the objects. In this -respect, judging is exactly like every other relation. Whenever a -relation holds between two or more terms, it unites the terms into a -complex whole. If Othello loves Desdemona, there is such a complex whole -as 'Othello's love for Desdemona'. The terms united by the relation may -be themselves complex, or may be simple, but the whole which results -from their being united must be complex. Wherever there is a relation -which relates certain terms, there is a complex object formed of the -union of those terms; and conversely, wherever there is a complex -object, there is a relation which relates its constituents. When an act -of believing occurs, there is a complex, in which 'believing' is the -uniting relation, and subject and objects are arranged in a certain -order by the 'sense' of the relation of believing. Among the objects, -as we saw in considering 'Othello believes that Desdemona loves Cassio', -one must be a relation--in this instance, the relation 'loving'. But -this relation, as it occurs in the act of believing, is not the relation -which creates the unity of the complex whole consisting of the subject -and the objects. The relation 'loving', as it occurs in the act of -believing, is one of the objects--it is a brick in the structure, not -the cement. The cement is the relation 'believing'. When the belief is -_true_, there is another complex unity, in which the relation which was -one of the objects of the belief relates the other objects. Thus, e.g., -if Othello believes _truly_ that Desdemona loves Cassio, then there is -a complex unity, 'Desdemona's love for Cassio', which is composed -exclusively of the _objects_ of the belief, in the same order as they -had in the belief, with the relation which was one of the objects -occurring now as the cement that binds together the other objects of the -belief. On the other hand, when a belief is _false_, there is no such -complex unity composed only of the objects of the belief. If Othello -believes _falsely_ that Desdemona loves Cassio, then there is no such -complex unity as 'Desdemona's love for Cassio'. - -Thus a belief is _true_ when it _corresponds_ to a certain associated -complex, and _false_ when it does not. Assuming, for the sake of -definiteness, that the objects of the belief are two terms and a -relation, the terms being put in a certain order by the 'sense' of -the believing, then if the two terms in that order are united by the -relation into a complex, the belief is true; if not, it is false. This -constitutes the definition of truth and falsehood that we were in search -of. Judging or believing is a certain complex unity of which a mind is -a constituent; if the remaining constituents, taken in the order which -they have in the belief, form a complex unity, then the belief is true; -if not, it is false. - -Thus although truth and falsehood are properties of beliefs, yet they -are in a sense extrinsic properties, for the condition of the truth of -a belief is something not involving beliefs, or (in general) any mind -at all, but only the _objects_ of the belief. A mind, which believes, -believes truly when there is a _corresponding_ complex not involving the -mind, but only its objects. This correspondence ensures truth, and its -absence entails falsehood. Hence we account simultaneously for the two -facts that beliefs (a) depend on minds for their _existence_, (b) do not -depend on minds for their _truth_. - -We may restate our theory as follows: If we take such a belief as -'Othello believes that Desdemona loves Cassio', we will call Desdemona -and Cassio the _object-terms_, and loving the _object-relation_. If -there is a complex unity 'Desdemona's love for Cassio', consisting of -the object-terms related by the object-relation in the same order as -they have in the belief, then this complex unity is called the _fact -corresponding to the belief_. Thus a belief is true when there is a -corresponding fact, and is false when there is no corresponding fact. - -It will be seen that minds do not _create_ truth or falsehood. They -create beliefs, but when once the beliefs are created, the mind cannot -make them true or false, except in the special case where they concern -future things which are within the power of the person believing, such -as catching trains. What makes a belief true is a _fact_, and this fact -does not (except in exceptional cases) in any way involve the mind of -the person who has the belief. - -Having now decided what we _mean_ by truth and falsehood, we have next -to consider what ways there are of knowing whether this or that belief -is true or false. This consideration will occupy the next chapter. - - - -CHAPTER XIII. KNOWLEDGE, ERROR, AND PROBABLE OPINION - -The question as to what we mean by truth and falsehood, which we -considered in the preceding chapter, is of much less interest than the -question as to how we can know what is true and what is false. This -question will occupy us in the present chapter. There can be no doubt -that _some_ of our beliefs are erroneous; thus we are led to inquire -what certainty we can ever have that such and such a belief is not -erroneous. In other words, can we ever _know_ anything at all, or do we -merely sometimes by good luck believe what is true? Before we can attack -this question, we must, however, first decide what we mean by 'knowing', -and this question is not so easy as might be supposed. - -At first sight we might imagine that knowledge could be defined as 'true -belief'. When what we believe is true, it might be supposed that we had -achieved a knowledge of what we believe. But this would not accord -with the way in which the word is commonly used. To take a very trivial -instance: If a man believes that the late Prime Minister's last name -began with a B, he believes what is true, since the late Prime Minister -was Sir Henry Campbell Bannerman. But if he believes that Mr. Balfour -was the late Prime Minister, he will still believe that the late Prime -Minister's last name began with a B, yet this belief, though true, -would not be thought to constitute knowledge. If a newspaper, by an -intelligent anticipation, announces the result of a battle before any -telegram giving the result has been received, it may by good fortune -announce what afterwards turns out to be the right result, and it may -produce belief in some of its less experienced readers. But in spite of -the truth of their belief, they cannot be said to have knowledge. Thus -it is clear that a true belief is not knowledge when it is deduced from -a false belief. - -In like manner, a true belief cannot be called knowledge when it is -deduced by a fallacious process of reasoning, even if the premisses from -which it is deduced are true. If I know that all Greeks are men and that -Socrates was a man, and I infer that Socrates was a Greek, I cannot be -said to _know_ that Socrates was a Greek, because, although my premisses -and my conclusion are true, the conclusion does not follow from the -premisses. - -But are we to say that nothing is knowledge except what is validly -deduced from true premisses? Obviously we cannot say this. Such a -definition is at once too wide and too narrow. In the first place, it is -too wide, because it is not enough that our premisses should be _true_, -they must also be _known_. The man who believes that Mr. Balfour was the -late Prime Minister may proceed to draw valid deductions from the true -premiss that the late Prime Minister's name began with a B, but he -cannot be said to _know_ the conclusions reached by these deductions. -Thus we shall have to amend our definition by saying that knowledge -is what is validly deduced from _known_ premisses. This, however, is a -circular definition: it assumes that we already know what is meant -by 'known premisses'. It can, therefore, at best define one sort -of knowledge, the sort we call derivative, as opposed to intuitive -knowledge. We may say: '_Derivative_ knowledge is what is validly -deduced from premisses known intuitively'. In this statement there is -no formal defect, but it leaves the definition of _intuitive_ knowledge -still to seek. - -Leaving on one side, for the moment, the question of intuitive -knowledge, let us consider the above suggested definition of derivative -knowledge. The chief objection to it is that it unduly limits knowledge. -It constantly happens that people entertain a true belief, which has -grown up in them because of some piece of intuitive knowledge from which -it is capable of being validly inferred, but from which it has not, as a -matter of fact, been inferred by any logical process. - -Take, for example, the beliefs produced by reading. If the newspapers -announce the death of the King, we are fairly well justified in -believing that the King is dead, since this is the sort of announcement -which would not be made if it were false. And we are quite amply -justified in believing that the newspaper asserts that the King is -dead. But here the intuitive knowledge upon which our belief is based -is knowledge of the existence of sense-data derived from looking at -the print which gives the news. This knowledge scarcely rises into -consciousness, except in a person who cannot read easily. A child may be -aware of the shapes of the letters, and pass gradually and painfully to -a realization of their meaning. But anybody accustomed to reading -passes at once to what the letters mean, and is not aware, except on -reflection, that he has derived this knowledge from the sense-data -called seeing the printed letters. Thus although a valid inference from -the-letters to their meaning is possible, and _could_ be performed -by the reader, it is not in fact performed, since he does not in fact -perform any operation which can be called logical inference. Yet -it would be absurd to say that the reader does not _know_ that the -newspaper announces the King's death. - -We must, therefore, admit as derivative knowledge whatever is the result -of intuitive knowledge even if by mere association, provided there _is_ -a valid logical connexion, and the person in question could become aware -of this connexion by reflection. There are in fact many ways, besides -logical inference, by which we pass from one belief to another: the -passage from the print to its meaning illustrates these ways. These -ways may be called 'psychological inference'. We shall, then, admit such -psychological inference as a means of obtaining derivative knowledge, -provided there is a discoverable logical inference which runs parallel -to the psychological inference. This renders our definition of -derivative knowledge less precise than we could wish, since the word -'discoverable' is vague: it does not tell us how much reflection may be -needed in order to make the discovery. But in fact 'knowledge' is not a -precise conception: it merges into 'probable opinion', as we shall -see more fully in the course of the present chapter. A very precise -definition, therefore, should not be sought, since any such definition -must be more or less misleading. - -The chief difficulty in regard to knowledge, however, does not arise -over derivative knowledge, but over intuitive knowledge. So long as we -are dealing with derivative knowledge, we have the test of intuitive -knowledge to fall back upon. But in regard to intuitive beliefs, it is -by no means easy to discover any criterion by which to distinguish -some as true and others as erroneous. In this question it is scarcely -possible to reach any very precise result: all our knowledge of truths -is infected with some degree of doubt, and a theory which ignored this -fact would be plainly wrong. Something may be done, however, to mitigate -the difficulties of the question. - -Our theory of truth, to begin with, supplies the possibility of -distinguishing certain truths as _self-evident_ in a sense which ensures -infallibility. When a belief is true, we said, there is a corresponding -fact, in which the several objects of the belief form a single complex. -The belief is said to constitute _knowledge_ of this fact, provided -it fulfils those further somewhat vague conditions which we have been -considering in the present chapter. But in regard to any fact, besides -the knowledge constituted by belief, we may also have the kind of -knowledge constituted by _perception_ (taking this word in its widest -possible sense). For example, if you know the hour of the sunset, -you can at that hour know the fact that the sun is setting: this is -knowledge of the fact by way of knowledge of _truths_; but you can also, -if the weather is fine, look to the west and actually see the setting -sun: you then know the same fact by the way of knowledge of _things_. - -Thus in regard to any complex fact, there are, theoretically, two ways -in which it may be known: (1) by means of a judgement, in which its -several parts are judged to be related as they are in fact related; (2) -by means of _acquaintance_ with the complex fact itself, which may (in a -large sense) be called perception, though it is by no means confined to -objects of the senses. Now it will be observed that the second way of -knowing a complex fact, the way of acquaintance, is only possible when -there really is such a fact, while the first way, like all judgement, -is liable to error. The second way gives us the complex whole, and is -therefore only possible when its parts do actually have that relation -which makes them combine to form such a complex. The first way, on the -contrary, gives us the parts and the relation severally, and demands -only the reality of the parts and the relation: the relation may not -relate those parts in that way, and yet the judgement may occur. - -It will be remembered that at the end of Chapter XI we suggested that -there might be two kinds of self-evidence, one giving an absolute -guarantee of truth, the other only a partial guarantee. These two kinds -can now be distinguished. - -We may say that a truth is self-evident, in the first and most absolute -sense, when we have acquaintance with the fact which corresponds to -the truth. When Othello believes that Desdemona loves Cassio, the -corresponding fact, if his belief were true, would be 'Desdemona's -love for Cassio'. This would be a fact with which no one could have -acquaintance except Desdemona; hence in the sense of self-evidence that -we are considering, the truth that Desdemona loves Cassio (if it were -a truth) could only be self-evident to Desdemona. All mental facts, and -all facts concerning sense-data, have this same privacy: there is only -one person to whom they can be self-evident in our present sense, since -there is only one person who can be acquainted with the mental things -or the sense-data concerned. Thus no fact about any particular existing -thing can be self-evident to more than one person. On the other hand, -facts about universals do not have this privacy. Many minds may be -acquainted with the same universals; hence a relation between universals -may be known by acquaintance to many different people. In all cases -where we know by acquaintance a complex fact consisting of certain terms -in a certain relation, we say that the truth that these terms are so -related has the first or absolute kind of self-evidence, and in these -cases the judgement that the terms are so related _must_ be true. Thus -this sort of self-evidence is an absolute guarantee of truth. - -But although this sort of self-evidence is an absolute guarantee of -truth, it does not enable us to be _absolutely_ certain, in the case of -any given judgement, that the judgement in question is true. Suppose -we first perceive the sun shining, which is a complex fact, and thence -proceed to make the judgement 'the sun is shining'. In passing from -the perception to the judgement, it is necessary to analyse the given -complex fact: we have to separate out 'the sun' and 'shining' as -constituents of the fact. In this process it is possible to commit -an error; hence even where a _fact_ has the first or absolute kind of -self-evidence, a judgement believed to correspond to the fact is not -absolutely infallible, because it may not really correspond to the -fact. But if it does correspond (in the sense explained in the preceding -chapter), then it _must_ be true. - -The second sort of self-evidence will be that which belongs to -judgements in the first instance, and is not derived from direct -perception of a fact as a single complex whole. This second kind of -self-evidence will have degrees, from the very highest degree down to a -bare inclination in favour of the belief. Take, for example, the case of -a horse trotting away from us along a hard road. At first our certainty -that we hear the hoofs is complete; gradually, if we listen intently, -there comes a moment when we think perhaps it was imagination or the -blind upstairs or our own heartbeats; at last we become doubtful whether -there was any noise at all; then we _think_ we no longer hear anything, -and at last we _know_ we no longer hear anything. In this process, there -is a continual gradation of self-evidence, from the highest degree to -the least, not in the sense-data themselves, but in the judgements based -on them. - -Or again: Suppose we are comparing two shades of colour, one blue and -one green. We can be quite sure they are different shades of colour; but -if the green colour is gradually altered to be more and more like the -blue, becoming first a blue-green, then a greeny-blue, then blue, -there will come a moment when we are doubtful whether we can see any -difference, and then a moment when we know that we cannot see any -difference. The same thing happens in tuning a musical instrument, or in -any other case where there is a continuous gradation. Thus self-evidence -of this sort is a matter of degree; and it seems plain that the higher -degrees are more to be trusted than the lower degrees. - -In derivative knowledge our ultimate premisses must have some degree of -self-evidence, and so must their connexion with the conclusions deduced -from them. Take for example a piece of reasoning in geometry. It is not -enough that the axioms from which we start should be self-evident: it -is necessary also that, at each step in the reasoning, the connexion of -premiss and conclusion should be self-evident. In difficult reasoning, -this connexion has often only a very small degree of self-evidence; -hence errors of reasoning are not improbable where the difficulty is -great. - -From what has been said it is evident that, both as regards intuitive -knowledge and as regards derivative knowledge, if we assume that -intuitive knowledge is trustworthy in proportion to the degree of its -self-evidence, there will be a gradation in trustworthiness, from the -existence of noteworthy sense-data and the simpler truths of logic and -arithmetic, which may be taken as quite certain, down to judgements -which seem only just more probable than their opposites. What we firmly -believe, if it is true, is called _knowledge_, provided it is either -intuitive or inferred (logically or psychologically) from intuitive -knowledge from which it follows logically. What we firmly believe, if it -is not true, is called _error_. What we firmly believe, if it is neither -knowledge nor error, and also what we believe hesitatingly, because it -is, or is derived from, something which has not the highest degree of -self-evidence, may be called _probable opinion_. Thus the greater -part of what would commonly pass as knowledge is more or less probable -opinion. - -In regard to probable opinion, we can derive great assistance from -_coherence_, which we rejected as the _definition_ of truth, but may -often use as a _criterion_. A body of individually probable opinions, -if they are mutually coherent, become more probable than any one of them -would be individually. It is in this way that many scientific hypotheses -acquire their probability. They fit into a coherent system of probable -opinions, and thus become more probable than they would be in isolation. -The same thing applies to general philosophical hypotheses. Often in a -single case such hypotheses may seem highly doubtful, while yet, when -we consider the order and coherence which they introduce into a mass of -probable opinion, they become pretty nearly certain. This applies, in -particular, to such matters as the distinction between dreams and -waking life. If our dreams, night after night, were as coherent one with -another as our days, we should hardly know whether to believe the dreams -or the waking life. As it is, the test of coherence condemns the -dreams and confirms the waking life. But this test, though it increases -probability where it is successful, never gives absolute certainty, -unless there is certainty already at some point in the coherent system. -Thus the mere organization of probable opinion will never, by itself, -transform it into indubitable knowledge. - - - -CHAPTER XIV. THE LIMITS OF PHILOSOPHICAL KNOWLEDGE - -In all that we have said hitherto concerning philosophy, we have -scarcely touched on many matters that occupy a great space in the -writings of most philosophers. Most philosophers--or, at any rate, very -many--profess to be able to prove, by _a priori_ metaphysical reasoning, -such things as the fundamental dogmas of religion, the essential -rationality of the universe, the illusoriness of matter, the unreality -of all evil, and so on. There can be no doubt that the hope of finding -reason to believe such theses as these has been the chief inspiration of -many life-long students of philosophy. This hope, I believe, is vain. It -would seem that knowledge concerning the universe as a whole is not to -be obtained by metaphysics, and that the proposed proofs that, in virtue -of the laws of logic such and such things _must_ exist and such and such -others cannot, are not capable of surviving a critical scrutiny. In -this chapter we shall briefly consider the kind of way in which such -reasoning is attempted, with a view to discovering whether we can hope -that it may be valid. - -The great representative, in modern times, of the kind of view which -we wish to examine, was Hegel (1770-1831). Hegel's philosophy is very -difficult, and commentators differ as to the true interpretation of it. -According to the interpretation I shall adopt, which is that of many, if -not most, of the commentators and has the merit of giving an interesting -and important type of philosophy, his main thesis is that everything -short of the Whole is obviously fragmentary, and obviously incapable of -existing without the complement supplied by the rest of the world. Just -as a comparative anatomist, from a single bone, sees what kind of animal -the whole must have been, so the metaphysician, according to Hegel, -sees, from any one piece of reality, what the whole of reality must -be--at least in its large outlines. Every apparently separate piece of -reality has, as it were, hooks which grapple it to the next piece; -the next piece, in turn, has fresh hooks, and so on, until the whole -universe is reconstructed. This essential incompleteness appears, -according to Hegel, equally in the world of thought and in the world of -things. In the world of thought, if we take any idea which is -abstract or incomplete, we find, on examination, that if we forget -its incompleteness, we become involved in contradictions; these -contradictions turn the idea in question into its opposite, or -antithesis; and in order to escape, we have to find a new, less -incomplete idea, which is the synthesis of our original idea and its -antithesis. This new idea, though less incomplete than the idea we -started with, will be found, nevertheless, to be still not wholly -complete, but to pass into its antithesis, with which it must be -combined in a new synthesis. In this way Hegel advances until he reaches -the 'Absolute Idea', which, according to him, has no incompleteness, -no opposite, and no need of further development. The Absolute Idea, -therefore, is adequate to describe Absolute Reality; but all lower ideas -only describe reality as it appears to a partial view, not as it is -to one who simultaneously surveys the Whole. Thus Hegel reaches the -conclusion that Absolute Reality forms one single harmonious system, not -in space or time, not in any degree evil, wholly rational, and wholly -spiritual. Any appearance to the contrary, in the world we know, can be -proved logically--so he believes--to be entirely due to our fragmentary -piecemeal view of the universe. If we saw the universe whole, as we may -suppose God sees it, space and time and matter and evil and all striving -and struggling would disappear, and we should see instead an eternal -perfect unchanging spiritual unity. - -In this conception, there is undeniably something sublime, something to -which we could wish to yield assent. Nevertheless, when the arguments -in support of it are carefully examined, they appear to involve much -confusion and many unwarrantable assumptions. The fundamental tenet -upon which the system is built up is that what is incomplete must be not -self-subsistent, but must need the support of other things before it can -exist. It is held that whatever has relations to things outside itself -must contain some reference to those outside things in its own nature, -and could not, therefore, be what it is if those outside things did not -exist. A man's nature, for example, is constituted by his memories and -the rest of his knowledge, by his loves and hatreds, and so on; thus, -but for the objects which he knows or loves or hates, he could not be -what he is. He is essentially and obviously a fragment: taken as the -sum-total of reality he would be self-contradictory. - -This whole point of view, however, turns upon the notion of the 'nature' -of a thing, which seems to mean 'all the truths about the thing'. It is -of course the case that a truth which connects one thing with another -thing could not subsist if the other thing did not subsist. But a -truth about a thing is not part of the thing itself, although it must, -according to the above usage, be part of the 'nature' of the thing. -If we mean by a thing's 'nature' all the truths about the thing, then -plainly we cannot know a thing's 'nature' unless we know all the thing's -relations to all the other things in the universe. But if the word -'nature' is used in this sense, we shall have to hold that the thing -may be known when its 'nature' is not known, or at any rate is not known -completely. There is a confusion, when this use of the word 'nature' is -employed, between knowledge of things and knowledge of truths. We may -have knowledge of a thing by acquaintance even if we know very few -propositions about it--theoretically we need not know any propositions -about it. Thus, acquaintance with a thing does not involve knowledge of -its 'nature' in the above sense. And although acquaintance with a thing -is involved in our knowing any one proposition about a thing, knowledge -of its 'nature', in the above sense, is not involved. Hence, (1) -acquaintance with a thing does not logically involve a knowledge of its -relations, and (2) a knowledge of some of its relations does not involve -a knowledge of all of its relations nor a knowledge of its 'nature' in -the above sense. I may be acquainted, for example, with my toothache, -and this knowledge may be as complete as knowledge by acquaintance ever -can be, without knowing all that the dentist (who is not acquainted -with it) can tell me about its cause, and without therefore knowing its -'nature' in the above sense. Thus the fact that a thing has relations -does not prove that its relations are logically necessary. That is to -say, from the mere fact that it is the thing it is we cannot deduce -that it must have the various relations which in fact it has. This only -_seems_ to follow because we know it already. - -It follows that we cannot prove that the universe as a whole forms a -single harmonious system such as Hegel believes that it forms. And if we -cannot prove this, we also cannot prove the unreality of space and time -and matter and evil, for this is deduced by Hegel from the fragmentary -and relational character of these things. Thus we are left to the -piecemeal investigation of the world, and are unable to know the -characters of those parts of the universe that are remote from our -experience. This result, disappointing as it is to those whose hopes -have been raised by the systems of philosophers, is in harmony with -the inductive and scientific temper of our age, and is borne out by the -whole examination of human knowledge which has occupied our previous -chapters. - -Most of the great ambitious attempts of metaphysicians have proceeded by -the attempt to prove that such and such apparent features of the actual -world were self-contradictory, and therefore could not be real. The -whole tendency of modern thought, however, is more and more in the -direction of showing that the supposed contradictions were illusory, and -that very little can be proved _a priori_ from considerations of what -_must_ be. A good illustration of this is afforded by space and -time. Space and time appear to be infinite in extent, and infinitely -divisible. If we travel along a straight line in either direction, it -is difficult to believe that we shall finally reach a last point, -beyond which there is nothing, not even empty space. Similarly, if in -imagination we travel backwards or forwards in time, it is difficult to -believe that we shall reach a first or last time, with not even empty -time beyond it. Thus space and time appear to be infinite in extent. - -Again, if we take any two points on a line, it seems evident that there -must be other points between them however small the distance between -them may be: every distance can be halved, and the halves can be halved -again, and so on _ad infinitum_. In time, similarly, however little -time may elapse between two moments, it seems evident that there will be -other moments between them. Thus space and time appear to be infinitely -divisible. But as against these apparent facts--infinite extent and -infinite divisibility--philosophers have advanced arguments tending to -show that there could be no infinite collections of things, and that -therefore the number of points in space, or of instants in time, must -be finite. Thus a contradiction emerged between the apparent nature of -space and time and the supposed impossibility of infinite collections. - -Kant, who first emphasized this contradiction, deduced the impossibility -of space and time, which he declared to be merely subjective; and since -his time very many philosophers have believed that space and time are -mere appearance, not characteristic of the world as it really is. Now, -however, owing to the labours of the mathematicians, notably Georg -Cantor, it has appeared that the impossibility of infinite collections -was a mistake. They are not in fact self-contradictory, but only -contradictory of certain rather obstinate mental prejudices. Hence the -reasons for regarding space and time as unreal have become inoperative, -and one of the great sources of metaphysical constructions is dried up. - -The mathematicians, however, have not been content with showing that -space as it is commonly supposed to be is possible; they have shown also -that many other forms of space are equally possible, so far as logic -can show. Some of Euclid's axioms, which appear to common sense to be -necessary, and were formerly supposed to be necessary by philosophers, -are now known to derive their appearance of necessity from our mere -familiarity with actual space, and not from any _a priori_ logical -foundation. By imagining worlds in which these axioms are false, the -mathematicians have used logic to loosen the prejudices of common -sense, and to show the possibility of spaces differing--some more, some -less--from that in which we live. And some of these spaces differ so -little from Euclidean space, where distances such as we can measure are -concerned, that it is impossible to discover by observation whether our -actual space is strictly Euclidean or of one of these other kinds. -Thus the position is completely reversed. Formerly it appeared that -experience left only one kind of space to logic, and logic showed this -one kind to be impossible. Now, logic presents many kinds of space as -possible apart from experience, and experience only partially decides -between them. Thus, while our knowledge of what is has become less -than it was formerly supposed to be, our knowledge of what may be is -enormously increased. Instead of being shut in within narrow walls, of -which every nook and cranny could be explored, we find ourselves in an -open world of free possibilities, where much remains unknown because -there is so much to know. - -What has happened in the case of space and time has happened, to some -extent, in other directions as well. The attempt to prescribe to the -universe by means of _a priori_ principles has broken down; logic, -instead of being, as formerly, the bar to possibilities, has become the -great liberator of the imagination, presenting innumerable alternatives -which are closed to unreflective common sense, and leaving to experience -the task of deciding, where decision is possible, between the many -worlds which logic offers for our choice. Thus knowledge as to what -exists becomes limited to what we can learn from experience--not to -what we can actually experience, for, as we have seen, there is much -knowledge by description concerning things of which we have no direct -experience. But in all cases of knowledge by description, we need some -connexion of universals, enabling us, from such and such a datum, to -infer an object of a certain sort as implied by our datum. Thus in -regard to physical objects, for example, the principle that sense-data -are signs of physical objects is itself a connexion of universals; and -it is only in virtue of this principle that experience enables us to -acquire knowledge concerning physical objects. The same applies to -the law of causality, or, to descend to what is less general, to such -principles as the law of gravitation. - -Principles such as the law of gravitation are proved, or rather are -rendered highly probable, by a combination of experience with some -wholly _a priori_ principle, such as the principle of induction. Thus -our intuitive knowledge, which is the source of all our other knowledge -of truths, is of two sorts: pure empirical knowledge, which tells us of -the existence and some of the properties of particular things with -which we are acquainted, and pure _a priori_ knowledge, which gives us -connexions between universals, and enables us to draw inferences from -the particular facts given in empirical knowledge. Our derivative -knowledge always depends upon some pure _a priori_ knowledge and usually -also depends upon some pure empirical knowledge. - -Philosophical knowledge, if what has been said above is true, does not -differ essentially from scientific knowledge; there is no special -source of wisdom which is open to philosophy but not to science, and the -results obtained by philosophy are not radically different from those -obtained from science. The essential characteristic of philosophy, -which makes it a study distinct from science, is criticism. It examines -critically the principles employed in science and in daily life; it -searches out any inconsistencies there may be in these principles, -and it only accepts them when, as the result of a critical inquiry, no -reason for rejecting them has appeared. If, as many philosophers have -believed, the principles underlying the sciences were capable, when -disengaged from irrelevant detail, of giving us knowledge concerning -the universe as a whole, such knowledge would have the same claim on our -belief as scientific knowledge has; but our inquiry has not revealed any -such knowledge, and therefore, as regards the special doctrines of the -bolder metaphysicians, has had a mainly negative result. But as regards -what would be commonly accepted as knowledge, our result is in the main -positive: we have seldom found reason to reject such knowledge as the -result of our criticism, and we have seen no reason to suppose man -incapable of the kind of knowledge which he is generally believed to -possess. - -When, however, we speak of philosophy as a _criticism_ of knowledge, it -is necessary to impose a certain limitation. If we adopt the attitude -of the complete sceptic, placing ourselves wholly outside all knowledge, -and asking, from this outside position, to be compelled to return within -the circle of knowledge, we are demanding what is impossible, and our -scepticism can never be refuted. For all refutation must begin with -some piece of knowledge which the disputants share; from blank doubt, -no argument can begin. Hence the criticism of knowledge which philosophy -employs must not be of this destructive kind, if any result is to be -achieved. Against this absolute scepticism, no _logical_ argument can be -advanced. But it is not difficult to see that scepticism of this kind -is unreasonable. Descartes' 'methodical doubt', with which modern -philosophy began, is not of this kind, but is rather the kind of -criticism which we are asserting to be the essence of philosophy. His -'methodical doubt' consisted in doubting whatever seemed doubtful; in -pausing, with each apparent piece of knowledge, to ask himself whether, -on reflection, he could feel certain that he really knew it. This is the -kind of criticism which constitutes philosophy. Some knowledge, such as -knowledge of the existence of our sense-data, appears quite indubitable, -however calmly and thoroughly we reflect upon it. In regard to such -knowledge, philosophical criticism does not require that we should -abstain from belief. But there are beliefs--such, for example, as the -belief that physical objects exactly resemble our sense-data--which are -entertained until we begin to reflect, but are found to melt away -when subjected to a close inquiry. Such beliefs philosophy will bid us -reject, unless some new line of argument is found to support them. -But to reject the beliefs which do not appear open to any objections, -however closely we examine them, is not reasonable, and is not what -philosophy advocates. - -The criticism aimed at, in a word, is not that which, without reason, -determines to reject, but that which considers each piece of apparent -knowledge on its merits, and retains whatever still appears to be -knowledge when this consideration is completed. That some risk of error -remains must be admitted, since human beings are fallible. Philosophy -may claim justly that it diminishes the risk of error, and that in some -cases it renders the risk so small as to be practically negligible. To -do more than this is not possible in a world where mistakes must occur; -and more than this no prudent advocate of philosophy would claim to have -performed. - - - -CHAPTER XV. THE VALUE OF PHILOSOPHY - -Having now come to the end of our brief and very incomplete review of -the problems of philosophy, it will be well to consider, in conclusion, -what is the value of philosophy and why it ought to be studied. It is -the more necessary to consider this question, in view of the fact that -many men, under the influence of science or of practical affairs, are -inclined to doubt whether philosophy is anything better than innocent -but useless trifling, hair-splitting distinctions, and controversies on -matters concerning which knowledge is impossible. - -This view of philosophy appears to result, partly from a wrong -conception of the ends of life, partly from a wrong conception of the -kind of goods which philosophy strives to achieve. Physical science, -through the medium of inventions, is useful to innumerable people who -are wholly ignorant of it; thus the study of physical science is to -be recommended, not only, or primarily, because of the effect on the -student, but rather because of the effect on mankind in general. Thus -utility does not belong to philosophy. If the study of philosophy has -any value at all for others than students of philosophy, it must be only -indirectly, through its effects upon the lives of those who study it. -It is in these effects, therefore, if anywhere, that the value of -philosophy must be primarily sought. - -But further, if we are not to fail in our endeavour to determine the -value of philosophy, we must first free our minds from the prejudices -of what are wrongly called 'practical' men. The 'practical' man, as -this word is often used, is one who recognizes only material needs, who -realizes that men must have food for the body, but is oblivious of the -necessity of providing food for the mind. If all men were well off, if -poverty and disease had been reduced to their lowest possible point, -there would still remain much to be done to produce a valuable society; -and even in the existing world the goods of the mind are at least as -important as the goods of the body. It is exclusively among the goods of -the mind that the value of philosophy is to be found; and only those who -are not indifferent to these goods can be persuaded that the study of -philosophy is not a waste of time. - -Philosophy, like all other studies, aims primarily at knowledge. The -knowledge it aims at is the kind of knowledge which gives unity and -system to the body of the sciences, and the kind which results from a -critical examination of the grounds of our convictions, prejudices, and -beliefs. But it cannot be maintained that philosophy has had any very -great measure of success in its attempts to provide definite answers to -its questions. If you ask a mathematician, a mineralogist, a historian, -or any other man of learning, what definite body of truths has been -ascertained by his science, his answer will last as long as you are -willing to listen. But if you put the same question to a philosopher, he -will, if he is candid, have to confess that his study has not achieved -positive results such as have been achieved by other sciences. It is -true that this is partly accounted for by the fact that, as soon as -definite knowledge concerning any subject becomes possible, this subject -ceases to be called philosophy, and becomes a separate science. The -whole study of the heavens, which now belongs to astronomy, was once -included in philosophy; Newton's great work was called 'the mathematical -principles of natural philosophy'. Similarly, the study of the human -mind, which was a part of philosophy, has now been separated from -philosophy and has become the science of psychology. Thus, to a great -extent, the uncertainty of philosophy is more apparent than real: those -questions which are already capable of definite answers are placed in -the sciences, while those only to which, at present, no definite answer -can be given, remain to form the residue which is called philosophy. - -This is, however, only a part of the truth concerning the uncertainty of -philosophy. There are many questions--and among them those that are of -the profoundest interest to our spiritual life--which, so far as we -can see, must remain insoluble to the human intellect unless its powers -become of quite a different order from what they are now. Has the -universe any unity of plan or purpose, or is it a fortuitous concourse -of atoms? Is consciousness a permanent part of the universe, giving -hope of indefinite growth in wisdom, or is it a transitory accident on -a small planet on which life must ultimately become impossible? Are good -and evil of importance to the universe or only to man? Such questions -are asked by philosophy, and variously answered by various philosophers. -But it would seem that, whether answers be otherwise discoverable or -not, the answers suggested by philosophy are none of them demonstrably -true. Yet, however slight may be the hope of discovering an answer, it -is part of the business of philosophy to continue the consideration of -such questions, to make us aware of their importance, to examine all the -approaches to them, and to keep alive that speculative interest in the -universe which is apt to be killed by confining ourselves to definitely -ascertainable knowledge. - -Many philosophers, it is true, have held that philosophy could establish -the truth of certain answers to such fundamental questions. They have -supposed that what is of most importance in religious beliefs could be -proved by strict demonstration to be true. In order to judge of such -attempts, it is necessary to take a survey of human knowledge, and to -form an opinion as to its methods and its limitations. On such a subject -it would be unwise to pronounce dogmatically; but if the investigations -of our previous chapters have not led us astray, we shall be compelled -to renounce the hope of finding philosophical proofs of religious -beliefs. We cannot, therefore, include as part of the value of -philosophy any definite set of answers to such questions. Hence, once -more, the value of philosophy must not depend upon any supposed body of -definitely ascertainable knowledge to be acquired by those who study it. - -The value of philosophy is, in fact, to be sought largely in its very -uncertainty. The man who has no tincture of philosophy goes through -life imprisoned in the prejudices derived from common sense, from the -habitual beliefs of his age or his nation, and from convictions which -have grown up in his mind without the co-operation or consent of his -deliberate reason. To such a man the world tends to become definite, -finite, obvious; common objects rouse no questions, and unfamiliar -possibilities are contemptuously rejected. As soon as we begin to -philosophize, on the contrary, we find, as we saw in our opening -chapters, that even the most everyday things lead to problems to which -only very incomplete answers can be given. Philosophy, though unable to -tell us with certainty what is the true answer to the doubts which it -raises, is able to suggest many possibilities which enlarge our thoughts -and free them from the tyranny of custom. Thus, while diminishing our -feeling of certainty as to what things are, it greatly increases our -knowledge as to what they may be; it removes the somewhat arrogant -dogmatism of those who have never travelled into the region of -liberating doubt, and it keeps alive our sense of wonder by showing -familiar things in an unfamiliar aspect. - -Apart from its utility in showing unsuspected possibilities, philosophy -has a value--perhaps its chief value--through the greatness of the -objects which it contemplates, and the freedom from narrow and personal -aims resulting from this contemplation. The life of the instinctive -man is shut up within the circle of his private interests: family and -friends may be included, but the outer world is not regarded except -as it may help or hinder what comes within the circle of instinctive -wishes. In such a life there is something feverish and confined, in -comparison with which the philosophic life is calm and free. The private -world of instinctive interests is a small one, set in the midst of a -great and powerful world which must, sooner or later, lay our private -world in ruins. Unless we can so enlarge our interests as to include the -whole outer world, we remain like a garrison in a beleagured fortress, -knowing that the enemy prevents escape and that ultimate surrender is -inevitable. In such a life there is no peace, but a constant strife -between the insistence of desire and the powerlessness of will. In one -way or another, if our life is to be great and free, we must escape this -prison and this strife. - -One way of escape is by philosophic contemplation. Philosophic -contemplation does not, in its widest survey, divide the universe into -two hostile camps--friends and foes, helpful and hostile, good and -bad--it views the whole impartially. Philosophic contemplation, when it -is unalloyed, does not aim at proving that the rest of the universe is -akin to man. All acquisition of knowledge is an enlargement of the Self, -but this enlargement is best attained when it is not directly sought. It -is obtained when the desire for knowledge is alone operative, by a study -which does not wish in advance that its objects should have this or that -character, but adapts the Self to the characters which it finds in its -objects. This enlargement of Self is not obtained when, taking the Self -as it is, we try to show that the world is so similar to this Self that -knowledge of it is possible without any admission of what seems alien. -The desire to prove this is a form of self-assertion and, like all -self-assertion, it is an obstacle to the growth of Self which it -desires, and of which the Self knows that it is capable. Self-assertion, -in philosophic speculation as elsewhere, views the world as a means to -its own ends; thus it makes the world of less account than Self, and the -Self sets bounds to the greatness of its goods. In contemplation, on -the contrary, we start from the not-Self, and through its greatness the -boundaries of Self are enlarged; through the infinity of the universe -the mind which contemplates it achieves some share in infinity. - -For this reason greatness of soul is not fostered by those philosophies -which assimilate the universe to Man. Knowledge is a form of union -of Self and not-Self; like all union, it is impaired by dominion, and -therefore by any attempt to force the universe into conformity with -what we find in ourselves. There is a widespread philosophical tendency -towards the view which tells us that Man is the measure of all things, -that truth is man-made, that space and time and the world of universals -are properties of the mind, and that, if there be anything not created -by the mind, it is unknowable and of no account for us. This view, if -our previous discussions were correct, is untrue; but in addition to -being untrue, it has the effect of robbing philosophic contemplation of -all that gives it value, since it fetters contemplation to Self. What -it calls knowledge is not a union with the not-Self, but a set of -prejudices, habits, and desires, making an impenetrable veil between -us and the world beyond. The man who finds pleasure in such a theory of -knowledge is like the man who never leaves the domestic circle for fear -his word might not be law. - -The true philosophic contemplation, on the contrary, finds its -satisfaction in every enlargement of the not-Self, in everything -that magnifies the objects contemplated, and thereby the subject -contemplating. Everything, in contemplation, that is personal or -private, everything that depends upon habit, self-interest, or desire, -distorts the object, and hence impairs the union which the intellect -seeks. By thus making a barrier between subject and object, such -personal and private things become a prison to the intellect. The free -intellect will see as God might see, without a _here_ and _now_, -without hopes and fears, without the trammels of customary beliefs -and traditional prejudices, calmly, dispassionately, in the sole and -exclusive desire of knowledge--knowledge as impersonal, as purely -contemplative, as it is possible for man to attain. Hence also the free -intellect will value more the abstract and universal knowledge into -which the accidents of private history do not enter, than the knowledge -brought by the senses, and dependent, as such knowledge must be, upon -an exclusive and personal point of view and a body whose sense-organs -distort as much as they reveal. - -The mind which has become accustomed to the freedom and impartiality of -philosophic contemplation will preserve something of the same freedom -and impartiality in the world of action and emotion. It will view -its purposes and desires as parts of the whole, with the absence of -insistence that results from seeing them as infinitesimal fragments in -a world of which all the rest is unaffected by any one man's deeds. The -impartiality which, in contemplation, is the unalloyed desire for truth, -is the very same quality of mind which, in action, is justice, and in -emotion is that universal love which can be given to all, and not only -to those who are judged useful or admirable. Thus contemplation enlarges -not only the objects of our thoughts, but also the objects of our -actions and our affections: it makes us citizens of the universe, not -only of one walled city at war with all the rest. In this citizenship -of the universe consists man's true freedom, and his liberation from the -thraldom of narrow hopes and fears. - -Thus, to sum up our discussion of the value of philosophy; Philosophy -is to be studied, not for the sake of any definite answers to its -questions, since no definite answers can, as a rule, be known to be -true, but rather for the sake of the questions themselves; because -these questions enlarge our conception of what is possible, enrich -our intellectual imagination and diminish the dogmatic assurance which -closes the mind against speculation; but above all because, through the -greatness of the universe which philosophy contemplates, the mind also -is rendered great, and becomes capable of that union with the universe -which constitutes its highest good. - - - - -BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE - -The student who wishes to acquire an elementary knowledge of philosophy -will find it both easier and more profitable to read some of the works -of the great philosophers than to attempt to derive an all-round view -from handbooks. The following are specially recommended: - - Plato: _Republic_, especially Books VI and VII. - Descartes: _Meditations_. - Spinoza: _Ethics_. - Leibniz: _The Monadology_. - Berkeley: _Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous_. - Hume: _Enquiry concerning Human Understanding_. - Kant: _Prolegomena to any Future Metaphysic_. - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Problems of Philosophy, by Bertrand Russell - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROBLEMS OF PHILOSOPHY *** - -***** This file should be named 5827-8.txt or 5827-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/8/2/5827/ - -Produced by Gordon Keener - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/old-2025-02-27/5827-8.zip b/old/old-2025-02-27/5827-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 5f97f01..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-02-27/5827-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old-2025-02-27/5827-h.zip b/old/old-2025-02-27/5827-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 4c054c4..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-02-27/5827-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old-2025-02-27/5827-h/5827-h.htm b/old/old-2025-02-27/5827-h/5827-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 2045afd..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-02-27/5827-h/5827-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4876 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <title> - The Problems of Philosophy, by Bertrand Russell - </title> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; - margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; - text-align: right;} - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - -Project Gutenberg's The Problems of Philosophy, by Bertrand Russell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Problems of Philosophy - -Author: Bertrand Russell - -Release Date: May 2, 2009 [EBook #5827] -Last Updated: February 7, 2013 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROBLEMS OF PHILOSOPHY *** - - - - -Produced by Gordon Keener, and David Widger - - - - - - -</pre> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <h1> - THE PROBLEMS OF PHILOSOPHY - </h1> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <h2> - By Bertrand Russell - </h2> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <h2> - Contents - </h2> - <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> - <tr> - <td> - <a href="#link2H_PREF"> . </a> - </td> - <td> - PREFACE - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> - <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> - </td> - <td> - APPEARANCE AND REALITY - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> - <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> - </td> - <td> - THE EXISTENCE OF MATTER - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> - <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> - </td> - <td> - THE NATURE OF MATTER - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> - <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> - </td> - <td> - IDEALISM - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> - <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> - </td> - <td> - KNOWLEDGE BY ACQUAINTANCE AND KNOWLEDGE BY DESCRIPTION - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> - <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> - </td> - <td> - ON INDUCTION - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> - <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> - </td> - <td> - ON OUR KNOWLEDGE OF GENERAL PRINCIPLES - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> - <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> - </td> - <td> - HOW <i>A PRIORI</i> KNOWLEDGE IS POSSIBLE - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> - <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> - </td> - <td> - THE WORLD OF UNIVERSALS - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> - <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> - </td> - <td> - ON OUR KNOWLEDGE OF UNIVERSALS - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> - <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> - </td> - <td> - ON INTUITIVE KNOWLEDGE - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> - <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> - </td> - <td> - TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> - <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> - </td> - <td> - KNOWLEDGE, ERROR, AND PROBABLE OPINION - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> - <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> - </td> - <td> - THE LIMITS OF PHILOSOPHICAL KNOWLEDGE - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> - <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> - </td> - <td> - THE VALUE OF PHILOSOPHY - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> - <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> . </a> - </td> - <td> - BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE - </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td> - </td> - </tr> - </table> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <h2> - PREFACE - </h2> - <p> - In the following pages I have confined myself in the main to those - problems of philosophy in regard to which I thought it possible to say - something positive and constructive, since merely negative criticism - seemed out of place. For this reason, theory of knowledge occupies a - larger space than metaphysics in the present volume, and some topics much - discussed by philosophers are treated very briefly, if at all. - </p> - <p> - I have derived valuable assistance from unpublished writings of G. E. - Moore and J. M. Keynes: from the former, as regards the relations of - sense-data to physical objects, and from the latter as regards probability - and induction. I have also profited greatly by the criticisms and - suggestions of Professor Gilbert Murray. - </p> - <p> - 1912 <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I. APPEARANCE AND REALITY - </h2> - <p> - Is there any knowledge in the world which is so certain that no reasonable - man could doubt it? This question, which at first sight might not seem - difficult, is really one of the most difficult that can be asked. When we - have realized the obstacles in the way of a straightforward and confident - answer, we shall be well launched on the study of philosophy—for - philosophy is merely the attempt to answer such ultimate questions, not - carelessly and dogmatically, as we do in ordinary life and even in the - sciences, but critically, after exploring all that makes such questions - puzzling, and after realizing all the vagueness and confusion that - underlie our ordinary ideas. - </p> - <p> - In daily life, we assume as certain many things which, on a closer - scrutiny, are found to be so full of apparent contradictions that only a - great amount of thought enables us to know what it is that we really may - believe. In the search for certainty, it is natural to begin with our - present experiences, and in some sense, no doubt, knowledge is to be - derived from them. But any statement as to what it is that our immediate - experiences make us know is very likely to be wrong. It seems to me that I - am now sitting in a chair, at a table of a certain shape, on which I see - sheets of paper with writing or print. By turning my head I see out of the - window buildings and clouds and the sun. I believe that the sun is about - ninety-three million miles from the earth; that it is a hot globe many - times bigger than the earth; that, owing to the earth's rotation, it rises - every morning, and will continue to do so for an indefinite time in the - future. I believe that, if any other normal person comes into my room, he - will see the same chairs and tables and books and papers as I see, and - that the table which I see is the same as the table which I feel pressing - against my arm. All this seems to be so evident as to be hardly worth - stating, except in answer to a man who doubts whether I know anything. Yet - all this may be reasonably doubted, and all of it requires much careful - discussion before we can be sure that we have stated it in a form that is - wholly true. - </p> - <p> - To make our difficulties plain, let us concentrate attention on the table. - To the eye it is oblong, brown and shiny, to the touch it is smooth and - cool and hard; when I tap it, it gives out a wooden sound. Any one else - who sees and feels and hears the table will agree with this description, - so that it might seem as if no difficulty would arise; but as soon as we - try to be more precise our troubles begin. Although I believe that the - table is 'really' of the same colour all over, the parts that reflect the - light look much brighter than the other parts, and some parts look white - because of reflected light. I know that, if I move, the parts that reflect - the light will be different, so that the apparent distribution of colours - on the table will change. It follows that if several people are looking at - the table at the same moment, no two of them will see exactly the same - distribution of colours, because no two can see it from exactly the same - point of view, and any change in the point of view makes some change in - the way the light is reflected. - </p> - <p> - For most practical purposes these differences are unimportant, but to the - painter they are all-important: the painter has to unlearn the habit of - thinking that things seem to have the colour which common sense says they - 'really' have, and to learn the habit of seeing things as they appear. - Here we have already the beginning of one of the distinctions that cause - most trouble in philosophy—the distinction between 'appearance' and - 'reality', between what things seem to be and what they are. The painter - wants to know what things seem to be, the practical man and the - philosopher want to know what they are; but the philosopher's wish to know - this is stronger than the practical man's, and is more troubled by - knowledge as to the difficulties of answering the question. - </p> - <p> - To return to the table. It is evident from what we have found, that there - is no colour which pre-eminently appears to be <i>the</i> colour of the - table, or even of any one particular part of the table—it appears to - be of different colours from different points of view, and there is no - reason for regarding some of these as more really its colour than others. - And we know that even from a given point of view the colour will seem - different by artificial light, or to a colour-blind man, or to a man - wearing blue spectacles, while in the dark there will be no colour at all, - though to touch and hearing the table will be unchanged. This colour is - not something which is inherent in the table, but something depending upon - the table and the spectator and the way the light falls on the table. - When, in ordinary life, we speak of <i>the</i> colour of the table, we - only mean the sort of colour which it will seem to have to a normal - spectator from an ordinary point of view under usual conditions of light. - But the other colours which appear under other conditions have just as - good a right to be considered real; and therefore, to avoid favouritism, - we are compelled to deny that, in itself, the table has any one particular - colour. - </p> - <p> - The same thing applies to the texture. With the naked eye one can see the - grain, but otherwise the table looks smooth and even. If we looked at it - through a microscope, we should see roughnesses and hills and valleys, and - all sorts of differences that are imperceptible to the naked eye. Which of - these is the 'real' table? We are naturally tempted to say that what we - see through the microscope is more real, but that in turn would be changed - by a still more powerful microscope. If, then, we cannot trust what we see - with the naked eye, why should we trust what we see through a microscope? - Thus, again, the confidence in our senses with which we began deserts us. - </p> - <p> - The shape of the table is no better. We are all in the habit of judging as - to the 'real' shapes of things, and we do this so unreflectingly that we - come to think we actually see the real shapes. But, in fact, as we all - have to learn if we try to draw, a given thing looks different in shape - from every different point of view. If our table is 'really' rectangular, - it will look, from almost all points of view, as if it had two acute - angles and two obtuse angles. If opposite sides are parallel, they will - look as if they converged to a point away from the spectator; if they are - of equal length, they will look as if the nearer side were longer. All - these things are not commonly noticed in looking at a table, because - experience has taught us to construct the 'real' shape from the apparent - shape, and the 'real' shape is what interests us as practical men. But the - 'real' shape is not what we see; it is something inferred from what we - see. And what we see is constantly changing in shape as we move about the - room; so that here again the senses seem not to give us the truth about - the table itself, but only about the appearance of the table. - </p> - <p> - Similar difficulties arise when we consider the sense of touch. It is true - that the table always gives us a sensation of hardness, and we feel that - it resists pressure. But the sensation we obtain depends upon how hard we - press the table and also upon what part of the body we press with; thus - the various sensations due to various pressures or various parts of the - body cannot be supposed to reveal <i>directly</i> any definite property of - the table, but at most to be <i>signs</i> of some property which perhaps - <i>causes</i> all the sensations, but is not actually apparent in any of - them. And the same applies still more obviously to the sounds which can be - elicited by rapping the table. - </p> - <p> - Thus it becomes evident that the real table, if there is one, is not the - same as what we immediately experience by sight or touch or hearing. The - real table, if there is one, is not <i>immediately</i> known to us at all, - but must be an inference from what is immediately known. Hence, two very - difficult questions at once arise; namely, (1) Is there a real table at - all? (2) If so, what sort of object can it be? - </p> - <p> - It will help us in considering these questions to have a few simple terms - of which the meaning is definite and clear. Let us give the name of - 'sense-data' to the things that are immediately known in sensation: such - things as colours, sounds, smells, hardnesses, roughnesses, and so on. We - shall give the name 'sensation' to the experience of being immediately - aware of these things. Thus, whenever we see a colour, we have a sensation - <i>of</i> the colour, but the colour itself is a sense-datum, not a - sensation. The colour is that <i>of</i> which we are immediately aware, - and the awareness itself is the sensation. It is plain that if we are to - know anything about the table, it must be by means of the sense-data—brown - colour, oblong shape, smoothness, etc.—which we associate with the - table; but, for the reasons which have been given, we cannot say that the - table is the sense-data, or even that the sense-data are directly - properties of the table. Thus a problem arises as to the relation of the - sense-data to the real table, supposing there is such a thing. - </p> - <p> - The real table, if it exists, we will call a 'physical object'. Thus we - have to consider the relation of sense-data to physical objects. The - collection of all physical objects is called 'matter'. Thus our two - questions may be re-stated as follows: (1) Is there any such thing as - matter? (2) If so, what is its nature? - </p> - <p> - The philosopher who first brought prominently forward the reasons for - regarding the immediate objects of our senses as not existing - independently of us was Bishop Berkeley (1685-1753). His <i>Three - Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous, in Opposition to Sceptics and - Atheists</i>, undertake to prove that there is no such thing as matter at - all, and that the world consists of nothing but minds and their ideas. - Hylas has hitherto believed in matter, but he is no match for Philonous, - who mercilessly drives him into contradictions and paradoxes, and makes - his own denial of matter seem, in the end, as if it were almost common - sense. The arguments employed are of very different value: some are - important and sound, others are confused or quibbling. But Berkeley - retains the merit of having shown that the existence of matter is capable - of being denied without absurdity, and that if there are any things that - exist independently of us they cannot be the immediate objects of our - sensations. - </p> - <p> - There are two different questions involved when we ask whether matter - exists, and it is important to keep them clear. We commonly mean by - 'matter' something which is opposed to 'mind', something which we think of - as occupying space and as radically incapable of any sort of thought or - consciousness. It is chiefly in this sense that Berkeley denies matter; - that is to say, he does not deny that the sense-data which we commonly - take as signs of the existence of the table are really signs of the - existence of <i>something</i> independent of us, but he does deny that - this something is non-mental, that it is neither mind nor ideas - entertained by some mind. He admits that there must be something which - continues to exist when we go out of the room or shut our eyes, and that - what we call seeing the table does really give us reason for believing in - something which persists even when we are not seeing it. But he thinks - that this something cannot be radically different in nature from what we - see, and cannot be independent of seeing altogether, though it must be - independent of <i>our</i> seeing. He is thus led to regard the 'real' - table as an idea in the mind of God. Such an idea has the required - permanence and independence of ourselves, without being—as matter - would otherwise be—something quite unknowable, in the sense that we - can only infer it, and can never be directly and immediately aware of it. - </p> - <p> - Other philosophers since Berkeley have also held that, although the table - does not depend for its existence upon being seen by me, it does depend - upon being seen (or otherwise apprehended in sensation) by <i>some</i> - mind—not necessarily the mind of God, but more often the whole - collective mind of the universe. This they hold, as Berkeley does, chiefly - because they think there can be nothing real—or at any rate nothing - known to be real except minds and their thoughts and feelings. We might - state the argument by which they support their view in some such way as - this: 'Whatever can be thought of is an idea in the mind of the person - thinking of it; therefore nothing can be thought of except ideas in minds; - therefore anything else is inconceivable, and what is inconceivable cannot - exist.' - </p> - <p> - Such an argument, in my opinion, is fallacious; and of course those who - advance it do not put it so shortly or so crudely. But whether valid or - not, the argument has been very widely advanced in one form or another; - and very many philosophers, perhaps a majority, have held that there is - nothing real except minds and their ideas. Such philosophers are called - 'idealists'. When they come to explaining matter, they either say, like - Berkeley, that matter is really nothing but a collection of ideas, or they - say, like Leibniz (1646-1716), that what appears as matter is really a - collection of more or less rudimentary minds. - </p> - <p> - But these philosophers, though they deny matter as opposed to mind, - nevertheless, in another sense, admit matter. It will be remembered that - we asked two questions; namely, (1) Is there a real table at all? (2) If - so, what sort of object can it be? Now both Berkeley and Leibniz admit - that there is a real table, but Berkeley says it is certain ideas in the - mind of God, and Leibniz says it is a colony of souls. Thus both of them - answer our first question in the affirmative, and only diverge from the - views of ordinary mortals in their answer to our second question. In fact, - almost all philosophers seem to be agreed that there is a real table: they - almost all agree that, however much our sense-data—colour, shape, - smoothness, etc.—may depend upon us, yet their occurrence is a sign - of something existing independently of us, something differing, perhaps, - completely from our sense-data, and yet to be regarded as causing those - sense-data whenever we are in a suitable relation to the real table. - </p> - <p> - Now obviously this point in which the philosophers are agreed—the - view that there <i>is</i> a real table, whatever its nature may be—is - vitally important, and it will be worth while to consider what reasons - there are for accepting this view before we go on to the further question - as to the nature of the real table. Our next chapter, therefore, will be - concerned with the reasons for supposing that there is a real table at - all. - </p> - <p> - Before we go farther it will be well to consider for a moment what it is - that we have discovered so far. It has appeared that, if we take any - common object of the sort that is supposed to be known by the senses, what - the senses <i>immediately</i> tell us is not the truth about the object as - it is apart from us, but only the truth about certain sense-data which, so - far as we can see, depend upon the relations between us and the object. - Thus what we directly see and feel is merely 'appearance', which we - believe to be a sign of some 'reality' behind. But if the reality is not - what appears, have we any means of knowing whether there is any reality at - all? And if so, have we any means of finding out what it is like? - </p> - <p> - Such questions are bewildering, and it is difficult to know that even the - strangest hypotheses may not be true. Thus our familiar table, which has - roused but the slightest thoughts in us hitherto, has become a problem - full of surprising possibilities. The one thing we know about it is that - it is not what it seems. Beyond this modest result, so far, we have the - most complete liberty of conjecture. Leibniz tells us it is a community of - souls: Berkeley tells us it is an idea in the mind of God; sober science, - scarcely less wonderful, tells us it is a vast collection of electric - charges in violent motion. - </p> - <p> - Among these surprising possibilities, doubt suggests that perhaps there is - no table at all. Philosophy, if it cannot <i>answer</i> so many questions - as we could wish, has at least the power of <i>asking</i> questions which - increase the interest of the world, and show the strangeness and wonder - lying just below the surface even in the commonest things of daily life. - </p> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II. THE EXISTENCE OF MATTER - </h2> - <p> - In this chapter we have to ask ourselves whether, in any sense at all, - there is such a thing as matter. Is there a table which has a certain - intrinsic nature, and continues to exist when I am not looking, or is the - table merely a product of my imagination, a dream-table in a very - prolonged dream? This question is of the greatest importance. For if we - cannot be sure of the independent existence of objects, we cannot be sure - of the independent existence of other people's bodies, and therefore still - less of other people's minds, since we have no grounds for believing in - their minds except such as are derived from observing their bodies. Thus - if we cannot be sure of the independent existence of objects, we shall be - left alone in a desert—it may be that the whole outer world is - nothing but a dream, and that we alone exist. This is an uncomfortable - possibility; but although it cannot be strictly proved to be false, there - is not the slightest reason to suppose that it is true. In this chapter we - have to see why this is the case. - </p> - <p> - Before we embark upon doubtful matters, let us try to find some more or - less fixed point from which to start. Although we are doubting the - physical existence of the table, we are not doubting the existence of the - sense-data which made us think there was a table; we are not doubting - that, while we look, a certain colour and shape appear to us, and while we - press, a certain sensation of hardness is experienced by us. All this, - which is psychological, we are not calling in question. In fact, whatever - else may be doubtful, some at least of our immediate experiences seem - absolutely certain. - </p> - <p> - Descartes (1596-1650), the founder of modern philosophy, invented a method - which may still be used with profit—the method of systematic doubt. - He determined that he would believe nothing which he did not see quite - clearly and distinctly to be true. Whatever he could bring himself to - doubt, he would doubt, until he saw reason for not doubting it. By - applying this method he gradually became convinced that the only existence - of which he could be <i>quite</i> certain was his own. He imagined a - deceitful demon, who presented unreal things to his senses in a perpetual - phantasmagoria; it might be very improbable that such a demon existed, but - still it was possible, and therefore doubt concerning things perceived by - the senses was possible. - </p> - <p> - But doubt concerning his own existence was not possible, for if he did not - exist, no demon could deceive him. If he doubted, he must exist; if he had - any experiences whatever, he must exist. Thus his own existence was an - absolute certainty to him. 'I think, therefore I am,' he said (<i>Cogito, - ergo sum</i>); and on the basis of this certainty he set to work to build - up again the world of knowledge which his doubt had laid in ruins. By - inventing the method of doubt, and by showing that subjective things are - the most certain, Descartes performed a great service to philosophy, and - one which makes him still useful to all students of the subject. - </p> - <p> - But some care is needed in using Descartes' argument. 'I think, therefore - I am' says rather more than is strictly certain. It might seem as though - we were quite sure of being the same person to-day as we were yesterday, - and this is no doubt true in some sense. But the real Self is as hard to - arrive at as the real table, and does not seem to have that absolute, - convincing certainty that belongs to particular experiences. When I look - at my table and see a certain brown colour, what is quite certain at once - is not '<i>I</i> am seeing a brown colour', but rather, 'a brown colour is - being seen'. This of course involves something (or somebody) which (or - who) sees the brown colour; but it does not of itself involve that more or - less permanent person whom we call 'I'. So far as immediate certainty - goes, it might be that the something which sees the brown colour is quite - momentary, and not the same as the something which has some different - experience the next moment. - </p> - <p> - Thus it is our particular thoughts and feelings that have primitive - certainty. And this applies to dreams and hallucinations as well as to - normal perceptions: when we dream or see a ghost, we certainly do have the - sensations we think we have, but for various reasons it is held that no - physical object corresponds to these sensations. Thus the certainty of our - knowledge of our own experiences does not have to be limited in any way to - allow for exceptional cases. Here, therefore, we have, for what it is - worth, a solid basis from which to begin our pursuit of knowledge. - </p> - <p> - The problem we have to consider is this: Granted that we are certain of - our own sense-data, have we any reason for regarding them as signs of the - existence of something else, which we can call the physical object? When - we have enumerated all the sense-data which we should naturally regard as - connected with the table, have we said all there is to say about the - table, or is there still something else—something not a sense-datum, - something which persists when we go out of the room? Common sense - unhesitatingly answers that there is. What can be bought and sold and - pushed about and have a cloth laid on it, and so on, cannot be a <i>mere</i> - collection of sense-data. If the cloth completely hides the table, we - shall derive no sense-data from the table, and therefore, if the table - were merely sense-data, it would have ceased to exist, and the cloth would - be suspended in empty air, resting, by a miracle, in the place where the - table formerly was. This seems plainly absurd; but whoever wishes to - become a philosopher must learn not to be frightened by absurdities. - </p> - <p> - One great reason why it is felt that we must secure a physical object in - addition to the sense-data, is that we want the same object for different - people. When ten people are sitting round a dinner-table, it seems - preposterous to maintain that they are not seeing the same tablecloth, the - same knives and forks and spoons and glasses. But the sense-data are - private to each separate person; what is immediately present to the sight - of one is not immediately present to the sight of another: they all see - things from slightly different points of view, and therefore see them - slightly differently. Thus, if there are to be public neutral objects, - which can be in some sense known to many different people, there must be - something over and above the private and particular sense-data which - appear to various people. What reason, then, have we for believing that - there are such public neutral objects? - </p> - <p> - The first answer that naturally occurs to one is that, although different - people may see the table slightly differently, still they all see more or - less similar things when they look at the table, and the variations in - what they see follow the laws of perspective and reflection of light, so - that it is easy to arrive at a permanent object underlying all the - different people's sense-data. I bought my table from the former occupant - of my room; I could not buy <i>his</i> sense-data, which died when he went - away, but I could and did buy the confident expectation of more or less - similar sense-data. Thus it is the fact that different people have similar - sense-data, and that one person in a given place at different times has - similar sense-data, which makes us suppose that over and above the - sense-data there is a permanent public object which underlies or causes - the sense-data of various people at various times. - </p> - <p> - Now in so far as the above considerations depend upon supposing that there - are other people besides ourselves, they beg the very question at issue. - Other people are represented to me by certain sense-data, such as the - sight of them or the sound of their voices, and if I had no reason to - believe that there were physical objects independent of my sense-data, I - should have no reason to believe that other people exist except as part of - my dream. Thus, when we are trying to show that there must be objects - independent of our own sense-data, we cannot appeal to the testimony of - other people, since this testimony itself consists of sense-data, and does - not reveal other people's experiences unless our own sense-data are signs - of things existing independently of us. We must therefore, if possible, - find, in our own purely private experiences, characteristics which show, - or tend to show, that there are in the world things other than ourselves - and our private experiences. - </p> - <p> - In one sense it must be admitted that we can never prove the existence of - things other than ourselves and our experiences. No logical absurdity - results from the hypothesis that the world consists of myself and my - thoughts and feelings and sensations, and that everything else is mere - fancy. In dreams a very complicated world may seem to be present, and yet - on waking we find it was a delusion; that is to say, we find that the - sense-data in the dream do not appear to have corresponded with such - physical objects as we should naturally infer from our sense-data. (It is - true that, when the physical world is assumed, it is possible to find - physical causes for the sense-data in dreams: a door banging, for - instance, may cause us to dream of a naval engagement. But although, in - this case, there is a physical cause for the sense-data, there is not a - physical object corresponding to the sense-data in the way in which an - actual naval battle would correspond.) There is no logical impossibility - in the supposition that the whole of life is a dream, in which we - ourselves create all the objects that come before us. But although this is - not logically impossible, there is no reason whatever to suppose that it - is true; and it is, in fact, a less simple hypothesis, viewed as a means - of accounting for the facts of our own life, than the common-sense - hypothesis that there really are objects independent of us, whose action - on us causes our sensations. - </p> - <p> - The way in which simplicity comes in from supposing that there really are - physical objects is easily seen. If the cat appears at one moment in one - part of the room, and at another in another part, it is natural to suppose - that it has moved from the one to the other, passing over a series of - intermediate positions. But if it is merely a set of sense-data, it cannot - have ever been in any place where I did not see it; thus we shall have to - suppose that it did not exist at all while I was not looking, but suddenly - sprang into being in a new place. If the cat exists whether I see it or - not, we can understand from our own experience how it gets hungry between - one meal and the next; but if it does not exist when I am not seeing it, - it seems odd that appetite should grow during non-existence as fast as - during existence. And if the cat consists only of sense-data, it cannot be - hungry, since no hunger but my own can be a sense-datum to me. Thus the - behaviour of the sense-data which represent the cat to me, though it seems - quite natural when regarded as an expression of hunger, becomes utterly - inexplicable when regarded as mere movements and changes of patches of - colour, which are as incapable of hunger as a triangle is of playing - football. - </p> - <p> - But the difficulty in the case of the cat is nothing compared to the - difficulty in the case of human beings. When human beings speak—that - is, when we hear certain noises which we associate with ideas, and - simultaneously see certain motions of lips and expressions of face—it - is very difficult to suppose that what we hear is not the expression of a - thought, as we know it would be if we emitted the same sounds. Of course - similar things happen in dreams, where we are mistaken as to the existence - of other people. But dreams are more or less suggested by what we call - waking life, and are capable of being more or less accounted for on - scientific principles if we assume that there really is a physical world. - Thus every principle of simplicity urges us to adopt the natural view, - that there really are objects other than ourselves and our sense-data - which have an existence not dependent upon our perceiving them. - </p> - <p> - Of course it is not by argument that we originally come by our belief in - an independent external world. We find this belief ready in ourselves as - soon as we begin to reflect: it is what may be called an <i>instinctive</i> - belief. We should never have been led to question this belief but for the - fact that, at any rate in the case of sight, it seems as if the - sense-datum itself were instinctively believed to be the independent - object, whereas argument shows that the object cannot be identical with - the sense-datum. This discovery, however—which is not at all - paradoxical in the case of taste and smell and sound, and only slightly so - in the case of touch—leaves undiminished our instinctive belief that - there <i>are</i> objects <i>corresponding</i> to our sense-data. Since - this belief does not lead to any difficulties, but on the contrary tends - to simplify and systematize our account of our experiences, there seems no - good reason for rejecting it. We may therefore admit—though with a - slight doubt derived from dreams—that the external world does really - exist, and is not wholly dependent for its existence upon our continuing - to perceive it. - </p> - <p> - The argument which has led us to this conclusion is doubtless less strong - than we could wish, but it is typical of many philosophical arguments, and - it is therefore worth while to consider briefly its general character and - validity. All knowledge, we find, must be built up upon our instinctive - beliefs, and if these are rejected, nothing is left. But among our - instinctive beliefs some are much stronger than others, while many have, - by habit and association, become entangled with other beliefs, not really - instinctive, but falsely supposed to be part of what is believed - instinctively. - </p> - <p> - Philosophy should show us the hierarchy of our instinctive beliefs, - beginning with those we hold most strongly, and presenting each as much - isolated and as free from irrelevant additions as possible. It should take - care to show that, in the form in which they are finally set forth, our - instinctive beliefs do not clash, but form a harmonious system. There can - never be any reason for rejecting one instinctive belief except that it - clashes with others; thus, if they are found to harmonize, the whole - system becomes worthy of acceptance. - </p> - <p> - It is of course <i>possible</i> that all or any of our beliefs may be - mistaken, and therefore all ought to be held with at least some slight - element of doubt. But we cannot have <i>reason</i> to reject a belief - except on the ground of some other belief. Hence, by organizing our - instinctive beliefs and their consequences, by considering which among - them is most possible, if necessary, to modify or abandon, we can arrive, - on the basis of accepting as our sole data what we instinctively believe, - at an orderly systematic organization of our knowledge, in which, though - the <i>possibility</i> of error remains, its likelihood is diminished by - the interrelation of the parts and by the critical scrutiny which has - preceded acquiescence. - </p> - <p> - This function, at least, philosophy can perform. Most philosophers, - rightly or wrongly, believe that philosophy can do much more than this—that - it can give us knowledge, not otherwise attainable, concerning the - universe as a whole, and concerning the nature of ultimate reality. - Whether this be the case or not, the more modest function we have spoken - of can certainly be performed by philosophy, and certainly suffices, for - those who have once begun to doubt the adequacy of common sense, to - justify the arduous and difficult labours that philosophical problems - involve. - </p> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III. THE NATURE OF MATTER - </h2> - <p> - In the preceding chapter we agreed, though without being able to find - demonstrative reasons, that it is rational to believe that our sense-data—for - example, those which we regard as associated with my table—are - really signs of the existence of something independent of us and our - perceptions. That is to say, over and above the sensations of colour, - hardness, noise, and so on, which make up the appearance of the table to - me, I assume that there is something else, of which these things are - appearances. The colour ceases to exist if I shut my eyes, the sensation - of hardness ceases to exist if I remove my arm from contact with the - table, the sound ceases to exist if I cease to rap the table with my - knuckles. But I do not believe that when all these things cease the table - ceases. On the contrary, I believe that it is because the table exists - continuously that all these sense-data will reappear when I open my eyes, - replace my arm, and begin again to rap with my knuckles. The question we - have to consider in this chapter is: What is the nature of this real - table, which persists independently of my perception of it? - </p> - <p> - To this question physical science gives an answer, somewhat incomplete it - is true, and in part still very hypothetical, but yet deserving of respect - so far as it goes. Physical science, more or less unconsciously, has - drifted into the view that all natural phenomena ought to be reduced to - motions. Light and heat and sound are all due to wave-motions, which - travel from the body emitting them to the person who sees light or feels - heat or hears sound. That which has the wave-motion is either aether or - 'gross matter', but in either case is what the philosopher would call - matter. The only properties which science assigns to it are position in - space, and the power of motion according to the laws of motion. Science - does not deny that it <i>may</i> have other properties; but if so, such - other properties are not useful to the man of science, and in no way - assist him in explaining the phenomena. - </p> - <p> - It is sometimes said that 'light <i>is</i> a form of wave-motion', but - this is misleading, for the light which we immediately see, which we know - directly by means of our senses, is <i>not</i> a form of wave-motion, but - something quite different—something which we all know if we are not - blind, though we cannot describe it so as to convey our knowledge to a man - who is blind. A wave-motion, on the contrary, could quite well be - described to a blind man, since he can acquire a knowledge of space by the - sense of touch; and he can experience a wave-motion by a sea voyage almost - as well as we can. But this, which a blind man can understand, is not what - we mean by <i>light</i>: we mean by <i>light</i> just that which a blind - man can never understand, and which we can never describe to him. - </p> - <p> - Now this something, which all of us who are not blind know, is not, - according to science, really to be found in the outer world: it is - something caused by the action of certain waves upon the eyes and nerves - and brain of the person who sees the light. When it is said that light <i>is</i> - waves, what is really meant is that waves are the physical cause of our - sensations of light. But light itself, the thing which seeing people - experience and blind people do not, is not supposed by science to form any - part of the world that is independent of us and our senses. And very - similar remarks would apply to other kinds of sensations. - </p> - <p> - It is not only colours and sounds and so on that are absent from the - scientific world of matter, but also <i>space</i> as we get it through - sight or touch. It is essential to science that its matter should be in <i>a</i> - space, but the space in which it is cannot be exactly the space we see or - feel. To begin with, space as we see it is not the same as space as we get - it by the sense of touch; it is only by experience in infancy that we - learn how to touch things we see, or how to get a sight of things which we - feel touching us. But the space of science is neutral as between touch and - sight; thus it cannot be either the space of touch or the space of sight. - </p> - <p> - Again, different people see the same object as of different shapes, - according to their point of view. A circular coin, for example, though we - should always <i>judge</i> it to be circular, will <i>look</i> oval unless - we are straight in front of it. When we judge that it <i>is</i> circular, - we are judging that it has a real shape which is not its apparent shape, - but belongs to it intrinsically apart from its appearance. But this real - shape, which is what concerns science, must be in a real space, not the - same as anybody's <i>apparent</i> space. The real space is public, the - apparent space is private to the percipient. In different people's <i>private</i> - spaces the same object seems to have different shapes; thus the real - space, in which it has its real shape, must be different from the private - spaces. The space of science, therefore, though <i>connected</i> with the - spaces we see and feel, is not identical with them, and the manner of its - connexion requires investigation. - </p> - <p> - We agreed provisionally that physical objects cannot be quite like our - sense-data, but may be regarded as <i>causing</i> our sensations. These - physical objects are in the space of science, which we may call 'physical' - space. It is important to notice that, if our sensations are to be caused - by physical objects, there must be a physical space containing these - objects and our sense-organs and nerves and brain. We get a sensation of - touch from an object when we are in contact with it; that is to say, when - some part of our body occupies a place in physical space quite close to - the space occupied by the object. We see an object (roughly speaking) when - no opaque body is between the object and our eyes in physical space. - Similarly, we only hear or smell or taste an object when we are - sufficiently near to it, or when it touches the tongue, or has some - suitable position in physical space relatively to our body. We cannot - begin to state what different sensations we shall derive from a given - object under different circumstances unless we regard the object and our - body as both in one physical space, for it is mainly the relative - positions of the object and our body that determine what sensations we - shall derive from the object. - </p> - <p> - Now our sense-data are situated in our private spaces, either the space of - sight or the space of touch or such vaguer spaces as other senses may give - us. If, as science and common sense assume, there is one public - all-embracing physical space in which physical objects are, the relative - positions of physical objects in physical space must more or less - correspond to the relative positions of sense-data in our private spaces. - There is no difficulty in supposing this to be the case. If we see on a - road one house nearer to us than another, our other senses will bear out - the view that it is nearer; for example, it will be reached sooner if we - walk along the road. Other people will agree that the house which looks - nearer to us is nearer; the ordnance map will take the same view; and thus - everything points to a spatial relation between the houses corresponding - to the relation between the sense-data which we see when we look at the - houses. Thus we may assume that there is a physical space in which - physical objects have spatial relations corresponding to those which the - corresponding sense-data have in our private spaces. It is this physical - space which is dealt with in geometry and assumed in physics and - astronomy. - </p> - <p> - Assuming that there is physical space, and that it does thus correspond to - private spaces, what can we know about it? We can know <i>only</i> what is - required in order to secure the correspondence. That is to say, we can - know nothing of what it is like in itself, but we can know the sort of - arrangement of physical objects which results from their spatial - relations. We can know, for example, that the earth and moon and sun are - in one straight line during an eclipse, though we cannot know what a - physical straight line is in itself, as we know the look of a straight - line in our visual space. Thus we come to know much more about the <i>relations</i> - of distances in physical space than about the distances themselves; we may - know that one distance is greater than another, or that it is along the - same straight line as the other, but we cannot have that immediate - acquaintance with physical distances that we have with distances in our - private spaces, or with colours or sounds or other sense-data. We can know - all those things about physical space which a man born blind might know - through other people about the space of sight; but the kind of things - which a man born blind could never know about the space of sight we also - cannot know about physical space. We can know the properties of the - relations required to preserve the correspondence with sense-data, but we - cannot know the nature of the terms between which the relations hold. - </p> - <p> - With regard to time, our <i>feeling</i> of duration or of the lapse of - time is notoriously an unsafe guide as to the time that has elapsed by the - clock. Times when we are bored or suffering pain pass slowly, times when - we are agreeably occupied pass quickly, and times when we are sleeping - pass almost as if they did not exist. Thus, in so far as time is - constituted by duration, there is the same necessity for distinguishing a - public and a private time as there was in the case of space. But in so far - as time consists in an <i>order</i> of before and after, there is no need - to make such a distinction; the time-order which events seem to have is, - so far as we can see, the same as the time-order which they do have. At - any rate no reason can be given for supposing that the two orders are not - the same. The same is usually true of space: if a regiment of men are - marching along a road, the shape of the regiment will look different from - different points of view, but the men will appear arranged in the same - order from all points of view. Hence we regard the order as true also in - physical space, whereas the shape is only supposed to correspond to the - physical space so far as is required for the preservation of the order. - </p> - <p> - In saying that the time-order which events seem to have is the same as the - time-order which they really have, it is necessary to guard against a - possible misunderstanding. It must not be supposed that the various states - of different physical objects have the same time-order as the sense-data - which constitute the perceptions of those objects. Considered as physical - objects, the thunder and lightning are simultaneous; that is to say, the - lightning is simultaneous with the disturbance of the air in the place - where the disturbance begins, namely, where the lightning is. But the - sense-datum which we call hearing the thunder does not take place until - the disturbance of the air has travelled as far as to where we are. - Similarly, it takes about eight minutes for the sun's light to reach us; - thus, when we see the sun we are seeing the sun of eight minutes ago. So - far as our sense-data afford evidence as to the physical sun they afford - evidence as to the physical sun of eight minutes ago; if the physical sun - had ceased to exist within the last eight minutes, that would make no - difference to the sense-data which we call 'seeing the sun'. This affords - a fresh illustration of the necessity of distinguishing between sense-data - and physical objects. - </p> - <p> - What we have found as regards space is much the same as what we find in - relation to the correspondence of the sense-data with their physical - counterparts. If one object looks blue and another red, we may reasonably - presume that there is some corresponding difference between the physical - objects; if two objects both look blue, we may presume a corresponding - similarity. But we cannot hope to be acquainted directly with the quality - in the physical object which makes it look blue or red. Science tells us - that this quality is a certain sort of wave-motion, and this sounds - familiar, because we think of wave-motions in the space we see. But the - wave-motions must really be in physical space, with which we have no - direct acquaintance; thus the real wave-motions have not that familiarity - which we might have supposed them to have. And what holds for colours is - closely similar to what holds for other sense-data. Thus we find that, - although the <i>relations</i> of physical objects have all sorts of - knowable properties, derived from their correspondence with the relations - of sense-data, the physical objects themselves remain unknown in their - intrinsic nature, so far at least as can be discovered by means of the - senses. The question remains whether there is any other method of - discovering the intrinsic nature of physical objects. - </p> - <p> - The most natural, though not ultimately the most defensible, hypothesis to - adopt in the first instance, at any rate as regards visual sense-data, - would be that, though physical objects cannot, for the reasons we have - been considering, be <i>exactly</i> like sense-data, yet they may be more - or less like. According to this view, physical objects will, for example, - really have colours, and we might, by good luck, see an object as of the - colour it really is. The colour which an object seems to have at any given - moment will in general be very similar, though not quite the same, from - many different points of view; we might thus suppose the 'real' colour to - be a sort of medium colour, intermediate between the various shades which - appear from the different points of view. - </p> - <p> - Such a theory is perhaps not capable of being definitely refuted, but it - can be shown to be groundless. To begin with, it is plain that the colour - we see depends only upon the nature of the light-waves that strike the - eye, and is therefore modified by the medium intervening between us and - the object, as well as by the manner in which light is reflected from the - object in the direction of the eye. The intervening air alters colours - unless it is perfectly clear, and any strong reflection will alter them - completely. Thus the colour we see is a result of the ray as it reaches - the eye, and not simply a property of the object from which the ray comes. - Hence, also, provided certain waves reach the eye, we shall see a certain - colour, whether the object from which the waves start has any colour or - not. Thus it is quite gratuitous to suppose that physical objects have - colours, and therefore there is no justification for making such a - supposition. Exactly similar arguments will apply to other sense-data. - </p> - <p> - It remains to ask whether there are any general philosophical arguments - enabling us to say that, if matter is real, it must be of such and such a - nature. As explained above, very many philosophers, perhaps most, have - held that whatever is real must be in some sense mental, or at any rate - that whatever we can know anything about must be in some sense mental. - Such philosophers are called 'idealists'. Idealists tell us that what - appears as matter is really something mental; namely, either (as Leibniz - held) more or less rudimentary minds, or (as Berkeley contended) ideas in - the minds which, as we should commonly say, 'perceive' the matter. Thus - idealists deny the existence of matter as something intrinsically - different from mind, though they do not deny that our sense-data are signs - of something which exists independently of our private sensations. In the - following chapter we shall consider briefly the reasons—in my - opinion fallacious—which idealists advance in favour of their - theory. - </p> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV. IDEALISM - </h2> - <p> - The word 'idealism' is used by different philosophers in somewhat - different senses. We shall understand by it the doctrine that whatever - exists, or at any rate whatever can be known to exist, must be in some - sense mental. This doctrine, which is very widely held among philosophers, - has several forms, and is advocated on several different grounds. The - doctrine is so widely held, and so interesting in itself, that even the - briefest survey of philosophy must give some account of it. - </p> - <p> - Those who are unaccustomed to philosophical speculation may be inclined to - dismiss such a doctrine as obviously absurd. There is no doubt that common - sense regards tables and chairs and the sun and moon and material objects - generally as something radically different from minds and the contents of - minds, and as having an existence which might continue if minds ceased. We - think of matter as having existed long before there were any minds, and it - is hard to think of it as a mere product of mental activity. But whether - true or false, idealism is not to be dismissed as obviously absurd. - </p> - <p> - We have seen that, even if physical objects do have an independent - existence, they must differ very widely from sense-data, and can only have - a <i>correspondence</i> with sense-data, in the same sort of way in which - a catalogue has a correspondence with the things catalogued. Hence common - sense leaves us completely in the dark as to the true intrinsic nature of - physical objects, and if there were good reason to regard them as mental, - we could not legitimately reject this opinion merely because it strikes us - as strange. The truth about physical objects <i>must</i> be strange. It - may be unattainable, but if any philosopher believes that he has attained - it, the fact that what he offers as the truth is strange ought not to be - made a ground of objection to his opinion. - </p> - <p> - The grounds on which idealism is advocated are generally grounds derived - from the theory of knowledge, that is to say, from a discussion of the - conditions which things must satisfy in order that we may be able to know - them. The first serious attempt to establish idealism on such grounds was - that of Bishop Berkeley. He proved first, by arguments which were largely - valid, that our sense-data cannot be supposed to have an existence - independent of us, but must be, in part at least, 'in' the mind, in the - sense that their existence would not continue if there were no seeing or - hearing or touching or smelling or tasting. So far, his contention was - almost certainly valid, even if some of his arguments were not so. But he - went on to argue that sense-data were the only things of whose existence - our perceptions could assure us; and that to be known is to be 'in' a - mind, and therefore to be mental. Hence he concluded that nothing can ever - be known except what is in some mind, and that whatever is known without - being in my mind must be in some other mind. - </p> - <p> - In order to understand his argument, it is necessary to understand his use - of the word 'idea'. He gives the name 'idea' to anything which is <i>immediately</i> - known, as, for example, sense-data are known. Thus a particular colour - which we see is an idea; so is a voice which we hear, and so on. But the - term is not wholly confined to sense-data. There will also be things - remembered or imagined, for with such things also we have immediate - acquaintance at the moment of remembering or imagining. All such immediate - data he calls 'ideas'. - </p> - <p> - He then proceeds to consider common objects, such as a tree, for instance. - He shows that all we know immediately when we 'perceive' the tree consists - of ideas in his sense of the word, and he argues that there is not the - slightest ground for supposing that there is anything real about the tree - except what is perceived. Its being, he says, consists in being perceived: - in the Latin of the schoolmen its '<i>esse</i>' is '<i>percipi</i>'. He - fully admits that the tree must continue to exist even when we shut our - eyes or when no human being is near it. But this continued existence, he - says, is due to the fact that God continues to perceive it; the 'real' - tree, which corresponds to what we called the physical object, consists of - ideas in the mind of God, ideas more or less like those we have when we - see the tree, but differing in the fact that they are permanent in God's - mind so long as the tree continues to exist. All our perceptions, - according to him, consist in a partial participation in God's perceptions, - and it is because of this participation that different people see more or - less the same tree. Thus apart from minds and their ideas there is nothing - in the world, nor is it possible that anything else should ever be known, - since whatever is known is necessarily an idea. - </p> - <p> - There are in this argument a good many fallacies which have been important - in the history of philosophy, and which it will be as well to bring to - light. In the first place, there is a confusion engendered by the use of - the word 'idea'. We think of an idea as essentially something in - somebody's mind, and thus when we are told that a tree consists entirely - of ideas, it is natural to suppose that, if so, the tree must be entirely - in minds. But the notion of being 'in' the mind is ambiguous. We speak of - bearing a person in mind, not meaning that the person is in our minds, but - that a thought of him is in our minds. When a man says that some business - he had to arrange went clean out of his mind, he does not mean to imply - that the business itself was ever in his mind, but only that a thought of - the business was formerly in his mind, but afterwards ceased to be in his - mind. And so when Berkeley says that the tree must be in our minds if we - can know it, all that he really has a right to say is that a thought of - the tree must be in our minds. To argue that the tree itself must be in - our minds is like arguing that a person whom we bear in mind is himself in - our minds. This confusion may seem too gross to have been really committed - by any competent philosopher, but various attendant circumstances rendered - it possible. In order to see how it was possible, we must go more deeply - into the question as to the nature of ideas. - </p> - <p> - Before taking up the general question of the nature of ideas, we must - disentangle two entirely separate questions which arise concerning - sense-data and physical objects. We saw that, for various reasons of - detail, Berkeley was right in treating the sense-data which constitute our - perception of the tree as more or less subjective, in the sense that they - depend upon us as much as upon the tree, and would not exist if the tree - were not being perceived. But this is an entirely different point from the - one by which Berkeley seeks to prove that whatever can be immediately - known must be in a mind. For this purpose arguments of detail as to the - dependence of sense-data upon us are useless. It is necessary to prove, - generally, that by being known, things are shown to be mental. This is - what Berkeley believes himself to have done. It is this question, and not - our previous question as to the difference between sense-data and the - physical object, that must now concern us. - </p> - <p> - Taking the word 'idea' in Berkeley's sense, there are two quite distinct - things to be considered whenever an idea is before the mind. There is on - the one hand the thing of which we are aware—say the colour of my - table—and on the other hand the actual awareness itself, the mental - act of apprehending the thing. The mental act is undoubtedly mental, but - is there any reason to suppose that the thing apprehended is in any sense - mental? Our previous arguments concerning the colour did not prove it to - be mental; they only proved that its existence depends upon the relation - of our sense organs to the physical object—in our case, the table. - That is to say, they proved that a certain colour will exist, in a certain - light, if a normal eye is placed at a certain point relatively to the - table. They did not prove that the colour is in the mind of the - percipient. - </p> - <p> - Berkeley's view, that obviously the colour must be in the mind, seems to - depend for its plausibility upon confusing the thing apprehended with the - act of apprehension. Either of these might be called an 'idea'; probably - either would have been called an idea by Berkeley. The act is undoubtedly - in the mind; hence, when we are thinking of the act, we readily assent to - the view that ideas must be in the mind. Then, forgetting that this was - only true when ideas were taken as acts of apprehension, we transfer the - proposition that 'ideas are in the mind' to ideas in the other sense, i.e. - to the things apprehended by our acts of apprehension. Thus, by an - unconscious equivocation, we arrive at the conclusion that whatever we can - apprehend must be in our minds. This seems to be the true analysis of - Berkeley's argument, and the ultimate fallacy upon which it rests. - </p> - <p> - This question of the distinction between act and object in our - apprehending of things is vitally important, since our whole power of - acquiring knowledge is bound up with it. The faculty of being acquainted - with things other than itself is the main characteristic of a mind. - Acquaintance with objects essentially consists in a relation between the - mind and something other than the mind; it is this that constitutes the - mind's power of knowing things. If we say that the things known must be in - the mind, we are either unduly limiting the mind's power of knowing, or we - are uttering a mere tautology. We are uttering a mere tautology if we mean - by '<i>in</i> the mind' the same as by '<i>before</i> the mind', i.e. if - we mean merely being apprehended by the mind. But if we mean this, we - shall have to admit that what, <i>in this sense</i>, is in the mind, may - nevertheless be not mental. Thus when we realize the nature of knowledge, - Berkeley's argument is seen to be wrong in substance as well as in form, - and his grounds for supposing that 'ideas'—i.e. the objects - apprehended—must be mental, are found to have no validity whatever. - Hence his grounds in favour of idealism may be dismissed. It remains to - see whether there are any other grounds. - </p> - <p> - It is often said, as though it were a self-evident truism, that we cannot - know that anything exists which we do not know. It is inferred that - whatever can in any way be relevant to our experience must be at least - capable of being known by us; whence it follows that if matter were - essentially something with which we could not become acquainted, matter - would be something which we could not know to exist, and which could have - for us no importance whatever. It is generally also implied, for reasons - which remain obscure, that what can have no importance for us cannot be - real, and that therefore matter, if it is not composed of minds or of - mental ideas, is impossible and a mere chimaera. - </p> - <p> - To go into this argument fully at our present stage would be impossible, - since it raises points requiring a considerable preliminary discussion; - but certain reasons for rejecting the argument may be noticed at once. To - begin at the end: there is no reason why what cannot have any <i>practical</i> - importance for us should not be real. It is true that, if <i>theoretical</i> - importance is included, everything real is of <i>some</i> importance to - us, since, as persons desirous of knowing the truth about the universe, we - have some interest in everything that the universe contains. But if this - sort of interest is included, it is not the case that matter has no - importance for us, provided it exists even if we cannot know that it - exists. We can, obviously, suspect that it may exist, and wonder whether - it does; hence it is connected with our desire for knowledge, and has the - importance of either satisfying or thwarting this desire. - </p> - <p> - Again, it is by no means a truism, and is in fact false, that we cannot - know that anything exists which we do not know. The word 'know' is here - used in two different senses. (1) In its first use it is applicable to the - sort of knowledge which is opposed to error, the sense in which what we - know is <i>true</i>, the sense which applies to our beliefs and - convictions, i.e. to what are called <i>judgements</i>. In this sense of - the word we know <i>that</i> something is the case. This sort of knowledge - may be described as knowledge of <i>truths</i>. (2) In the second use of - the word 'know' above, the word applies to our knowledge of <i>things</i>, - which we may call <i>acquaintance</i>. This is the sense in which we know - sense-data. (The distinction involved is roughly that between <i>savoir</i> - and <i>connaître</i> in French, or between <i>wissen</i> and <i>kennen</i> - in German.) - </p> - <p> - Thus the statement which seemed like a truism becomes, when re-stated, the - following: 'We can never truly judge that something with which we are not - acquainted exists.' This is by no means a truism, but on the contrary a - palpable falsehood. I have not the honour to be acquainted with the - Emperor of China, but I truly judge that he exists. It may be said, of - course, that I judge this because of other people's acquaintance with him. - This, however, would be an irrelevant retort, since, if the principle were - true, I could not know that any one else is acquainted with him. But - further: there is no reason why I should not know of the existence of - something with which nobody is acquainted. This point is important, and - demands elucidation. - </p> - <p> - If I am acquainted with a thing which exists, my acquaintance gives me the - knowledge that it exists. But it is not true that, conversely, whenever I - can know that a thing of a certain sort exists, I or some one else must be - acquainted with the thing. What happens, in cases where I have true - judgement without acquaintance, is that the thing is known to me by <i>description</i>, - and that, in virtue of some general principle, the existence of a thing - answering to this description can be inferred from the existence of - something with which I am acquainted. In order to understand this point - fully, it will be well first to deal with the difference between knowledge - by acquaintance and knowledge by description, and then to consider what - knowledge of general principles, if any, has the same kind of certainty as - our knowledge of the existence of our own experiences. These subjects will - be dealt with in the following chapters. - </p> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V. KNOWLEDGE BY ACQUAINTANCE AND KNOWLEDGE BY DESCRIPTION - </h2> - <p> - In the preceding chapter we saw that there are two sorts of knowledge: - knowledge of things, and knowledge of truths. In this chapter we shall be - concerned exclusively with knowledge of things, of which in turn we shall - have to distinguish two kinds. Knowledge of things, when it is of the kind - we call knowledge by <i>acquaintance</i>, is essentially simpler than any - knowledge of truths, and logically independent of knowledge of truths, - though it would be rash to assume that human beings ever, in fact, have - acquaintance with things without at the same time knowing some truth about - them. Knowledge of things by <i>description</i>, on the contrary, always - involves, as we shall find in the course of the present chapter, some - knowledge of truths as its source and ground. But first of all we must - make clear what we mean by 'acquaintance' and what we mean by - 'description'. - </p> - <p> - We shall say that we have <i>acquaintance</i> with anything of which we - are directly aware, without the intermediary of any process of inference - or any knowledge of truths. Thus in the presence of my table I am - acquainted with the sense-data that make up the appearance of my table—its - colour, shape, hardness, smoothness, etc.; all these are things of which I - am immediately conscious when I am seeing and touching my table. The - particular shade of colour that I am seeing may have many things said - about it—I may say that it is brown, that it is rather dark, and so - on. But such statements, though they make me know truths about the colour, - do not make me know the colour itself any better than I did before so far - as concerns knowledge of the colour itself, as opposed to knowledge of - truths about it, I know the colour perfectly and completely when I see it, - and no further knowledge of it itself is even theoretically possible. Thus - the sense-data which make up the appearance of my table are things with - which I have acquaintance, things immediately known to me just as they - are. - </p> - <p> - My knowledge of the table as a physical object, on the contrary, is not - direct knowledge. Such as it is, it is obtained through acquaintance with - the sense-data that make up the appearance of the table. We have seen that - it is possible, without absurdity, to doubt whether there is a table at - all, whereas it is not possible to doubt the sense-data. My knowledge of - the table is of the kind which we shall call 'knowledge by description'. - The table is 'the physical object which causes such-and-such sense-data'. - This describes the table by means of the sense-data. In order to know - anything at all about the table, we must know truths connecting it with - things with which we have acquaintance: we must know that 'such-and-such - sense-data are caused by a physical object'. There is no state of mind in - which we are directly aware of the table; all our knowledge of the table - is really knowledge of truths, and the actual thing which is the table is - not, strictly speaking, known to us at all. We know a description, and we - know that there is just one object to which this description applies, - though the object itself is not directly known to us. In such a case, we - say that our knowledge of the object is knowledge by description. - </p> - <p> - All our knowledge, both knowledge of things and knowledge of truths, rests - upon acquaintance as its foundation. It is therefore important to consider - what kinds of things there are with which we have acquaintance. - </p> - <p> - Sense-data, as we have already seen, are among the things with which we - are acquainted; in fact, they supply the most obvious and striking example - of knowledge by acquaintance. But if they were the sole example, our - knowledge would be very much more restricted than it is. We should only - know what is now present to our senses: we could not know anything about - the past—not even that there was a past—nor could we know any - truths about our sense-data, for all knowledge of truths, as we shall - show, demands acquaintance with things which are of an essentially - different character from sense-data, the things which are sometimes called - 'abstract ideas', but which we shall call 'universals'. We have therefore - to consider acquaintance with other things besides sense-data if we are to - obtain any tolerably adequate analysis of our knowledge. - </p> - <p> - The first extension beyond sense-data to be considered is acquaintance by - <i>memory</i>. It is obvious that we often remember what we have seen or - heard or had otherwise present to our senses, and that in such cases we - are still immediately aware of what we remember, in spite of the fact that - it appears as past and not as present. This immediate knowledge by memory - is the source of all our knowledge concerning the past: without it, there - could be no knowledge of the past by inference, since we should never know - that there was anything past to be inferred. - </p> - <p> - The next extension to be considered is acquaintance by <i>introspection</i>. - We are not only aware of things, but we are often aware of being aware of - them. When I see the sun, I am often aware of my seeing the sun; thus 'my - seeing the sun' is an object with which I have acquaintance. When I desire - food, I may be aware of my desire for food; thus 'my desiring food' is an - object with which I am acquainted. Similarly we may be aware of our - feeling pleasure or pain, and generally of the events which happen in our - minds. This kind of acquaintance, which may be called self-consciousness, - is the source of all our knowledge of mental things. It is obvious that it - is only what goes on in our own minds that can be thus known immediately. - What goes on in the minds of others is known to us through our perception - of their bodies, that is, through the sense-data in us which are - associated with their bodies. But for our acquaintance with the contents - of our own minds, we should be unable to imagine the minds of others, and - therefore we could never arrive at the knowledge that they have minds. It - seems natural to suppose that self-consciousness is one of the things that - distinguish men from animals: animals, we may suppose, though they have - acquaintance with sense-data, never become aware of this acquaintance. I - do not mean that they <i>doubt</i> whether they exist, but that they have - never become conscious of the fact that they have sensations and feelings, - nor therefore of the fact that they, the subjects of their sensations and - feelings, exist. - </p> - <p> - We have spoken of acquaintance with the contents of our minds as <i>self</i>-consciousness, - but it is not, of course, consciousness of our <i>self</i>: it is - consciousness of particular thoughts and feelings. The question whether we - are also acquainted with our bare selves, as opposed to particular - thoughts and feelings, is a very difficult one, upon which it would be - rash to speak positively. When we try to look into ourselves we always - seem to come upon some particular thought or feeling, and not upon the 'I' - which has the thought or feeling. Nevertheless there are some reasons for - thinking that we are acquainted with the 'I', though the acquaintance is - hard to disentangle from other things. To make clear what sort of reason - there is, let us consider for a moment what our acquaintance with - particular thoughts really involves. - </p> - <p> - When I am acquainted with 'my seeing the sun', it seems plain that I am - acquainted with two different things in relation to each other. On the one - hand there is the sense-datum which represents the sun to me, on the other - hand there is that which sees this sense-datum. All acquaintance, such as - my acquaintance with the sense-datum which represents the sun, seems - obviously a relation between the person acquainted and the object with - which the person is acquainted. When a case of acquaintance is one with - which I can be acquainted (as I am acquainted with my acquaintance with - the sense-datum representing the sun), it is plain that the person - acquainted is myself. Thus, when I am acquainted with my seeing the sun, - the whole fact with which I am acquainted is - 'Self-acquainted-with-sense-datum'. - </p> - <p> - Further, we know the truth 'I am acquainted with this sense-datum'. It is - hard to see how we could know this truth, or even understand what is meant - by it, unless we were acquainted with something which we call 'I'. It does - not seem necessary to suppose that we are acquainted with a more or less - permanent person, the same to-day as yesterday, but it does seem as though - we must be acquainted with that thing, whatever its nature, which sees the - sun and has acquaintance with sense-data. Thus, in some sense it would - seem we must be acquainted with our Selves as opposed to our particular - experiences. But the question is difficult, and complicated arguments can - be adduced on either side. Hence, although acquaintance with ourselves - seems <i>probably</i> to occur, it is not wise to assert that it - undoubtedly does occur. - </p> - <p> - We may therefore sum up as follows what has been said concerning - acquaintance with things that exist. We have acquaintance in sensation - with the data of the outer senses, and in introspection with the data of - what may be called the inner sense—thoughts, feelings, desires, - etc.; we have acquaintance in memory with things which have been data - either of the outer senses or of the inner sense. Further, it is probable, - though not certain, that we have acquaintance with Self, as that which is - aware of things or has desires towards things. - </p> - <p> - In addition to our acquaintance with particular existing things, we also - have acquaintance with what we shall call <i>universals</i>, that is to - say, general ideas, such as <i>whiteness</i>, <i>diversity</i>, <i>brotherhood</i>, - and so on. Every complete sentence must contain at least one word which - stands for a universal, since all verbs have a meaning which is universal. - We shall return to universals later on, in Chapter IX; for the present, it - is only necessary to guard against the supposition that whatever we can be - acquainted with must be something particular and existent. Awareness of - universals is called <i>conceiving</i>, and a universal of which we are - aware is called a <i>concept</i>. - </p> - <p> - It will be seen that among the objects with which we are acquainted are - not included physical objects (as opposed to sense-data), nor other - people's minds. These things are known to us by what I call 'knowledge by - description', which we must now consider. - </p> - <p> - By a 'description' I mean any phrase of the form 'a so-and-so' or 'the - so-and-so'. A phrase of the form 'a so-and-so' I shall call an 'ambiguous' - description; a phrase of the form 'the so-and-so' (in the singular) I - shall call a 'definite' description. Thus 'a man' is an ambiguous - description, and 'the man with the iron mask' is a definite description. - There are various problems connected with ambiguous descriptions, but I - pass them by, since they do not directly concern the matter we are - discussing, which is the nature of our knowledge concerning objects in - cases where we know that there is an object answering to a definite - description, though we are not acquainted with any such object. This is a - matter which is concerned exclusively with definite descriptions. I shall - therefore, in the sequel, speak simply of 'descriptions' when I mean - 'definite descriptions'. Thus a description will mean any phrase of the - form 'the so-and-so' in the singular. - </p> - <p> - We shall say that an object is 'known by description' when we know that it - is 'the so-and-so', i.e. when we know that there is one object, and no - more, having a certain property; and it will generally be implied that we - do not have knowledge of the same object by acquaintance. We know that the - man with the iron mask existed, and many propositions are known about him; - but we do not know who he was. We know that the candidate who gets the - most votes will be elected, and in this case we are very likely also - acquainted (in the only sense in which one can be acquainted with some one - else) with the man who is, in fact, the candidate who will get most votes; - but we do not know which of the candidates he is, i.e. we do not know any - proposition of the form 'A is the candidate who will get most votes' where - A is one of the candidates by name. We shall say that we have 'merely - descriptive knowledge' of the so-and-so when, although we know that the - so-and-so exists, and although we may possibly be acquainted with the - object which is, in fact, the so-and-so, yet we do not know any - proposition '<i>a</i> is the so-and-so', where <i>a</i> is something with - which we are acquainted. - </p> - <p> - When we say 'the so-and-so exists', we mean that there is just one object - which is the so-and-so. The proposition '<i>a</i> is the so-and-so' means - that <i>a</i> has the property so-and-so, and nothing else has. 'Mr. A. is - the Unionist candidate for this constituency' means 'Mr. A. is a Unionist - candidate for this constituency, and no one else is'. 'The Unionist - candidate for this constituency exists' means 'some one is a Unionist - candidate for this constituency, and no one else is'. Thus, when we are - acquainted with an object which is the so-and-so, we know that the - so-and-so exists; but we may know that the so-and-so exists when we are - not acquainted with any object which we know to be the so-and-so, and even - when we are not acquainted with any object which, in fact, is the - so-and-so. - </p> - <p> - Common words, even proper names, are usually really descriptions. That is - to say, the thought in the mind of a person using a proper name correctly - can generally only be expressed explicitly if we replace the proper name - by a description. Moreover, the description required to express the - thought will vary for different people, or for the same person at - different times. The only thing constant (so long as the name is rightly - used) is the object to which the name applies. But so long as this remains - constant, the particular description involved usually makes no difference - to the truth or falsehood of the proposition in which the name appears. - </p> - <p> - Let us take some illustrations. Suppose some statement made about - Bismarck. Assuming that there is such a thing as direct acquaintance with - oneself, Bismarck himself might have used his name directly to designate - the particular person with whom he was acquainted. In this case, if he - made a judgement about himself, he himself might be a constituent of the - judgement. Here the proper name has the direct use which it always wishes - to have, as simply standing for a certain object, and not for a - description of the object. But if a person who knew Bismarck made a - judgement about him, the case is different. What this person was - acquainted with were certain sense-data which he connected (rightly, we - will suppose) with Bismarck's body. His body, as a physical object, and - still more his mind, were only known as the body and the mind connected - with these sense-data. That is, they were known by description. It is, of - course, very much a matter af chance which characteristics of a man's - appearance will come into a friend's mind when he thinks of him; thus the - description actually in the friend's mind is accidental. The essential - point is that he knows that the various descriptions all apply to the same - entity, in spite of not being acquainted with the entity in question. - </p> - <p> - When we, who did not know Bismarck, make a judgement about him, the - description in our minds will probably be some more or less vague mass of - historical knowledge—far more, in most cases, than is required to - identify him. But, for the sake of illustration, let us assume that we - think of him as 'the first Chancellor of the German Empire'. Here all the - words are abstract except 'German'. The word 'German' will, again, have - different meanings for different people. To some it will recall travels in - Germany, to some the look of Germany on the map, and so on. But if we are - to obtain a description which we know to be applicable, we shall be - compelled, at some point, to bring in a reference to a particular with - which we are acquainted. Such reference is involved in any mention of - past, present, and future (as opposed to definite dates), or of here and - there, or of what others have told us. Thus it would seem that, in some - way or other, a description known to be applicable to a particular must - involve some reference to a particular with which we are acquainted, if - our knowledge about the thing described is not to be merely what follows - <i>logically</i> from the description. For example, 'the most long-lived - of men' is a description involving only universals, which must apply to - some man, but we can make no judgements concerning this man which involve - knowledge about him beyond what the description gives. If, however, we - say, 'The first Chancellor of the German Empire was an astute - diplomatist', we can only be assured of the truth of our judgement in - virtue of something with which we are acquainted—usually a testimony - heard or read. Apart from the information we convey to others, apart from - the fact about the actual Bismarck, which gives importance to our - judgement, the thought we really have contains the one or more particulars - involved, and otherwise consists wholly of concepts. - </p> - <p> - All names of places—London, England, Europe, the Earth, the Solar - System—similarly involve, when used, descriptions which start from - some one or more particulars with which we are acquainted. I suspect that - even the Universe, as considered by metaphysics, involves such a connexion - with particulars. In logic, on the contrary, where we are concerned not - merely with what does exist, but with whatever might or could exist or be, - no reference to actual particulars is involved. - </p> - <p> - It would seem that, when we make a statement about something only known by - description, we often <i>intend</i> to make our statement, not in the form - involving the description, but about the actual thing described. That is - to say, when we say anything about Bismarck, we should like, if we could, - to make the judgement which Bismarck alone can make, namely, the judgement - of which he himself is a constituent. In this we are necessarily defeated, - since the actual Bismarck is unknown to us. But we know that there is an - object B, called Bismarck, and that B was an astute diplomatist. We can - thus <i>describe</i> the proposition we should like to affirm, namely, 'B - was an astute diplomatist', where B is the object which was Bismarck. If - we are describing Bismarck as 'the first Chancellor of the German Empire', - the proposition we should like to affirm may be described as 'the - proposition asserting, concerning the actual object which was the first - Chancellor of the German Empire, that this object was an astute - diplomatist'. What enables us to communicate in spite of the varying - descriptions we employ is that we know there is a true proposition - concerning the actual Bismarck, and that however we may vary the - description (so long as the description is correct) the proposition - described is still the same. This proposition, which is described and is - known to be true, is what interests us; but we are not acquainted with the - proposition itself, and do not know it, though we know it is true. - </p> - <p> - It will be seen that there are various stages in the removal from - acquaintance with particulars: there is Bismarck to people who knew him; - Bismarck to those who only know of him through history; the man with the - iron mask; the longest-lived of men. These are progressively further - removed from acquaintance with particulars; the first comes as near to - acquaintance as is possible in regard to another person; in the second, we - shall still be said to know 'who Bismarck was'; in the third, we do not - know who was the man with the iron mask, though we can know many - propositions about him which are not logically deducible from the fact - that he wore an iron mask; in the fourth, finally, we know nothing beyond - what is logically deducible from the definition of the man. There is a - similar hierarchy in the region of universals. Many universals, like many - particulars, are only known to us by description. But here, as in the case - of particulars, knowledge concerning what is known by description is - ultimately reducible to knowledge concerning what is known by - acquaintance. - </p> - <p> - The fundamental principle in the analysis of propositions containing - descriptions is this: <i>Every proposition which we can understand must be - composed wholly of constituents with which we are acquainted</i>. - </p> - <p> - We shall not at this stage attempt to answer all the objections which may - be urged against this fundamental principle. For the present, we shall - merely point out that, in some way or other, it must be possible to meet - these objections, for it is scarcely conceivable that we can make a - judgement or entertain a supposition without knowing what it is that we - are judging or supposing about. We must attach <i>some</i> meaning to the - words we use, if we are to speak significantly and not utter mere noise; - and the meaning we attach to our words must be something with which we are - acquainted. Thus when, for example, we make a statement about Julius - Caesar, it is plain that Julius Caesar himself is not before our minds, - since we are not acquainted with him. We have in mind some description of - Julius Caesar: 'the man who was assassinated on the Ides of March', 'the - founder of the Roman Empire', or, perhaps, merely 'the man whose name was - <i>Julius Caesar</i>'. (In this last description, <i>Julius Caesar</i> is - a noise or shape with which we are acquainted.) Thus our statement does - not mean quite what it seems to mean, but means something involving, - instead of Julius Caesar, some description of him which is composed wholly - of particulars and universals with which we are acquainted. - </p> - <p> - The chief importance of knowledge by description is that it enables us to - pass beyond the limits of our private experience. In spite of the fact - that we can only know truths which are wholly composed of terms which we - have experienced in acquaintance, we can yet have knowledge by description - of things which we have never experienced. In view of the very narrow - range of our immediate experience, this result is vital, and until it is - understood, much of our knowledge must remain mysterious and therefore - doubtful. - </p> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI. ON INDUCTION - </h2> - <p> - In almost all our previous discussions we have been concerned in the - attempt to get clear as to our data in the way of knowledge of existence. - What things are there in the universe whose existence is known to us owing - to our being acquainted with them? So far, our answer has been that we are - acquainted with our sense-data, and, probably, with ourselves. These we - know to exist. And past sense-data which are remembered are known to have - existed in the past. This knowledge supplies our data. - </p> - <p> - But if we are to be able to draw inferences from these data—if we - are to know of the existence of matter, of other people, of the past - before our individual memory begins, or of the future, we must know - general principles of some kind by means of which such inferences can be - drawn. It must be known to us that the existence of some one sort of - thing, A, is a sign of the existence of some other sort of thing, B, - either at the same time as A or at some earlier or later time, as, for - example, thunder is a sign of the earlier existence of lightning. If this - were not known to us, we could never extend our knowledge beyond the - sphere of our private experience; and this sphere, as we have seen, is - exceedingly limited. The question we have now to consider is whether such - an extension is possible, and if so, how it is effected. - </p> - <p> - Let us take as an illustration a matter about which none of us, in fact, - feel the slightest doubt. We are all convinced that the sun will rise - to-morrow. Why? Is this belief a mere blind outcome of past experience, or - can it be justified as a reasonable belief? It is not easy to find a test - by which to judge whether a belief of this kind is reasonable or not, but - we can at least ascertain what sort of general beliefs would suffice, if - true, to justify the judgement that the sun will rise to-morrow, and the - many other similar judgements upon which our actions are based. - </p> - <p> - It is obvious that if we are asked why we believe that the sun will rise - to-morrow, we shall naturally answer 'Because it always has risen every - day'. We have a firm belief that it will rise in the future, because it - has risen in the past. If we are challenged as to why we believe that it - will continue to rise as heretofore, we may appeal to the laws of motion: - the earth, we shall say, is a freely rotating body, and such bodies do not - cease to rotate unless something interferes from outside, and there is - nothing outside to interfere with the earth between now and to-morrow. Of - course it might be doubted whether we are quite certain that there is - nothing outside to interfere, but this is not the interesting doubt. The - interesting doubt is as to whether the laws of motion will remain in - operation until to-morrow. If this doubt is raised, we find ourselves in - the same position as when the doubt about the sunrise was first raised. - </p> - <p> - The <i>only</i> reason for believing that the laws of motion will remain - in operation is that they have operated hitherto, so far as our knowledge - of the past enables us to judge. It is true that we have a greater body of - evidence from the past in favour of the laws of motion than we have in - favour of the sunrise, because the sunrise is merely a particular case of - fulfilment of the laws of motion, and there are countless other particular - cases. But the real question is: Do <i>any</i> number of cases of a law - being fulfilled in the past afford evidence that it will be fulfilled in - the future? If not, it becomes plain that we have no ground whatever for - expecting the sun to rise to-morrow, or for expecting the bread we shall - eat at our next meal not to poison us, or for any of the other scarcely - conscious expectations that control our daily lives. It is to be observed - that all such expectations are only <i>probable</i>; thus we have not to - seek for a proof that they <i>must</i> be fulfilled, but only for some - reason in favour of the view that they are <i>likely</i> to be fulfilled. - </p> - <p> - Now in dealing with this question we must, to begin with, make an - important distinction, without which we should soon become involved in - hopeless confusions. Experience has shown us that, hitherto, the frequent - repetition of some uniform succession or coexistence has been a <i>cause</i> - of our expecting the same succession or coexistence on the next occasion. - Food that has a certain appearance generally has a certain taste, and it - is a severe shock to our expectations when the familiar appearance is - found to be associated with an unusual taste. Things which we see become - associated, by habit, with certain tactile sensations which we expect if - we touch them; one of the horrors of a ghost (in many ghost-stories) is - that it fails to give us any sensations of touch. Uneducated people who go - abroad for the first time are so surprised as to be incredulous when they - find their native language not understood. - </p> - <p> - And this kind of association is not confined to men; in animals also it is - very strong. A horse which has been often driven along a certain road - resists the attempt to drive him in a different direction. Domestic - animals expect food when they see the person who usually feeds them. We - know that all these rather crude expectations of uniformity are liable to - be misleading. The man who has fed the chicken every day throughout its - life at last wrings its neck instead, showing that more refined views as - to the uniformity of nature would have been useful to the chicken. - </p> - <p> - But in spite of the misleadingness of such expectations, they nevertheless - exist. The mere fact that something has happened a certain number of times - causes animals and men to expect that it will happen again. Thus our - instincts certainly cause us to believe that the sun will rise to-morrow, - but we may be in no better a position than the chicken which unexpectedly - has its neck wrung. We have therefore to distinguish the fact that past - uniformities <i>cause</i> expectations as to the future, from the question - whether there is any reasonable ground for giving weight to such - expectations after the question of their validity has been raised. - </p> - <p> - The problem we have to discuss is whether there is any reason for - believing in what is called 'the uniformity of nature'. The belief in the - uniformity of nature is the belief that everything that has happened or - will happen is an instance of some general law to which there are no - exceptions. The crude expectations which we have been considering are all - subject to exceptions, and therefore liable to disappoint those who - entertain them. But science habitually assumes, at least as a working - hypothesis, that general rules which have exceptions can be replaced by - general rules which have no exceptions. 'Unsupported bodies in air fall' - is a general rule to which balloons and aeroplanes are exceptions. But the - laws of motion and the law of gravitation, which account for the fact that - most bodies fall, also account for the fact that balloons and aeroplanes - can rise; thus the laws of motion and the law of gravitation are not - subject to these exceptions. - </p> - <p> - The belief that the sun will rise to-morrow might be falsified if the - earth came suddenly into contact with a large body which destroyed its - rotation; but the laws of motion and the law of gravitation would not be - infringed by such an event. The business of science is to find - uniformities, such as the laws of motion and the law of gravitation, to - which, so far as our experience extends, there are no exceptions. In this - search science has been remarkably successful, and it may be conceded that - such uniformities have held hitherto. This brings us back to the question: - Have we any reason, assuming that they have always held in the past, to - suppose that they will hold in the future? - </p> - <p> - It has been argued that we have reason to know that the future will - resemble the past, because what was the future has constantly become the - past, and has always been found to resemble the past, so that we really - have experience of the future, namely of times which were formerly future, - which we may call past futures. But such an argument really begs the very - question at issue. We have experience of past futures, but not of future - futures, and the question is: Will future futures resemble past futures? - This question is not to be answered by an argument which starts from past - futures alone. We have therefore still to seek for some principle which - shall enable us to know that the future will follow the same laws as the - past. - </p> - <p> - The reference to the future in this question is not essential. The same - question arises when we apply the laws that work in our experience to past - things of which we have no experience—as, for example, in geology, - or in theories as to the origin of the Solar System. The question we - really have to ask is: 'When two things have been found to be often - associated, and no instance is known of the one occurring without the - other, does the occurrence of one of the two, in a fresh instance, give - any good ground for expecting the other?' On our answer to this question - must depend the validity of the whole of our expectations as to the - future, the whole of the results obtained by induction, and in fact - practically all the beliefs upon which our daily life is based. - </p> - <p> - It must be conceded, to begin with, that the fact that two things have - been found often together and never apart does not, by itself, suffice to - <i>prove</i> demonstratively that they will be found together in the next - case we examine. The most we can hope is that the oftener things are found - together, the more probable it becomes that they will be found together - another time, and that, if they have been found together often enough, the - probability will amount <i>almost</i> to certainty. It can never quite - reach certainty, because we know that in spite of frequent repetitions - there sometimes is a failure at the last, as in the case of the chicken - whose neck is wrung. Thus probability is all we ought to seek. - </p> - <p> - It might be urged, as against the view we are advocating, that we know all - natural phenomena to be subject to the reign of law, and that sometimes, - on the basis of observation, we can see that only one law can possibly fit - the facts of the case. Now to this view there are two answers. The first - is that, even if <i>some</i> law which has no exceptions applies to our - case, we can never, in practice, be sure that we have discovered that law - and not one to which there are exceptions. The second is that the reign of - law would seem to be itself only probable, and that our belief that it - will hold in the future, or in unexamined cases in the past, is itself - based upon the very principle we are examining. - </p> - <p> - The principle we are examining may be called the <i>principle of induction</i>, - and its two parts may be stated as follows: - </p> - <p> - (a) When a thing of a certain sort A has been found to be associated with - a thing of a certain other sort B, and has never been found dissociated - from a thing of the sort B, the greater the number of cases in which A and - B have been associated, the greater is the probability that they will be - associated in a fresh case in which one of them is known to be present; - </p> - <p> - (b) Under the same circumstances, a sufficient number of cases of - association will make the probability of a fresh association nearly a - certainty, and will make it approach certainty without limit. - </p> - <p> - As just stated, the principle applies only to the verification of our - expectation in a single fresh instance. But we want also to know that - there is a probability in favour of the general law that things of the - sort A are <i>always</i> associated with things of the sort B, provided a - sufficient number of cases of association are known, and no cases of - failure of association are known. The probability of the general law is - obviously less than the probability of the particular case, since if the - general law is true, the particular case must also be true, whereas the - particular case may be true without the general law being true. - Nevertheless the probability of the general law is increased by - repetitions, just as the probability of the particular case is. We may - therefore repeat the two parts of our principle as regards the general - law, thus: - </p> - <p> - (a) The greater the number of cases in which a thing of the sort A has - been found associated with a thing of the sort B, the more probable it is - (if no cases of failure of association are known) that A is always - associated with B; - </p> - <p> - b) Under the same circumstances, a sufficient number of cases of the - association of A with B will make it nearly certain that A is always - associated with B, and will make this general law approach certainty - without limit. - </p> - <p> - It should be noted that probability is always relative to certain data. In - our case, the data are merely the known cases of coexistence of A and B. - There may be other data, which <i>might</i> be taken into account, which - would gravely alter the probability. For example, a man who had seen a - great many white swans might argue, by our principle, that on the data it - was <i>probable</i> that all swans were white, and this might be a - perfectly sound argument. The argument is not disproved by the fact that - some swans are black, because a thing may very well happen in spite of the - fact that some data render it improbable. In the case of the swans, a man - might know that colour is a very variable characteristic in many species - of animals, and that, therefore, an induction as to colour is peculiarly - liable to error. But this knowledge would be a fresh datum, by no means - proving that the probability relatively to our previous data had been - wrongly estimated. The fact, therefore, that things often fail to fulfil - our expectations is no evidence that our expectations will not <i>probably</i> - be fulfilled in a given case or a given class of cases. Thus our inductive - principle is at any rate not capable of being <i>disproved</i> by an - appeal to experience. - </p> - <p> - The inductive principle, however, is equally incapable of being <i>proved</i> - by an appeal to experience. Experience might conceivably confirm the - inductive principle as regards the cases that have been already examined; - but as regards unexamined cases, it is the inductive principle alone that - can justify any inference from what has been examined to what has not been - examined. All arguments which, on the basis of experience, argue as to the - future or the unexperienced parts of the past or present, assume the - inductive principle; hence we can never use experience to prove the - inductive principle without begging the question. Thus we must either - accept the inductive principle on the ground of its intrinsic evidence, or - forgo all justification of our expectations about the future. If the - principle is unsound, we have no reason to expect the sun to rise - to-morrow, to expect bread to be more nourishing than a stone, or to - expect that if we throw ourselves off the roof we shall fall. When we see - what looks like our best friend approaching us, we shall have no reason to - suppose that his body is not inhabited by the mind of our worst enemy or - of some total stranger. All our conduct is based upon associations which - have worked in the past, and which we therefore regard as likely to work - in the future; and this likelihood is dependent for its validity upon the - inductive principle. - </p> - <p> - The general principles of science, such as the belief in the reign of law, - and the belief that every event must have a cause, are as completely - dependent upon the inductive principle as are the beliefs of daily life - All such general principles are believed because mankind have found - innumerable instances of their truth and no instances of their falsehood. - But this affords no evidence for their truth in the future, unless the - inductive principle is assumed. - </p> - <p> - Thus all knowledge which, on a basis of experience tells us something - about what is not experienced, is based upon a belief which experience can - neither confirm nor confute, yet which, at least in its more concrete - applications, appears to be as firmly rooted in us as many of the facts of - experience. The existence and justification of such beliefs—for the - inductive principle, as we shall see, is not the only example—raises - some of the most difficult and most debated problems of philosophy. We - will, in the next chapter, consider briefly what may be said to account - for such knowledge, and what is its scope and its degree of certainty. - </p> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VII. ON OUR KNOWLEDGE OF GENERAL PRINCIPLES - </h2> - <p> - We saw in the preceding chapter that the principle of induction, while - necessary to the validity of all arguments based on experience, is itself - not capable of being proved by experience, and yet is unhesitatingly - believed by every one, at least in all its concrete applications. In these - characteristics the principle of induction does not stand alone. There are - a number of other principles which cannot be proved or disproved by - experience, but are used in arguments which start from what is - experienced. - </p> - <p> - Some of these principles have even greater evidence than the principle of - induction, and the knowledge of them has the same degree of certainty as - the knowledge of the existence of sense-data. They constitute the means of - drawing inferences from what is given in sensation; and if what we infer - is to be true, it is just as necessary that our principles of inference - should be true as it is that our data should be true. The principles of - inference are apt to be overlooked because of their very obviousness—the - assumption involved is assented to without our realizing that it is an - assumption. But it is very important to realize the use of principles of - inference, if a correct theory of knowledge is to be obtained; for our - knowledge of them raises interesting and difficult questions. - </p> - <p> - In all our knowledge of general principles, what actually happens is that - first of all we realize some particular application of the principle, and - then we realize that the particularity is irrelevant, and that there is a - generality which may equally truly be affirmed. This is of course familiar - in such matters as teaching arithmetic: 'two and two are four' is first - learnt in the case of some particular pair of couples, and then in some - other particular case, and so on, until at last it becomes possible to see - that it is true of any pair of couples. The same thing happens with - logical principles. Suppose two men are discussing what day of the month - it is. One of them says, 'At least you will admit that <i>if</i> yesterday - was the 15th to-day must be the 16th.' 'Yes', says the other, 'I admit - that.' 'And you know', the first continues, 'that yesterday was the 15th, - because you dined with Jones, and your diary will tell you that was on the - 15th.' 'Yes', says the second; 'therefore to-day <i>is</i> the 16th.' - </p> - <p> - Now such an argument is not hard to follow; and if it is granted that its - premisses are true in fact, no one will deny that the conclusion must also - be true. But it depends for its truth upon an instance of a general - logical principle. The logical principle is as follows: 'Suppose it known - that <i>if</i> this is true, then that is true. Suppose it also known that - this <i>is</i> true, then it follows that that is true.' When it is the - case that if this is true, that is true, we shall say that this 'implies' - that, and that that 'follows from' this. Thus our principle states that if - this implies that, and this is true, then that is true. In other words, - 'anything implied by a true proposition is true', or 'whatever follows - from a true proposition is true'. - </p> - <p> - This principle is really involved—at least, concrete instances of it - are involved—in all demonstrations. Whenever one thing which we - believe is used to prove something else, which we consequently believe, - this principle is relevant. If any one asks: 'Why should I accept the - results of valid arguments based on true premisses?' we can only answer by - appealing to our principle. In fact, the truth of the principle is - impossible to doubt, and its obviousness is so great that at first sight - it seems almost trivial. Such principles, however, are not trivial to the - philosopher, for they show that we may have indubitable knowledge which is - in no way derived from objects of sense. - </p> - <p> - The above principle is merely one of a certain number of self-evident - logical principles. Some at least of these principles must be granted - before any argument or proof becomes possible. When some of them have been - granted, others can be proved, though these others, so long as they are - simple, are just as obvious as the principles taken for granted. For no - very good reason, three of these principles have been singled out by - tradition under the name of 'Laws of Thought'. - </p> - <p> - They are as follows: - </p> - <p> - (1) <i>The law of identity</i>: 'Whatever is, is.' - </p> - <p> - (2) <i>The law of contradiction</i>: 'Nothing can both be and not be.' - </p> - <p> - (3) <i>The law of excluded middle</i>: 'Everything must either be or not - be.' - </p> - <p> - These three laws are samples of self-evident logical principles, but are - not really more fundamental or more self-evident than various other - similar principles: for instance, the one we considered just now, which - states that what follows from a true premiss is true. The name 'laws of - thought' is also misleading, for what is important is not the fact that we - think in accordance with these laws, but the fact that things behave in - accordance with them; in other words, the fact that when we think in - accordance with them we think <i>truly</i>. But this is a large question, - to which we must return at a later stage. - </p> - <p> - In addition to the logical principles which enable us to prove from a - given premiss that something is <i>certainly</i> true, there are other - logical principles which enable us to prove, from a given premiss, that - there is a greater or less probability that something is true. An example - of such principles—perhaps the most important example is the - inductive principle, which we considered in the preceding chapter. - </p> - <p> - One of the great historic controversies in philosophy is the controversy - between the two schools called respectively 'empiricists' and - 'rationalists'. The empiricists—who are best represented by the - British philosophers, Locke, Berkeley, and Hume—maintained that all - our knowledge is derived from experience; the rationalists—who are - represented by the Continental philosophers of the seventeenth century, - especially Descartes and Leibniz—maintained that, in addition to - what we know by experience, there are certain 'innate ideas' and 'innate - principles', which we know independently of experience. It has now become - possible to decide with some confidence as to the truth or falsehood of - these opposing schools. It must be admitted, for the reasons already - stated, that logical principles are known to us, and cannot be themselves - proved by experience, since all proof presupposes them. In this, - therefore, which was the most important point of the controversy, the - rationalists were in the right. - </p> - <p> - On the other hand, even that part of our knowledge which is <i>logically</i> - independent of experience (in the sense that experience cannot prove it) - is yet elicited and caused by experience. It is on occasion of particular - experiences that we become aware of the general laws which their - connexions exemplify. It would certainly be absurd to suppose that there - are innate principles in the sense that babies are born with a knowledge - of everything which men know and which cannot be deduced from what is - experienced. For this reason, the word 'innate' would not now be employed - to describe our knowledge of logical principles. The phrase '<i>a priori</i>' - is less objectionable, and is more usual in modern writers. Thus, while - admitting that all knowledge is elicited and caused by experience, we - shall nevertheless hold that some knowledge is <i>a priori</i>, in the - sense that the experience which makes us think of it does not suffice to - prove it, but merely so directs our attention that we see its truth - without requiring any proof from experience. - </p> - <p> - There is another point of great importance, in which the empiricists were - in the right as against the rationalists. Nothing can be known to <i>exist</i> - except by the help of experience. That is to say, if we wish to prove that - something of which we have no direct experience exists, we must have among - our premisses the existence of one or more things of which we have direct - experience. Our belief that the Emperor of China exists, for example, - rests upon testimony, and testimony consists, in the last analysis, of - sense-data seen or heard in reading or being spoken to. Rationalists - believed that, from general consideration as to what must be, they could - deduce the existence of this or that in the actual world. In this belief - they seem to have been mistaken. All the knowledge that we can acquire <i>a - priori</i> concerning existence seems to be hypothetical: it tells us that - if one thing exists, another must exist, or, more generally, that if one - proposition is true, another must be true. This is exemplified by the - principles we have already dealt with, such as '<i>if</i> this is true, - and this implies that, then that is true', or '<i>if</i> this and that - have been repeatedly found connected, they will probably be connected in - the next instance in which one of them is found'. Thus the scope and power - of <i>a priori</i> principles is strictly limited. All knowledge that - something exists must be in part dependent on experience. When anything is - known immediately, its existence is known by experience alone; when - anything is proved to exist, without being known immediately, both - experience and <i>a priori</i> principles must be required in the proof. - Knowledge is called <i>empirical</i> when it rests wholly or partly upon - experience. Thus all knowledge which asserts existence is empirical, and - the only <i>a priori</i> knowledge concerning existence is hypothetical, - giving connexions among things that exist or may exist, but not giving - actual existence. - </p> - <p> - <i>A priori</i> knowledge is not all of the logical kind we have been - hitherto considering. Perhaps the most important example of non-logical <i>a - priori</i> knowledge is knowledge as to ethical value. I am not speaking - of judgements as to what is useful or as to what is virtuous, for such - judgements do require empirical premisses; I am speaking of judgements as - to the intrinsic desirability of things. If something is useful, it must - be useful because it secures some end; the end must, if we have gone far - enough, be valuable on its own account, and not merely because it is - useful for some further end. Thus all judgements as to what is useful - depend upon judgements as to what has value on its own account. - </p> - <p> - We judge, for example, that happiness is more desirable than misery, - knowledge than ignorance, goodwill than hatred, and so on. Such judgements - must, in part at least, be immediate and <i>a priori</i>. Like our - previous <i>a priori</i> judgements, they may be elicited by experience, - and indeed they must be; for it seems not possible to judge whether - anything is intrinsically valuable unless we have experienced something of - the same kind. But it is fairly obvious that they cannot be proved by - experience; for the fact that a thing exists or does not exist cannot - prove either that it is good that it should exist or that it is bad. The - pursuit of this subject belongs to ethics, where the impossibility of - deducing what ought to be from what is has to be established. In the - present connexion, it is only important to realize that knowledge as to - what is intrinsically of value is <i>a priori</i> in the same sense in - which logic is <i>a priori</i>, namely in the sense that the truth of such - knowledge can be neither proved nor disproved by experience. - </p> - <p> - All pure mathematics is <i>a priori</i>, like logic. This was strenuously - denied by the empirical philosophers, who maintained that experience was - as much the source of our knowledge of arithmetic as of our knowledge of - geography. They maintained that by the repeated experience of seeing two - things and two other things, and finding that altogether they made four - things, we were led by induction to the conclusion that two things and two - other things would <i>always</i> make four things altogether. If, however, - this were the source of our knowledge that two and two are four, we should - proceed differently, in persuading ourselves of its truth, from the way in - which we do actually proceed. In fact, a certain number of instances are - needed to make us think of two abstractly, rather than of two coins or two - books or two people, or two of any other specified kind. But as soon as we - are able to divest our thoughts of irrelevant particularity, we become - able to see the general principle that two and two are four; any one - instance is seen to be <i>typical</i>, and the examination of other - instances becomes unnecessary.(1) - </p> - <p> - (1) Cf. A. N. Whitehead, <i>Introduction to Mathematics</i> (Home - University Library). - </p> - <p> - The same thing is exemplified in geometry. If we want to prove some - property of <i>all</i> triangles, we draw some one triangle and reason - about it; but we can avoid making use of any property which it does not - share with all other triangles, and thus, from our particular case, we - obtain a general result. We do not, in fact, feel our certainty that two - and two are four increased by fresh instances, because, as soon as we have - seen the truth of this proposition, our certainty becomes so great as to - be incapable of growing greater. Moreover, we feel some quality of - necessity about the proposition 'two and two are four', which is absent - from even the best attested empirical generalizations. Such - generalizations always remain mere facts: we feel that there might be a - world in which they were false, though in the actual world they happen to - be true. In any possible world, on the contrary, we feel that two and two - would be four: this is not a mere fact, but a necessity to which - everything actual and possible must conform. - </p> - <p> - The case may be made clearer by considering a genuinely-empirical - generalization, such as 'All men are mortal.' It is plain that we believe - this proposition, in the first place, because there is no known instance - of men living beyond a certain age, and in the second place because there - seem to be physiological grounds for thinking that an organism such as a - man's body must sooner or later wear out. Neglecting the second ground, - and considering merely our experience of men's mortality, it is plain that - we should not be content with one quite clearly understood instance of a - man dying, whereas, in the case of 'two and two are four', one instance - does suffice, when carefully considered, to persuade us that the same must - happen in any other instance. Also we can be forced to admit, on - reflection, that there may be some doubt, however slight, as to whether <i>all</i> - men are mortal. This may be made plain by the attempt to imagine two - different worlds, in one of which there are men who are not mortal, while - in the other two and two make five. When Swift invites us to consider the - race of Struldbugs who never die, we are able to acquiesce in imagination. - But a world where two and two make five seems quite on a different level. - We feel that such a world, if there were one, would upset the whole fabric - of our knowledge and reduce us to utter doubt. - </p> - <p> - The fact is that, in simple mathematical judgements such as 'two and two - are four', and also in many judgements of logic, we can know the general - proposition without inferring it from instances, although some instance is - usually necessary to make clear to us what the general proposition means. - This is why there is real utility in the process of <i>deduction</i>, - which goes from the general to the general, or from the general to the - particular, as well as in the process of <i>induction</i>, which goes from - the particular to the particular, or from the particular to the general. - It is an old debate among philosophers whether deduction ever gives <i>new</i> - knowledge. We can now see that in certain cases, at least, it does do so. - If we already know that two and two always make four, and we know that - Brown and Jones are two, and so are Robinson and Smith, we can deduce that - Brown and Jones and Robinson and Smith are four. This is new knowledge, - not contained in our premisses, because the general proposition, 'two and - two are four', never told us there were such people as Brown and Jones and - Robinson and Smith, and the particular premisses do not tell us that there - were four of them, whereas the particular proposition deduced does tell us - both these things. - </p> - <p> - But the newness of the knowledge is much less certain if we take the stock - instance of deduction that is always given in books on logic, namely, 'All - men are mortal; Socrates is a man, therefore Socrates is mortal.' In this - case, what we really know beyond reasonable doubt is that certain men, A, - B, C, were mortal, since, in fact, they have died. If Socrates is one of - these men, it is foolish to go the roundabout way through 'all men are - mortal' to arrive at the conclusion that <i>probably</i> Socrates is - mortal. If Socrates is not one of the men on whom our induction is based, - we shall still do better to argue straight from our A, B, C, to Socrates, - than to go round by the general proposition, 'all men are mortal'. For the - probability that Socrates is mortal is greater, on our data, than the - probability that all men are mortal. (This is obvious, because if all men - are mortal, so is Socrates; but if Socrates is mortal, it does not follow - that all men are mortal.) Hence we shall reach the conclusion that - Socrates is mortal with a greater approach to certainty if we make our - argument purely inductive than if we go by way of 'all men are mortal' and - then use deduction. - </p> - <p> - This illustrates the difference between general propositions known <i>a - priori</i> such as 'two and two are four', and empirical generalizations - such as 'all men are mortal'. In regard to the former, deduction is the - right mode of argument, whereas in regard to the latter, induction is - always theoretically preferable, and warrants a greater confidence in the - truth of our conclusion, because all empirical generalizations are more - uncertain than the instances of them. - </p> - <p> - We have now seen that there are propositions known <i>a priori</i>, and - that among them are the propositions of logic and pure mathematics, as - well as the fundamental propositions of ethics. The question which must - next occupy us is this: How is it possible that there should be such - knowledge? And more particularly, how can there be knowledge of general - propositions in cases where we have not examined all the instances, and - indeed never can examine them all, because their number is infinite? These - questions, which were first brought prominently forward by the German - philosopher Kant (1724-1804), are very difficult, and historically very - important. - </p> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VIII. HOW <i>A PRIORI</i> KNOWLEDGE IS POSSIBLE - </h2> - <p> - Immanuel Kant is generally regarded as the greatest of the modern - philosophers. Though he lived through the Seven Years War and the French - Revolution, he never interrupted his teaching of philosophy at Königsberg - in East Prussia. His most distinctive contribution was the invention of - what he called the 'critical' philosophy, which, assuming as a datum that - there is knowledge of various kinds, inquired how such knowledge comes to - be possible, and deduced, from the answer to this inquiry, many - metaphysical results as to the nature of the world. Whether these results - were valid may well be doubted. But Kant undoubtedly deserves credit for - two things: first, for having perceived that we have <i>a priori</i> - knowledge which is not purely 'analytic', i.e. such that the opposite - would be self-contradictory, and secondly, for having made evident the - philosophical importance of the theory of knowledge. - </p> - <p> - Before the time of Kant, it was generally held that whatever knowledge was - <i>a priori</i> must be 'analytic'. What this word means will be best - illustrated by examples. If I say, 'A bald man is a man', 'A plane figure - is a figure', 'A bad poet is a poet', I make a purely analytic judgement: - the subject spoken about is given as having at least two properties, of - which one is singled out to be asserted of it. Such propositions as the - above are trivial, and would never be enunciated in real life except by an - orator preparing the way for a piece of sophistry. They are called - 'analytic' because the predicate is obtained by merely analysing the - subject. Before the time of Kant it was thought that all judgements of - which we could be certain <i>a priori</i> were of this kind: that in all - of them there was a predicate which was only part of the subject of which - it was asserted. If this were so, we should be involved in a definite - contradiction if we attempted to deny anything that could be known <i>a - priori</i>. 'A bald man is not bald' would assert and deny baldness of the - same man, and would therefore contradict itself. Thus according to the - philosophers before Kant, the law of contradiction, which asserts that - nothing can at the same time have and not have a certain property, - sufficed to establish the truth of all <i>a priori</i> knowledge. - </p> - <p> - Hume (1711-76), who preceded Kant, accepting the usual view as to what - makes knowledge <i>a priori</i>, discovered that, in many cases which had - previously been supposed analytic, and notably in the case of cause and - effect, the connexion was really synthetic. Before Hume, rationalists at - least had supposed that the effect could be logically deduced from the - cause, if only we had sufficient knowledge. Hume argued—correctly, - as would now be generally admitted—that this could not be done. - Hence he inferred the far more doubtful proposition that nothing could be - known <i>a priori</i> about the connexion of cause and effect. Kant, who - had been educated in the rationalist tradition, was much perturbed by - Hume's scepticism, and endeavoured to find an answer to it. He perceived - that not only the connexion of cause and effect, but all the propositions - of arithmetic and geometry, are 'synthetic', i.e. not analytic: in all - these propositions, no analysis of the subject will reveal the predicate. - His stock instance was the proposition 7 + 5 = 12. He pointed out, quite - truly, that 7 and 5 have to be put together to give 12: the idea of 12 is - not contained in them, nor even in the idea of adding them together. Thus - he was led to the conclusion that all pure mathematics, though <i>a priori</i>, - is synthetic; and this conclusion raised a new problem of which he - endeavoured to find the solution. - </p> - <p> - The question which Kant put at the beginning of his philosophy, namely - 'How is pure mathematics possible?' is an interesting and difficult one, - to which every philosophy which is not purely sceptical must find some - answer. The answer of the pure empiricists, that our mathematical - knowledge is derived by induction from particular instances, we have - already seen to be inadequate, for two reasons: first, that the validity - of the inductive principle itself cannot be proved by induction; secondly, - that the general propositions of mathematics, such as 'two and two always - make four', can obviously be known with certainty by consideration of a - single instance, and gain nothing by enumeration of other cases in which - they have been found to be true. Thus our knowledge of the general - propositions of mathematics (and the same applies to logic) must be - accounted for otherwise than our (merely probable) knowledge of empirical - generalizations such as 'all men are mortal'. - </p> - <p> - The problem arises through the fact that such knowledge is general, - whereas all experience is particular. It seems strange that we should - apparently be able to know some truths in advance about particular things - of which we have as yet no experience; but it cannot easily be doubted - that logic and arithmetic will apply to such things. We do not know who - will be the inhabitants of London a hundred years hence; but we know that - any two of them and any other two of them will make four of them. This - apparent power of anticipating facts about things of which we have no - experience is certainly surprising. Kant's solution of the problem, though - not valid in my opinion, is interesting. It is, however, very difficult, - and is differently understood by different philosophers. We can, - therefore, only give the merest outline of it, and even that will be - thought misleading by many exponents of Kant's system. - </p> - <p> - What Kant maintained was that in all our experience there are two elements - to be distinguished, the one due to the object (i.e. to what we have - called the 'physical object'), the other due to our own nature. We saw, in - discussing matter and sense-data, that the physical object is different - from the associated sense-data, and that the sense-data are to be regarded - as resulting from an interaction between the physical object and - ourselves. So far, we are in agreement with Kant. But what is distinctive - of Kant is the way in which he apportions the shares of ourselves and the - physical object respectively. He considers that the crude material given - in sensation—the colour, hardness, etc.—is due to the object, - and that what we supply is the arrangement in space and time, and all the - relations between sense-data which result from comparison or from - considering one as the cause of the other or in any other way. His chief - reason in favour of this view is that we seem to have <i>a priori</i> - knowledge as to space and time and causality and comparison, but not as to - the actual crude material of sensation. We can be sure, he says, that - anything we shall ever experience must show the characteristics affirmed - of it in our <i>a priori</i> knowledge, because these characteristics are - due to our own nature, and therefore nothing can ever come into our - experience without acquiring these characteristics. - </p> - <p> - The physical object, which he calls the 'thing in itself',(1) he regards - as essentially unknowable; what can be known is the object as we have it - in experience, which he calls the 'phenomenon'. The phenomenon, being a - joint product of us and the thing in itself, is sure to have those - characteristics which are due to us, and is therefore sure to conform to - our <i>a priori</i> knowledge. Hence this knowledge, though true of all - actual and possible experience, must not be supposed to apply outside - experience. Thus in spite of the existence of <i>a priori</i> knowledge, - we cannot know anything about the thing in itself or about what is not an - actual or possible object of experience. In this way he tries to reconcile - and harmonize the contentions of the rationalists with the arguments of - the empiricists. - </p> - <p> - (1) Kant's 'thing in itself' is identical in <i>definition</i> with the - physical object, namely, it is the cause of sensations. In the properties - deduced from the definition it is not identical, since Kant held (in spite - of some inconsistency as regards cause) that we can know that none of the - categories are applicable to the 'thing in itself'. - </p> - <p> - Apart from minor grounds on which Kant's philosophy may be criticized, - there is one main objection which seems fatal to any attempt to deal with - the problem of <i>a priori</i> knowledge by his method. The thing to be - accounted for is our certainty that the facts must always conform to logic - and arithmetic. To say that logic and arithmetic are contributed by us - does not account for this. Our nature is as much a fact of the existing - world as anything, and there can be no certainty that it will remain - constant. It might happen, if Kant is right, that to-morrow our nature - would so change as to make two and two become five. This possibility seems - never to have occurred to him, yet it is one which utterly destroys the - certainty and universality which he is anxious to vindicate for - arithmetical propositions. It is true that this possibility, formally, is - inconsistent with the Kantian view that time itself is a form imposed by - the subject upon phenomena, so that our real Self is not in time and has - no to-morrow. But he will still have to suppose that the time-order of - phenomena is determined by characteristics of what is behind phenomena, - and this suffices for the substance of our argument. - </p> - <p> - Reflection, moreover, seems to make it clear that, if there is any truth - in our arithmetical beliefs, they must apply to things equally whether we - think of them or not. Two physical objects and two other physical objects - must make four physical objects, even if physical objects cannot be - experienced. To assert this is certainly within the scope of what we mean - when we state that two and two are four. Its truth is just as indubitable - as the truth of the assertion that two phenomena and two other phenomena - make four phenomena. Thus Kant's solution unduly limits the scope of <i>a - priori</i> propositions, in addition to failing in the attempt at - explaining their certainty. - </p> - <p> - Apart from the special doctrines advocated by Kant, it is very common - among philosophers to regard what is <i>a priori</i> as in some sense - mental, as concerned rather with the way we must think than with any fact - of the outer world. We noted in the preceding chapter the three principles - commonly called 'laws of thought'. The view which led to their being so - named is a natural one, but there are strong reasons for thinking that it - is erroneous. Let us take as an illustration the law of contradiction. - This is commonly stated in the form 'Nothing can both be and not be', - which is intended to express the fact that nothing can at once have and - not have a given quality. Thus, for example, if a tree is a beech it - cannot also be not a beech; if my table is rectangular it cannot also be - not rectangular, and so on. - </p> - <p> - Now what makes it natural to call this principle a law of <i>thought</i> - is that it is by thought rather than by outward observation that we - persuade ourselves of its necessary truth. When we have seen that a tree - is a beech, we do not need to look again in order to ascertain whether it - is also not a beech; thought alone makes us know that this is impossible. - But the conclusion that the law of contradiction is a law of <i>thought</i> - is nevertheless erroneous. What we believe, when we believe the law of - contradiction, is not that the mind is so made that it must believe the - law of contradiction. <i>This</i> belief is a subsequent result of - psychological reflection, which presupposes the belief in the law of - contradiction. The belief in the law of contradiction is a belief about - things, not only about thoughts. It is not, e.g., the belief that if we <i>think</i> - a certain tree is a beech, we cannot at the same time <i>think</i> that it - is not a beech; it is the belief that if the tree <i>is</i> a beech, it - cannot at the same time <i>be</i> not a beech. Thus the law of - contradiction is about things, and not merely about thoughts; and although - belief in the law of contradiction is a thought, the law of contradiction - itself is not a thought, but a fact concerning the things in the world. If - this, which we believe when we believe the law of contradiction, were not - true of the things in the world, the fact that we were compelled to <i>think</i> - it true would not save the law of contradiction from being false; and this - shows that the law is not a law of <i>thought</i>. - </p> - <p> - A similar argument applies to any other <i>a priori</i> judgement. When we - judge that two and two are four, we are not making a judgement about our - thoughts, but about all actual or possible couples. The fact that our - minds are so constituted as to believe that two and two are four, though - it is true, is emphatically not what we assert when we assert that two and - two are four. And no fact about the constitution of our minds could make - it <i>true</i> that two and two are four. Thus our <i>a priori</i> - knowledge, if it is not erroneous, is not merely knowledge about the - constitution of our minds, but is applicable to whatever the world may - contain, both what is mental and what is non-mental. - </p> - <p> - The fact seems to be that all our <i>a priori</i> knowledge is concerned - with entities which do not, properly speaking, <i>exist</i>, either in the - mental or in the physical world. These entities are such as can be named - by parts of speech which are not substantives; they are such entities as - qualities and relations. Suppose, for instance, that I am in my room. I - exist, and my room exists; but does 'in' exist? Yet obviously the word - 'in' has a meaning; it denotes a relation which holds between me and my - room. This relation is something, although we cannot say that it exists <i>in - the same sense</i> in which I and my room exist. The relation 'in' is - something which we can think about and understand, for, if we could not - understand it, we could not understand the sentence 'I am in my room'. - Many philosophers, following Kant, have maintained that relations are the - work of the mind, that things in themselves have no relations, but that - the mind brings them together in one act of thought and thus produces the - relations which it judges them to have. - </p> - <p> - This view, however, seems open to objections similar to those which we - urged before against Kant. It seems plain that it is not thought which - produces the truth of the proposition 'I am in my room'. It may be true - that an earwig is in my room, even if neither I nor the earwig nor any one - else is aware of this truth; for this truth concerns only the earwig and - the room, and does not depend upon anything else. Thus relations, as we - shall see more fully in the next chapter, must be placed in a world which - is neither mental nor physical. This world is of great importance to - philosophy, and in particular to the problems of <i>a priori</i> - knowledge. In the next chapter we shall proceed to develop its nature and - its bearing upon the questions with which we have been dealing. - </p> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IX. THE WORLD OF UNIVERSALS - </h2> - <p> - At the end of the preceding chapter we saw that such entities as relations - appear to have a being which is in some way different from that of - physical objects, and also different from that of minds and from that of - sense-data. In the present chapter we have to consider what is the nature - of this kind of being, and also what objects there are that have this kind - of being. We will begin with the latter question. - </p> - <p> - The problem with which we are now concerned is a very old one, since it - was brought into philosophy by Plato. Plato's 'theory of ideas' is an - attempt to solve this very problem, and in my opinion it is one of the - most successful attempts hitherto made. The theory to be advocated in what - follows is largely Plato's, with merely such modifications as time has - shown to be necessary. - </p> - <p> - The way the problem arose for Plato was more or less as follows. Let us - consider, say, such a notion as <i>justice</i>. If we ask ourselves what - justice is, it is natural to proceed by considering this, that, and the - other just act, with a view to discovering what they have in common. They - must all, in some sense, partake of a common nature, which will be found - in whatever is just and in nothing else. This common nature, in virtue of - which they are all just, will be justice itself, the pure essence the - admixture of which with facts of ordinary life produces the multiplicity - of just acts. Similarly with any other word which may be applicable to - common facts, such as 'whiteness' for example. The word will be applicable - to a number of particular things because they all participate in a common - nature or essence. This pure essence is what Plato calls an 'idea' or - 'form'. (It must not be supposed that 'ideas', in his sense, exist in - minds, though they may be apprehended by minds.) The 'idea' <i>justice</i> - is not identical with anything that is just: it is something other than - particular things, which particular things partake of. Not being - particular, it cannot itself exist in the world of sense. Moreover it is - not fleeting or changeable like the things of sense: it is eternally - itself, immutable and indestructible. - </p> - <p> - Thus Plato is led to a supra-sensible world, more real than the common - world of sense, the unchangeable world of ideas, which alone gives to the - world of sense whatever pale reflection of reality may belong to it. The - truly real world, for Plato, is the world of ideas; for whatever we may - attempt to say about things in the world of sense, we can only succeed in - saying that they participate in such and such ideas, which, therefore, - constitute all their character. Hence it is easy to pass on into a - mysticism. We may hope, in a mystic illumination, to see the ideas as we - see objects of sense; and we may imagine that the ideas exist in heaven. - These mystical developments are very natural, but the basis of the theory - is in logic, and it is as based in logic that we have to consider it. - </p> - <p> - The word 'idea' has acquired, in the course of time, many associations - which are quite misleading when applied to Plato's 'ideas'. We shall - therefore use the word 'universal' instead of the word 'idea', to describe - what Plato meant. The essence of the sort of entity that Plato meant is - that it is opposed to the particular things that are given in sensation. - We speak of whatever is given in sensation, or is of the same nature as - things given in sensation, as a <i>particular</i>; by opposition to this, - a <i>universal</i> will be anything which may be shared by many - particulars, and has those characteristics which, as we saw, distinguish - justice and whiteness from just acts and white things. - </p> - <p> - When we examine common words, we find that, broadly speaking, proper names - stand for particulars, while other substantives, adjectives, prepositions, - and verbs stand for universals. Pronouns stand for particulars, but are - ambiguous: it is only by the context or the circumstances that we know - what particulars they stand for. The word 'now' stands for a particular, - namely the present moment; but like pronouns, it stands for an ambiguous - particular, because the present is always changing. - </p> - <p> - It will be seen that no sentence can be made up without at least one word - which denotes a universal. The nearest approach would be some such - statement as 'I like this'. But even here the word 'like' denotes a - universal, for I may like other things, and other people may like things. - Thus all truths involve universals, and all knowledge of truths involves - acquaintance with universals. - </p> - <p> - Seeing that nearly all the words to be found in the dictionary stand for - universals, it is strange that hardly anybody except students of - philosophy ever realizes that there are such entities as universals. We do - not naturally dwell upon those words in a sentence which do not stand for - particulars; and if we are forced to dwell upon a word which stands for a - universal, we naturally think of it as standing for some one of the - particulars that come under the universal. When, for example, we hear the - sentence, 'Charles I's head was cut off', we may naturally enough think of - Charles I, of Charles I's head, and of the operation of cutting off <i>his</i> - head, which are all particulars; but we do not naturally dwell upon what - is meant by the word 'head' or the word 'cut', which is a universal: We - feel such words to be incomplete and insubstantial; they seem to demand a - context before anything can be done with them. Hence we succeed in - avoiding all notice of universals as such, until the study of philosophy - forces them upon our attention. - </p> - <p> - Even among philosophers, we may say, broadly, that only those universals - which are named by adjectives or substantives have been much or often - recognized, while those named by verbs and prepositions have been usually - overlooked. This omission has had a very great effect upon philosophy; it - is hardly too much to say that most metaphysics, since Spinoza, has been - largely determined by it. The way this has occurred is, in outline, as - follows: Speaking generally, adjectives and common nouns express qualities - or properties of single things, whereas prepositions and verbs tend to - express relations between two or more things. Thus the neglect of - prepositions and verbs led to the belief that every proposition can be - regarded as attributing a property to a single thing, rather than as - expressing a relation between two or more things. Hence it was supposed - that, ultimately, there can be no such entities as relations between - things. Hence either there can be only one thing in the universe, or, if - there are many things, they cannot possibly interact in any way, since any - interaction would be a relation, and relations are impossible. - </p> - <p> - The first of these views, advocated by Spinoza and held in our own day by - Bradley and many other philosophers, is called <i>monism</i>; the second, - advocated by Leibniz but not very common nowadays, is called <i>monadism</i>, - because each of the isolated things is called a <i>monad</i>. Both these - opposing philosophies, interesting as they are, result, in my opinion, - from an undue attention to one sort of universals, namely the sort - represented by adjectives and substantives rather than by verbs and - prepositions. - </p> - <p> - As a matter of fact, if any one were anxious to deny altogether that there - are such things as universals, we should find that we cannot strictly - prove that there are such entities as <i>qualities</i>, i.e. the - universals represented by adjectives and substantives, whereas we can - prove that there must be <i>relations</i>, i.e. the sort of universals - generally represented by verbs and prepositions. Let us take in - illustration the universal <i>whiteness</i>. If we believe that there is - such a universal, we shall say that things are white because they have the - quality of whiteness. This view, however, was strenuously denied by - Berkeley and Hume, who have been followed in this by later empiricists. - The form which their denial took was to deny that there are such things as - 'abstract ideas '. When we want to think of whiteness, they said, we form - an image of some particular white thing, and reason concerning this - particular, taking care not to deduce anything concerning it which we - cannot see to be equally true of any other white thing. As an account of - our actual mental processes, this is no doubt largely true. In geometry, - for example, when we wish to prove something about all triangles, we draw - a particular triangle and reason about it, taking care not to use any - characteristic which it does not share with other triangles. The beginner, - in order to avoid error, often finds it useful to draw several triangles, - as unlike each other as possible, in order to make sure that his reasoning - is equally applicable to all of them. But a difficulty emerges as soon as - we ask ourselves how we know that a thing is white or a triangle. If we - wish to avoid the universals <i>whiteness</i> and <i>triangularity</i>, we - shall choose some particular patch of white or some particular triangle, - and say that anything is white or a triangle if it has the right sort of - resemblance to our chosen particular. But then the resemblance required - will have to be a universal. Since there are many white things, the - resemblance must hold between many pairs of particular white things; and - this is the characteristic of a universal. It will be useless to say that - there is a different resemblance for each pair, for then we shall have to - say that these resemblances resemble each other, and thus at last we shall - be forced to admit resemblance as a universal. The relation of - resemblance, therefore, must be a true universal. And having been forced - to admit this universal, we find that it is no longer worth while to - invent difficult and unplausible theories to avoid the admission of such - universals as whiteness and triangularity. - </p> - <p> - Berkeley and Hume failed to perceive this refutation of their rejection of - 'abstract ideas', because, like their adversaries, they only thought of <i>qualities</i>, - and altogether ignored <i>relations</i> as universals. We have therefore - here another respect in which the rationalists appear to have been in the - right as against the empiricists, although, owing to the neglect or denial - of relations, the deductions made by rationalists were, if anything, more - apt to be mistaken than those made by empiricists. - </p> - <p> - Having now seen that there must be such entities as universals, the next - point to be proved is that their being is not merely mental. By this is - meant that whatever being belongs to them is independent of their being - thought of or in any way apprehended by minds. We have already touched on - this subject at the end of the preceding chapter, but we must now consider - more fully what sort of being it is that belongs to universals. - </p> - <p> - Consider such a proposition as 'Edinburgh is north of London'. Here we - have a relation between two places, and it seems plain that the relation - subsists independently of our knowledge of it. When we come to know that - Edinburgh is north of London, we come to know something which has to do - only with Edinburgh and London: we do not cause the truth of the - proposition by coming to know it, on the contrary we merely apprehend a - fact which was there before we knew it. The part of the earth's surface - where Edinburgh stands would be north of the part where London stands, - even if there were no human being to know about north and south, and even - if there were no minds at all in the universe. This is, of course, denied - by many philosophers, either for Berkeley's reasons or for Kant's. But we - have already considered these reasons, and decided that they are - inadequate. We may therefore now assume it to be true that nothing mental - is presupposed in the fact that Edinburgh is north of London. But this - fact involves the relation 'north of', which is a universal; and it would - be impossible for the whole fact to involve nothing mental if the relation - 'north of', which is a constituent part of the fact, did involve anything - mental. Hence we must admit that the relation, like the terms it relates, - is not dependent upon thought, but belongs to the independent world which - thought apprehends but does not create. - </p> - <p> - This conclusion, however, is met by the difficulty that the relation - 'north of' does not seem to <i>exist</i> in the same sense in which - Edinburgh and London exist. If we ask 'Where and when does this relation - exist?' the answer must be 'Nowhere and nowhen'. There is no place or time - where we can find the relation 'north of'. It does not exist in Edinburgh - any more than in London, for it relates the two and is neutral as between - them. Nor can we say that it exists at any particular time. Now everything - that can be apprehended by the senses or by introspection exists at some - particular time. Hence the relation 'north of' is radically different from - such things. It is neither in space nor in time, neither material nor - mental; yet it is something. - </p> - <p> - It is largely the very peculiar kind of being that belongs to universals - which has led many people to suppose that they are really mental. We can - think <i>of</i> a universal, and our thinking then exists in a perfectly - ordinary sense, like any other mental act. Suppose, for example, that we - are thinking of whiteness. Then <i>in one sense</i> it may be said that - whiteness is 'in our mind'. We have here the same ambiguity as we noted in - discussing Berkeley in Chapter IV. In the strict sense, it is not - whiteness that is in our mind, but the act of thinking of whiteness. The - connected ambiguity in the word 'idea', which we noted at the same time, - also causes confusion here. In one sense of this word, namely the sense in - which it denotes the <i>object</i> of an act of thought, whiteness is an - 'idea'. Hence, if the ambiguity is not guarded against, we may come to - think that whiteness is an 'idea' in the other sense, i.e. an act of - thought; and thus we come to think that whiteness is mental. But in so - thinking, we rob it of its essential quality of universality. One man's - act of thought is necessarily a different thing from another man's; one - man's act of thought at one time is necessarily a different thing from the - same man's act of thought at another time. Hence, if whiteness were the - thought as opposed to its object, no two different men could think of it, - and no one man could think of it twice. That which many different thoughts - of whiteness have in common is their <i>object</i>, and this object is - different from all of them. Thus universals are not thoughts, though when - known they are the objects of thoughts. - </p> - <p> - We shall find it convenient only to speak of things <i>existing</i> when - they are in time, that is to say, when we can point to some time at which - they exist (not excluding the possibility of their existing at all times). - Thus thoughts and feelings, minds and physical objects exist. But - universals do not exist in this sense; we shall say that they <i>subsist</i> - or <i>have being</i>, where 'being' is opposed to 'existence' as being - timeless. The world of universals, therefore, may also be described as the - world of being. The world of being is unchangeable, rigid, exact, - delightful to the mathematician, the logician, the builder of metaphysical - systems, and all who love perfection more than life. The world of - existence is fleeting, vague, without sharp boundaries, without any clear - plan or arrangement, but it contains all thoughts and feelings, all the - data of sense, and all physical objects, everything that can do either - good or harm, everything that makes any difference to the value of life - and the world. According to our temperaments, we shall prefer the - contemplation of the one or of the other. The one we do not prefer will - probably seem to us a pale shadow of the one we prefer, and hardly worthy - to be regarded as in any sense real. But the truth is that both have the - same claim on our impartial attention, both are real, and both are - important to the metaphysician. Indeed no sooner have we distinguished the - two worlds than it becomes necessary to consider their relations. - </p> - <p> - But first of all we must examine our knowledge of universals. This - consideration will occupy us in the following chapter, where we shall find - that it solves the problem of <i>a priori</i> knowledge, from which we - were first led to consider universals. - </p> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER X. ON OUR KNOWLEDGE OF UNIVERSALS - </h2> - <p> - In regard to one man's knowledge at a given time, universals, like - particulars, may be divided into those known by acquaintance, those known - only by description, and those not known either by acquaintance or by - description. - </p> - <p> - Let us consider first the knowledge of universals by acquaintance. It is - obvious, to begin with, that we are acquainted with such universals as - white, red, black, sweet, sour, loud, hard, etc., i.e. with qualities - which are exemplified in sense-data. When we see a white patch, we are - acquainted, in the first instance, with the particular patch; but by - seeing many white patches, we easily learn to abstract the whiteness which - they all have in common, and in learning to do this we are learning to be - acquainted with whiteness. A similar process will make us acquainted with - any other universal of the same sort. Universals of this sort may be - called 'sensible qualities'. They can be apprehended with less effort of - abstraction than any others, and they seem less removed from particulars - than other universals are. - </p> - <p> - We come next to relations. The easiest relations to apprehend are those - which hold between the different parts of a single complex sense-datum. - For example, I can see at a glance the whole of the page on which I am - writing; thus the whole page is included in one sense-datum. But I - perceive that some parts of the page are to the left of other parts, and - some parts are above other parts. The process of abstraction in this case - seems to proceed somewhat as follows: I see successively a number of - sense-data in which one part is to the left of another; I perceive, as in - the case of different white patches, that all these sense-data have - something in common, and by abstraction I find that what they have in - common is a certain relation between their parts, namely the relation - which I call 'being to the left of'. In this way I become acquainted with - the universal relation. - </p> - <p> - In like manner I become aware of the relation of before and after in time. - Suppose I hear a chime of bells: when the last bell of the chime sounds, I - can retain the whole chime before my mind, and I can perceive that the - earlier bells came before the later ones. Also in memory I perceive that - what I am remembering came before the present time. From either of these - sources I can abstract the universal relation of before and after, just as - I abstracted the universal relation 'being to the left of'. Thus - time-relations, like space-relations, are among those with which we are - acquainted. - </p> - <p> - Another relation with which we become acquainted in much the same way is - resemblance. If I see simultaneously two shades of green, I can see that - they resemble each other; if I also see a shade of red: at the same time, - I can see that the two greens have more resemblance to each other than - either has to the red. In this way I become acquainted with the universal - <i>resemblance</i> or <i>similarity</i>. - </p> - <p> - Between universals, as between particulars, there are relations of which - we may be immediately aware. We have just seen that we can perceive that - the resemblance between two shades of green is greater than the - resemblance between a shade of red and a shade of green. Here we are - dealing with a relation, namely 'greater than', between two relations. Our - knowledge of such relations, though it requires more power of abstraction - than is required for perceiving the qualities of sense-data, appears to be - equally immediate, and (at least in some cases) equally indubitable. Thus - there is immediate knowledge concerning universals as well as concerning - sense-data. - </p> - <p> - Returning now to the problem of <i>a priori</i> knowledge, which we left - unsolved when we began the consideration of universals, we find ourselves - in a position to deal with it in a much more satisfactory manner than was - possible before. Let us revert to the proposition 'two and two are four'. - It is fairly obvious, in view of what has been said, that this proposition - states a relation between the universal 'two' and the universal 'four'. - This suggests a proposition which we shall now endeavour to establish: - namely, <i>All </i>a priori<i> knowledge deals exclusively with the - relations of universals</i>. This proposition is of great importance, and - goes a long way towards solving our previous difficulties concerning <i>a - priori</i> knowledge. - </p> - <p> - The only case in which it might seem, at first sight, as if our - proposition were untrue, is the case in which an <i>a priori</i> - proposition states that <i>all</i> of one class of particulars belong to - some other class, or (what comes to the same thing) that <i>all</i> - particulars having some one property also have some other. In this case it - might seem as though we were dealing with the particulars that have the - property rather than with the property. The proposition 'two and two are - four' is really a case in point, for this may be stated in the form 'any - two and any other two are four', or 'any collection formed of two twos is - a collection of four'. If we can show that such statements as this really - deal only with universals, our proposition may be regarded as proved. - </p> - <p> - One way of discovering what a proposition deals with is to ask ourselves - what words we must understand—in other words, what objects we must - be acquainted with—in order to see what the proposition means. As - soon as we see what the proposition means, even if we do not yet know - whether it is true or false, it is evident that we must have acquaintance - with whatever is really dealt with by the proposition. By applying this - test, it appears that many propositions which might seem to be concerned - with particulars are really concerned only with universals. In the special - case of 'two and two are four', even when we interpret it as meaning 'any - collection formed of two twos is a collection of four', it is plain that - we can understand the proposition, i.e. we can see what it is that it - asserts, as soon as we know what is meant by 'collection' and 'two' and - 'four'. It is quite unnecessary to know all the couples in the world: if - it were necessary, obviously we could never understand the proposition, - since the couples are infinitely numerous and therefore cannot all be - known to us. Thus although our general statement <i>implies</i> statements - about particular couples, <i>as soon as we know that there are such - particular couples</i>, yet it does not itself assert or imply that there - are such particular couples, and thus fails to make any statement whatever - about any actual particular couple. The statement made is about 'couple', - the universal, and not about this or that couple. - </p> - <p> - Thus the statement 'two and two are four' deals exclusively with - universals, and therefore may be known by anybody who is acquainted with - the universals concerned and can perceive the relation between them which - the statement asserts. It must be taken as a fact, discovered by - reflecting upon our knowledge, that we have the power of sometimes - perceiving such relations between universals, and therefore of sometimes - knowing general <i>a priori</i> propositions such as those of arithmetic - and logic. The thing that seemed mysterious, when we formerly considered - such knowledge, was that it seemed to anticipate and control experience. - This, however, we can now see to have been an error. <i>No</i> fact - concerning anything capable of being experienced can be known - independently of experience. We know <i>a priori</i> that two things and - two other things together make four things, but we do <i>not</i> know <i>a - priori</i> that if Brown and Jones are two, and Robinson and Smith are - two, then Brown and Jones and Robinson and Smith are four. The reason is - that this proposition cannot be understood at all unless we know that - there are such people as Brown and Jones and Robinson and Smith, and this - we can only know by experience. Hence, although our general proposition is - <i>a priori</i>, all its applications to actual particulars involve - experience and therefore contain an empirical element. In this way what - seemed mysterious in our <i>a priori</i> knowledge is seen to have been - based upon an error. - </p> - <p> - It will serve to make the point clearer if we contrast our genuine <i>a - priori</i> judgement with an empirical generalization, such as 'all men - are mortals'. Here as before, we can <i>understand</i> what the - proposition means as soon as we understand the universals involved, namely - <i>man</i> and <i>mortal</i>. It is obviously unnecessary to have an - individual acquaintance with the whole human race in order to understand - what our proposition means. Thus the difference between an <i>a priori</i> - general proposition and an empirical generalization does not come in the - <i>meaning</i> of the proposition; it comes in the nature of the <i>evidence</i> - for it. In the empirical case, the evidence consists in the particular - instances. We believe that all men are mortal because we know that there - are innumerable instances of men dying, and no instances of their living - beyond a certain age. We do not believe it because we see a connexion - between the universal <i>man</i> and the universal <i>mortal</i>. It is - true that if physiology can prove, assuming the general laws that govern - living bodies, that no living organism can last for ever, that gives a - connexion between <i>man</i> and <i>mortality</i> which would enable us to - assert our proposition without appealing to the special evidence of <i>men</i> - dying. But that only means that our generalization has been subsumed under - a wider generalization, for which the evidence is still of the same kind, - though more extensive. The progress of science is constantly producing - such subsumptions, and therefore giving a constantly wider inductive basis - for scientific generalizations. But although this gives a greater <i>degree</i> - of certainty, it does not give a different <i>kind</i>: the ultimate - ground remains inductive, i.e. derived from instances, and not an <i>a - priori</i> connexion of universals such as we have in logic and - arithmetic. - </p> - <p> - Two opposite points are to be observed concerning <i>a priori</i> general - propositions. The first is that, if many particular instances are known, - our general proposition may be arrived at in the first instance by - induction, and the connexion of universals may be only subsequently - perceived. For example, it is known that if we draw perpendiculars to the - sides of a triangle from the opposite angles, all three perpendiculars - meet in a point. It would be quite possible to be first led to this - proposition by actually drawing perpendiculars in many cases, and finding - that they always met in a point; this experience might lead us to look for - the general proof and find it. Such cases are common in the experience of - every mathematician. - </p> - <p> - The other point is more interesting, and of more philosophical importance. - It is, that we may sometimes know a general proposition in cases where we - do not know a single instance of it. Take such a case as the following: We - know that any two numbers can be multiplied together, and will give a - third called their <i>product</i>. We know that all pairs of integers the - product of which is less than 100 have been actually multiplied together, - and the value of the product recorded in the multiplication table. But we - also know that the number of integers is infinite, and that only a finite - number of pairs of integers ever have been or ever will be thought of by - human beings. Hence it follows that there are pairs of integers which - never have been and never will be thought of by human beings, and that all - of them deal with integers the product of which is over 100. Hence we - arrive at the proposition: 'All products of two integers, which never have - been and never will be thought of by any human being, are over 100.' Here - is a general proposition of which the truth is undeniable, and yet, from - the very nature of the case, we can never give an instance; because any - two numbers we may think of are excluded by the terms of the proposition. - </p> - <p> - This possibility, of knowledge of general propositions of which no - instance can be given, is often denied, because it is not perceived that - the knowledge of such propositions only requires a knowledge of the - relations of universals, and does not require any knowledge of instances - of the universals in question. Yet the knowledge of such general - propositions is quite vital to a great deal of what is generally admitted - to be known. For example, we saw, in our early chapters, that knowledge of - physical objects, as opposed to sense-data, is only obtained by an - inference, and that they are not things with which we are acquainted. - Hence we can never know any proposition of the form 'this is a physical - object', where 'this' is something immediately known. It follows that all - our knowledge concerning physical objects is such that no actual instance - can be given. We can give instances of the associated sense-data, but we - cannot give instances of the actual physical objects. Hence our knowledge - as to physical objects depends throughout upon this possibility of general - knowledge where no instance can be given. And the same applies to our - knowledge of other people's minds, or of any other class of things of - which no instance is known to us by acquaintance. - </p> - <p> - We may now take a survey of the sources of our knowledge, as they have - appeared in the course of our analysis. We have first to distinguish - knowledge of things and knowledge of truths. In each there are two kinds, - one immediate and one derivative. Our immediate knowledge of things, which - we called <i>acquaintance</i>, consists of two sorts, according as the - things known are particulars or universals. Among particulars, we have - acquaintance with sense-data and (probably) with ourselves. Among - universals, there seems to be no principle by which we can decide which - can be known by acquaintance, but it is clear that among those that can be - so known are sensible qualities, relations of space and time, similarity, - and certain abstract logical universals. Our derivative knowledge of - things, which we call knowledge by <i>description</i>, always involves - both acquaintance with something and knowledge of truths. Our immediate - knowledge of <i>truths</i> may be called <i>intuitive</i> knowledge, and - the truths so known may be called <i>self-evident</i> truths. Among such - truths are included those which merely state what is given in sense, and - also certain abstract logical and arithmetical principles, and (though - with less certainty) some ethical propositions. Our <i>derivative</i> - knowledge of truths consists of everything that we can deduce from - self-evident truths by the use of self-evident principles of deduction. - </p> - <p> - If the above account is correct, all our knowledge of truths depends upon - our intuitive knowledge. It therefore becomes important to consider the - nature and scope of intuitive knowledge, in much the same way as, at an - earlier stage, we considered the nature and scope of knowledge by - acquaintance. But knowledge of truths raises a further problem, which does - not arise in regard to knowledge of things, namely the problem of <i>error</i>. - Some of our beliefs turn out to be erroneous, and therefore it becomes - necessary to consider how, if at all, we can distinguish knowledge from - error. This problem does not arise with regard to knowledge by - acquaintance, for, whatever may be the object of acquaintance, even in - dreams and hallucinations, there is no error involved so long as we do not - go beyond the immediate object: error can only arise when we regard the - immediate object, i.e. the sense-datum, as the mark of some physical - object. Thus the problems connected with knowledge of truths are more - difficult than those connected with knowledge of things. As the first of - the problems connected with knowledge of truths, let us examine the nature - and scope of our intuitive judgements. - </p> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XI. ON INTUITIVE KNOWLEDGE - </h2> - <p> - There is a common impression that everything that we believe ought to be - capable of proof, or at least of being shown to be highly probable. It is - felt by many that a belief for which no reason can be given is an - unreasonable belief. In the main, this view is just. Almost all our common - beliefs are either inferred, or capable of being inferred, from other - beliefs which may be regarded as giving the reason for them. As a rule, - the reason has been forgotten, or has even never been consciously present - to our minds. Few of us ever ask ourselves, for example, what reason there - is to suppose the food we are just going to eat will not turn out to be - poison. Yet we feel, when challenged, that a perfectly good reason could - be found, even if we are not ready with it at the moment. And in this - belief we are usually justified. - </p> - <p> - But let us imagine some insistent Socrates, who, whatever reason we give - him, continues to demand a reason for the reason. We must sooner or later, - and probably before very long, be driven to a point where we cannot find - any further reason, and where it becomes almost certain that no further - reason is even theoretically discoverable. Starting with the common - beliefs of daily life, we can be driven back from point to point, until we - come to some general principle, or some instance of a general principle, - which seems luminously evident, and is not itself capable of being deduced - from anything more evident. In most questions of daily life, such as - whether our food is likely to be nourishing and not poisonous, we shall be - driven back to the inductive principle, which we discussed in Chapter VI. - But beyond that, there seems to be no further regress. The principle - itself is constantly used in our reasoning, sometimes consciously, - sometimes unconsciously; but there is no reasoning which, starting from - some simpler self-evident principle, leads us to the principle of - induction as its conclusion. And the same holds for other logical - principles. Their truth is evident to us, and we employ them in - constructing demonstrations; but they themselves, or at least some of - them, are incapable of demonstration. - </p> - <p> - Self-evidence, however, is not confined to those among general principles - which are incapable of proof. When a certain number of logical principles - have been admitted, the rest can be deduced from them; but the - propositions deduced are often just as self-evident as those that were - assumed without proof. All arithmetic, moreover, can be deduced from the - general principles of logic, yet the simple propositions of arithmetic, - such as 'two and two are four', are just as self-evident as the principles - of logic. - </p> - <p> - It would seem, also, though this is more disputable, that there are some - self-evident ethical principles, such as 'we ought to pursue what is - good'. - </p> - <p> - It should be observed that, in all cases of general principles, particular - instances, dealing with familiar things, are more evident than the general - principle. For example, the law of contradiction states that nothing can - both have a certain property and not have it. This is evident as soon as - it is understood, but it is not so evident as that a particular rose which - we see cannot be both red and not red. (It is of course possible that - parts of the rose may be red and parts not red, or that the rose may be of - a shade of pink which we hardly know whether to call red or not; but in - the former case it is plain that the rose as a whole is not red, while in - the latter case the answer is theoretically definite as soon as we have - decided on a precise definition of 'red'.) It is usually through - particular instances that we come to be able to see the general principle. - Only those who are practised in dealing with abstractions can readily - grasp a general principle without the help of instances. - </p> - <p> - In addition to general principles, the other kind of self-evident truths - are those immediately derived from sensation. We will call such truths - 'truths of perception', and the judgements expressing them we will call - 'judgements of perception'. But here a certain amount of care is required - in getting at the precise nature of the truths that are self-evident. The - actual sense-data are neither true nor false. A particular patch of colour - which I see, for example, simply exists: it is not the sort of thing that - is true or false. It is true that there is such a patch, true that it has - a certain shape and degree of brightness, true that it is surrounded by - certain other colours. But the patch itself, like everything else in the - world of sense, is of a radically different kind from the things that are - true or false, and therefore cannot properly be said to be <i>true</i>. - Thus whatever self-evident truths may be obtained from our senses must be - different from the sense-data from which they are obtained. - </p> - <p> - It would seem that there are two kinds of self-evident truths of - perception, though perhaps in the last analysis the two kinds may - coalesce. First, there is the kind which simply asserts the <i>existence</i> - of the sense-datum, without in any way analysing it. We see a patch of - red, and we judge 'there is such-and-such a patch of red', or more - strictly 'there is that'; this is one kind of intuitive judgement of - perception. The other kind arises when the object of sense is complex, and - we subject it to some degree of analysis. If, for instance, we see a <i>round</i> - patch of red, we may judge 'that patch of red is round'. This is again a - judgement of perception, but it differs from our previous kind. In our - present kind we have a single sense-datum which has both colour and shape: - the colour is red and the shape is round. Our judgement analyses the datum - into colour and shape, and then recombines them by stating that the red - colour is round in shape. Another example of this kind of judgement is - 'this is to the right of that', where 'this' and 'that' are seen - simultaneously. In this kind of judgement the sense-datum contains - constituents which have some relation to each other, and the judgement - asserts that these constituents have this relation. - </p> - <p> - Another class of intuitive judgements, analogous to those of sense and yet - quite distinct from them, are judgements of <i>memory</i>. There is some - danger of confusion as to the nature of memory, owing to the fact that - memory of an object is apt to be accompanied by an image of the object, - and yet the image cannot be what constitutes memory. This is easily seen - by merely noticing that the image is in the present, whereas what is - remembered is known to be in the past. Moreover, we are certainly able to - some extent to compare our image with the object remembered, so that we - often know, within somewhat wide limits, how far our image is accurate; - but this would be impossible, unless the object, as opposed to the image, - were in some way before the mind. Thus the essence of memory is not - constituted by the image, but by having immediately before the mind an - object which is recognized as past. But for the fact of memory in this - sense, we should not know that there ever was a past at all, nor should we - be able to understand the word 'past', any more than a man born blind can - understand the word 'light'. Thus there must be intuitive judgements of - memory, and it is upon them, ultimately, that all our knowledge of the - past depends. - </p> - <p> - The case of memory, however, raises a difficulty, for it is notoriously - fallacious, and thus throws doubt on the trustworthiness of intuitive - judgements in general. This difficulty is no light one. But let us first - narrow its scope as far as possible. Broadly speaking, memory is - trustworthy in proportion to the vividness of the experience and to its - nearness in time. If the house next door was struck by lightning half a - minute ago, my memory of what I saw and heard will be so reliable that it - would be preposterous to doubt whether there had been a flash at all. And - the same applies to less vivid experiences, so long as they are recent. I - am absolutely certain that half a minute ago I was sitting in the same - chair in which I am sitting now. Going backward over the day, I find - things of which I am quite certain, other things of which I am almost - certain, other things of which I can become certain by thought and by - calling up attendant circumstances, and some things of which I am by no - means certain. I am quite certain that I ate my breakfast this morning, - but if I were as indifferent to my breakfast as a philosopher should be, I - should be doubtful. As to the conversation at breakfast, I can recall some - of it easily, some with an effort, some only with a large element of - doubt, and some not at all. Thus there is a continual gradation in the - degree of self-evidence of what I remember, and a corresponding gradation - in the trustworthiness of my memory. - </p> - <p> - Thus the first answer to the difficulty of fallacious memory is to say - that memory has degrees of self-evidence, and that these correspond to the - degrees of its trustworthiness, reaching a limit of perfect self-evidence - and perfect trustworthiness in our memory of events which are recent and - vivid. - </p> - <p> - It would seem, however, that there are cases of very firm belief in a - memory which is wholly false. It is probable that, in these cases, what is - really remembered, in the sense of being immediately before the mind, is - something other than what is falsely believed in, though something - generally associated with it. George IV is said to have at last believed - that he was at the battle of Waterloo, because he had so often said that - he was. In this case, what was immediately remembered was his repeated - assertion; the belief in what he was asserting (if it existed) would be - produced by association with the remembered assertion, and would therefore - not be a genuine case of memory. It would seem that cases of fallacious - memory can probably all be dealt with in this way, i.e. they can be shown - to be not cases of memory in the strict sense at all. - </p> - <p> - One important point about self-evidence is made clear by the case of - memory, and that is, that self-evidence has degrees: it is not a quality - which is simply present or absent, but a quality which may be more or less - present, in gradations ranging from absolute certainty down to an almost - imperceptible faintness. Truths of perception and some of the principles - of logic have the very highest degree of self-evidence; truths of - immediate memory have an almost equally high degree. The inductive - principle has less self-evidence than some of the other principles of - logic, such as 'what follows from a true premiss must be true'. Memories - have a diminishing self-evidence as they become remoter and fainter; the - truths of logic and mathematics have (broadly speaking) less self-evidence - as they become more complicated. Judgements of intrinsic ethical or - aesthetic value are apt to have some self-evidence, but not much. - </p> - <p> - Degrees of self-evidence are important in the theory of knowledge, since, - if propositions may (as seems likely) have some degree of self-evidence - without being true, it will not be necessary to abandon all connexion - between self-evidence and truth, but merely to say that, where there is a - conflict, the more self-evident proposition is to be retained and the less - self-evident rejected. - </p> - <p> - It seems, however, highly probable that two different notions are combined - in 'self-evidence' as above explained; that one of them, which corresponds - to the highest degree of self-evidence, is really an infallible guarantee - of truth, while the other, which corresponds to all the other degrees, - does not give an infallible guarantee, but only a greater or less - presumption. This, however, is only a suggestion, which we cannot as yet - develop further. After we have dealt with the nature of truth, we shall - return to the subject of self-evidence, in connexion with the distinction - between knowledge and error. - </p> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XII. TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD - </h2> - <p> - Our knowledge of truths, unlike our knowledge of things, has an opposite, - namely <i>error</i>. So far as things are concerned, we may know them or - not know them, but there is no positive state of mind which can be - described as erroneous knowledge of things, so long, at any rate, as we - confine ourselves to knowledge by acquaintance. Whatever we are acquainted - with must be something; we may draw wrong inferences from our - acquaintance, but the acquaintance itself cannot be deceptive. Thus there - is no dualism as regards acquaintance. But as regards knowledge of truths, - there is a dualism. We may believe what is false as well as what is true. - We know that on very many subjects different people hold different and - incompatible opinions: hence some beliefs must be erroneous. Since - erroneous beliefs are often held just as strongly as true beliefs, it - becomes a difficult question how they are to be distinguished from true - beliefs. How are we to know, in a given case, that our belief is not - erroneous? This is a question of the very greatest difficulty, to which no - completely satisfactory answer is possible. There is, however, a - preliminary question which is rather less difficult, and that is: What do - we <i>mean</i> by truth and falsehood? It is this preliminary question - which is to be considered in this chapter. In this chapter we are not - asking how we can know whether a belief is true or false: we are asking - what is meant by the question whether a belief is true or false. It is to - be hoped that a clear answer to this question may help us to obtain an - answer to the question what beliefs are true, but for the present we ask - only 'What is truth?' and 'What is falsehood?' not 'What beliefs are - true?' and 'What beliefs are false?' It is very important to keep these - different questions entirely separate, since any confusion between them is - sure to produce an answer which is not really applicable to either. - </p> - <p> - There are three points to observe in the attempt to discover the nature of - truth, three requisites which any theory must fulfil. - </p> - <p> - (1) Our theory of truth must be such as to admit of its opposite, - falsehood. A good many philosophers have failed adequately to satisfy this - condition: they have constructed theories according to which all our - thinking ought to have been true, and have then had the greatest - difficulty in finding a place for falsehood. In this respect our theory of - belief must differ from our theory of acquaintance, since in the case of - acquaintance it was not necessary to take account of any opposite. - </p> - <p> - (2) It seems fairly evident that if there were no beliefs there could be - no falsehood, and no truth either, in the sense in which truth is - correlative to falsehood. If we imagine a world of mere matter, there - would be no room for falsehood in such a world, and although it would - contain what may be called 'facts', it would not contain any truths, in - the sense in which truths are things of the same kind as falsehoods. In - fact, truth and falsehood are properties of beliefs and statements: hence - a world of mere matter, since it would contain no beliefs or statements, - would also contain no truth or falsehood. - </p> - <p> - (3) But, as against what we have just said, it is to be observed that the - truth or falsehood of a belief always depends upon something which lies - outside the belief itself. If I believe that Charles I died on the - scaffold, I believe truly, not because of any intrinsic quality of my - belief, which could be discovered by merely examining the belief, but - because of an historical event which happened two and a half centuries - ago. If I believe that Charles I died in his bed, I believe falsely: no - degree of vividness in my belief, or of care in arriving at it, prevents - it from being false, again because of what happened long ago, and not - because of any intrinsic property of my belief. Hence, although truth and - falsehood are properties of beliefs, they are properties dependent upon - the relations of the beliefs to other things, not upon any internal - quality of the beliefs. - </p> - <p> - The third of the above requisites leads us to adopt the view—which - has on the whole been commonest among philosophers—that truth - consists in some form of correspondence between belief and fact. It is, - however, by no means an easy matter to discover a form of correspondence - to which there are no irrefutable objections. By this partly—and - partly by the feeling that, if truth consists in a correspondence of - thought with something outside thought, thought can never know when truth - has been attained—many philosophers have been led to try to find - some definition of truth which shall not consist in relation to something - wholly outside belief. The most important attempt at a definition of this - sort is the theory that truth consists in <i>coherence</i>. It is said - that the mark of falsehood is failure to cohere in the body of our - beliefs, and that it is the essence of a truth to form part of the - completely rounded system which is The Truth. - </p> - <p> - There is, however, a great difficulty in this view, or rather two great - difficulties. The first is that there is no reason to suppose that only <i>one</i> - coherent body of beliefs is possible. It may be that, with sufficient - imagination, a novelist might invent a past for the world that would - perfectly fit on to what we know, and yet be quite different from the real - past. In more scientific matters, it is certain that there are often two - or more hypotheses which account for all the known facts on some subject, - and although, in such cases, men of science endeavour to find facts which - will rule out all the hypotheses except one, there is no reason why they - should always succeed. - </p> - <p> - In philosophy, again, it seems not uncommon for two rival hypotheses to be - both able to account for all the facts. Thus, for example, it is possible - that life is one long dream, and that the outer world has only that degree - of reality that the objects of dreams have; but although such a view does - not seem inconsistent with known facts, there is no reason to prefer it to - the common-sense view, according to which other people and things do - really exist. Thus coherence as the definition of truth fails because - there is no proof that there can be only one coherent system. - </p> - <p> - The other objection to this definition of truth is that it assumes the - meaning of 'coherence' known, whereas, in fact, 'coherence' presupposes - the truth of the laws of logic. Two propositions are coherent when both - may be true, and are incoherent when one at least must be false. Now in - order to know whether two propositions can both be true, we must know such - truths as the law of contradiction. For example, the two propositions, - 'this tree is a beech' and 'this tree is not a beech', are not coherent, - because of the law of contradiction. But if the law of contradiction - itself were subjected to the test of coherence, we should find that, if we - choose to suppose it false, nothing will any longer be incoherent with - anything else. Thus the laws of logic supply the skeleton or framework - within which the test of coherence applies, and they themselves cannot be - established by this test. - </p> - <p> - For the above two reasons, coherence cannot be accepted as giving the <i>meaning</i> - of truth, though it is often a most important <i>test</i> of truth after a - certain amount of truth has become known. - </p> - <p> - Hence we are driven back to <i>correspondence with fact</i> as - constituting the nature of truth. It remains to define precisely what we - mean by 'fact', and what is the nature of the correspondence which must - subsist between belief and fact, in order that belief may be true. - </p> - <p> - In accordance with our three requisites, we have to seek a theory of truth - which (1) allows truth to have an opposite, namely falsehood, (2) makes - truth a property of beliefs, but (3) makes it a property wholly dependent - upon the relation of the beliefs to outside things. - </p> - <p> - The necessity of allowing for falsehood makes it impossible to regard - belief as a relation of the mind to a single object, which could be said - to be what is believed. If belief were so regarded, we should find that, - like acquaintance, it would not admit of the opposition of truth and - falsehood, but would have to be always true. This may be made clear by - examples. Othello believes falsely that Desdemona loves Cassio. We cannot - say that this belief consists in a relation to a single object, - 'Desdemona's love for Cassio', for if there were such an object, the - belief would be true. There is in fact no such object, and therefore - Othello cannot have any relation to such an object. Hence his belief - cannot possibly consist in a relation to this object. - </p> - <p> - It might be said that his belief is a relation to a different object, - namely 'that Desdemona loves Cassio'; but it is almost as difficult to - suppose that there is such an object as this, when Desdemona does not love - Cassio, as it was to suppose that there is 'Desdemona's love for Cassio'. - Hence it will be better to seek for a theory of belief which does not make - it consist in a relation of the mind to a single object. - </p> - <p> - It is common to think of relations as though they always held between two - terms, but in fact this is not always the case. Some relations demand - three terms, some four, and so on. Take, for instance, the relation - 'between'. So long as only two terms come in, the relation 'between' is - impossible: three terms are the smallest number that render it possible. - York is between London and Edinburgh; but if London and Edinburgh were the - only places in the world, there could be nothing which was between one - place and another. Similarly <i>jealousy</i> requires three people: there - can be no such relation that does not involve three at least. Such a - proposition as 'A wishes B to promote C's marriage with D' involves a - relation of four terms; that is to say, A and B and C and D all come in, - and the relation involved cannot be expressed otherwise than in a form - involving all four. Instances might be multiplied indefinitely, but enough - has been said to show that there are relations which require more than two - terms before they can occur. - </p> - <p> - The relation involved in <i>judging</i> or <i>believing</i> must, if - falsehood is to be duly allowed for, be taken to be a relation between - several terms, not between two. When Othello believes that Desdemona loves - Cassio, he must not have before his mind a single object, 'Desdemona's - love for Cassio', or 'that Desdemona loves Cassio ', for that would - require that there should be objective falsehoods, which subsist - independently of any minds; and this, though not logically refutable, is a - theory to be avoided if possible. Thus it is easier to account for - falsehood if we take judgement to be a relation in which the mind and the - various objects concerned all occur severally; that is to say, Desdemona - and loving and Cassio must all be terms in the relation which subsists - when Othello believes that Desdemona loves Cassio. This relation, - therefore, is a relation of four terms, since Othello also is one of the - terms of the relation. When we say that it is a relation of four terms, we - do not mean that Othello has a certain relation to Desdemona, and has the - same relation to loving and also to Cassio. This may be true of some other - relation than believing; but believing, plainly, is not a relation which - Othello has to <i>each</i> of the three terms concerned, but to <i>all</i> - of them together: there is only one example of the relation of believing - involved, but this one example knits together four terms. Thus the actual - occurrence, at the moment when Othello is entertaining his belief, is that - the relation called 'believing' is knitting together into one complex - whole the four terms Othello, Desdemona, loving, and Cassio. What is - called belief or judgement is nothing but this relation of believing or - judging, which relates a mind to several things other than itself. An <i>act</i> - of belief or of judgement is the occurrence between certain terms at some - particular time, of the relation of believing or judging. - </p> - <p> - We are now in a position to understand what it is that distinguishes a - true judgement from a false one. For this purpose we will adopt certain - definitions. In every act of judgement there is a mind which judges, and - there are terms concerning which it judges. We will call the mind the <i>subject</i> - in the judgement, and the remaining terms the <i>objects</i>. Thus, when - Othello judges that Desdemona loves Cassio, Othello is the subject, while - the objects are Desdemona and loving and Cassio. The subject and the - objects together are called the <i>constituents</i> of the judgement. It - will be observed that the relation of judging has what is called a 'sense' - or 'direction'. We may say, metaphorically, that it puts its objects in a - certain <i>order</i>, which we may indicate by means of the order of the - words in the sentence. (In an inflected language, the same thing will be - indicated by inflections, e.g. by the difference between nominative and - accusative.) Othello's judgement that Cassio loves Desdemona differs from - his judgement that Desdemona loves Cassio, in spite of the fact that it - consists of the same constituents, because the relation of judging places - the constituents in a different order in the two cases. Similarly, if - Cassio judges that Desdemona loves Othello, the constituents of the - judgement are still the same, but their order is different. This property - of having a 'sense' or 'direction' is one which the relation of judging - shares with all other relations. The 'sense' of relations is the ultimate - source of order and series and a host of mathematical concepts; but we - need not concern ourselves further with this aspect. - </p> - <p> - We spoke of the relation called 'judging' or 'believing' as knitting - together into one complex whole the subject and the objects. In this - respect, judging is exactly like every other relation. Whenever a relation - holds between two or more terms, it unites the terms into a complex whole. - If Othello loves Desdemona, there is such a complex whole as 'Othello's - love for Desdemona'. The terms united by the relation may be themselves - complex, or may be simple, but the whole which results from their being - united must be complex. Wherever there is a relation which relates certain - terms, there is a complex object formed of the union of those terms; and - conversely, wherever there is a complex object, there is a relation which - relates its constituents. When an act of believing occurs, there is a - complex, in which 'believing' is the uniting relation, and subject and - objects are arranged in a certain order by the 'sense' of the relation of - believing. Among the objects, as we saw in considering 'Othello believes - that Desdemona loves Cassio', one must be a relation—in this - instance, the relation 'loving'. But this relation, as it occurs in the - act of believing, is not the relation which creates the unity of the - complex whole consisting of the subject and the objects. The relation - 'loving', as it occurs in the act of believing, is one of the objects—it - is a brick in the structure, not the cement. The cement is the relation - 'believing'. When the belief is <i>true</i>, there is another complex - unity, in which the relation which was one of the objects of the belief - relates the other objects. Thus, e.g., if Othello believes <i>truly</i> - that Desdemona loves Cassio, then there is a complex unity, 'Desdemona's - love for Cassio', which is composed exclusively of the <i>objects</i> of - the belief, in the same order as they had in the belief, with the relation - which was one of the objects occurring now as the cement that binds - together the other objects of the belief. On the other hand, when a belief - is <i>false</i>, there is no such complex unity composed only of the - objects of the belief. If Othello believes <i>falsely</i> that Desdemona - loves Cassio, then there is no such complex unity as 'Desdemona's love for - Cassio'. - </p> - <p> - Thus a belief is <i>true</i> when it <i>corresponds</i> to a certain - associated complex, and <i>false</i> when it does not. Assuming, for the - sake of definiteness, that the objects of the belief are two terms and a - relation, the terms being put in a certain order by the 'sense' of the - believing, then if the two terms in that order are united by the relation - into a complex, the belief is true; if not, it is false. This constitutes - the definition of truth and falsehood that we were in search of. Judging - or believing is a certain complex unity of which a mind is a constituent; - if the remaining constituents, taken in the order which they have in the - belief, form a complex unity, then the belief is true; if not, it is - false. - </p> - <p> - Thus although truth and falsehood are properties of beliefs, yet they are - in a sense extrinsic properties, for the condition of the truth of a - belief is something not involving beliefs, or (in general) any mind at - all, but only the <i>objects</i> of the belief. A mind, which believes, - believes truly when there is a <i>corresponding</i> complex not involving - the mind, but only its objects. This correspondence ensures truth, and its - absence entails falsehood. Hence we account simultaneously for the two - facts that beliefs (a) depend on minds for their <i>existence</i>, (b) do - not depend on minds for their <i>truth</i>. - </p> - <p> - We may restate our theory as follows: If we take such a belief as 'Othello - believes that Desdemona loves Cassio', we will call Desdemona and Cassio - the <i>object-terms</i>, and loving the <i>object-relation</i>. If there - is a complex unity 'Desdemona's love for Cassio', consisting of the - object-terms related by the object-relation in the same order as they have - in the belief, then this complex unity is called the <i>fact corresponding - to the belief</i>. Thus a belief is true when there is a corresponding - fact, and is false when there is no corresponding fact. - </p> - <p> - It will be seen that minds do not <i>create</i> truth or falsehood. They - create beliefs, but when once the beliefs are created, the mind cannot - make them true or false, except in the special case where they concern - future things which are within the power of the person believing, such as - catching trains. What makes a belief true is a <i>fact</i>, and this fact - does not (except in exceptional cases) in any way involve the mind of the - person who has the belief. - </p> - <p> - Having now decided what we <i>mean</i> by truth and falsehood, we have - next to consider what ways there are of knowing whether this or that - belief is true or false. This consideration will occupy the next chapter. - </p> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIII. KNOWLEDGE, ERROR, AND PROBABLE OPINION - </h2> - <p> - The question as to what we mean by truth and falsehood, which we - considered in the preceding chapter, is of much less interest than the - question as to how we can know what is true and what is false. This - question will occupy us in the present chapter. There can be no doubt that - <i>some</i> of our beliefs are erroneous; thus we are led to inquire what - certainty we can ever have that such and such a belief is not erroneous. - In other words, can we ever <i>know</i> anything at all, or do we merely - sometimes by good luck believe what is true? Before we can attack this - question, we must, however, first decide what we mean by 'knowing', and - this question is not so easy as might be supposed. - </p> - <p> - At first sight we might imagine that knowledge could be defined as 'true - belief'. When what we believe is true, it might be supposed that we had - achieved a knowledge of what we believe. But this would not accord with - the way in which the word is commonly used. To take a very trivial - instance: If a man believes that the late Prime Minister's last name began - with a B, he believes what is true, since the late Prime Minister was Sir - Henry Campbell Bannerman. But if he believes that Mr. Balfour was the late - Prime Minister, he will still believe that the late Prime Minister's last - name began with a B, yet this belief, though true, would not be thought to - constitute knowledge. If a newspaper, by an intelligent anticipation, - announces the result of a battle before any telegram giving the result has - been received, it may by good fortune announce what afterwards turns out - to be the right result, and it may produce belief in some of its less - experienced readers. But in spite of the truth of their belief, they - cannot be said to have knowledge. Thus it is clear that a true belief is - not knowledge when it is deduced from a false belief. - </p> - <p> - In like manner, a true belief cannot be called knowledge when it is - deduced by a fallacious process of reasoning, even if the premisses from - which it is deduced are true. If I know that all Greeks are men and that - Socrates was a man, and I infer that Socrates was a Greek, I cannot be - said to <i>know</i> that Socrates was a Greek, because, although my - premisses and my conclusion are true, the conclusion does not follow from - the premisses. - </p> - <p> - But are we to say that nothing is knowledge except what is validly deduced - from true premisses? Obviously we cannot say this. Such a definition is at - once too wide and too narrow. In the first place, it is too wide, because - it is not enough that our premisses should be <i>true</i>, they must also - be <i>known</i>. The man who believes that Mr. Balfour was the late Prime - Minister may proceed to draw valid deductions from the true premiss that - the late Prime Minister's name began with a B, but he cannot be said to <i>know</i> - the conclusions reached by these deductions. Thus we shall have to amend - our definition by saying that knowledge is what is validly deduced from <i>known</i> - premisses. This, however, is a circular definition: it assumes that we - already know what is meant by 'known premisses'. It can, therefore, at - best define one sort of knowledge, the sort we call derivative, as opposed - to intuitive knowledge. We may say: '<i>Derivative</i> knowledge is what - is validly deduced from premisses known intuitively'. In this statement - there is no formal defect, but it leaves the definition of <i>intuitive</i> - knowledge still to seek. - </p> - <p> - Leaving on one side, for the moment, the question of intuitive knowledge, - let us consider the above suggested definition of derivative knowledge. - The chief objection to it is that it unduly limits knowledge. It - constantly happens that people entertain a true belief, which has grown up - in them because of some piece of intuitive knowledge from which it is - capable of being validly inferred, but from which it has not, as a matter - of fact, been inferred by any logical process. - </p> - <p> - Take, for example, the beliefs produced by reading. If the newspapers - announce the death of the King, we are fairly well justified in believing - that the King is dead, since this is the sort of announcement which would - not be made if it were false. And we are quite amply justified in - believing that the newspaper asserts that the King is dead. But here the - intuitive knowledge upon which our belief is based is knowledge of the - existence of sense-data derived from looking at the print which gives the - news. This knowledge scarcely rises into consciousness, except in a person - who cannot read easily. A child may be aware of the shapes of the letters, - and pass gradually and painfully to a realization of their meaning. But - anybody accustomed to reading passes at once to what the letters mean, and - is not aware, except on reflection, that he has derived this knowledge - from the sense-data called seeing the printed letters. Thus although a - valid inference from the-letters to their meaning is possible, and <i>could</i> - be performed by the reader, it is not in fact performed, since he does not - in fact perform any operation which can be called logical inference. Yet - it would be absurd to say that the reader does not <i>know</i> that the - newspaper announces the King's death. - </p> - <p> - We must, therefore, admit as derivative knowledge whatever is the result - of intuitive knowledge even if by mere association, provided there <i>is</i> - a valid logical connexion, and the person in question could become aware - of this connexion by reflection. There are in fact many ways, besides - logical inference, by which we pass from one belief to another: the - passage from the print to its meaning illustrates these ways. These ways - may be called 'psychological inference'. We shall, then, admit such - psychological inference as a means of obtaining derivative knowledge, - provided there is a discoverable logical inference which runs parallel to - the psychological inference. This renders our definition of derivative - knowledge less precise than we could wish, since the word 'discoverable' - is vague: it does not tell us how much reflection may be needed in order - to make the discovery. But in fact 'knowledge' is not a precise - conception: it merges into 'probable opinion', as we shall see more fully - in the course of the present chapter. A very precise definition, - therefore, should not be sought, since any such definition must be more or - less misleading. - </p> - <p> - The chief difficulty in regard to knowledge, however, does not arise over - derivative knowledge, but over intuitive knowledge. So long as we are - dealing with derivative knowledge, we have the test of intuitive knowledge - to fall back upon. But in regard to intuitive beliefs, it is by no means - easy to discover any criterion by which to distinguish some as true and - others as erroneous. In this question it is scarcely possible to reach any - very precise result: all our knowledge of truths is infected with some - degree of doubt, and a theory which ignored this fact would be plainly - wrong. Something may be done, however, to mitigate the difficulties of the - question. - </p> - <p> - Our theory of truth, to begin with, supplies the possibility of - distinguishing certain truths as <i>self-evident</i> in a sense which - ensures infallibility. When a belief is true, we said, there is a - corresponding fact, in which the several objects of the belief form a - single complex. The belief is said to constitute <i>knowledge</i> of this - fact, provided it fulfils those further somewhat vague conditions which we - have been considering in the present chapter. But in regard to any fact, - besides the knowledge constituted by belief, we may also have the kind of - knowledge constituted by <i>perception</i> (taking this word in its widest - possible sense). For example, if you know the hour of the sunset, you can - at that hour know the fact that the sun is setting: this is knowledge of - the fact by way of knowledge of <i>truths</i>; but you can also, if the - weather is fine, look to the west and actually see the setting sun: you - then know the same fact by the way of knowledge of <i>things</i>. - </p> - <p> - Thus in regard to any complex fact, there are, theoretically, two ways in - which it may be known: (1) by means of a judgement, in which its several - parts are judged to be related as they are in fact related; (2) by means - of <i>acquaintance</i> with the complex fact itself, which may (in a large - sense) be called perception, though it is by no means confined to objects - of the senses. Now it will be observed that the second way of knowing a - complex fact, the way of acquaintance, is only possible when there really - is such a fact, while the first way, like all judgement, is liable to - error. The second way gives us the complex whole, and is therefore only - possible when its parts do actually have that relation which makes them - combine to form such a complex. The first way, on the contrary, gives us - the parts and the relation severally, and demands only the reality of the - parts and the relation: the relation may not relate those parts in that - way, and yet the judgement may occur. - </p> - <p> - It will be remembered that at the end of Chapter XI we suggested that - there might be two kinds of self-evidence, one giving an absolute - guarantee of truth, the other only a partial guarantee. These two kinds - can now be distinguished. - </p> - <p> - We may say that a truth is self-evident, in the first and most absolute - sense, when we have acquaintance with the fact which corresponds to the - truth. When Othello believes that Desdemona loves Cassio, the - corresponding fact, if his belief were true, would be 'Desdemona's love - for Cassio'. This would be a fact with which no one could have - acquaintance except Desdemona; hence in the sense of self-evidence that we - are considering, the truth that Desdemona loves Cassio (if it were a - truth) could only be self-evident to Desdemona. All mental facts, and all - facts concerning sense-data, have this same privacy: there is only one - person to whom they can be self-evident in our present sense, since there - is only one person who can be acquainted with the mental things or the - sense-data concerned. Thus no fact about any particular existing thing can - be self-evident to more than one person. On the other hand, facts about - universals do not have this privacy. Many minds may be acquainted with the - same universals; hence a relation between universals may be known by - acquaintance to many different people. In all cases where we know by - acquaintance a complex fact consisting of certain terms in a certain - relation, we say that the truth that these terms are so related has the - first or absolute kind of self-evidence, and in these cases the judgement - that the terms are so related <i>must</i> be true. Thus this sort of - self-evidence is an absolute guarantee of truth. - </p> - <p> - But although this sort of self-evidence is an absolute guarantee of truth, - it does not enable us to be <i>absolutely</i> certain, in the case of any - given judgement, that the judgement in question is true. Suppose we first - perceive the sun shining, which is a complex fact, and thence proceed to - make the judgement 'the sun is shining'. In passing from the perception to - the judgement, it is necessary to analyse the given complex fact: we have - to separate out 'the sun' and 'shining' as constituents of the fact. In - this process it is possible to commit an error; hence even where a <i>fact</i> - has the first or absolute kind of self-evidence, a judgement believed to - correspond to the fact is not absolutely infallible, because it may not - really correspond to the fact. But if it does correspond (in the sense - explained in the preceding chapter), then it <i>must</i> be true. - </p> - <p> - The second sort of self-evidence will be that which belongs to judgements - in the first instance, and is not derived from direct perception of a fact - as a single complex whole. This second kind of self-evidence will have - degrees, from the very highest degree down to a bare inclination in favour - of the belief. Take, for example, the case of a horse trotting away from - us along a hard road. At first our certainty that we hear the hoofs is - complete; gradually, if we listen intently, there comes a moment when we - think perhaps it was imagination or the blind upstairs or our own - heartbeats; at last we become doubtful whether there was any noise at all; - then we <i>think</i> we no longer hear anything, and at last we <i>know</i> - we no longer hear anything. In this process, there is a continual - gradation of self-evidence, from the highest degree to the least, not in - the sense-data themselves, but in the judgements based on them. - </p> - <p> - Or again: Suppose we are comparing two shades of colour, one blue and one - green. We can be quite sure they are different shades of colour; but if - the green colour is gradually altered to be more and more like the blue, - becoming first a blue-green, then a greeny-blue, then blue, there will - come a moment when we are doubtful whether we can see any difference, and - then a moment when we know that we cannot see any difference. The same - thing happens in tuning a musical instrument, or in any other case where - there is a continuous gradation. Thus self-evidence of this sort is a - matter of degree; and it seems plain that the higher degrees are more to - be trusted than the lower degrees. - </p> - <p> - In derivative knowledge our ultimate premisses must have some degree of - self-evidence, and so must their connexion with the conclusions deduced - from them. Take for example a piece of reasoning in geometry. It is not - enough that the axioms from which we start should be self-evident: it is - necessary also that, at each step in the reasoning, the connexion of - premiss and conclusion should be self-evident. In difficult reasoning, - this connexion has often only a very small degree of self-evidence; hence - errors of reasoning are not improbable where the difficulty is great. - </p> - <p> - From what has been said it is evident that, both as regards intuitive - knowledge and as regards derivative knowledge, if we assume that intuitive - knowledge is trustworthy in proportion to the degree of its self-evidence, - there will be a gradation in trustworthiness, from the existence of - noteworthy sense-data and the simpler truths of logic and arithmetic, - which may be taken as quite certain, down to judgements which seem only - just more probable than their opposites. What we firmly believe, if it is - true, is called <i>knowledge</i>, provided it is either intuitive or - inferred (logically or psychologically) from intuitive knowledge from - which it follows logically. What we firmly believe, if it is not true, is - called <i>error</i>. What we firmly believe, if it is neither knowledge - nor error, and also what we believe hesitatingly, because it is, or is - derived from, something which has not the highest degree of self-evidence, - may be called <i>probable opinion</i>. Thus the greater part of what would - commonly pass as knowledge is more or less probable opinion. - </p> - <p> - In regard to probable opinion, we can derive great assistance from <i>coherence</i>, - which we rejected as the <i>definition</i> of truth, but may often use as - a <i>criterion</i>. A body of individually probable opinions, if they are - mutually coherent, become more probable than any one of them would be - individually. It is in this way that many scientific hypotheses acquire - their probability. They fit into a coherent system of probable opinions, - and thus become more probable than they would be in isolation. The same - thing applies to general philosophical hypotheses. Often in a single case - such hypotheses may seem highly doubtful, while yet, when we consider the - order and coherence which they introduce into a mass of probable opinion, - they become pretty nearly certain. This applies, in particular, to such - matters as the distinction between dreams and waking life. If our dreams, - night after night, were as coherent one with another as our days, we - should hardly know whether to believe the dreams or the waking life. As it - is, the test of coherence condemns the dreams and confirms the waking - life. But this test, though it increases probability where it is - successful, never gives absolute certainty, unless there is certainty - already at some point in the coherent system. Thus the mere organization - of probable opinion will never, by itself, transform it into indubitable - knowledge. - </p> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIV. THE LIMITS OF PHILOSOPHICAL KNOWLEDGE - </h2> - <p> - In all that we have said hitherto concerning philosophy, we have scarcely - touched on many matters that occupy a great space in the writings of most - philosophers. Most philosophers—or, at any rate, very many—profess - to be able to prove, by <i>a priori</i> metaphysical reasoning, such - things as the fundamental dogmas of religion, the essential rationality of - the universe, the illusoriness of matter, the unreality of all evil, and - so on. There can be no doubt that the hope of finding reason to believe - such theses as these has been the chief inspiration of many life-long - students of philosophy. This hope, I believe, is vain. It would seem that - knowledge concerning the universe as a whole is not to be obtained by - metaphysics, and that the proposed proofs that, in virtue of the laws of - logic such and such things <i>must</i> exist and such and such others - cannot, are not capable of surviving a critical scrutiny. In this chapter - we shall briefly consider the kind of way in which such reasoning is - attempted, with a view to discovering whether we can hope that it may be - valid. - </p> - <p> - The great representative, in modern times, of the kind of view which we - wish to examine, was Hegel (1770-1831). Hegel's philosophy is very - difficult, and commentators differ as to the true interpretation of it. - According to the interpretation I shall adopt, which is that of many, if - not most, of the commentators and has the merit of giving an interesting - and important type of philosophy, his main thesis is that everything short - of the Whole is obviously fragmentary, and obviously incapable of existing - without the complement supplied by the rest of the world. Just as a - comparative anatomist, from a single bone, sees what kind of animal the - whole must have been, so the metaphysician, according to Hegel, sees, from - any one piece of reality, what the whole of reality must be—at least - in its large outlines. Every apparently separate piece of reality has, as - it were, hooks which grapple it to the next piece; the next piece, in - turn, has fresh hooks, and so on, until the whole universe is - reconstructed. This essential incompleteness appears, according to Hegel, - equally in the world of thought and in the world of things. In the world - of thought, if we take any idea which is abstract or incomplete, we find, - on examination, that if we forget its incompleteness, we become involved - in contradictions; these contradictions turn the idea in question into its - opposite, or antithesis; and in order to escape, we have to find a new, - less incomplete idea, which is the synthesis of our original idea and its - antithesis. This new idea, though less incomplete than the idea we started - with, will be found, nevertheless, to be still not wholly complete, but to - pass into its antithesis, with which it must be combined in a new - synthesis. In this way Hegel advances until he reaches the 'Absolute - Idea', which, according to him, has no incompleteness, no opposite, and no - need of further development. The Absolute Idea, therefore, is adequate to - describe Absolute Reality; but all lower ideas only describe reality as it - appears to a partial view, not as it is to one who simultaneously surveys - the Whole. Thus Hegel reaches the conclusion that Absolute Reality forms - one single harmonious system, not in space or time, not in any degree - evil, wholly rational, and wholly spiritual. Any appearance to the - contrary, in the world we know, can be proved logically—so he - believes—to be entirely due to our fragmentary piecemeal view of the - universe. If we saw the universe whole, as we may suppose God sees it, - space and time and matter and evil and all striving and struggling would - disappear, and we should see instead an eternal perfect unchanging - spiritual unity. - </p> - <p> - In this conception, there is undeniably something sublime, something to - which we could wish to yield assent. Nevertheless, when the arguments in - support of it are carefully examined, they appear to involve much - confusion and many unwarrantable assumptions. The fundamental tenet upon - which the system is built up is that what is incomplete must be not - self-subsistent, but must need the support of other things before it can - exist. It is held that whatever has relations to things outside itself - must contain some reference to those outside things in its own nature, and - could not, therefore, be what it is if those outside things did not exist. - A man's nature, for example, is constituted by his memories and the rest - of his knowledge, by his loves and hatreds, and so on; thus, but for the - objects which he knows or loves or hates, he could not be what he is. He - is essentially and obviously a fragment: taken as the sum-total of reality - he would be self-contradictory. - </p> - <p> - This whole point of view, however, turns upon the notion of the 'nature' - of a thing, which seems to mean 'all the truths about the thing'. It is of - course the case that a truth which connects one thing with another thing - could not subsist if the other thing did not subsist. But a truth about a - thing is not part of the thing itself, although it must, according to the - above usage, be part of the 'nature' of the thing. If we mean by a thing's - 'nature' all the truths about the thing, then plainly we cannot know a - thing's 'nature' unless we know all the thing's relations to all the other - things in the universe. But if the word 'nature' is used in this sense, we - shall have to hold that the thing may be known when its 'nature' is not - known, or at any rate is not known completely. There is a confusion, when - this use of the word 'nature' is employed, between knowledge of things and - knowledge of truths. We may have knowledge of a thing by acquaintance even - if we know very few propositions about it—theoretically we need not - know any propositions about it. Thus, acquaintance with a thing does not - involve knowledge of its 'nature' in the above sense. And although - acquaintance with a thing is involved in our knowing any one proposition - about a thing, knowledge of its 'nature', in the above sense, is not - involved. Hence, (1) acquaintance with a thing does not logically involve - a knowledge of its relations, and (2) a knowledge of some of its relations - does not involve a knowledge of all of its relations nor a knowledge of - its 'nature' in the above sense. I may be acquainted, for example, with my - toothache, and this knowledge may be as complete as knowledge by - acquaintance ever can be, without knowing all that the dentist (who is not - acquainted with it) can tell me about its cause, and without therefore - knowing its 'nature' in the above sense. Thus the fact that a thing has - relations does not prove that its relations are logically necessary. That - is to say, from the mere fact that it is the thing it is we cannot deduce - that it must have the various relations which in fact it has. This only <i>seems</i> - to follow because we know it already. - </p> - <p> - It follows that we cannot prove that the universe as a whole forms a - single harmonious system such as Hegel believes that it forms. And if we - cannot prove this, we also cannot prove the unreality of space and time - and matter and evil, for this is deduced by Hegel from the fragmentary and - relational character of these things. Thus we are left to the piecemeal - investigation of the world, and are unable to know the characters of those - parts of the universe that are remote from our experience. This result, - disappointing as it is to those whose hopes have been raised by the - systems of philosophers, is in harmony with the inductive and scientific - temper of our age, and is borne out by the whole examination of human - knowledge which has occupied our previous chapters. - </p> - <p> - Most of the great ambitious attempts of metaphysicians have proceeded by - the attempt to prove that such and such apparent features of the actual - world were self-contradictory, and therefore could not be real. The whole - tendency of modern thought, however, is more and more in the direction of - showing that the supposed contradictions were illusory, and that very - little can be proved <i>a priori</i> from considerations of what <i>must</i> - be. A good illustration of this is afforded by space and time. Space and - time appear to be infinite in extent, and infinitely divisible. If we - travel along a straight line in either direction, it is difficult to - believe that we shall finally reach a last point, beyond which there is - nothing, not even empty space. Similarly, if in imagination we travel - backwards or forwards in time, it is difficult to believe that we shall - reach a first or last time, with not even empty time beyond it. Thus space - and time appear to be infinite in extent. - </p> - <p> - Again, if we take any two points on a line, it seems evident that there - must be other points between them however small the distance between them - may be: every distance can be halved, and the halves can be halved again, - and so on <i>ad infinitum</i>. In time, similarly, however little time may - elapse between two moments, it seems evident that there will be other - moments between them. Thus space and time appear to be infinitely - divisible. But as against these apparent facts—infinite extent and - infinite divisibility—philosophers have advanced arguments tending - to show that there could be no infinite collections of things, and that - therefore the number of points in space, or of instants in time, must be - finite. Thus a contradiction emerged between the apparent nature of space - and time and the supposed impossibility of infinite collections. - </p> - <p> - Kant, who first emphasized this contradiction, deduced the impossibility - of space and time, which he declared to be merely subjective; and since - his time very many philosophers have believed that space and time are mere - appearance, not characteristic of the world as it really is. Now, however, - owing to the labours of the mathematicians, notably Georg Cantor, it has - appeared that the impossibility of infinite collections was a mistake. - They are not in fact self-contradictory, but only contradictory of certain - rather obstinate mental prejudices. Hence the reasons for regarding space - and time as unreal have become inoperative, and one of the great sources - of metaphysical constructions is dried up. - </p> - <p> - The mathematicians, however, have not been content with showing that space - as it is commonly supposed to be is possible; they have shown also that - many other forms of space are equally possible, so far as logic can show. - Some of Euclid's axioms, which appear to common sense to be necessary, and - were formerly supposed to be necessary by philosophers, are now known to - derive their appearance of necessity from our mere familiarity with actual - space, and not from any <i>a priori</i> logical foundation. By imagining - worlds in which these axioms are false, the mathematicians have used logic - to loosen the prejudices of common sense, and to show the possibility of - spaces differing—some more, some less—from that in which we - live. And some of these spaces differ so little from Euclidean space, - where distances such as we can measure are concerned, that it is - impossible to discover by observation whether our actual space is strictly - Euclidean or of one of these other kinds. Thus the position is completely - reversed. Formerly it appeared that experience left only one kind of space - to logic, and logic showed this one kind to be impossible. Now, logic - presents many kinds of space as possible apart from experience, and - experience only partially decides between them. Thus, while our knowledge - of what is has become less than it was formerly supposed to be, our - knowledge of what may be is enormously increased. Instead of being shut in - within narrow walls, of which every nook and cranny could be explored, we - find ourselves in an open world of free possibilities, where much remains - unknown because there is so much to know. - </p> - <p> - What has happened in the case of space and time has happened, to some - extent, in other directions as well. The attempt to prescribe to the - universe by means of <i>a priori</i> principles has broken down; logic, - instead of being, as formerly, the bar to possibilities, has become the - great liberator of the imagination, presenting innumerable alternatives - which are closed to unreflective common sense, and leaving to experience - the task of deciding, where decision is possible, between the many worlds - which logic offers for our choice. Thus knowledge as to what exists - becomes limited to what we can learn from experience—not to what we - can actually experience, for, as we have seen, there is much knowledge by - description concerning things of which we have no direct experience. But - in all cases of knowledge by description, we need some connexion of - universals, enabling us, from such and such a datum, to infer an object of - a certain sort as implied by our datum. Thus in regard to physical - objects, for example, the principle that sense-data are signs of physical - objects is itself a connexion of universals; and it is only in virtue of - this principle that experience enables us to acquire knowledge concerning - physical objects. The same applies to the law of causality, or, to descend - to what is less general, to such principles as the law of gravitation. - </p> - <p> - Principles such as the law of gravitation are proved, or rather are - rendered highly probable, by a combination of experience with some wholly - <i>a priori</i> principle, such as the principle of induction. Thus our - intuitive knowledge, which is the source of all our other knowledge of - truths, is of two sorts: pure empirical knowledge, which tells us of the - existence and some of the properties of particular things with which we - are acquainted, and pure <i>a priori</i> knowledge, which gives us - connexions between universals, and enables us to draw inferences from the - particular facts given in empirical knowledge. Our derivative knowledge - always depends upon some pure <i>a priori</i> knowledge and usually also - depends upon some pure empirical knowledge. - </p> - <p> - Philosophical knowledge, if what has been said above is true, does not - differ essentially from scientific knowledge; there is no special source - of wisdom which is open to philosophy but not to science, and the results - obtained by philosophy are not radically different from those obtained - from science. The essential characteristic of philosophy, which makes it a - study distinct from science, is criticism. It examines critically the - principles employed in science and in daily life; it searches out any - inconsistencies there may be in these principles, and it only accepts them - when, as the result of a critical inquiry, no reason for rejecting them - has appeared. If, as many philosophers have believed, the principles - underlying the sciences were capable, when disengaged from irrelevant - detail, of giving us knowledge concerning the universe as a whole, such - knowledge would have the same claim on our belief as scientific knowledge - has; but our inquiry has not revealed any such knowledge, and therefore, - as regards the special doctrines of the bolder metaphysicians, has had a - mainly negative result. But as regards what would be commonly accepted as - knowledge, our result is in the main positive: we have seldom found reason - to reject such knowledge as the result of our criticism, and we have seen - no reason to suppose man incapable of the kind of knowledge which he is - generally believed to possess. - </p> - <p> - When, however, we speak of philosophy as a <i>criticism</i> of knowledge, - it is necessary to impose a certain limitation. If we adopt the attitude - of the complete sceptic, placing ourselves wholly outside all knowledge, - and asking, from this outside position, to be compelled to return within - the circle of knowledge, we are demanding what is impossible, and our - scepticism can never be refuted. For all refutation must begin with some - piece of knowledge which the disputants share; from blank doubt, no - argument can begin. Hence the criticism of knowledge which philosophy - employs must not be of this destructive kind, if any result is to be - achieved. Against this absolute scepticism, no <i>logical</i> argument can - be advanced. But it is not difficult to see that scepticism of this kind - is unreasonable. Descartes' 'methodical doubt', with which modern - philosophy began, is not of this kind, but is rather the kind of criticism - which we are asserting to be the essence of philosophy. His 'methodical - doubt' consisted in doubting whatever seemed doubtful; in pausing, with - each apparent piece of knowledge, to ask himself whether, on reflection, - he could feel certain that he really knew it. This is the kind of - criticism which constitutes philosophy. Some knowledge, such as knowledge - of the existence of our sense-data, appears quite indubitable, however - calmly and thoroughly we reflect upon it. In regard to such knowledge, - philosophical criticism does not require that we should abstain from - belief. But there are beliefs—such, for example, as the belief that - physical objects exactly resemble our sense-data—which are - entertained until we begin to reflect, but are found to melt away when - subjected to a close inquiry. Such beliefs philosophy will bid us reject, - unless some new line of argument is found to support them. But to reject - the beliefs which do not appear open to any objections, however closely we - examine them, is not reasonable, and is not what philosophy advocates. - </p> - <p> - The criticism aimed at, in a word, is not that which, without reason, - determines to reject, but that which considers each piece of apparent - knowledge on its merits, and retains whatever still appears to be - knowledge when this consideration is completed. That some risk of error - remains must be admitted, since human beings are fallible. Philosophy may - claim justly that it diminishes the risk of error, and that in some cases - it renders the risk so small as to be practically negligible. To do more - than this is not possible in a world where mistakes must occur; and more - than this no prudent advocate of philosophy would claim to have performed. - </p> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XV. THE VALUE OF PHILOSOPHY - </h2> - <p> - Having now come to the end of our brief and very incomplete review of the - problems of philosophy, it will be well to consider, in conclusion, what - is the value of philosophy and why it ought to be studied. It is the more - necessary to consider this question, in view of the fact that many men, - under the influence of science or of practical affairs, are inclined to - doubt whether philosophy is anything better than innocent but useless - trifling, hair-splitting distinctions, and controversies on matters - concerning which knowledge is impossible. - </p> - <p> - This view of philosophy appears to result, partly from a wrong conception - of the ends of life, partly from a wrong conception of the kind of goods - which philosophy strives to achieve. Physical science, through the medium - of inventions, is useful to innumerable people who are wholly ignorant of - it; thus the study of physical science is to be recommended, not only, or - primarily, because of the effect on the student, but rather because of the - effect on mankind in general. Thus utility does not belong to philosophy. - If the study of philosophy has any value at all for others than students - of philosophy, it must be only indirectly, through its effects upon the - lives of those who study it. It is in these effects, therefore, if - anywhere, that the value of philosophy must be primarily sought. - </p> - <p> - But further, if we are not to fail in our endeavour to determine the value - of philosophy, we must first free our minds from the prejudices of what - are wrongly called 'practical' men. The 'practical' man, as this word is - often used, is one who recognizes only material needs, who realizes that - men must have food for the body, but is oblivious of the necessity of - providing food for the mind. If all men were well off, if poverty and - disease had been reduced to their lowest possible point, there would still - remain much to be done to produce a valuable society; and even in the - existing world the goods of the mind are at least as important as the - goods of the body. It is exclusively among the goods of the mind that the - value of philosophy is to be found; and only those who are not indifferent - to these goods can be persuaded that the study of philosophy is not a - waste of time. - </p> - <p> - Philosophy, like all other studies, aims primarily at knowledge. The - knowledge it aims at is the kind of knowledge which gives unity and system - to the body of the sciences, and the kind which results from a critical - examination of the grounds of our convictions, prejudices, and beliefs. - But it cannot be maintained that philosophy has had any very great measure - of success in its attempts to provide definite answers to its questions. - If you ask a mathematician, a mineralogist, a historian, or any other man - of learning, what definite body of truths has been ascertained by his - science, his answer will last as long as you are willing to listen. But if - you put the same question to a philosopher, he will, if he is candid, have - to confess that his study has not achieved positive results such as have - been achieved by other sciences. It is true that this is partly accounted - for by the fact that, as soon as definite knowledge concerning any subject - becomes possible, this subject ceases to be called philosophy, and becomes - a separate science. The whole study of the heavens, which now belongs to - astronomy, was once included in philosophy; Newton's great work was called - 'the mathematical principles of natural philosophy'. Similarly, the study - of the human mind, which was a part of philosophy, has now been separated - from philosophy and has become the science of psychology. Thus, to a great - extent, the uncertainty of philosophy is more apparent than real: those - questions which are already capable of definite answers are placed in the - sciences, while those only to which, at present, no definite answer can be - given, remain to form the residue which is called philosophy. - </p> - <p> - This is, however, only a part of the truth concerning the uncertainty of - philosophy. There are many questions—and among them those that are - of the profoundest interest to our spiritual life—which, so far as - we can see, must remain insoluble to the human intellect unless its powers - become of quite a different order from what they are now. Has the universe - any unity of plan or purpose, or is it a fortuitous concourse of atoms? Is - consciousness a permanent part of the universe, giving hope of indefinite - growth in wisdom, or is it a transitory accident on a small planet on - which life must ultimately become impossible? Are good and evil of - importance to the universe or only to man? Such questions are asked by - philosophy, and variously answered by various philosophers. But it would - seem that, whether answers be otherwise discoverable or not, the answers - suggested by philosophy are none of them demonstrably true. Yet, however - slight may be the hope of discovering an answer, it is part of the - business of philosophy to continue the consideration of such questions, to - make us aware of their importance, to examine all the approaches to them, - and to keep alive that speculative interest in the universe which is apt - to be killed by confining ourselves to definitely ascertainable knowledge. - </p> - <p> - Many philosophers, it is true, have held that philosophy could establish - the truth of certain answers to such fundamental questions. They have - supposed that what is of most importance in religious beliefs could be - proved by strict demonstration to be true. In order to judge of such - attempts, it is necessary to take a survey of human knowledge, and to form - an opinion as to its methods and its limitations. On such a subject it - would be unwise to pronounce dogmatically; but if the investigations of - our previous chapters have not led us astray, we shall be compelled to - renounce the hope of finding philosophical proofs of religious beliefs. We - cannot, therefore, include as part of the value of philosophy any definite - set of answers to such questions. Hence, once more, the value of - philosophy must not depend upon any supposed body of definitely - ascertainable knowledge to be acquired by those who study it. - </p> - <p> - The value of philosophy is, in fact, to be sought largely in its very - uncertainty. The man who has no tincture of philosophy goes through life - imprisoned in the prejudices derived from common sense, from the habitual - beliefs of his age or his nation, and from convictions which have grown up - in his mind without the co-operation or consent of his deliberate reason. - To such a man the world tends to become definite, finite, obvious; common - objects rouse no questions, and unfamiliar possibilities are - contemptuously rejected. As soon as we begin to philosophize, on the - contrary, we find, as we saw in our opening chapters, that even the most - everyday things lead to problems to which only very incomplete answers can - be given. Philosophy, though unable to tell us with certainty what is the - true answer to the doubts which it raises, is able to suggest many - possibilities which enlarge our thoughts and free them from the tyranny of - custom. Thus, while diminishing our feeling of certainty as to what things - are, it greatly increases our knowledge as to what they may be; it removes - the somewhat arrogant dogmatism of those who have never travelled into the - region of liberating doubt, and it keeps alive our sense of wonder by - showing familiar things in an unfamiliar aspect. - </p> - <p> - Apart from its utility in showing unsuspected possibilities, philosophy - has a value—perhaps its chief value—through the greatness of - the objects which it contemplates, and the freedom from narrow and - personal aims resulting from this contemplation. The life of the - instinctive man is shut up within the circle of his private interests: - family and friends may be included, but the outer world is not regarded - except as it may help or hinder what comes within the circle of - instinctive wishes. In such a life there is something feverish and - confined, in comparison with which the philosophic life is calm and free. - The private world of instinctive interests is a small one, set in the - midst of a great and powerful world which must, sooner or later, lay our - private world in ruins. Unless we can so enlarge our interests as to - include the whole outer world, we remain like a garrison in a beleagured - fortress, knowing that the enemy prevents escape and that ultimate - surrender is inevitable. In such a life there is no peace, but a constant - strife between the insistence of desire and the powerlessness of will. In - one way or another, if our life is to be great and free, we must escape - this prison and this strife. - </p> - <p> - One way of escape is by philosophic contemplation. Philosophic - contemplation does not, in its widest survey, divide the universe into two - hostile camps—friends and foes, helpful and hostile, good and bad—it - views the whole impartially. Philosophic contemplation, when it is - unalloyed, does not aim at proving that the rest of the universe is akin - to man. All acquisition of knowledge is an enlargement of the Self, but - this enlargement is best attained when it is not directly sought. It is - obtained when the desire for knowledge is alone operative, by a study - which does not wish in advance that its objects should have this or that - character, but adapts the Self to the characters which it finds in its - objects. This enlargement of Self is not obtained when, taking the Self as - it is, we try to show that the world is so similar to this Self that - knowledge of it is possible without any admission of what seems alien. The - desire to prove this is a form of self-assertion and, like all - self-assertion, it is an obstacle to the growth of Self which it desires, - and of which the Self knows that it is capable. Self-assertion, in - philosophic speculation as elsewhere, views the world as a means to its - own ends; thus it makes the world of less account than Self, and the Self - sets bounds to the greatness of its goods. In contemplation, on the - contrary, we start from the not-Self, and through its greatness the - boundaries of Self are enlarged; through the infinity of the universe the - mind which contemplates it achieves some share in infinity. - </p> - <p> - For this reason greatness of soul is not fostered by those philosophies - which assimilate the universe to Man. Knowledge is a form of union of Self - and not-Self; like all union, it is impaired by dominion, and therefore by - any attempt to force the universe into conformity with what we find in - ourselves. There is a widespread philosophical tendency towards the view - which tells us that Man is the measure of all things, that truth is - man-made, that space and time and the world of universals are properties - of the mind, and that, if there be anything not created by the mind, it is - unknowable and of no account for us. This view, if our previous - discussions were correct, is untrue; but in addition to being untrue, it - has the effect of robbing philosophic contemplation of all that gives it - value, since it fetters contemplation to Self. What it calls knowledge is - not a union with the not-Self, but a set of prejudices, habits, and - desires, making an impenetrable veil between us and the world beyond. The - man who finds pleasure in such a theory of knowledge is like the man who - never leaves the domestic circle for fear his word might not be law. - </p> - <p> - The true philosophic contemplation, on the contrary, finds its - satisfaction in every enlargement of the not-Self, in everything that - magnifies the objects contemplated, and thereby the subject contemplating. - Everything, in contemplation, that is personal or private, everything that - depends upon habit, self-interest, or desire, distorts the object, and - hence impairs the union which the intellect seeks. By thus making a - barrier between subject and object, such personal and private things - become a prison to the intellect. The free intellect will see as God might - see, without a <i>here</i> and <i>now</i>, without hopes and fears, - without the trammels of customary beliefs and traditional prejudices, - calmly, dispassionately, in the sole and exclusive desire of knowledge—knowledge - as impersonal, as purely contemplative, as it is possible for man to - attain. Hence also the free intellect will value more the abstract and - universal knowledge into which the accidents of private history do not - enter, than the knowledge brought by the senses, and dependent, as such - knowledge must be, upon an exclusive and personal point of view and a body - whose sense-organs distort as much as they reveal. - </p> - <p> - The mind which has become accustomed to the freedom and impartiality of - philosophic contemplation will preserve something of the same freedom and - impartiality in the world of action and emotion. It will view its purposes - and desires as parts of the whole, with the absence of insistence that - results from seeing them as infinitesimal fragments in a world of which - all the rest is unaffected by any one man's deeds. The impartiality which, - in contemplation, is the unalloyed desire for truth, is the very same - quality of mind which, in action, is justice, and in emotion is that - universal love which can be given to all, and not only to those who are - judged useful or admirable. Thus contemplation enlarges not only the - objects of our thoughts, but also the objects of our actions and our - affections: it makes us citizens of the universe, not only of one walled - city at war with all the rest. In this citizenship of the universe - consists man's true freedom, and his liberation from the thraldom of - narrow hopes and fears. - </p> - <p> - Thus, to sum up our discussion of the value of philosophy; Philosophy is - to be studied, not for the sake of any definite answers to its questions, - since no definite answers can, as a rule, be known to be true, but rather - for the sake of the questions themselves; because these questions enlarge - our conception of what is possible, enrich our intellectual imagination - and diminish the dogmatic assurance which closes the mind against - speculation; but above all because, through the greatness of the universe - which philosophy contemplates, the mind also is rendered great, and - becomes capable of that union with the universe which constitutes its - highest good. - </p> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> - <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE - </h2> - <p> - The student who wishes to acquire an elementary knowledge of philosophy - will find it both easier and more profitable to read some of the works of - the great philosophers than to attempt to derive an all-round view from - handbooks. The following are specially recommended: - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - Plato: <i>Republic</i>, especially Books VI and VII. - Descartes: <i>Meditations</i>. - Spinoza: <i>Ethics</i>. - Leibniz: <i>The Monadology</i>. - Berkeley: <i>Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous</i>. - Hume: <i>Enquiry concerning Human Understanding</i>. - Kant: <i>Prolegomena to any Future Metaphysic</i>. -</pre> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Problems of Philosophy, by Bertrand Russell - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROBLEMS OF PHILOSOPHY *** - -***** This file should be named 5827-h.htm or 5827-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/8/2/5827/ - -Produced by Gordon Keener, and David Widger - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - -</pre> - </body> -</html> diff --git a/old/old-2025-02-27/5827.txt b/old/old-2025-02-27/5827.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 50d8811..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-02-27/5827.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4376 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Problems of Philosophy, by Bertrand Russell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Problems of Philosophy - -Author: Bertrand Russell - -Release Date: June, 2004 [EBook #5827] -Posting Date: May 2, 2009 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROBLEMS OF PHILOSOPHY *** - - - - -Produced by Gordon Keener - - - - - - - - -THE PROBLEMS OF PHILOSOPHY - - -By Bertrand Russell - - - - -PREFACE - -In the following pages I have confined myself in the main to those -problems of philosophy in regard to which I thought it possible to say -something positive and constructive, since merely negative criticism -seemed out of place. For this reason, theory of knowledge occupies a -larger space than metaphysics in the present volume, and some topics -much discussed by philosophers are treated very briefly, if at all. - -I have derived valuable assistance from unpublished writings of G. E. -Moore and J. M. Keynes: from the former, as regards the relations -of sense-data to physical objects, and from the latter as regards -probability and induction. I have also profited greatly by the -criticisms and suggestions of Professor Gilbert Murray. - -1912 - - - - -CHAPTER I. APPEARANCE AND REALITY - -Is there any knowledge in the world which is so certain that no -reasonable man could doubt it? This question, which at first sight might -not seem difficult, is really one of the most difficult that can -be asked. When we have realized the obstacles in the way of a -straightforward and confident answer, we shall be well launched on the -study of philosophy--for philosophy is merely the attempt to answer -such ultimate questions, not carelessly and dogmatically, as we do in -ordinary life and even in the sciences, but critically, after exploring -all that makes such questions puzzling, and after realizing all the -vagueness and confusion that underlie our ordinary ideas. - -In daily life, we assume as certain many things which, on a closer -scrutiny, are found to be so full of apparent contradictions that only a -great amount of thought enables us to know what it is that we really may -believe. In the search for certainty, it is natural to begin with our -present experiences, and in some sense, no doubt, knowledge is to be -derived from them. But any statement as to what it is that our immediate -experiences make us know is very likely to be wrong. It seems to me that -I am now sitting in a chair, at a table of a certain shape, on which I -see sheets of paper with writing or print. By turning my head I see out -of the window buildings and clouds and the sun. I believe that the sun -is about ninety-three million miles from the earth; that it is a hot -globe many times bigger than the earth; that, owing to the earth's -rotation, it rises every morning, and will continue to do so for an -indefinite time in the future. I believe that, if any other normal -person comes into my room, he will see the same chairs and tables and -books and papers as I see, and that the table which I see is the same as -the table which I feel pressing against my arm. All this seems to be -so evident as to be hardly worth stating, except in answer to a man who -doubts whether I know anything. Yet all this may be reasonably doubted, -and all of it requires much careful discussion before we can be sure -that we have stated it in a form that is wholly true. - -To make our difficulties plain, let us concentrate attention on the -table. To the eye it is oblong, brown and shiny, to the touch it is -smooth and cool and hard; when I tap it, it gives out a wooden sound. -Any one else who sees and feels and hears the table will agree with this -description, so that it might seem as if no difficulty would arise; -but as soon as we try to be more precise our troubles begin. Although -I believe that the table is 'really' of the same colour all over, the -parts that reflect the light look much brighter than the other parts, -and some parts look white because of reflected light. I know that, if -I move, the parts that reflect the light will be different, so that the -apparent distribution of colours on the table will change. It follows -that if several people are looking at the table at the same moment, no -two of them will see exactly the same distribution of colours, because -no two can see it from exactly the same point of view, and any change in -the point of view makes some change in the way the light is reflected. - -For most practical purposes these differences are unimportant, but to -the painter they are all-important: the painter has to unlearn the habit -of thinking that things seem to have the colour which common sense says -they 'really' have, and to learn the habit of seeing things as they -appear. Here we have already the beginning of one of the distinctions -that cause most trouble in philosophy--the distinction between -'appearance' and 'reality', between what things seem to be and what they -are. The painter wants to know what things seem to be, the practical man -and the philosopher want to know what they are; but the philosopher's -wish to know this is stronger than the practical man's, and is more -troubled by knowledge as to the difficulties of answering the question. - -To return to the table. It is evident from what we have found, that -there is no colour which pre-eminently appears to be _the_ colour of the -table, or even of any one particular part of the table--it appears to -be of different colours from different points of view, and there is -no reason for regarding some of these as more really its colour than -others. And we know that even from a given point of view the colour will -seem different by artificial light, or to a colour-blind man, or to a -man wearing blue spectacles, while in the dark there will be no colour -at all, though to touch and hearing the table will be unchanged. This -colour is not something which is inherent in the table, but something -depending upon the table and the spectator and the way the light falls -on the table. When, in ordinary life, we speak of _the_ colour of the -table, we only mean the sort of colour which it will seem to have to a -normal spectator from an ordinary point of view under usual conditions -of light. But the other colours which appear under other conditions -have just as good a right to be considered real; and therefore, to avoid -favouritism, we are compelled to deny that, in itself, the table has any -one particular colour. - -The same thing applies to the texture. With the naked eye one can see -the grain, but otherwise the table looks smooth and even. If we looked -at it through a microscope, we should see roughnesses and hills and -valleys, and all sorts of differences that are imperceptible to the -naked eye. Which of these is the 'real' table? We are naturally tempted -to say that what we see through the microscope is more real, but that in -turn would be changed by a still more powerful microscope. If, then, we -cannot trust what we see with the naked eye, why should we trust what we -see through a microscope? Thus, again, the confidence in our senses with -which we began deserts us. - -The shape of the table is no better. We are all in the habit of judging -as to the 'real' shapes of things, and we do this so unreflectingly that -we come to think we actually see the real shapes. But, in fact, as we -all have to learn if we try to draw, a given thing looks different -in shape from every different point of view. If our table is 'really' -rectangular, it will look, from almost all points of view, as if it had -two acute angles and two obtuse angles. If opposite sides are parallel, -they will look as if they converged to a point away from the spectator; -if they are of equal length, they will look as if the nearer side were -longer. All these things are not commonly noticed in looking at a table, -because experience has taught us to construct the 'real' shape from the -apparent shape, and the 'real' shape is what interests us as practical -men. But the 'real' shape is not what we see; it is something inferred -from what we see. And what we see is constantly changing in shape as we -move about the room; so that here again the senses seem not to give us -the truth about the table itself, but only about the appearance of the -table. - -Similar difficulties arise when we consider the sense of touch. It is -true that the table always gives us a sensation of hardness, and we feel -that it resists pressure. But the sensation we obtain depends upon how -hard we press the table and also upon what part of the body we press -with; thus the various sensations due to various pressures or various -parts of the body cannot be supposed to reveal _directly_ any definite -property of the table, but at most to be _signs_ of some property which -perhaps _causes_ all the sensations, but is not actually apparent in any -of them. And the same applies still more obviously to the sounds which -can be elicited by rapping the table. - -Thus it becomes evident that the real table, if there is one, is not the -same as what we immediately experience by sight or touch or hearing. The -real table, if there is one, is not _immediately_ known to us at all, -but must be an inference from what is immediately known. Hence, two very -difficult questions at once arise; namely, (1) Is there a real table at -all? (2) If so, what sort of object can it be? - -It will help us in considering these questions to have a few simple -terms of which the meaning is definite and clear. Let us give the name -of 'sense-data' to the things that are immediately known in sensation: -such things as colours, sounds, smells, hardnesses, roughnesses, and -so on. We shall give the name 'sensation' to the experience of being -immediately aware of these things. Thus, whenever we see a colour, -we have a sensation _of_ the colour, but the colour itself is a -sense-datum, not a sensation. The colour is that _of_ which we are -immediately aware, and the awareness itself is the sensation. It is -plain that if we are to know anything about the table, it must be -by means of the sense-data--brown colour, oblong shape, smoothness, -etc.--which we associate with the table; but, for the reasons which have -been given, we cannot say that the table is the sense-data, or even -that the sense-data are directly properties of the table. Thus a problem -arises as to the relation of the sense-data to the real table, supposing -there is such a thing. - -The real table, if it exists, we will call a 'physical object'. Thus -we have to consider the relation of sense-data to physical objects. -The collection of all physical objects is called 'matter'. Thus our two -questions may be re-stated as follows: (1) Is there any such thing as -matter? (2) If so, what is its nature? - -The philosopher who first brought prominently forward the reasons -for regarding the immediate objects of our senses as not existing -independently of us was Bishop Berkeley (1685-1753). His _Three -Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous, in Opposition to Sceptics and -Atheists_, undertake to prove that there is no such thing as matter at -all, and that the world consists of nothing but minds and their ideas. -Hylas has hitherto believed in matter, but he is no match for Philonous, -who mercilessly drives him into contradictions and paradoxes, and makes -his own denial of matter seem, in the end, as if it were almost common -sense. The arguments employed are of very different value: some are -important and sound, others are confused or quibbling. But Berkeley -retains the merit of having shown that the existence of matter is -capable of being denied without absurdity, and that if there are any -things that exist independently of us they cannot be the immediate -objects of our sensations. - -There are two different questions involved when we ask whether matter -exists, and it is important to keep them clear. We commonly mean by -'matter' something which is opposed to 'mind', something which we think -of as occupying space and as radically incapable of any sort of thought -or consciousness. It is chiefly in this sense that Berkeley denies -matter; that is to say, he does not deny that the sense-data which we -commonly take as signs of the existence of the table are really signs -of the existence of _something_ independent of us, but he does deny -that this something is non-mental, that it is neither mind nor ideas -entertained by some mind. He admits that there must be something which -continues to exist when we go out of the room or shut our eyes, and that -what we call seeing the table does really give us reason for believing -in something which persists even when we are not seeing it. But he -thinks that this something cannot be radically different in nature from -what we see, and cannot be independent of seeing altogether, though it -must be independent of _our_ seeing. He is thus led to regard the 'real' -table as an idea in the mind of God. Such an idea has the required -permanence and independence of ourselves, without being--as matter would -otherwise be--something quite unknowable, in the sense that we can only -infer it, and can never be directly and immediately aware of it. - -Other philosophers since Berkeley have also held that, although the -table does not depend for its existence upon being seen by me, it does -depend upon being seen (or otherwise apprehended in sensation) by -_some_ mind--not necessarily the mind of God, but more often the whole -collective mind of the universe. This they hold, as Berkeley does, -chiefly because they think there can be nothing real--or at any rate -nothing known to be real except minds and their thoughts and feelings. -We might state the argument by which they support their view in some -such way as this: 'Whatever can be thought of is an idea in the mind of -the person thinking of it; therefore nothing can be thought of except -ideas in minds; therefore anything else is inconceivable, and what is -inconceivable cannot exist.' - -Such an argument, in my opinion, is fallacious; and of course those who -advance it do not put it so shortly or so crudely. But whether valid or -not, the argument has been very widely advanced in one form or another; -and very many philosophers, perhaps a majority, have held that there is -nothing real except minds and their ideas. Such philosophers are called -'idealists'. When they come to explaining matter, they either say, like -Berkeley, that matter is really nothing but a collection of ideas, -or they say, like Leibniz (1646-1716), that what appears as matter is -really a collection of more or less rudimentary minds. - -But these philosophers, though they deny matter as opposed to mind, -nevertheless, in another sense, admit matter. It will be remembered that -we asked two questions; namely, (1) Is there a real table at all? (2) If -so, what sort of object can it be? Now both Berkeley and Leibniz admit -that there is a real table, but Berkeley says it is certain ideas in the -mind of God, and Leibniz says it is a colony of souls. Thus both of them -answer our first question in the affirmative, and only diverge from the -views of ordinary mortals in their answer to our second question. In -fact, almost all philosophers seem to be agreed that there is a real -table: they almost all agree that, however much our sense-data--colour, -shape, smoothness, etc.--may depend upon us, yet their occurrence is -a sign of something existing independently of us, something differing, -perhaps, completely from our sense-data, and yet to be regarded as -causing those sense-data whenever we are in a suitable relation to the -real table. - -Now obviously this point in which the philosophers are agreed--the view -that there _is_ a real table, whatever its nature may be--is vitally -important, and it will be worth while to consider what reasons there are -for accepting this view before we go on to the further question as -to the nature of the real table. Our next chapter, therefore, will be -concerned with the reasons for supposing that there is a real table at -all. - -Before we go farther it will be well to consider for a moment what it -is that we have discovered so far. It has appeared that, if we take any -common object of the sort that is supposed to be known by the senses, -what the senses _immediately_ tell us is not the truth about the object -as it is apart from us, but only the truth about certain sense-data -which, so far as we can see, depend upon the relations between us and -the object. Thus what we directly see and feel is merely 'appearance', -which we believe to be a sign of some 'reality' behind. But if the -reality is not what appears, have we any means of knowing whether there -is any reality at all? And if so, have we any means of finding out what -it is like? - -Such questions are bewildering, and it is difficult to know that even -the strangest hypotheses may not be true. Thus our familiar table, -which has roused but the slightest thoughts in us hitherto, has become a -problem full of surprising possibilities. The one thing we know about it -is that it is not what it seems. Beyond this modest result, so far, we -have the most complete liberty of conjecture. Leibniz tells us it is a -community of souls: Berkeley tells us it is an idea in the mind of God; -sober science, scarcely less wonderful, tells us it is a vast collection -of electric charges in violent motion. - -Among these surprising possibilities, doubt suggests that perhaps there -is no table at all. Philosophy, if it cannot _answer_ so many questions -as we could wish, has at least the power of _asking_ questions which -increase the interest of the world, and show the strangeness and wonder -lying just below the surface even in the commonest things of daily life. - - - -CHAPTER II. THE EXISTENCE OF MATTER - -In this chapter we have to ask ourselves whether, in any sense at all, -there is such a thing as matter. Is there a table which has a certain -intrinsic nature, and continues to exist when I am not looking, or is -the table merely a product of my imagination, a dream-table in a very -prolonged dream? This question is of the greatest importance. For if -we cannot be sure of the independent existence of objects, we cannot -be sure of the independent existence of other people's bodies, and -therefore still less of other people's minds, since we have no grounds -for believing in their minds except such as are derived from observing -their bodies. Thus if we cannot be sure of the independent existence of -objects, we shall be left alone in a desert--it may be that the whole -outer world is nothing but a dream, and that we alone exist. This is an -uncomfortable possibility; but although it cannot be strictly proved to -be false, there is not the slightest reason to suppose that it is true. -In this chapter we have to see why this is the case. - -Before we embark upon doubtful matters, let us try to find some more -or less fixed point from which to start. Although we are doubting the -physical existence of the table, we are not doubting the existence -of the sense-data which made us think there was a table; we are not -doubting that, while we look, a certain colour and shape appear to us, -and while we press, a certain sensation of hardness is experienced by -us. All this, which is psychological, we are not calling in question. -In fact, whatever else may be doubtful, some at least of our immediate -experiences seem absolutely certain. - -Descartes (1596-1650), the founder of modern philosophy, invented a -method which may still be used with profit--the method of systematic -doubt. He determined that he would believe nothing which he did not see -quite clearly and distinctly to be true. Whatever he could bring himself -to doubt, he would doubt, until he saw reason for not doubting it. -By applying this method he gradually became convinced that the only -existence of which he could be _quite_ certain was his own. He imagined -a deceitful demon, who presented unreal things to his senses in a -perpetual phantasmagoria; it might be very improbable that such a demon -existed, but still it was possible, and therefore doubt concerning -things perceived by the senses was possible. - -But doubt concerning his own existence was not possible, for if he did -not exist, no demon could deceive him. If he doubted, he must exist; if -he had any experiences whatever, he must exist. Thus his own existence -was an absolute certainty to him. 'I think, therefore I am,' he said -(_Cogito, ergo sum_); and on the basis of this certainty he set to work -to build up again the world of knowledge which his doubt had laid in -ruins. By inventing the method of doubt, and by showing that subjective -things are the most certain, Descartes performed a great service to -philosophy, and one which makes him still useful to all students of the -subject. - -But some care is needed in using Descartes' argument. 'I think, -therefore I am' says rather more than is strictly certain. It might seem -as though we were quite sure of being the same person to-day as we were -yesterday, and this is no doubt true in some sense. But the real Self is -as hard to arrive at as the real table, and does not seem to have that -absolute, convincing certainty that belongs to particular experiences. -When I look at my table and see a certain brown colour, what is quite -certain at once is not '_I_ am seeing a brown colour', but rather, -'a brown colour is being seen'. This of course involves something (or -somebody) which (or who) sees the brown colour; but it does not of -itself involve that more or less permanent person whom we call 'I'. So -far as immediate certainty goes, it might be that the something which -sees the brown colour is quite momentary, and not the same as the -something which has some different experience the next moment. - -Thus it is our particular thoughts and feelings that have primitive -certainty. And this applies to dreams and hallucinations as well as to -normal perceptions: when we dream or see a ghost, we certainly do have -the sensations we think we have, but for various reasons it is held that -no physical object corresponds to these sensations. Thus the certainty -of our knowledge of our own experiences does not have to be limited in -any way to allow for exceptional cases. Here, therefore, we have, for -what it is worth, a solid basis from which to begin our pursuit of -knowledge. - -The problem we have to consider is this: Granted that we are certain of -our own sense-data, have we any reason for regarding them as signs of -the existence of something else, which we can call the physical object? -When we have enumerated all the sense-data which we should naturally -regard as connected with the table, have we said all there is to say -about the table, or is there still something else--something not a -sense-datum, something which persists when we go out of the room? Common -sense unhesitatingly answers that there is. What can be bought and sold -and pushed about and have a cloth laid on it, and so on, cannot be -a _mere_ collection of sense-data. If the cloth completely hides the -table, we shall derive no sense-data from the table, and therefore, if -the table were merely sense-data, it would have ceased to exist, and -the cloth would be suspended in empty air, resting, by a miracle, in -the place where the table formerly was. This seems plainly absurd; but -whoever wishes to become a philosopher must learn not to be frightened -by absurdities. - -One great reason why it is felt that we must secure a physical object -in addition to the sense-data, is that we want the same object for -different people. When ten people are sitting round a dinner-table, -it seems preposterous to maintain that they are not seeing the same -tablecloth, the same knives and forks and spoons and glasses. But the -sense-data are private to each separate person; what is immediately -present to the sight of one is not immediately present to the sight of -another: they all see things from slightly different points of view, and -therefore see them slightly differently. Thus, if there are to be public -neutral objects, which can be in some sense known to many different -people, there must be something over and above the private and -particular sense-data which appear to various people. What reason, then, -have we for believing that there are such public neutral objects? - -The first answer that naturally occurs to one is that, although -different people may see the table slightly differently, still they all -see more or less similar things when they look at the table, and -the variations in what they see follow the laws of perspective and -reflection of light, so that it is easy to arrive at a permanent object -underlying all the different people's sense-data. I bought my table from -the former occupant of my room; I could not buy _his_ sense-data, -which died when he went away, but I could and did buy the confident -expectation of more or less similar sense-data. Thus it is the fact that -different people have similar sense-data, and that one person in a given -place at different times has similar sense-data, which makes us suppose -that over and above the sense-data there is a permanent public object -which underlies or causes the sense-data of various people at various -times. - -Now in so far as the above considerations depend upon supposing that -there are other people besides ourselves, they beg the very question at -issue. Other people are represented to me by certain sense-data, such as -the sight of them or the sound of their voices, and if I had no -reason to believe that there were physical objects independent of my -sense-data, I should have no reason to believe that other people exist -except as part of my dream. Thus, when we are trying to show that there -must be objects independent of our own sense-data, we cannot appeal to -the testimony of other people, since this testimony itself consists of -sense-data, and does not reveal other people's experiences unless our -own sense-data are signs of things existing independently of us. We must -therefore, if possible, find, in our own purely private experiences, -characteristics which show, or tend to show, that there are in the world -things other than ourselves and our private experiences. - -In one sense it must be admitted that we can never prove the existence -of things other than ourselves and our experiences. No logical absurdity -results from the hypothesis that the world consists of myself and my -thoughts and feelings and sensations, and that everything else is mere -fancy. In dreams a very complicated world may seem to be present, and -yet on waking we find it was a delusion; that is to say, we find that -the sense-data in the dream do not appear to have corresponded with such -physical objects as we should naturally infer from our sense-data. (It -is true that, when the physical world is assumed, it is possible to -find physical causes for the sense-data in dreams: a door banging, for -instance, may cause us to dream of a naval engagement. But although, in -this case, there is a physical cause for the sense-data, there is not a -physical object corresponding to the sense-data in the way in which an -actual naval battle would correspond.) There is no logical impossibility -in the supposition that the whole of life is a dream, in which we -ourselves create all the objects that come before us. But although this -is not logically impossible, there is no reason whatever to suppose that -it is true; and it is, in fact, a less simple hypothesis, viewed as a -means of accounting for the facts of our own life, than the common-sense -hypothesis that there really are objects independent of us, whose action -on us causes our sensations. - -The way in which simplicity comes in from supposing that there really -are physical objects is easily seen. If the cat appears at one moment in -one part of the room, and at another in another part, it is natural -to suppose that it has moved from the one to the other, passing over -a series of intermediate positions. But if it is merely a set of -sense-data, it cannot have ever been in any place where I did not see -it; thus we shall have to suppose that it did not exist at all while I -was not looking, but suddenly sprang into being in a new place. If -the cat exists whether I see it or not, we can understand from our own -experience how it gets hungry between one meal and the next; but if -it does not exist when I am not seeing it, it seems odd that appetite -should grow during non-existence as fast as during existence. And if the -cat consists only of sense-data, it cannot be hungry, since no hunger -but my own can be a sense-datum to me. Thus the behaviour of the -sense-data which represent the cat to me, though it seems quite natural -when regarded as an expression of hunger, becomes utterly inexplicable -when regarded as mere movements and changes of patches of colour, which -are as incapable of hunger as a triangle is of playing football. - -But the difficulty in the case of the cat is nothing compared to the -difficulty in the case of human beings. When human beings speak--that -is, when we hear certain noises which we associate with ideas, and -simultaneously see certain motions of lips and expressions of face--it -is very difficult to suppose that what we hear is not the expression -of a thought, as we know it would be if we emitted the same sounds. Of -course similar things happen in dreams, where we are mistaken as to the -existence of other people. But dreams are more or less suggested by what -we call waking life, and are capable of being more or less accounted for -on scientific principles if we assume that there really is a physical -world. Thus every principle of simplicity urges us to adopt the natural -view, that there really are objects other than ourselves and our -sense-data which have an existence not dependent upon our perceiving -them. - -Of course it is not by argument that we originally come by our belief in -an independent external world. We find this belief ready in ourselves as -soon as we begin to reflect: it is what may be called an _instinctive_ -belief. We should never have been led to question this belief but for -the fact that, at any rate in the case of sight, it seems as if the -sense-datum itself were instinctively believed to be the independent -object, whereas argument shows that the object cannot be identical -with the sense-datum. This discovery, however--which is not at all -paradoxical in the case of taste and smell and sound, and only slightly -so in the case of touch--leaves undiminished our instinctive belief that -there _are_ objects _corresponding_ to our sense-data. Since this belief -does not lead to any difficulties, but on the contrary tends to simplify -and systematize our account of our experiences, there seems no good -reason for rejecting it. We may therefore admit--though with a slight -doubt derived from dreams--that the external world does really exist, -and is not wholly dependent for its existence upon our continuing to -perceive it. - -The argument which has led us to this conclusion is doubtless less -strong than we could wish, but it is typical of many philosophical -arguments, and it is therefore worth while to consider briefly its -general character and validity. All knowledge, we find, must be built -up upon our instinctive beliefs, and if these are rejected, nothing -is left. But among our instinctive beliefs some are much stronger than -others, while many have, by habit and association, become entangled with -other beliefs, not really instinctive, but falsely supposed to be part -of what is believed instinctively. - -Philosophy should show us the hierarchy of our instinctive beliefs, -beginning with those we hold most strongly, and presenting each as much -isolated and as free from irrelevant additions as possible. It should -take care to show that, in the form in which they are finally set forth, -our instinctive beliefs do not clash, but form a harmonious system. -There can never be any reason for rejecting one instinctive belief -except that it clashes with others; thus, if they are found to -harmonize, the whole system becomes worthy of acceptance. - -It is of course _possible_ that all or any of our beliefs may be -mistaken, and therefore all ought to be held with at least some slight -element of doubt. But we cannot have _reason_ to reject a belief except -on the ground of some other belief. Hence, by organizing our instinctive -beliefs and their consequences, by considering which among them is most -possible, if necessary, to modify or abandon, we can arrive, on the -basis of accepting as our sole data what we instinctively believe, at an -orderly systematic organization of our knowledge, in which, though the -_possibility_ of error remains, its likelihood is diminished by the -interrelation of the parts and by the critical scrutiny which has -preceded acquiescence. - -This function, at least, philosophy can perform. Most philosophers, -rightly or wrongly, believe that philosophy can do much more than -this--that it can give us knowledge, not otherwise attainable, -concerning the universe as a whole, and concerning the nature of -ultimate reality. Whether this be the case or not, the more modest -function we have spoken of can certainly be performed by philosophy, and -certainly suffices, for those who have once begun to doubt the adequacy -of common sense, to justify the arduous and difficult labours that -philosophical problems involve. - - - -CHAPTER III. THE NATURE OF MATTER - -In the preceding chapter we agreed, though without being able to -find demonstrative reasons, that it is rational to believe that our -sense-data--for example, those which we regard as associated with my -table--are really signs of the existence of something independent of us -and our perceptions. That is to say, over and above the sensations of -colour, hardness, noise, and so on, which make up the appearance of -the table to me, I assume that there is something else, of which these -things are appearances. The colour ceases to exist if I shut my eyes, -the sensation of hardness ceases to exist if I remove my arm from -contact with the table, the sound ceases to exist if I cease to rap the -table with my knuckles. But I do not believe that when all these things -cease the table ceases. On the contrary, I believe that it is because -the table exists continuously that all these sense-data will reappear -when I open my eyes, replace my arm, and begin again to rap with my -knuckles. The question we have to consider in this chapter is: What -is the nature of this real table, which persists independently of my -perception of it? - -To this question physical science gives an answer, somewhat incomplete -it is true, and in part still very hypothetical, but yet deserving of -respect so far as it goes. Physical science, more or less unconsciously, -has drifted into the view that all natural phenomena ought to be reduced -to motions. Light and heat and sound are all due to wave-motions, which -travel from the body emitting them to the person who sees light or feels -heat or hears sound. That which has the wave-motion is either aether or -'gross matter', but in either case is what the philosopher would call -matter. The only properties which science assigns to it are position in -space, and the power of motion according to the laws of motion. Science -does not deny that it _may_ have other properties; but if so, such other -properties are not useful to the man of science, and in no way assist -him in explaining the phenomena. - -It is sometimes said that 'light _is_ a form of wave-motion', but this -is misleading, for the light which we immediately see, which we know -directly by means of our senses, is _not_ a form of wave-motion, but -something quite different--something which we all know if we are not -blind, though we cannot describe it so as to convey our knowledge to a -man who is blind. A wave-motion, on the contrary, could quite well be -described to a blind man, since he can acquire a knowledge of space by -the sense of touch; and he can experience a wave-motion by a sea voyage -almost as well as we can. But this, which a blind man can understand, is -not what we mean by _light_: we mean by _light_ just that which a blind -man can never understand, and which we can never describe to him. - -Now this something, which all of us who are not blind know, is not, -according to science, really to be found in the outer world: it is -something caused by the action of certain waves upon the eyes and nerves -and brain of the person who sees the light. When it is said that light -_is_ waves, what is really meant is that waves are the physical cause of -our sensations of light. But light itself, the thing which seeing people -experience and blind people do not, is not supposed by science to form -any part of the world that is independent of us and our senses. And very -similar remarks would apply to other kinds of sensations. - -It is not only colours and sounds and so on that are absent from the -scientific world of matter, but also _space_ as we get it through sight -or touch. It is essential to science that its matter should be in _a_ -space, but the space in which it is cannot be exactly the space we see -or feel. To begin with, space as we see it is not the same as space as -we get it by the sense of touch; it is only by experience in infancy -that we learn how to touch things we see, or how to get a sight of -things which we feel touching us. But the space of science is neutral as -between touch and sight; thus it cannot be either the space of touch or -the space of sight. - -Again, different people see the same object as of different shapes, -according to their point of view. A circular coin, for example, though -we should always _judge_ it to be circular, will _look_ oval unless we -are straight in front of it. When we judge that it _is_ circular, we are -judging that it has a real shape which is not its apparent shape, but -belongs to it intrinsically apart from its appearance. But this real -shape, which is what concerns science, must be in a real space, not -the same as anybody's _apparent_ space. The real space is public, the -apparent space is private to the percipient. In different people's -_private_ spaces the same object seems to have different shapes; thus -the real space, in which it has its real shape, must be different from -the private spaces. The space of science, therefore, though _connected_ -with the spaces we see and feel, is not identical with them, and the -manner of its connexion requires investigation. - -We agreed provisionally that physical objects cannot be quite like -our sense-data, but may be regarded as _causing_ our sensations. -These physical objects are in the space of science, which we may call -'physical' space. It is important to notice that, if our sensations -are to be caused by physical objects, there must be a physical space -containing these objects and our sense-organs and nerves and brain. We -get a sensation of touch from an object when we are in contact with it; -that is to say, when some part of our body occupies a place in physical -space quite close to the space occupied by the object. We see an object -(roughly speaking) when no opaque body is between the object and our -eyes in physical space. Similarly, we only hear or smell or taste an -object when we are sufficiently near to it, or when it touches the -tongue, or has some suitable position in physical space relatively to -our body. We cannot begin to state what different sensations we shall -derive from a given object under different circumstances unless we -regard the object and our body as both in one physical space, for it is -mainly the relative positions of the object and our body that determine -what sensations we shall derive from the object. - -Now our sense-data are situated in our private spaces, either the space -of sight or the space of touch or such vaguer spaces as other senses -may give us. If, as science and common sense assume, there is one public -all-embracing physical space in which physical objects are, the relative -positions of physical objects in physical space must more or less -correspond to the relative positions of sense-data in our private -spaces. There is no difficulty in supposing this to be the case. If we -see on a road one house nearer to us than another, our other senses will -bear out the view that it is nearer; for example, it will be reached -sooner if we walk along the road. Other people will agree that the house -which looks nearer to us is nearer; the ordnance map will take the -same view; and thus everything points to a spatial relation between the -houses corresponding to the relation between the sense-data which we see -when we look at the houses. Thus we may assume that there is a physical -space in which physical objects have spatial relations corresponding to -those which the corresponding sense-data have in our private spaces. It -is this physical space which is dealt with in geometry and assumed in -physics and astronomy. - -Assuming that there is physical space, and that it does thus correspond -to private spaces, what can we know about it? We can know _only_ what is -required in order to secure the correspondence. That is to say, we can -know nothing of what it is like in itself, but we can know the sort -of arrangement of physical objects which results from their spatial -relations. We can know, for example, that the earth and moon and sun -are in one straight line during an eclipse, though we cannot know what -a physical straight line is in itself, as we know the look of a straight -line in our visual space. Thus we come to know much more about the -_relations_ of distances in physical space than about the distances -themselves; we may know that one distance is greater than another, or -that it is along the same straight line as the other, but we cannot have -that immediate acquaintance with physical distances that we have with -distances in our private spaces, or with colours or sounds or other -sense-data. We can know all those things about physical space which a -man born blind might know through other people about the space of sight; -but the kind of things which a man born blind could never know about the -space of sight we also cannot know about physical space. We can know the -properties of the relations required to preserve the correspondence with -sense-data, but we cannot know the nature of the terms between which the -relations hold. - -With regard to time, our _feeling_ of duration or of the lapse of time -is notoriously an unsafe guide as to the time that has elapsed by the -clock. Times when we are bored or suffering pain pass slowly, times when -we are agreeably occupied pass quickly, and times when we are sleeping -pass almost as if they did not exist. Thus, in so far as time is -constituted by duration, there is the same necessity for distinguishing -a public and a private time as there was in the case of space. But in so -far as time consists in an _order_ of before and after, there is no need -to make such a distinction; the time-order which events seem to have is, -so far as we can see, the same as the time-order which they do have. At -any rate no reason can be given for supposing that the two orders are -not the same. The same is usually true of space: if a regiment of men -are marching along a road, the shape of the regiment will look different -from different points of view, but the men will appear arranged in the -same order from all points of view. Hence we regard the order as true -also in physical space, whereas the shape is only supposed to correspond -to the physical space so far as is required for the preservation of the -order. - -In saying that the time-order which events seem to have is the same as -the time-order which they really have, it is necessary to guard against -a possible misunderstanding. It must not be supposed that the various -states of different physical objects have the same time-order as the -sense-data which constitute the perceptions of those objects. Considered -as physical objects, the thunder and lightning are simultaneous; that is -to say, the lightning is simultaneous with the disturbance of the air in -the place where the disturbance begins, namely, where the lightning -is. But the sense-datum which we call hearing the thunder does not take -place until the disturbance of the air has travelled as far as to where -we are. Similarly, it takes about eight minutes for the sun's light -to reach us; thus, when we see the sun we are seeing the sun of eight -minutes ago. So far as our sense-data afford evidence as to the physical -sun they afford evidence as to the physical sun of eight minutes ago; if -the physical sun had ceased to exist within the last eight minutes, that -would make no difference to the sense-data which we call 'seeing -the sun'. This affords a fresh illustration of the necessity of -distinguishing between sense-data and physical objects. - -What we have found as regards space is much the same as what we find -in relation to the correspondence of the sense-data with their -physical counterparts. If one object looks blue and another red, we may -reasonably presume that there is some corresponding difference between -the physical objects; if two objects both look blue, we may presume a -corresponding similarity. But we cannot hope to be acquainted directly -with the quality in the physical object which makes it look blue or red. -Science tells us that this quality is a certain sort of wave-motion, and -this sounds familiar, because we think of wave-motions in the space we -see. But the wave-motions must really be in physical space, with which -we have no direct acquaintance; thus the real wave-motions have not that -familiarity which we might have supposed them to have. And what holds -for colours is closely similar to what holds for other sense-data. Thus -we find that, although the _relations_ of physical objects have all -sorts of knowable properties, derived from their correspondence with the -relations of sense-data, the physical objects themselves remain unknown -in their intrinsic nature, so far at least as can be discovered by means -of the senses. The question remains whether there is any other method of -discovering the intrinsic nature of physical objects. - -The most natural, though not ultimately the most defensible, hypothesis -to adopt in the first instance, at any rate as regards visual -sense-data, would be that, though physical objects cannot, for the -reasons we have been considering, be _exactly_ like sense-data, yet they -may be more or less like. According to this view, physical objects will, -for example, really have colours, and we might, by good luck, see an -object as of the colour it really is. The colour which an object seems -to have at any given moment will in general be very similar, though -not quite the same, from many different points of view; we might thus -suppose the 'real' colour to be a sort of medium colour, intermediate -between the various shades which appear from the different points of -view. - -Such a theory is perhaps not capable of being definitely refuted, but -it can be shown to be groundless. To begin with, it is plain that the -colour we see depends only upon the nature of the light-waves that -strike the eye, and is therefore modified by the medium intervening -between us and the object, as well as by the manner in which light is -reflected from the object in the direction of the eye. The intervening -air alters colours unless it is perfectly clear, and any strong -reflection will alter them completely. Thus the colour we see is a -result of the ray as it reaches the eye, and not simply a property of -the object from which the ray comes. Hence, also, provided certain waves -reach the eye, we shall see a certain colour, whether the object from -which the waves start has any colour or not. Thus it is quite gratuitous -to suppose that physical objects have colours, and therefore there is no -justification for making such a supposition. Exactly similar arguments -will apply to other sense-data. - -It remains to ask whether there are any general philosophical arguments -enabling us to say that, if matter is real, it must be of such and such -a nature. As explained above, very many philosophers, perhaps most, have -held that whatever is real must be in some sense mental, or at any rate -that whatever we can know anything about must be in some sense mental. -Such philosophers are called 'idealists'. Idealists tell us that what -appears as matter is really something mental; namely, either (as Leibniz -held) more or less rudimentary minds, or (as Berkeley contended) ideas -in the minds which, as we should commonly say, 'perceive' the matter. -Thus idealists deny the existence of matter as something intrinsically -different from mind, though they do not deny that our sense-data are -signs of something which exists independently of our private sensations. -In the following chapter we shall consider briefly the reasons--in my -opinion fallacious--which idealists advance in favour of their theory. - - - -CHAPTER IV. IDEALISM - -The word 'idealism' is used by different philosophers in somewhat -different senses. We shall understand by it the doctrine that whatever -exists, or at any rate whatever can be known to exist, must be in -some sense mental. This doctrine, which is very widely held among -philosophers, has several forms, and is advocated on several different -grounds. The doctrine is so widely held, and so interesting in itself, -that even the briefest survey of philosophy must give some account of -it. - -Those who are unaccustomed to philosophical speculation may be inclined -to dismiss such a doctrine as obviously absurd. There is no doubt that -common sense regards tables and chairs and the sun and moon and material -objects generally as something radically different from minds and the -contents of minds, and as having an existence which might continue if -minds ceased. We think of matter as having existed long before there -were any minds, and it is hard to think of it as a mere product of -mental activity. But whether true or false, idealism is not to be -dismissed as obviously absurd. - -We have seen that, even if physical objects do have an independent -existence, they must differ very widely from sense-data, and can only -have a _correspondence_ with sense-data, in the same sort of way in -which a catalogue has a correspondence with the things catalogued. Hence -common sense leaves us completely in the dark as to the true intrinsic -nature of physical objects, and if there were good reason to regard them -as mental, we could not legitimately reject this opinion merely because -it strikes us as strange. The truth about physical objects _must_ be -strange. It may be unattainable, but if any philosopher believes that -he has attained it, the fact that what he offers as the truth is strange -ought not to be made a ground of objection to his opinion. - -The grounds on which idealism is advocated are generally grounds derived -from the theory of knowledge, that is to say, from a discussion of the -conditions which things must satisfy in order that we may be able to -know them. The first serious attempt to establish idealism on such -grounds was that of Bishop Berkeley. He proved first, by arguments which -were largely valid, that our sense-data cannot be supposed to have an -existence independent of us, but must be, in part at least, 'in' the -mind, in the sense that their existence would not continue if there were -no seeing or hearing or touching or smelling or tasting. So far, his -contention was almost certainly valid, even if some of his arguments -were not so. But he went on to argue that sense-data were the only -things of whose existence our perceptions could assure us; and that -to be known is to be 'in' a mind, and therefore to be mental. Hence he -concluded that nothing can ever be known except what is in some mind, -and that whatever is known without being in my mind must be in some -other mind. - -In order to understand his argument, it is necessary to understand his -use of the word 'idea'. He gives the name 'idea' to anything which -is _immediately_ known, as, for example, sense-data are known. Thus a -particular colour which we see is an idea; so is a voice which we hear, -and so on. But the term is not wholly confined to sense-data. There will -also be things remembered or imagined, for with such things also we have -immediate acquaintance at the moment of remembering or imagining. All -such immediate data he calls 'ideas'. - -He then proceeds to consider common objects, such as a tree, for -instance. He shows that all we know immediately when we 'perceive' the -tree consists of ideas in his sense of the word, and he argues that -there is not the slightest ground for supposing that there is anything -real about the tree except what is perceived. Its being, he says, -consists in being perceived: in the Latin of the schoolmen its '_esse_' -is '_percipi_'. He fully admits that the tree must continue to exist -even when we shut our eyes or when no human being is near it. But this -continued existence, he says, is due to the fact that God continues to -perceive it; the 'real' tree, which corresponds to what we called the -physical object, consists of ideas in the mind of God, ideas more or -less like those we have when we see the tree, but differing in the fact -that they are permanent in God's mind so long as the tree continues -to exist. All our perceptions, according to him, consist in a -partial participation in God's perceptions, and it is because of this -participation that different people see more or less the same tree. Thus -apart from minds and their ideas there is nothing in the world, nor is -it possible that anything else should ever be known, since whatever is -known is necessarily an idea. - -There are in this argument a good many fallacies which have been -important in the history of philosophy, and which it will be as well to -bring to light. In the first place, there is a confusion engendered by -the use of the word 'idea'. We think of an idea as essentially something -in somebody's mind, and thus when we are told that a tree consists -entirely of ideas, it is natural to suppose that, if so, the tree -must be entirely in minds. But the notion of being 'in' the mind is -ambiguous. We speak of bearing a person in mind, not meaning that the -person is in our minds, but that a thought of him is in our minds. When -a man says that some business he had to arrange went clean out of his -mind, he does not mean to imply that the business itself was ever in his -mind, but only that a thought of the business was formerly in his mind, -but afterwards ceased to be in his mind. And so when Berkeley says that -the tree must be in our minds if we can know it, all that he really has -a right to say is that a thought of the tree must be in our minds. To -argue that the tree itself must be in our minds is like arguing that a -person whom we bear in mind is himself in our minds. This confusion -may seem too gross to have been really committed by any competent -philosopher, but various attendant circumstances rendered it possible. -In order to see how it was possible, we must go more deeply into the -question as to the nature of ideas. - -Before taking up the general question of the nature of ideas, we must -disentangle two entirely separate questions which arise concerning -sense-data and physical objects. We saw that, for various reasons of -detail, Berkeley was right in treating the sense-data which constitute -our perception of the tree as more or less subjective, in the sense that -they depend upon us as much as upon the tree, and would not exist if the -tree were not being perceived. But this is an entirely different point -from the one by which Berkeley seeks to prove that whatever can be -immediately known must be in a mind. For this purpose arguments of -detail as to the dependence of sense-data upon us are useless. It is -necessary to prove, generally, that by being known, things are shown to -be mental. This is what Berkeley believes himself to have done. It -is this question, and not our previous question as to the difference -between sense-data and the physical object, that must now concern us. - -Taking the word 'idea' in Berkeley's sense, there are two quite distinct -things to be considered whenever an idea is before the mind. There is -on the one hand the thing of which we are aware--say the colour of my -table--and on the other hand the actual awareness itself, the mental act -of apprehending the thing. The mental act is undoubtedly mental, but is -there any reason to suppose that the thing apprehended is in any sense -mental? Our previous arguments concerning the colour did not prove it to -be mental; they only proved that its existence depends upon the relation -of our sense organs to the physical object--in our case, the table. That -is to say, they proved that a certain colour will exist, in a certain -light, if a normal eye is placed at a certain point relatively to -the table. They did not prove that the colour is in the mind of the -percipient. - -Berkeley's view, that obviously the colour must be in the mind, seems -to depend for its plausibility upon confusing the thing apprehended -with the act of apprehension. Either of these might be called an 'idea'; -probably either would have been called an idea by Berkeley. The act -is undoubtedly in the mind; hence, when we are thinking of the act, -we readily assent to the view that ideas must be in the mind. Then, -forgetting that this was only true when ideas were taken as acts of -apprehension, we transfer the proposition that 'ideas are in the mind' -to ideas in the other sense, i.e. to the things apprehended by our acts -of apprehension. Thus, by an unconscious equivocation, we arrive at the -conclusion that whatever we can apprehend must be in our minds. This -seems to be the true analysis of Berkeley's argument, and the ultimate -fallacy upon which it rests. - -This question of the distinction between act and object in our -apprehending of things is vitally important, since our whole power of -acquiring knowledge is bound up with it. The faculty of being acquainted -with things other than itself is the main characteristic of a mind. -Acquaintance with objects essentially consists in a relation between the -mind and something other than the mind; it is this that constitutes the -mind's power of knowing things. If we say that the things known must be -in the mind, we are either unduly limiting the mind's power of knowing, -or we are uttering a mere tautology. We are uttering a mere tautology if -we mean by '_in_ the mind' the same as by '_before_ the mind', i.e. if -we mean merely being apprehended by the mind. But if we mean this, we -shall have to admit that what, _in this sense_, is in the mind, -may nevertheless be not mental. Thus when we realize the nature of -knowledge, Berkeley's argument is seen to be wrong in substance as well -as in form, and his grounds for supposing that 'ideas'--i.e. the objects -apprehended--must be mental, are found to have no validity whatever. -Hence his grounds in favour of idealism may be dismissed. It remains to -see whether there are any other grounds. - -It is often said, as though it were a self-evident truism, that we -cannot know that anything exists which we do not know. It is inferred -that whatever can in any way be relevant to our experience must be at -least capable of being known by us; whence it follows that if matter -were essentially something with which we could not become acquainted, -matter would be something which we could not know to exist, and which -could have for us no importance whatever. It is generally also implied, -for reasons which remain obscure, that what can have no importance for -us cannot be real, and that therefore matter, if it is not composed of -minds or of mental ideas, is impossible and a mere chimaera. - -To go into this argument fully at our present stage would be impossible, -since it raises points requiring a considerable preliminary discussion; -but certain reasons for rejecting the argument may be noticed at -once. To begin at the end: there is no reason why what cannot have any -_practical_ importance for us should not be real. It is true that, -if _theoretical_ importance is included, everything real is of _some_ -importance to us, since, as persons desirous of knowing the truth about -the universe, we have some interest in everything that the universe -contains. But if this sort of interest is included, it is not the case -that matter has no importance for us, provided it exists even if we -cannot know that it exists. We can, obviously, suspect that it may -exist, and wonder whether it does; hence it is connected with our desire -for knowledge, and has the importance of either satisfying or thwarting -this desire. - -Again, it is by no means a truism, and is in fact false, that we cannot -know that anything exists which we do not know. The word 'know' is here -used in two different senses. (1) In its first use it is applicable to -the sort of knowledge which is opposed to error, the sense in which -what we know is _true_, the sense which applies to our beliefs and -convictions, i.e. to what are called _judgements_. In this sense of the -word we know _that_ something is the case. This sort of knowledge may -be described as knowledge of _truths_. (2) In the second use of the word -'know' above, the word applies to our knowledge of _things_, which we -may call _acquaintance_. This is the sense in which we know sense-data. -(The distinction involved is roughly that between _savoir_ and -_connaitre_ in French, or between _wissen_ and _kennen_ in German.) - -Thus the statement which seemed like a truism becomes, when re-stated, -the following: 'We can never truly judge that something with which we -are not acquainted exists.' This is by no means a truism, but on the -contrary a palpable falsehood. I have not the honour to be acquainted -with the Emperor of China, but I truly judge that he exists. It may -be said, of course, that I judge this because of other people's -acquaintance with him. This, however, would be an irrelevant retort, -since, if the principle were true, I could not know that any one else -is acquainted with him. But further: there is no reason why I should not -know of the existence of something with which nobody is acquainted. This -point is important, and demands elucidation. - -If I am acquainted with a thing which exists, my acquaintance gives -me the knowledge that it exists. But it is not true that, conversely, -whenever I can know that a thing of a certain sort exists, I or some one -else must be acquainted with the thing. What happens, in cases where I -have true judgement without acquaintance, is that the thing is known to -me by _description_, and that, in virtue of some general principle, the -existence of a thing answering to this description can be inferred -from the existence of something with which I am acquainted. In order -to understand this point fully, it will be well first to deal with -the difference between knowledge by acquaintance and knowledge by -description, and then to consider what knowledge of general principles, -if any, has the same kind of certainty as our knowledge of the existence -of our own experiences. These subjects will be dealt with in the -following chapters. - - - -CHAPTER V. KNOWLEDGE BY ACQUAINTANCE AND KNOWLEDGE BY DESCRIPTION - -In the preceding chapter we saw that there are two sorts of knowledge: -knowledge of things, and knowledge of truths. In this chapter we shall -be concerned exclusively with knowledge of things, of which in turn we -shall have to distinguish two kinds. Knowledge of things, when it is -of the kind we call knowledge by _acquaintance_, is essentially simpler -than any knowledge of truths, and logically independent of knowledge -of truths, though it would be rash to assume that human beings ever, -in fact, have acquaintance with things without at the same time knowing -some truth about them. Knowledge of things by _description_, on the -contrary, always involves, as we shall find in the course of the present -chapter, some knowledge of truths as its source and ground. But first of -all we must make clear what we mean by 'acquaintance' and what we mean -by 'description'. - -We shall say that we have _acquaintance_ with anything of which we are -directly aware, without the intermediary of any process of inference -or any knowledge of truths. Thus in the presence of my table I am -acquainted with the sense-data that make up the appearance of my -table--its colour, shape, hardness, smoothness, etc.; all these are -things of which I am immediately conscious when I am seeing and touching -my table. The particular shade of colour that I am seeing may have many -things said about it--I may say that it is brown, that it is rather -dark, and so on. But such statements, though they make me know truths -about the colour, do not make me know the colour itself any better -than I did before so far as concerns knowledge of the colour itself, as -opposed to knowledge of truths about it, I know the colour perfectly and -completely when I see it, and no further knowledge of it itself is even -theoretically possible. Thus the sense-data which make up the -appearance of my table are things with which I have acquaintance, things -immediately known to me just as they are. - -My knowledge of the table as a physical object, on the contrary, is not -direct knowledge. Such as it is, it is obtained through acquaintance -with the sense-data that make up the appearance of the table. We have -seen that it is possible, without absurdity, to doubt whether there is -a table at all, whereas it is not possible to doubt the sense-data. My -knowledge of the table is of the kind which we shall call 'knowledge -by description'. The table is 'the physical object which causes -such-and-such sense-data'. This describes the table by means of the -sense-data. In order to know anything at all about the table, we must -know truths connecting it with things with which we have acquaintance: -we must know that 'such-and-such sense-data are caused by a physical -object'. There is no state of mind in which we are directly aware of the -table; all our knowledge of the table is really knowledge of truths, and -the actual thing which is the table is not, strictly speaking, known -to us at all. We know a description, and we know that there is just one -object to which this description applies, though the object itself is -not directly known to us. In such a case, we say that our knowledge of -the object is knowledge by description. - -All our knowledge, both knowledge of things and knowledge of truths, -rests upon acquaintance as its foundation. It is therefore important to -consider what kinds of things there are with which we have acquaintance. - -Sense-data, as we have already seen, are among the things with which -we are acquainted; in fact, they supply the most obvious and striking -example of knowledge by acquaintance. But if they were the sole example, -our knowledge would be very much more restricted than it is. We should -only know what is now present to our senses: we could not know anything -about the past--not even that there was a past--nor could we know any -truths about our sense-data, for all knowledge of truths, as we shall -show, demands acquaintance with things which are of an essentially -different character from sense-data, the things which are sometimes -called 'abstract ideas', but which we shall call 'universals'. We have -therefore to consider acquaintance with other things besides sense-data -if we are to obtain any tolerably adequate analysis of our knowledge. - -The first extension beyond sense-data to be considered is acquaintance -by _memory_. It is obvious that we often remember what we have seen or -heard or had otherwise present to our senses, and that in such cases we -are still immediately aware of what we remember, in spite of the fact -that it appears as past and not as present. This immediate knowledge by -memory is the source of all our knowledge concerning the past: without -it, there could be no knowledge of the past by inference, since we -should never know that there was anything past to be inferred. - -The next extension to be considered is acquaintance by _introspection_. -We are not only aware of things, but we are often aware of being aware -of them. When I see the sun, I am often aware of my seeing the sun; thus -'my seeing the sun' is an object with which I have acquaintance. When -I desire food, I may be aware of my desire for food; thus 'my desiring -food' is an object with which I am acquainted. Similarly we may be -aware of our feeling pleasure or pain, and generally of the events which -happen in our minds. This kind of acquaintance, which may be called -self-consciousness, is the source of all our knowledge of mental things. -It is obvious that it is only what goes on in our own minds that can be -thus known immediately. What goes on in the minds of others is known -to us through our perception of their bodies, that is, through the -sense-data in us which are associated with their bodies. But for our -acquaintance with the contents of our own minds, we should be unable to -imagine the minds of others, and therefore we could never arrive at -the knowledge that they have minds. It seems natural to suppose that -self-consciousness is one of the things that distinguish men from -animals: animals, we may suppose, though they have acquaintance with -sense-data, never become aware of this acquaintance. I do not mean -that they _doubt_ whether they exist, but that they have never become -conscious of the fact that they have sensations and feelings, nor -therefore of the fact that they, the subjects of their sensations and -feelings, exist. - -We have spoken of acquaintance with the contents of our minds as -_self_-consciousness, but it is not, of course, consciousness of our -_self_: it is consciousness of particular thoughts and feelings. The -question whether we are also acquainted with our bare selves, as opposed -to particular thoughts and feelings, is a very difficult one, upon which -it would be rash to speak positively. When we try to look into ourselves -we always seem to come upon some particular thought or feeling, and not -upon the 'I' which has the thought or feeling. Nevertheless there are -some reasons for thinking that we are acquainted with the 'I', though -the acquaintance is hard to disentangle from other things. To make clear -what sort of reason there is, let us consider for a moment what our -acquaintance with particular thoughts really involves. - -When I am acquainted with 'my seeing the sun', it seems plain that I am -acquainted with two different things in relation to each other. On the -one hand there is the sense-datum which represents the sun to me, on the -other hand there is that which sees this sense-datum. All acquaintance, -such as my acquaintance with the sense-datum which represents the sun, -seems obviously a relation between the person acquainted and the object -with which the person is acquainted. When a case of acquaintance is one -with which I can be acquainted (as I am acquainted with my acquaintance -with the sense-datum representing the sun), it is plain that the person -acquainted is myself. Thus, when I am acquainted with my -seeing the sun, the whole fact with which I am acquainted is -'Self-acquainted-with-sense-datum'. - -Further, we know the truth 'I am acquainted with this sense-datum'. It -is hard to see how we could know this truth, or even understand what is -meant by it, unless we were acquainted with something which we call 'I'. -It does not seem necessary to suppose that we are acquainted with a more -or less permanent person, the same to-day as yesterday, but it does seem -as though we must be acquainted with that thing, whatever its nature, -which sees the sun and has acquaintance with sense-data. Thus, in some -sense it would seem we must be acquainted with our Selves as opposed -to our particular experiences. But the question is difficult, and -complicated arguments can be adduced on either side. Hence, although -acquaintance with ourselves seems _probably_ to occur, it is not wise to -assert that it undoubtedly does occur. - -We may therefore sum up as follows what has been said concerning -acquaintance with things that exist. We have acquaintance in sensation -with the data of the outer senses, and in introspection with the data of -what may be called the inner sense--thoughts, feelings, desires, etc.; -we have acquaintance in memory with things which have been data either -of the outer senses or of the inner sense. Further, it is probable, -though not certain, that we have acquaintance with Self, as that which -is aware of things or has desires towards things. - -In addition to our acquaintance with particular existing things, we also -have acquaintance with what we shall call _universals_, that is to say, -general ideas, such as _whiteness_, _diversity_, _brotherhood_, and so -on. Every complete sentence must contain at least one word which stands -for a universal, since all verbs have a meaning which is universal. We -shall return to universals later on, in Chapter IX; for the present, it -is only necessary to guard against the supposition that whatever we can -be acquainted with must be something particular and existent. Awareness -of universals is called _conceiving_, and a universal of which we are -aware is called a _concept_. - -It will be seen that among the objects with which we are acquainted -are not included physical objects (as opposed to sense-data), nor other -people's minds. These things are known to us by what I call 'knowledge -by description', which we must now consider. - -By a 'description' I mean any phrase of the form 'a so-and-so' or -'the so-and-so'. A phrase of the form 'a so-and-so' I shall call an -'ambiguous' description; a phrase of the form 'the so-and-so' (in the -singular) I shall call a 'definite' description. Thus 'a man' is an -ambiguous description, and 'the man with the iron mask' is a definite -description. There are various problems connected with ambiguous -descriptions, but I pass them by, since they do not directly concern -the matter we are discussing, which is the nature of our knowledge -concerning objects in cases where we know that there is an object -answering to a definite description, though we are not acquainted with -any such object. This is a matter which is concerned exclusively with -definite descriptions. I shall therefore, in the sequel, speak simply of -'descriptions' when I mean 'definite descriptions'. Thus a description -will mean any phrase of the form 'the so-and-so' in the singular. - -We shall say that an object is 'known by description' when we know that -it is 'the so-and-so', i.e. when we know that there is one object, and -no more, having a certain property; and it will generally be implied -that we do not have knowledge of the same object by acquaintance. We -know that the man with the iron mask existed, and many propositions -are known about him; but we do not know who he was. We know that the -candidate who gets the most votes will be elected, and in this case we -are very likely also acquainted (in the only sense in which one can -be acquainted with some one else) with the man who is, in fact, the -candidate who will get most votes; but we do not know which of the -candidates he is, i.e. we do not know any proposition of the form 'A is -the candidate who will get most votes' where A is one of the candidates -by name. We shall say that we have 'merely descriptive knowledge' of the -so-and-so when, although we know that the so-and-so exists, and although -we may possibly be acquainted with the object which is, in fact, the -so-and-so, yet we do not know any proposition '_a_ is the so-and-so', -where _a_ is something with which we are acquainted. - -When we say 'the so-and-so exists', we mean that there is just one -object which is the so-and-so. The proposition '_a_ is the so-and-so' -means that _a_ has the property so-and-so, and nothing else has. 'Mr. -A. is the Unionist candidate for this constituency' means 'Mr. A. is -a Unionist candidate for this constituency, and no one else is'. 'The -Unionist candidate for this constituency exists' means 'some one is a -Unionist candidate for this constituency, and no one else is'. Thus, -when we are acquainted with an object which is the so-and-so, we know -that the so-and-so exists; but we may know that the so-and-so exists -when we are not acquainted with any object which we know to be the -so-and-so, and even when we are not acquainted with any object which, in -fact, is the so-and-so. - -Common words, even proper names, are usually really descriptions. That -is to say, the thought in the mind of a person using a proper name -correctly can generally only be expressed explicitly if we replace the -proper name by a description. Moreover, the description required to -express the thought will vary for different people, or for the same -person at different times. The only thing constant (so long as the name -is rightly used) is the object to which the name applies. But so long as -this remains constant, the particular description involved usually makes -no difference to the truth or falsehood of the proposition in which the -name appears. - -Let us take some illustrations. Suppose some statement made about -Bismarck. Assuming that there is such a thing as direct acquaintance -with oneself, Bismarck himself might have used his name directly to -designate the particular person with whom he was acquainted. In this -case, if he made a judgement about himself, he himself might be a -constituent of the judgement. Here the proper name has the direct use -which it always wishes to have, as simply standing for a certain object, -and not for a description of the object. But if a person who knew -Bismarck made a judgement about him, the case is different. What this -person was acquainted with were certain sense-data which he connected -(rightly, we will suppose) with Bismarck's body. His body, as a physical -object, and still more his mind, were only known as the body and the -mind connected with these sense-data. That is, they were known by -description. It is, of course, very much a matter af chance which -characteristics of a man's appearance will come into a friend's mind -when he thinks of him; thus the description actually in the friend's -mind is accidental. The essential point is that he knows that the -various descriptions all apply to the same entity, in spite of not being -acquainted with the entity in question. - -When we, who did not know Bismarck, make a judgement about him, the -description in our minds will probably be some more or less vague mass -of historical knowledge--far more, in most cases, than is required to -identify him. But, for the sake of illustration, let us assume that we -think of him as 'the first Chancellor of the German Empire'. Here all -the words are abstract except 'German'. The word 'German' will, again, -have different meanings for different people. To some it will recall -travels in Germany, to some the look of Germany on the map, and so on. -But if we are to obtain a description which we know to be applicable, -we shall be compelled, at some point, to bring in a reference to a -particular with which we are acquainted. Such reference is involved in -any mention of past, present, and future (as opposed to definite dates), -or of here and there, or of what others have told us. Thus it would seem -that, in some way or other, a description known to be applicable to a -particular must involve some reference to a particular with which we -are acquainted, if our knowledge about the thing described is not to be -merely what follows _logically_ from the description. For example, 'the -most long-lived of men' is a description involving only universals, -which must apply to some man, but we can make no judgements concerning -this man which involve knowledge about him beyond what the description -gives. If, however, we say, 'The first Chancellor of the German Empire -was an astute diplomatist', we can only be assured of the truth of our -judgement in virtue of something with which we are acquainted--usually a -testimony heard or read. Apart from the information we convey to others, -apart from the fact about the actual Bismarck, which gives importance -to our judgement, the thought we really have contains the one or more -particulars involved, and otherwise consists wholly of concepts. - -All names of places--London, England, Europe, the Earth, the Solar -System--similarly involve, when used, descriptions which start from some -one or more particulars with which we are acquainted. I suspect that -even the Universe, as considered by metaphysics, involves such a -connexion with particulars. In logic, on the contrary, where we are -concerned not merely with what does exist, but with whatever might or -could exist or be, no reference to actual particulars is involved. - -It would seem that, when we make a statement about something only known -by description, we often _intend_ to make our statement, not in the form -involving the description, but about the actual thing described. That -is to say, when we say anything about Bismarck, we should like, if we -could, to make the judgement which Bismarck alone can make, namely, -the judgement of which he himself is a constituent. In this we are -necessarily defeated, since the actual Bismarck is unknown to us. But -we know that there is an object B, called Bismarck, and that B was an -astute diplomatist. We can thus _describe_ the proposition we should -like to affirm, namely, 'B was an astute diplomatist', where B is the -object which was Bismarck. If we are describing Bismarck as 'the first -Chancellor of the German Empire', the proposition we should like to -affirm may be described as 'the proposition asserting, concerning the -actual object which was the first Chancellor of the German Empire, that -this object was an astute diplomatist'. What enables us to communicate -in spite of the varying descriptions we employ is that we know there is -a true proposition concerning the actual Bismarck, and that however we -may vary the description (so long as the description is correct) the -proposition described is still the same. This proposition, which is -described and is known to be true, is what interests us; but we are not -acquainted with the proposition itself, and do not know it, though we -know it is true. - -It will be seen that there are various stages in the removal from -acquaintance with particulars: there is Bismarck to people who knew him; -Bismarck to those who only know of him through history; the man with -the iron mask; the longest-lived of men. These are progressively further -removed from acquaintance with particulars; the first comes as near to -acquaintance as is possible in regard to another person; in the second, -we shall still be said to know 'who Bismarck was'; in the third, we do -not know who was the man with the iron mask, though we can know many -propositions about him which are not logically deducible from the fact -that he wore an iron mask; in the fourth, finally, we know nothing -beyond what is logically deducible from the definition of the man. There -is a similar hierarchy in the region of universals. Many universals, -like many particulars, are only known to us by description. But here, -as in the case of particulars, knowledge concerning what is known by -description is ultimately reducible to knowledge concerning what is -known by acquaintance. - -The fundamental principle in the analysis of propositions containing -descriptions is this: _Every proposition which we can understand must be -composed wholly of constituents with which we are acquainted_. - -We shall not at this stage attempt to answer all the objections which -may be urged against this fundamental principle. For the present, we -shall merely point out that, in some way or other, it must be possible -to meet these objections, for it is scarcely conceivable that we can -make a judgement or entertain a supposition without knowing what it is -that we are judging or supposing about. We must attach _some_ meaning -to the words we use, if we are to speak significantly and not utter mere -noise; and the meaning we attach to our words must be something with -which we are acquainted. Thus when, for example, we make a statement -about Julius Caesar, it is plain that Julius Caesar himself is not -before our minds, since we are not acquainted with him. We have in mind -some description of Julius Caesar: 'the man who was assassinated on the -Ides of March', 'the founder of the Roman Empire', or, perhaps, merely -'the man whose name was _Julius Caesar_'. (In this last description, -_Julius Caesar_ is a noise or shape with which we are acquainted.) -Thus our statement does not mean quite what it seems to mean, but means -something involving, instead of Julius Caesar, some description of him -which is composed wholly of particulars and universals with which we are -acquainted. - -The chief importance of knowledge by description is that it enables us -to pass beyond the limits of our private experience. In spite of the -fact that we can only know truths which are wholly composed of terms -which we have experienced in acquaintance, we can yet have knowledge by -description of things which we have never experienced. In view of the -very narrow range of our immediate experience, this result is vital, and -until it is understood, much of our knowledge must remain mysterious and -therefore doubtful. - - - -CHAPTER VI. ON INDUCTION - -In almost all our previous discussions we have been concerned in -the attempt to get clear as to our data in the way of knowledge of -existence. What things are there in the universe whose existence is -known to us owing to our being acquainted with them? So far, our answer -has been that we are acquainted with our sense-data, and, probably, -with ourselves. These we know to exist. And past sense-data which -are remembered are known to have existed in the past. This knowledge -supplies our data. - -But if we are to be able to draw inferences from these data--if we are -to know of the existence of matter, of other people, of the past before -our individual memory begins, or of the future, we must know general -principles of some kind by means of which such inferences can be drawn. -It must be known to us that the existence of some one sort of thing, A, -is a sign of the existence of some other sort of thing, B, either at -the same time as A or at some earlier or later time, as, for example, -thunder is a sign of the earlier existence of lightning. If this were -not known to us, we could never extend our knowledge beyond the -sphere of our private experience; and this sphere, as we have seen, is -exceedingly limited. The question we have now to consider is whether -such an extension is possible, and if so, how it is effected. - -Let us take as an illustration a matter about which none of us, in fact, -feel the slightest doubt. We are all convinced that the sun will rise -to-morrow. Why? Is this belief a mere blind outcome of past experience, -or can it be justified as a reasonable belief? It is not easy to find -a test by which to judge whether a belief of this kind is reasonable or -not, but we can at least ascertain what sort of general beliefs would -suffice, if true, to justify the judgement that the sun will rise -to-morrow, and the many other similar judgements upon which our actions -are based. - -It is obvious that if we are asked why we believe that the sun will rise -to-morrow, we shall naturally answer 'Because it always has risen every -day'. We have a firm belief that it will rise in the future, because it -has risen in the past. If we are challenged as to why we believe that -it will continue to rise as heretofore, we may appeal to the laws of -motion: the earth, we shall say, is a freely rotating body, and such -bodies do not cease to rotate unless something interferes from outside, -and there is nothing outside to interfere with the earth between now and -to-morrow. Of course it might be doubted whether we are quite certain -that there is nothing outside to interfere, but this is not the -interesting doubt. The interesting doubt is as to whether the laws -of motion will remain in operation until to-morrow. If this doubt is -raised, we find ourselves in the same position as when the doubt about -the sunrise was first raised. - -The _only_ reason for believing that the laws of motion will remain in -operation is that they have operated hitherto, so far as our knowledge -of the past enables us to judge. It is true that we have a greater body -of evidence from the past in favour of the laws of motion than we have -in favour of the sunrise, because the sunrise is merely a particular -case of fulfilment of the laws of motion, and there are countless other -particular cases. But the real question is: Do _any_ number of cases -of a law being fulfilled in the past afford evidence that it will be -fulfilled in the future? If not, it becomes plain that we have no ground -whatever for expecting the sun to rise to-morrow, or for expecting the -bread we shall eat at our next meal not to poison us, or for any of the -other scarcely conscious expectations that control our daily lives. It -is to be observed that all such expectations are only _probable_; thus -we have not to seek for a proof that they _must_ be fulfilled, but -only for some reason in favour of the view that they are _likely_ to be -fulfilled. - -Now in dealing with this question we must, to begin with, make an -important distinction, without which we should soon become involved -in hopeless confusions. Experience has shown us that, hitherto, the -frequent repetition of some uniform succession or coexistence has been a -_cause_ of our expecting the same succession or coexistence on the next -occasion. Food that has a certain appearance generally has a certain -taste, and it is a severe shock to our expectations when the familiar -appearance is found to be associated with an unusual taste. Things which -we see become associated, by habit, with certain tactile sensations -which we expect if we touch them; one of the horrors of a ghost (in -many ghost-stories) is that it fails to give us any sensations of touch. -Uneducated people who go abroad for the first time are so surprised as -to be incredulous when they find their native language not understood. - -And this kind of association is not confined to men; in animals also it -is very strong. A horse which has been often driven along a certain -road resists the attempt to drive him in a different direction. Domestic -animals expect food when they see the person who usually feeds them. We -know that all these rather crude expectations of uniformity are liable -to be misleading. The man who has fed the chicken every day throughout -its life at last wrings its neck instead, showing that more refined -views as to the uniformity of nature would have been useful to the -chicken. - -But in spite of the misleadingness of such expectations, they -nevertheless exist. The mere fact that something has happened a certain -number of times causes animals and men to expect that it will happen -again. Thus our instincts certainly cause us to believe that the sun -will rise to-morrow, but we may be in no better a position than the -chicken which unexpectedly has its neck wrung. We have therefore to -distinguish the fact that past uniformities _cause_ expectations as to -the future, from the question whether there is any reasonable ground for -giving weight to such expectations after the question of their validity -has been raised. - -The problem we have to discuss is whether there is any reason for -believing in what is called 'the uniformity of nature'. The belief in -the uniformity of nature is the belief that everything that has happened -or will happen is an instance of some general law to which there are no -exceptions. The crude expectations which we have been considering are -all subject to exceptions, and therefore liable to disappoint those who -entertain them. But science habitually assumes, at least as a working -hypothesis, that general rules which have exceptions can be replaced by -general rules which have no exceptions. 'Unsupported bodies in air fall' -is a general rule to which balloons and aeroplanes are exceptions. But -the laws of motion and the law of gravitation, which account for the -fact that most bodies fall, also account for the fact that balloons and -aeroplanes can rise; thus the laws of motion and the law of gravitation -are not subject to these exceptions. - -The belief that the sun will rise to-morrow might be falsified if the -earth came suddenly into contact with a large body which destroyed its -rotation; but the laws of motion and the law of gravitation would not -be infringed by such an event. The business of science is to find -uniformities, such as the laws of motion and the law of gravitation, -to which, so far as our experience extends, there are no exceptions. -In this search science has been remarkably successful, and it may be -conceded that such uniformities have held hitherto. This brings us back -to the question: Have we any reason, assuming that they have always held -in the past, to suppose that they will hold in the future? - -It has been argued that we have reason to know that the future will -resemble the past, because what was the future has constantly become the -past, and has always been found to resemble the past, so that we really -have experience of the future, namely of times which were formerly -future, which we may call past futures. But such an argument really begs -the very question at issue. We have experience of past futures, but not -of future futures, and the question is: Will future futures resemble -past futures? This question is not to be answered by an argument which -starts from past futures alone. We have therefore still to seek for some -principle which shall enable us to know that the future will follow the -same laws as the past. - -The reference to the future in this question is not essential. The same -question arises when we apply the laws that work in our experience to -past things of which we have no experience--as, for example, in geology, -or in theories as to the origin of the Solar System. The question we -really have to ask is: 'When two things have been found to be often -associated, and no instance is known of the one occurring without the -other, does the occurrence of one of the two, in a fresh instance, give -any good ground for expecting the other?' On our answer to this question -must depend the validity of the whole of our expectations as to the -future, the whole of the results obtained by induction, and in fact -practically all the beliefs upon which our daily life is based. - -It must be conceded, to begin with, that the fact that two things have -been found often together and never apart does not, by itself, suffice -to _prove_ demonstratively that they will be found together in the next -case we examine. The most we can hope is that the oftener things are -found together, the more probable it becomes that they will be found -together another time, and that, if they have been found together often -enough, the probability will amount _almost_ to certainty. It can -never quite reach certainty, because we know that in spite of frequent -repetitions there sometimes is a failure at the last, as in the case -of the chicken whose neck is wrung. Thus probability is all we ought to -seek. - -It might be urged, as against the view we are advocating, that we -know all natural phenomena to be subject to the reign of law, and that -sometimes, on the basis of observation, we can see that only one law -can possibly fit the facts of the case. Now to this view there are two -answers. The first is that, even if _some_ law which has no exceptions -applies to our case, we can never, in practice, be sure that we have -discovered that law and not one to which there are exceptions. The -second is that the reign of law would seem to be itself only probable, -and that our belief that it will hold in the future, or in unexamined -cases in the past, is itself based upon the very principle we are -examining. - -The principle we are examining may be called the _principle of -induction_, and its two parts may be stated as follows: - -(a) When a thing of a certain sort A has been found to be associated -with a thing of a certain other sort B, and has never been found -dissociated from a thing of the sort B, the greater the number of cases -in which A and B have been associated, the greater is the probability -that they will be associated in a fresh case in which one of them is -known to be present; - -(b) Under the same circumstances, a sufficient number of cases of -association will make the probability of a fresh association nearly a -certainty, and will make it approach certainty without limit. - -As just stated, the principle applies only to the verification of our -expectation in a single fresh instance. But we want also to know that -there is a probability in favour of the general law that things of the -sort A are _always_ associated with things of the sort B, provided a -sufficient number of cases of association are known, and no cases of -failure of association are known. The probability of the general law is -obviously less than the probability of the particular case, since if the -general law is true, the particular case must also be true, whereas -the particular case may be true without the general law being true. -Nevertheless the probability of the general law is increased by -repetitions, just as the probability of the particular case is. We may -therefore repeat the two parts of our principle as regards the general -law, thus: - -(a) The greater the number of cases in which a thing of the sort A has -been found associated with a thing of the sort B, the more probable it -is (if no cases of failure of association are known) that A is always -associated with B; - -b) Under the same circumstances, a sufficient number of cases of the -association of A with B will make it nearly certain that A is always -associated with B, and will make this general law approach certainty -without limit. - -It should be noted that probability is always relative to certain data. -In our case, the data are merely the known cases of coexistence of A and -B. There may be other data, which _might_ be taken into account, which -would gravely alter the probability. For example, a man who had seen a -great many white swans might argue, by our principle, that on the -data it was _probable_ that all swans were white, and this might be a -perfectly sound argument. The argument is not disproved by the fact that -some swans are black, because a thing may very well happen in spite of -the fact that some data render it improbable. In the case of the swans, -a man might know that colour is a very variable characteristic in many -species of animals, and that, therefore, an induction as to colour is -peculiarly liable to error. But this knowledge would be a fresh datum, -by no means proving that the probability relatively to our previous data -had been wrongly estimated. The fact, therefore, that things often fail -to fulfil our expectations is no evidence that our expectations will not -_probably_ be fulfilled in a given case or a given class of cases. Thus -our inductive principle is at any rate not capable of being _disproved_ -by an appeal to experience. - -The inductive principle, however, is equally incapable of being _proved_ -by an appeal to experience. Experience might conceivably confirm -the inductive principle as regards the cases that have been already -examined; but as regards unexamined cases, it is the inductive principle -alone that can justify any inference from what has been examined to what -has not been examined. All arguments which, on the basis of experience, -argue as to the future or the unexperienced parts of the past or -present, assume the inductive principle; hence we can never use -experience to prove the inductive principle without begging the -question. Thus we must either accept the inductive principle on the -ground of its intrinsic evidence, or forgo all justification of our -expectations about the future. If the principle is unsound, we have no -reason to expect the sun to rise to-morrow, to expect bread to be more -nourishing than a stone, or to expect that if we throw ourselves off -the roof we shall fall. When we see what looks like our best friend -approaching us, we shall have no reason to suppose that his body is not -inhabited by the mind of our worst enemy or of some total stranger. All -our conduct is based upon associations which have worked in the past, -and which we therefore regard as likely to work in the future; and this -likelihood is dependent for its validity upon the inductive principle. - -The general principles of science, such as the belief in the reign -of law, and the belief that every event must have a cause, are as -completely dependent upon the inductive principle as are the beliefs of -daily life All such general principles are believed because mankind have -found innumerable instances of their truth and no instances of their -falsehood. But this affords no evidence for their truth in the future, -unless the inductive principle is assumed. - -Thus all knowledge which, on a basis of experience tells us something -about what is not experienced, is based upon a belief which experience -can neither confirm nor confute, yet which, at least in its more -concrete applications, appears to be as firmly rooted in us as many -of the facts of experience. The existence and justification of such -beliefs--for the inductive principle, as we shall see, is not the only -example--raises some of the most difficult and most debated problems of -philosophy. We will, in the next chapter, consider briefly what may be -said to account for such knowledge, and what is its scope and its degree -of certainty. - - - -CHAPTER VII. ON OUR KNOWLEDGE OF GENERAL PRINCIPLES - -We saw in the preceding chapter that the principle of induction, while -necessary to the validity of all arguments based on experience, -is itself not capable of being proved by experience, and yet is -unhesitatingly believed by every one, at least in all its concrete -applications. In these characteristics the principle of induction does -not stand alone. There are a number of other principles which cannot be -proved or disproved by experience, but are used in arguments which start -from what is experienced. - -Some of these principles have even greater evidence than the principle -of induction, and the knowledge of them has the same degree of certainty -as the knowledge of the existence of sense-data. They constitute the -means of drawing inferences from what is given in sensation; and if what -we infer is to be true, it is just as necessary that our principles -of inference should be true as it is that our data should be true. The -principles of inference are apt to be overlooked because of their -very obviousness--the assumption involved is assented to without our -realizing that it is an assumption. But it is very important to realize -the use of principles of inference, if a correct theory of knowledge -is to be obtained; for our knowledge of them raises interesting and -difficult questions. - -In all our knowledge of general principles, what actually happens -is that first of all we realize some particular application of the -principle, and then we realize that the particularity is irrelevant, and -that there is a generality which may equally truly be affirmed. This is -of course familiar in such matters as teaching arithmetic: 'two and -two are four' is first learnt in the case of some particular pair of -couples, and then in some other particular case, and so on, until at -last it becomes possible to see that it is true of any pair of couples. -The same thing happens with logical principles. Suppose two men are -discussing what day of the month it is. One of them says, 'At least you -will admit that _if_ yesterday was the 15th to-day must be the 16th.' -'Yes', says the other, 'I admit that.' 'And you know', the first -continues, 'that yesterday was the 15th, because you dined with Jones, -and your diary will tell you that was on the 15th.' 'Yes', says the -second; 'therefore to-day _is_ the 16th.' - -Now such an argument is not hard to follow; and if it is granted that -its premisses are true in fact, no one will deny that the conclusion -must also be true. But it depends for its truth upon an instance of a -general logical principle. The logical principle is as follows: 'Suppose -it known that _if_ this is true, then that is true. Suppose it also -known that this _is_ true, then it follows that that is true.' When it -is the case that if this is true, that is true, we shall say that this -'implies' that, and that that 'follows from' this. Thus our principle -states that if this implies that, and this is true, then that is true. -In other words, 'anything implied by a true proposition is true', or -'whatever follows from a true proposition is true'. - -This principle is really involved--at least, concrete instances of it -are involved--in all demonstrations. Whenever one thing which we believe -is used to prove something else, which we consequently believe, this -principle is relevant. If any one asks: 'Why should I accept the results -of valid arguments based on true premisses?' we can only answer by -appealing to our principle. In fact, the truth of the principle is -impossible to doubt, and its obviousness is so great that at first sight -it seems almost trivial. Such principles, however, are not trivial to -the philosopher, for they show that we may have indubitable knowledge -which is in no way derived from objects of sense. - -The above principle is merely one of a certain number of self-evident -logical principles. Some at least of these principles must be granted -before any argument or proof becomes possible. When some of them have -been granted, others can be proved, though these others, so long as they -are simple, are just as obvious as the principles taken for granted. For -no very good reason, three of these principles have been singled out by -tradition under the name of 'Laws of Thought'. - -They are as follows: - -(1) _The law of identity_: 'Whatever is, is.' - -(2) _The law of contradiction_: 'Nothing can both be and not be.' - -(3) _The law of excluded middle_: 'Everything must either be or not be.' - -These three laws are samples of self-evident logical principles, but -are not really more fundamental or more self-evident than various other -similar principles: for instance, the one we considered just now, which -states that what follows from a true premiss is true. The name 'laws of -thought' is also misleading, for what is important is not the fact that -we think in accordance with these laws, but the fact that things behave -in accordance with them; in other words, the fact that when we think in -accordance with them we think _truly_. But this is a large question, to -which we must return at a later stage. - -In addition to the logical principles which enable us to prove from -a given premiss that something is _certainly_ true, there are other -logical principles which enable us to prove, from a given premiss, -that there is a greater or less probability that something is true. An -example of such principles--perhaps the most important example is the -inductive principle, which we considered in the preceding chapter. - -One of the great historic controversies in philosophy is the controversy -between the two schools called respectively 'empiricists' and -'rationalists'. The empiricists--who are best represented by the -British philosophers, Locke, Berkeley, and Hume--maintained that all -our knowledge is derived from experience; the rationalists--who are -represented by the Continental philosophers of the seventeenth century, -especially Descartes and Leibniz--maintained that, in addition to what -we know by experience, there are certain 'innate ideas' and 'innate -principles', which we know independently of experience. It has now -become possible to decide with some confidence as to the truth or -falsehood of these opposing schools. It must be admitted, for the -reasons already stated, that logical principles are known to us, and -cannot be themselves proved by experience, since all proof presupposes -them. In this, therefore, which was the most important point of the -controversy, the rationalists were in the right. - -On the other hand, even that part of our knowledge which is _logically_ -independent of experience (in the sense that experience cannot prove -it) is yet elicited and caused by experience. It is on occasion of -particular experiences that we become aware of the general laws which -their connexions exemplify. It would certainly be absurd to suppose that -there are innate principles in the sense that babies are born with a -knowledge of everything which men know and which cannot be deduced from -what is experienced. For this reason, the word 'innate' would not now be -employed to describe our knowledge of logical principles. The phrase -'_a priori_' is less objectionable, and is more usual in modern writers. -Thus, while admitting that all knowledge is elicited and caused by -experience, we shall nevertheless hold that some knowledge is _a -priori_, in the sense that the experience which makes us think of it -does not suffice to prove it, but merely so directs our attention that -we see its truth without requiring any proof from experience. - -There is another point of great importance, in which the empiricists -were in the right as against the rationalists. Nothing can be known to -_exist_ except by the help of experience. That is to say, if we wish to -prove that something of which we have no direct experience exists, we -must have among our premisses the existence of one or more things of -which we have direct experience. Our belief that the Emperor of China -exists, for example, rests upon testimony, and testimony consists, -in the last analysis, of sense-data seen or heard in reading or being -spoken to. Rationalists believed that, from general consideration as -to what must be, they could deduce the existence of this or that in the -actual world. In this belief they seem to have been mistaken. All the -knowledge that we can acquire _a priori_ concerning existence seems -to be hypothetical: it tells us that if one thing exists, another must -exist, or, more generally, that if one proposition is true, another must -be true. This is exemplified by the principles we have already dealt -with, such as '_if_ this is true, and this implies that, then that is -true', or '_if_ this and that have been repeatedly found connected, they -will probably be connected in the next instance in which one of them is -found'. Thus the scope and power of _a priori_ principles is strictly -limited. All knowledge that something exists must be in part dependent -on experience. When anything is known immediately, its existence is -known by experience alone; when anything is proved to exist, without -being known immediately, both experience and _a priori_ principles must -be required in the proof. Knowledge is called _empirical_ when it rests -wholly or partly upon experience. Thus all knowledge which asserts -existence is empirical, and the only _a priori_ knowledge concerning -existence is hypothetical, giving connexions among things that exist or -may exist, but not giving actual existence. - -_A priori_ knowledge is not all of the logical kind we have been -hitherto considering. Perhaps the most important example of non-logical -_a priori_ knowledge is knowledge as to ethical value. I am not speaking -of judgements as to what is useful or as to what is virtuous, for such -judgements do require empirical premisses; I am speaking of judgements -as to the intrinsic desirability of things. If something is useful, it -must be useful because it secures some end; the end must, if we have -gone far enough, be valuable on its own account, and not merely because -it is useful for some further end. Thus all judgements as to what is -useful depend upon judgements as to what has value on its own account. - -We judge, for example, that happiness is more desirable than misery, -knowledge than ignorance, goodwill than hatred, and so on. Such -judgements must, in part at least, be immediate and _a priori_. Like our -previous _a priori_ judgements, they may be elicited by experience, and -indeed they must be; for it seems not possible to judge whether anything -is intrinsically valuable unless we have experienced something of -the same kind. But it is fairly obvious that they cannot be proved by -experience; for the fact that a thing exists or does not exist cannot -prove either that it is good that it should exist or that it is bad. The -pursuit of this subject belongs to ethics, where the impossibility of -deducing what ought to be from what is has to be established. In the -present connexion, it is only important to realize that knowledge as to -what is intrinsically of value is _a priori_ in the same sense in -which logic is _a priori_, namely in the sense that the truth of such -knowledge can be neither proved nor disproved by experience. - -All pure mathematics is _a priori_, like logic. This was strenuously -denied by the empirical philosophers, who maintained that experience was -as much the source of our knowledge of arithmetic as of our knowledge of -geography. They maintained that by the repeated experience of seeing two -things and two other things, and finding that altogether they made four -things, we were led by induction to the conclusion that two things -and two other things would _always_ make four things altogether. If, -however, this were the source of our knowledge that two and two are -four, we should proceed differently, in persuading ourselves of its -truth, from the way in which we do actually proceed. In fact, a certain -number of instances are needed to make us think of two abstractly, -rather than of two coins or two books or two people, or two of any other -specified kind. But as soon as we are able to divest our thoughts of -irrelevant particularity, we become able to see the general principle -that two and two are four; any one instance is seen to be _typical_, and -the examination of other instances becomes unnecessary.(1) - -(1) Cf. A. N. Whitehead, _Introduction to Mathematics_ (Home University -Library). - -The same thing is exemplified in geometry. If we want to prove some -property of _all_ triangles, we draw some one triangle and reason about -it; but we can avoid making use of any property which it does not share -with all other triangles, and thus, from our particular case, we obtain -a general result. We do not, in fact, feel our certainty that two and -two are four increased by fresh instances, because, as soon as we have -seen the truth of this proposition, our certainty becomes so great as -to be incapable of growing greater. Moreover, we feel some quality of -necessity about the proposition 'two and two are four', which is -absent from even the best attested empirical generalizations. Such -generalizations always remain mere facts: we feel that there might be a -world in which they were false, though in the actual world they happen -to be true. In any possible world, on the contrary, we feel that two -and two would be four: this is not a mere fact, but a necessity to which -everything actual and possible must conform. - -The case may be made clearer by considering a genuinely-empirical -generalization, such as 'All men are mortal.' It is plain that we -believe this proposition, in the first place, because there is no known -instance of men living beyond a certain age, and in the second place -because there seem to be physiological grounds for thinking that an -organism such as a man's body must sooner or later wear out. Neglecting -the second ground, and considering merely our experience of men's -mortality, it is plain that we should not be content with one quite -clearly understood instance of a man dying, whereas, in the case of 'two -and two are four', one instance does suffice, when carefully considered, -to persuade us that the same must happen in any other instance. Also -we can be forced to admit, on reflection, that there may be some doubt, -however slight, as to whether _all_ men are mortal. This may be made -plain by the attempt to imagine two different worlds, in one of which -there are men who are not mortal, while in the other two and two make -five. When Swift invites us to consider the race of Struldbugs who never -die, we are able to acquiesce in imagination. But a world where two -and two make five seems quite on a different level. We feel that such a -world, if there were one, would upset the whole fabric of our knowledge -and reduce us to utter doubt. - -The fact is that, in simple mathematical judgements such as 'two and two -are four', and also in many judgements of logic, we can know the general -proposition without inferring it from instances, although some instance -is usually necessary to make clear to us what the general proposition -means. This is why there is real utility in the process of _deduction_, -which goes from the general to the general, or from the general to the -particular, as well as in the process of _induction_, which goes from -the particular to the particular, or from the particular to the general. -It is an old debate among philosophers whether deduction ever gives -_new_ knowledge. We can now see that in certain cases, at least, it does -do so. If we already know that two and two always make four, and we -know that Brown and Jones are two, and so are Robinson and Smith, we can -deduce that Brown and Jones and Robinson and Smith are four. This is -new knowledge, not contained in our premisses, because the general -proposition, 'two and two are four', never told us there were such -people as Brown and Jones and Robinson and Smith, and the particular -premisses do not tell us that there were four of them, whereas the -particular proposition deduced does tell us both these things. - -But the newness of the knowledge is much less certain if we take the -stock instance of deduction that is always given in books on logic, -namely, 'All men are mortal; Socrates is a man, therefore Socrates is -mortal.' In this case, what we really know beyond reasonable doubt is -that certain men, A, B, C, were mortal, since, in fact, they have died. -If Socrates is one of these men, it is foolish to go the roundabout way -through 'all men are mortal' to arrive at the conclusion that _probably_ -Socrates is mortal. If Socrates is not one of the men on whom our -induction is based, we shall still do better to argue straight from our -A, B, C, to Socrates, than to go round by the general proposition, 'all -men are mortal'. For the probability that Socrates is mortal is greater, -on our data, than the probability that all men are mortal. (This is -obvious, because if all men are mortal, so is Socrates; but if Socrates -is mortal, it does not follow that all men are mortal.) Hence we shall -reach the conclusion that Socrates is mortal with a greater approach to -certainty if we make our argument purely inductive than if we go by way -of 'all men are mortal' and then use deduction. - -This illustrates the difference between general propositions known _a -priori_ such as 'two and two are four', and empirical generalizations -such as 'all men are mortal'. In regard to the former, deduction is the -right mode of argument, whereas in regard to the latter, induction is -always theoretically preferable, and warrants a greater confidence in -the truth of our conclusion, because all empirical generalizations are -more uncertain than the instances of them. - -We have now seen that there are propositions known _a priori_, and that -among them are the propositions of logic and pure mathematics, as well -as the fundamental propositions of ethics. The question which must -next occupy us is this: How is it possible that there should be such -knowledge? And more particularly, how can there be knowledge of general -propositions in cases where we have not examined all the instances, and -indeed never can examine them all, because their number is infinite? -These questions, which were first brought prominently forward by -the German philosopher Kant (1724-1804), are very difficult, and -historically very important. - - - -CHAPTER VIII. HOW _A PRIORI_ KNOWLEDGE IS POSSIBLE - -Immanuel Kant is generally regarded as the greatest of the modern -philosophers. Though he lived through the Seven Years War and the -French Revolution, he never interrupted his teaching of philosophy at -Koenigsberg in East Prussia. His most distinctive contribution was the -invention of what he called the 'critical' philosophy, which, assuming -as a datum that there is knowledge of various kinds, inquired how such -knowledge comes to be possible, and deduced, from the answer to this -inquiry, many metaphysical results as to the nature of the world. -Whether these results were valid may well be doubted. But Kant -undoubtedly deserves credit for two things: first, for having perceived -that we have _a priori_ knowledge which is not purely 'analytic', i.e. -such that the opposite would be self-contradictory, and secondly, -for having made evident the philosophical importance of the theory of -knowledge. - -Before the time of Kant, it was generally held that whatever knowledge -was _a priori_ must be 'analytic'. What this word means will be best -illustrated by examples. If I say, 'A bald man is a man', 'A plane -figure is a figure', 'A bad poet is a poet', I make a purely analytic -judgement: the subject spoken about is given as having at least two -properties, of which one is singled out to be asserted of it. Such -propositions as the above are trivial, and would never be enunciated -in real life except by an orator preparing the way for a piece of -sophistry. They are called 'analytic' because the predicate is obtained -by merely analysing the subject. Before the time of Kant it was thought -that all judgements of which we could be certain _a priori_ were of this -kind: that in all of them there was a predicate which was only part -of the subject of which it was asserted. If this were so, we should be -involved in a definite contradiction if we attempted to deny anything -that could be known _a priori_. 'A bald man is not bald' would assert -and deny baldness of the same man, and would therefore contradict -itself. Thus according to the philosophers before Kant, the law of -contradiction, which asserts that nothing can at the same time have and -not have a certain property, sufficed to establish the truth of all _a -priori_ knowledge. - -Hume (1711-76), who preceded Kant, accepting the usual view as to what -makes knowledge _a priori_, discovered that, in many cases which had -previously been supposed analytic, and notably in the case of cause and -effect, the connexion was really synthetic. Before Hume, rationalists at -least had supposed that the effect could be logically deduced from the -cause, if only we had sufficient knowledge. Hume argued--correctly, as -would now be generally admitted--that this could not be done. Hence he -inferred the far more doubtful proposition that nothing could be known -_a priori_ about the connexion of cause and effect. Kant, who had been -educated in the rationalist tradition, was much perturbed by Hume's -scepticism, and endeavoured to find an answer to it. He perceived that -not only the connexion of cause and effect, but all the propositions -of arithmetic and geometry, are 'synthetic', i.e. not analytic: in -all these propositions, no analysis of the subject will reveal the -predicate. His stock instance was the proposition 7 + 5 = 12. He pointed -out, quite truly, that 7 and 5 have to be put together to give 12: the -idea of 12 is not contained in them, nor even in the idea of adding them -together. Thus he was led to the conclusion that all pure mathematics, -though _a priori_, is synthetic; and this conclusion raised a new -problem of which he endeavoured to find the solution. - -The question which Kant put at the beginning of his philosophy, namely -'How is pure mathematics possible?' is an interesting and difficult one, -to which every philosophy which is not purely sceptical must find -some answer. The answer of the pure empiricists, that our mathematical -knowledge is derived by induction from particular instances, we have -already seen to be inadequate, for two reasons: first, that the validity -of the inductive principle itself cannot be proved by induction; -secondly, that the general propositions of mathematics, such as 'two -and two always make four', can obviously be known with certainty by -consideration of a single instance, and gain nothing by enumeration of -other cases in which they have been found to be true. Thus our knowledge -of the general propositions of mathematics (and the same applies to -logic) must be accounted for otherwise than our (merely probable) -knowledge of empirical generalizations such as 'all men are mortal'. - -The problem arises through the fact that such knowledge is general, -whereas all experience is particular. It seems strange that we should -apparently be able to know some truths in advance about particular -things of which we have as yet no experience; but it cannot easily be -doubted that logic and arithmetic will apply to such things. We do not -know who will be the inhabitants of London a hundred years hence; but -we know that any two of them and any other two of them will make four of -them. This apparent power of anticipating facts about things of which -we have no experience is certainly surprising. Kant's solution of the -problem, though not valid in my opinion, is interesting. It is, however, -very difficult, and is differently understood by different philosophers. -We can, therefore, only give the merest outline of it, and even that -will be thought misleading by many exponents of Kant's system. - -What Kant maintained was that in all our experience there are two -elements to be distinguished, the one due to the object (i.e. to what we -have called the 'physical object'), the other due to our own nature. We -saw, in discussing matter and sense-data, that the physical object is -different from the associated sense-data, and that the sense-data are to -be regarded as resulting from an interaction between the physical -object and ourselves. So far, we are in agreement with Kant. But what -is distinctive of Kant is the way in which he apportions the shares of -ourselves and the physical object respectively. He considers that the -crude material given in sensation--the colour, hardness, etc.--is due -to the object, and that what we supply is the arrangement in space -and time, and all the relations between sense-data which result from -comparison or from considering one as the cause of the other or in any -other way. His chief reason in favour of this view is that we seem -to have _a priori_ knowledge as to space and time and causality and -comparison, but not as to the actual crude material of sensation. We can -be sure, he says, that anything we shall ever experience must show the -characteristics affirmed of it in our _a priori_ knowledge, because -these characteristics are due to our own nature, and therefore -nothing can ever come into our experience without acquiring these -characteristics. - -The physical object, which he calls the 'thing in itself',(1) he regards -as essentially unknowable; what can be known is the object as we have it -in experience, which he calls the 'phenomenon'. The phenomenon, being -a joint product of us and the thing in itself, is sure to have those -characteristics which are due to us, and is therefore sure to conform -to our _a priori_ knowledge. Hence this knowledge, though true of all -actual and possible experience, must not be supposed to apply outside -experience. Thus in spite of the existence of _a priori_ knowledge, we -cannot know anything about the thing in itself or about what is not -an actual or possible object of experience. In this way he tries to -reconcile and harmonize the contentions of the rationalists with the -arguments of the empiricists. - -(1) Kant's 'thing in itself' is identical in _definition_ with -the physical object, namely, it is the cause of sensations. In the -properties deduced from the definition it is not identical, since Kant -held (in spite of some inconsistency as regards cause) that we can know -that none of the categories are applicable to the 'thing in itself'. - -Apart from minor grounds on which Kant's philosophy may be criticized, -there is one main objection which seems fatal to any attempt to deal -with the problem of _a priori_ knowledge by his method. The thing to -be accounted for is our certainty that the facts must always conform to -logic and arithmetic. To say that logic and arithmetic are contributed -by us does not account for this. Our nature is as much a fact of the -existing world as anything, and there can be no certainty that it will -remain constant. It might happen, if Kant is right, that to-morrow -our nature would so change as to make two and two become five. This -possibility seems never to have occurred to him, yet it is one which -utterly destroys the certainty and universality which he is anxious -to vindicate for arithmetical propositions. It is true that this -possibility, formally, is inconsistent with the Kantian view that time -itself is a form imposed by the subject upon phenomena, so that our -real Self is not in time and has no to-morrow. But he will still have -to suppose that the time-order of phenomena is determined by -characteristics of what is behind phenomena, and this suffices for the -substance of our argument. - -Reflection, moreover, seems to make it clear that, if there is any truth -in our arithmetical beliefs, they must apply to things equally whether -we think of them or not. Two physical objects and two other physical -objects must make four physical objects, even if physical objects cannot -be experienced. To assert this is certainly within the scope of what -we mean when we state that two and two are four. Its truth is just as -indubitable as the truth of the assertion that two phenomena and two -other phenomena make four phenomena. Thus Kant's solution unduly limits -the scope of _a priori_ propositions, in addition to failing in the -attempt at explaining their certainty. - -Apart from the special doctrines advocated by Kant, it is very common -among philosophers to regard what is _a priori_ as in some sense mental, -as concerned rather with the way we must think than with any fact of -the outer world. We noted in the preceding chapter the three principles -commonly called 'laws of thought'. The view which led to their being so -named is a natural one, but there are strong reasons for thinking -that it is erroneous. Let us take as an illustration the law of -contradiction. This is commonly stated in the form 'Nothing can both be -and not be', which is intended to express the fact that nothing can at -once have and not have a given quality. Thus, for example, if a tree -is a beech it cannot also be not a beech; if my table is rectangular it -cannot also be not rectangular, and so on. - -Now what makes it natural to call this principle a law of _thought_ -is that it is by thought rather than by outward observation that we -persuade ourselves of its necessary truth. When we have seen that a tree -is a beech, we do not need to look again in order to ascertain whether -it is also not a beech; thought alone makes us know that this is -impossible. But the conclusion that the law of contradiction is a law -of _thought_ is nevertheless erroneous. What we believe, when we believe -the law of contradiction, is not that the mind is so made that it must -believe the law of contradiction. _This_ belief is a subsequent result -of psychological reflection, which presupposes the belief in the law of -contradiction. The belief in the law of contradiction is a belief about -things, not only about thoughts. It is not, e.g., the belief that if we -_think_ a certain tree is a beech, we cannot at the same time _think_ -that it is not a beech; it is the belief that if the tree _is_ a -beech, it cannot at the same time _be_ not a beech. Thus the law of -contradiction is about things, and not merely about thoughts; and -although belief in the law of contradiction is a thought, the law of -contradiction itself is not a thought, but a fact concerning the things -in the world. If this, which we believe when we believe the law of -contradiction, were not true of the things in the world, the fact -that we were compelled to _think_ it true would not save the law of -contradiction from being false; and this shows that the law is not a law -of _thought_. - -A similar argument applies to any other _a priori_ judgement. When we -judge that two and two are four, we are not making a judgement about our -thoughts, but about all actual or possible couples. The fact that our -minds are so constituted as to believe that two and two are four, though -it is true, is emphatically not what we assert when we assert that two -and two are four. And no fact about the constitution of our minds could -make it _true_ that two and two are four. Thus our _a priori_ knowledge, -if it is not erroneous, is not merely knowledge about the constitution -of our minds, but is applicable to whatever the world may contain, both -what is mental and what is non-mental. - -The fact seems to be that all our _a priori_ knowledge is concerned with -entities which do not, properly speaking, _exist_, either in the mental -or in the physical world. These entities are such as can be named by -parts of speech which are not substantives; they are such entities as -qualities and relations. Suppose, for instance, that I am in my room. I -exist, and my room exists; but does 'in' exist? Yet obviously the word -'in' has a meaning; it denotes a relation which holds between me and my -room. This relation is something, although we cannot say that it exists -_in the same sense_ in which I and my room exist. The relation 'in' is -something which we can think about and understand, for, if we could not -understand it, we could not understand the sentence 'I am in my room'. -Many philosophers, following Kant, have maintained that relations are -the work of the mind, that things in themselves have no relations, -but that the mind brings them together in one act of thought and thus -produces the relations which it judges them to have. - -This view, however, seems open to objections similar to those which we -urged before against Kant. It seems plain that it is not thought which -produces the truth of the proposition 'I am in my room'. It may be true -that an earwig is in my room, even if neither I nor the earwig nor any -one else is aware of this truth; for this truth concerns only the earwig -and the room, and does not depend upon anything else. Thus relations, as -we shall see more fully in the next chapter, must be placed in a world -which is neither mental nor physical. This world is of great importance -to philosophy, and in particular to the problems of _a priori_ -knowledge. In the next chapter we shall proceed to develop its nature -and its bearing upon the questions with which we have been dealing. - - - -CHAPTER IX. THE WORLD OF UNIVERSALS - -At the end of the preceding chapter we saw that such entities as -relations appear to have a being which is in some way different from -that of physical objects, and also different from that of minds and from -that of sense-data. In the present chapter we have to consider what is -the nature of this kind of being, and also what objects there are that -have this kind of being. We will begin with the latter question. - -The problem with which we are now concerned is a very old one, since it -was brought into philosophy by Plato. Plato's 'theory of ideas' is an -attempt to solve this very problem, and in my opinion it is one of the -most successful attempts hitherto made. The theory to be advocated in -what follows is largely Plato's, with merely such modifications as time -has shown to be necessary. - -The way the problem arose for Plato was more or less as follows. Let -us consider, say, such a notion as _justice_. If we ask ourselves what -justice is, it is natural to proceed by considering this, that, and the -other just act, with a view to discovering what they have in common. -They must all, in some sense, partake of a common nature, which will be -found in whatever is just and in nothing else. This common nature, in -virtue of which they are all just, will be justice itself, the pure -essence the admixture of which with facts of ordinary life produces the -multiplicity of just acts. Similarly with any other word which may be -applicable to common facts, such as 'whiteness' for example. The word -will be applicable to a number of particular things because they all -participate in a common nature or essence. This pure essence is what -Plato calls an 'idea' or 'form'. (It must not be supposed that 'ideas', -in his sense, exist in minds, though they may be apprehended by minds.) -The 'idea' _justice_ is not identical with anything that is just: it is -something other than particular things, which particular things partake -of. Not being particular, it cannot itself exist in the world of sense. -Moreover it is not fleeting or changeable like the things of sense: it -is eternally itself, immutable and indestructible. - -Thus Plato is led to a supra-sensible world, more real than the common -world of sense, the unchangeable world of ideas, which alone gives to -the world of sense whatever pale reflection of reality may belong to it. -The truly real world, for Plato, is the world of ideas; for whatever -we may attempt to say about things in the world of sense, we can only -succeed in saying that they participate in such and such ideas, which, -therefore, constitute all their character. Hence it is easy to pass -on into a mysticism. We may hope, in a mystic illumination, to see the -ideas as we see objects of sense; and we may imagine that the ideas -exist in heaven. These mystical developments are very natural, but the -basis of the theory is in logic, and it is as based in logic that we -have to consider it. - -The word 'idea' has acquired, in the course of time, many associations -which are quite misleading when applied to Plato's 'ideas'. We shall -therefore use the word 'universal' instead of the word 'idea', to -describe what Plato meant. The essence of the sort of entity that Plato -meant is that it is opposed to the particular things that are given in -sensation. We speak of whatever is given in sensation, or is of the same -nature as things given in sensation, as a _particular_; by opposition -to this, a _universal_ will be anything which may be shared by many -particulars, and has those characteristics which, as we saw, distinguish -justice and whiteness from just acts and white things. - -When we examine common words, we find that, broadly speaking, proper -names stand for particulars, while other substantives, adjectives, -prepositions, and verbs stand for universals. Pronouns stand for -particulars, but are ambiguous: it is only by the context or the -circumstances that we know what particulars they stand for. The word -'now' stands for a particular, namely the present moment; but like -pronouns, it stands for an ambiguous particular, because the present is -always changing. - -It will be seen that no sentence can be made up without at least one -word which denotes a universal. The nearest approach would be some such -statement as 'I like this'. But even here the word 'like' denotes -a universal, for I may like other things, and other people may like -things. Thus all truths involve universals, and all knowledge of truths -involves acquaintance with universals. - -Seeing that nearly all the words to be found in the dictionary stand -for universals, it is strange that hardly anybody except students of -philosophy ever realizes that there are such entities as universals. We -do not naturally dwell upon those words in a sentence which do not stand -for particulars; and if we are forced to dwell upon a word which stands -for a universal, we naturally think of it as standing for some one of -the particulars that come under the universal. When, for example, we -hear the sentence, 'Charles I's head was cut off', we may naturally -enough think of Charles I, of Charles I's head, and of the operation -of cutting off _his_ head, which are all particulars; but we do not -naturally dwell upon what is meant by the word 'head' or the word -'cut', which is a universal: We feel such words to be incomplete and -insubstantial; they seem to demand a context before anything can be -done with them. Hence we succeed in avoiding all notice of universals as -such, until the study of philosophy forces them upon our attention. - -Even among philosophers, we may say, broadly, that only those universals -which are named by adjectives or substantives have been much or often -recognized, while those named by verbs and prepositions have been -usually overlooked. This omission has had a very great effect upon -philosophy; it is hardly too much to say that most metaphysics, since -Spinoza, has been largely determined by it. The way this has occurred -is, in outline, as follows: Speaking generally, adjectives and common -nouns express qualities or properties of single things, whereas -prepositions and verbs tend to express relations between two or more -things. Thus the neglect of prepositions and verbs led to the belief -that every proposition can be regarded as attributing a property to a -single thing, rather than as expressing a relation between two or more -things. Hence it was supposed that, ultimately, there can be no such -entities as relations between things. Hence either there can be only -one thing in the universe, or, if there are many things, they cannot -possibly interact in any way, since any interaction would be a relation, -and relations are impossible. - -The first of these views, advocated by Spinoza and held in our own day -by Bradley and many other philosophers, is called _monism_; the second, -advocated by Leibniz but not very common nowadays, is called _monadism_, -because each of the isolated things is called a _monad_. Both these -opposing philosophies, interesting as they are, result, in my opinion, -from an undue attention to one sort of universals, namely the sort -represented by adjectives and substantives rather than by verbs and -prepositions. - -As a matter of fact, if any one were anxious to deny altogether that -there are such things as universals, we should find that we cannot -strictly prove that there are such entities as _qualities_, i.e. the -universals represented by adjectives and substantives, whereas we -can prove that there must be _relations_, i.e. the sort of universals -generally represented by verbs and prepositions. Let us take in -illustration the universal _whiteness_. If we believe that there is such -a universal, we shall say that things are white because they have the -quality of whiteness. This view, however, was strenuously denied by -Berkeley and Hume, who have been followed in this by later empiricists. -The form which their denial took was to deny that there are such things -as 'abstract ideas '. When we want to think of whiteness, they said, we -form an image of some particular white thing, and reason concerning this -particular, taking care not to deduce anything concerning it which we -cannot see to be equally true of any other white thing. As an account of -our actual mental processes, this is no doubt largely true. In geometry, -for example, when we wish to prove something about all triangles, we -draw a particular triangle and reason about it, taking care not to use -any characteristic which it does not share with other triangles. The -beginner, in order to avoid error, often finds it useful to draw several -triangles, as unlike each other as possible, in order to make sure that -his reasoning is equally applicable to all of them. But a difficulty -emerges as soon as we ask ourselves how we know that a thing is white -or a triangle. If we wish to avoid the universals _whiteness_ and -_triangularity_, we shall choose some particular patch of white or some -particular triangle, and say that anything is white or a triangle if it -has the right sort of resemblance to our chosen particular. But then the -resemblance required will have to be a universal. Since there are many -white things, the resemblance must hold between many pairs of particular -white things; and this is the characteristic of a universal. It will be -useless to say that there is a different resemblance for each pair, for -then we shall have to say that these resemblances resemble each other, -and thus at last we shall be forced to admit resemblance as a universal. -The relation of resemblance, therefore, must be a true universal. And -having been forced to admit this universal, we find that it is no longer -worth while to invent difficult and unplausible theories to avoid the -admission of such universals as whiteness and triangularity. - -Berkeley and Hume failed to perceive this refutation of their rejection -of 'abstract ideas', because, like their adversaries, they only thought -of _qualities_, and altogether ignored _relations_ as universals. We -have therefore here another respect in which the rationalists appear to -have been in the right as against the empiricists, although, owing to -the neglect or denial of relations, the deductions made by rationalists -were, if anything, more apt to be mistaken than those made by -empiricists. - -Having now seen that there must be such entities as universals, the next -point to be proved is that their being is not merely mental. By this is -meant that whatever being belongs to them is independent of their being -thought of or in any way apprehended by minds. We have already touched -on this subject at the end of the preceding chapter, but we must now -consider more fully what sort of being it is that belongs to universals. - -Consider such a proposition as 'Edinburgh is north of London'. Here we -have a relation between two places, and it seems plain that the relation -subsists independently of our knowledge of it. When we come to know that -Edinburgh is north of London, we come to know something which has to -do only with Edinburgh and London: we do not cause the truth of the -proposition by coming to know it, on the contrary we merely apprehend a -fact which was there before we knew it. The part of the earth's surface -where Edinburgh stands would be north of the part where London stands, -even if there were no human being to know about north and south, and -even if there were no minds at all in the universe. This is, of course, -denied by many philosophers, either for Berkeley's reasons or for -Kant's. But we have already considered these reasons, and decided that -they are inadequate. We may therefore now assume it to be true that -nothing mental is presupposed in the fact that Edinburgh is north of -London. But this fact involves the relation 'north of', which is a -universal; and it would be impossible for the whole fact to involve -nothing mental if the relation 'north of', which is a constituent part -of the fact, did involve anything mental. Hence we must admit that the -relation, like the terms it relates, is not dependent upon thought, but -belongs to the independent world which thought apprehends but does not -create. - -This conclusion, however, is met by the difficulty that the relation -'north of' does not seem to _exist_ in the same sense in which Edinburgh -and London exist. If we ask 'Where and when does this relation exist?' -the answer must be 'Nowhere and nowhen'. There is no place or time where -we can find the relation 'north of'. It does not exist in Edinburgh any -more than in London, for it relates the two and is neutral as between -them. Nor can we say that it exists at any particular time. Now -everything that can be apprehended by the senses or by introspection -exists at some particular time. Hence the relation 'north of' is -radically different from such things. It is neither in space nor in -time, neither material nor mental; yet it is something. - -It is largely the very peculiar kind of being that belongs to universals -which has led many people to suppose that they are really mental. We -can think _of_ a universal, and our thinking then exists in a perfectly -ordinary sense, like any other mental act. Suppose, for example, that -we are thinking of whiteness. Then _in one sense_ it may be said that -whiteness is 'in our mind'. We have here the same ambiguity as we noted -in discussing Berkeley in Chapter IV. In the strict sense, it is not -whiteness that is in our mind, but the act of thinking of whiteness. The -connected ambiguity in the word 'idea', which we noted at the same time, -also causes confusion here. In one sense of this word, namely the sense -in which it denotes the _object_ of an act of thought, whiteness is an -'idea'. Hence, if the ambiguity is not guarded against, we may come to -think that whiteness is an 'idea' in the other sense, i.e. an act of -thought; and thus we come to think that whiteness is mental. But in so -thinking, we rob it of its essential quality of universality. One man's -act of thought is necessarily a different thing from another man's; one -man's act of thought at one time is necessarily a different thing from -the same man's act of thought at another time. Hence, if whiteness were -the thought as opposed to its object, no two different men could think -of it, and no one man could think of it twice. That which many different -thoughts of whiteness have in common is their _object_, and this object -is different from all of them. Thus universals are not thoughts, though -when known they are the objects of thoughts. - -We shall find it convenient only to speak of things _existing_ when they -are in time, that is to say, when we can point to some time at which -they exist (not excluding the possibility of their existing at all -times). Thus thoughts and feelings, minds and physical objects exist. -But universals do not exist in this sense; we shall say that they -_subsist_ or _have being_, where 'being' is opposed to 'existence' -as being timeless. The world of universals, therefore, may also be -described as the world of being. The world of being is unchangeable, -rigid, exact, delightful to the mathematician, the logician, the builder -of metaphysical systems, and all who love perfection more than life. The -world of existence is fleeting, vague, without sharp boundaries, -without any clear plan or arrangement, but it contains all thoughts and -feelings, all the data of sense, and all physical objects, everything -that can do either good or harm, everything that makes any difference to -the value of life and the world. According to our temperaments, we shall -prefer the contemplation of the one or of the other. The one we do not -prefer will probably seem to us a pale shadow of the one we prefer, and -hardly worthy to be regarded as in any sense real. But the truth is that -both have the same claim on our impartial attention, both are real, -and both are important to the metaphysician. Indeed no sooner have we -distinguished the two worlds than it becomes necessary to consider their -relations. - -But first of all we must examine our knowledge of universals. This -consideration will occupy us in the following chapter, where we shall -find that it solves the problem of _a priori_ knowledge, from which we -were first led to consider universals. - - - -CHAPTER X. ON OUR KNOWLEDGE OF UNIVERSALS - -In regard to one man's knowledge at a given time, universals, like -particulars, may be divided into those known by acquaintance, those -known only by description, and those not known either by acquaintance or -by description. - -Let us consider first the knowledge of universals by acquaintance. It is -obvious, to begin with, that we are acquainted with such universals as -white, red, black, sweet, sour, loud, hard, etc., i.e. with qualities -which are exemplified in sense-data. When we see a white patch, we are -acquainted, in the first instance, with the particular patch; but by -seeing many white patches, we easily learn to abstract the whiteness -which they all have in common, and in learning to do this we are -learning to be acquainted with whiteness. A similar process will make us -acquainted with any other universal of the same sort. Universals of this -sort may be called 'sensible qualities'. They can be apprehended with -less effort of abstraction than any others, and they seem less removed -from particulars than other universals are. - -We come next to relations. The easiest relations to apprehend are those -which hold between the different parts of a single complex sense-datum. -For example, I can see at a glance the whole of the page on which I -am writing; thus the whole page is included in one sense-datum. But I -perceive that some parts of the page are to the left of other parts, -and some parts are above other parts. The process of abstraction in this -case seems to proceed somewhat as follows: I see successively a number -of sense-data in which one part is to the left of another; I perceive, -as in the case of different white patches, that all these sense-data -have something in common, and by abstraction I find that what they have -in common is a certain relation between their parts, namely the relation -which I call 'being to the left of'. In this way I become acquainted -with the universal relation. - -In like manner I become aware of the relation of before and after in -time. Suppose I hear a chime of bells: when the last bell of the chime -sounds, I can retain the whole chime before my mind, and I can perceive -that the earlier bells came before the later ones. Also in memory I -perceive that what I am remembering came before the present time. From -either of these sources I can abstract the universal relation of before -and after, just as I abstracted the universal relation 'being to the -left of'. Thus time-relations, like space-relations, are among those -with which we are acquainted. - -Another relation with which we become acquainted in much the same way is -resemblance. If I see simultaneously two shades of green, I can see -that they resemble each other; if I also see a shade of red: at the same -time, I can see that the two greens have more resemblance to each other -than either has to the red. In this way I become acquainted with the -universal _resemblance_ or _similarity_. - -Between universals, as between particulars, there are relations of which -we may be immediately aware. We have just seen that we can perceive -that the resemblance between two shades of green is greater than the -resemblance between a shade of red and a shade of green. Here we are -dealing with a relation, namely 'greater than', between two relations. -Our knowledge of such relations, though it requires more power of -abstraction than is required for perceiving the qualities of sense-data, -appears to be equally immediate, and (at least in some cases) equally -indubitable. Thus there is immediate knowledge concerning universals as -well as concerning sense-data. - -Returning now to the problem of _a priori_ knowledge, which we left -unsolved when we began the consideration of universals, we find -ourselves in a position to deal with it in a much more satisfactory -manner than was possible before. Let us revert to the proposition 'two -and two are four'. It is fairly obvious, in view of what has been said, -that this proposition states a relation between the universal 'two' and -the universal 'four'. This suggests a proposition which we shall -now endeavour to establish: namely, _All _a priori_ knowledge deals -exclusively with the relations of universals_. This proposition is -of great importance, and goes a long way towards solving our previous -difficulties concerning _a priori_ knowledge. - -The only case in which it might seem, at first sight, as if our -proposition were untrue, is the case in which an _a priori_ proposition -states that _all_ of one class of particulars belong to some other -class, or (what comes to the same thing) that _all_ particulars having -some one property also have some other. In this case it might seem -as though we were dealing with the particulars that have the property -rather than with the property. The proposition 'two and two are four' is -really a case in point, for this may be stated in the form 'any two -and any other two are four', or 'any collection formed of two twos is a -collection of four'. If we can show that such statements as this really -deal only with universals, our proposition may be regarded as proved. - -One way of discovering what a proposition deals with is to ask ourselves -what words we must understand--in other words, what objects we must be -acquainted with--in order to see what the proposition means. As soon as -we see what the proposition means, even if we do not yet know whether -it is true or false, it is evident that we must have acquaintance with -whatever is really dealt with by the proposition. By applying this test, -it appears that many propositions which might seem to be concerned with -particulars are really concerned only with universals. In the special -case of 'two and two are four', even when we interpret it as meaning -'any collection formed of two twos is a collection of four', it is plain -that we can understand the proposition, i.e. we can see what it is that -it asserts, as soon as we know what is meant by 'collection' and 'two' -and 'four'. It is quite unnecessary to know all the couples in the -world: if it were necessary, obviously we could never understand the -proposition, since the couples are infinitely numerous and therefore -cannot all be known to us. Thus although our general statement _implies_ -statements about particular couples, _as soon as we know that there are -such particular couples_, yet it does not itself assert or imply that -there are such particular couples, and thus fails to make any statement -whatever about any actual particular couple. The statement made is about -'couple', the universal, and not about this or that couple. - -Thus the statement 'two and two are four' deals exclusively with -universals, and therefore may be known by anybody who is acquainted -with the universals concerned and can perceive the relation between them -which the statement asserts. It must be taken as a fact, discovered -by reflecting upon our knowledge, that we have the power of sometimes -perceiving such relations between universals, and therefore of sometimes -knowing general _a priori_ propositions such as those of arithmetic and -logic. The thing that seemed mysterious, when we formerly considered -such knowledge, was that it seemed to anticipate and control experience. -This, however, we can now see to have been an error. _No_ fact -concerning anything capable of being experienced can be known -independently of experience. We know _a priori_ that two things and two -other things together make four things, but we do _not_ know _a priori_ -that if Brown and Jones are two, and Robinson and Smith are two, then -Brown and Jones and Robinson and Smith are four. The reason is that this -proposition cannot be understood at all unless we know that there are -such people as Brown and Jones and Robinson and Smith, and this we can -only know by experience. Hence, although our general proposition is _a -priori_, all its applications to actual particulars involve experience -and therefore contain an empirical element. In this way what seemed -mysterious in our _a priori_ knowledge is seen to have been based upon -an error. - -It will serve to make the point clearer if we contrast our genuine _a -priori_ judgement with an empirical generalization, such as 'all men are -mortals'. Here as before, we can _understand_ what the proposition -means as soon as we understand the universals involved, namely _man_ and -_mortal_. It is obviously unnecessary to have an individual acquaintance -with the whole human race in order to understand what our proposition -means. Thus the difference between an _a priori_ general proposition -and an empirical generalization does not come in the _meaning_ of the -proposition; it comes in the nature of the _evidence_ for it. In the -empirical case, the evidence consists in the particular instances. -We believe that all men are mortal because we know that there are -innumerable instances of men dying, and no instances of their living -beyond a certain age. We do not believe it because we see a connexion -between the universal _man_ and the universal _mortal_. It is true that -if physiology can prove, assuming the general laws that govern living -bodies, that no living organism can last for ever, that gives a -connexion between _man_ and _mortality_ which would enable us to assert -our proposition without appealing to the special evidence of _men_ -dying. But that only means that our generalization has been subsumed -under a wider generalization, for which the evidence is still of the -same kind, though more extensive. The progress of science is constantly -producing such subsumptions, and therefore giving a constantly wider -inductive basis for scientific generalizations. But although this gives -a greater _degree_ of certainty, it does not give a different _kind_: -the ultimate ground remains inductive, i.e. derived from instances, and -not an _a priori_ connexion of universals such as we have in logic and -arithmetic. - -Two opposite points are to be observed concerning _a priori_ general -propositions. The first is that, if many particular instances are known, -our general proposition may be arrived at in the first instance by -induction, and the connexion of universals may be only subsequently -perceived. For example, it is known that if we draw perpendiculars -to the sides of a triangle from the opposite angles, all three -perpendiculars meet in a point. It would be quite possible to be first -led to this proposition by actually drawing perpendiculars in many -cases, and finding that they always met in a point; this experience -might lead us to look for the general proof and find it. Such cases are -common in the experience of every mathematician. - -The other point is more interesting, and of more philosophical -importance. It is, that we may sometimes know a general proposition in -cases where we do not know a single instance of it. Take such a case as -the following: We know that any two numbers can be multiplied together, -and will give a third called their _product_. We know that all pairs -of integers the product of which is less than 100 have been actually -multiplied together, and the value of the product recorded in the -multiplication table. But we also know that the number of integers is -infinite, and that only a finite number of pairs of integers ever have -been or ever will be thought of by human beings. Hence it follows that -there are pairs of integers which never have been and never will be -thought of by human beings, and that all of them deal with integers the -product of which is over 100. Hence we arrive at the proposition: -'All products of two integers, which never have been and never will -be thought of by any human being, are over 100.' Here is a general -proposition of which the truth is undeniable, and yet, from the very -nature of the case, we can never give an instance; because any two -numbers we may think of are excluded by the terms of the proposition. - -This possibility, of knowledge of general propositions of which no -instance can be given, is often denied, because it is not perceived -that the knowledge of such propositions only requires a knowledge of the -relations of universals, and does not require any knowledge of instances -of the universals in question. Yet the knowledge of such general -propositions is quite vital to a great deal of what is generally -admitted to be known. For example, we saw, in our early chapters, -that knowledge of physical objects, as opposed to sense-data, is only -obtained by an inference, and that they are not things with which we are -acquainted. Hence we can never know any proposition of the form 'this -is a physical object', where 'this' is something immediately known. It -follows that all our knowledge concerning physical objects is such that -no actual instance can be given. We can give instances of the associated -sense-data, but we cannot give instances of the actual physical objects. -Hence our knowledge as to physical objects depends throughout upon this -possibility of general knowledge where no instance can be given. And the -same applies to our knowledge of other people's minds, or of any other -class of things of which no instance is known to us by acquaintance. - -We may now take a survey of the sources of our knowledge, as they have -appeared in the course of our analysis. We have first to distinguish -knowledge of things and knowledge of truths. In each there are two -kinds, one immediate and one derivative. Our immediate knowledge of -things, which we called _acquaintance_, consists of two sorts, according -as the things known are particulars or universals. Among particulars, we -have acquaintance with sense-data and (probably) with ourselves. Among -universals, there seems to be no principle by which we can decide which -can be known by acquaintance, but it is clear that among those that -can be so known are sensible qualities, relations of space and time, -similarity, and certain abstract logical universals. Our derivative -knowledge of things, which we call knowledge by _description_, always -involves both acquaintance with something and knowledge of truths. Our -immediate knowledge of _truths_ may be called _intuitive_ knowledge, -and the truths so known may be called _self-evident_ truths. Among such -truths are included those which merely state what is given in sense, and -also certain abstract logical and arithmetical principles, and (though -with less certainty) some ethical propositions. Our _derivative_ -knowledge of truths consists of everything that we can deduce from -self-evident truths by the use of self-evident principles of deduction. - -If the above account is correct, all our knowledge of truths depends -upon our intuitive knowledge. It therefore becomes important to consider -the nature and scope of intuitive knowledge, in much the same way as, -at an earlier stage, we considered the nature and scope of knowledge by -acquaintance. But knowledge of truths raises a further problem, which -does not arise in regard to knowledge of things, namely the problem of -_error_. Some of our beliefs turn out to be erroneous, and therefore -it becomes necessary to consider how, if at all, we can distinguish -knowledge from error. This problem does not arise with regard -to knowledge by acquaintance, for, whatever may be the object of -acquaintance, even in dreams and hallucinations, there is no error -involved so long as we do not go beyond the immediate object: error can -only arise when we regard the immediate object, i.e. the sense-datum, -as the mark of some physical object. Thus the problems connected -with knowledge of truths are more difficult than those connected -with knowledge of things. As the first of the problems connected -with knowledge of truths, let us examine the nature and scope of our -intuitive judgements. - - - -CHAPTER XI. ON INTUITIVE KNOWLEDGE - -There is a common impression that everything that we believe ought to be -capable of proof, or at least of being shown to be highly probable. It -is felt by many that a belief for which no reason can be given is an -unreasonable belief. In the main, this view is just. Almost all our -common beliefs are either inferred, or capable of being inferred, from -other beliefs which may be regarded as giving the reason for them. As a -rule, the reason has been forgotten, or has even never been consciously -present to our minds. Few of us ever ask ourselves, for example, what -reason there is to suppose the food we are just going to eat will not -turn out to be poison. Yet we feel, when challenged, that a perfectly -good reason could be found, even if we are not ready with it at the -moment. And in this belief we are usually justified. - -But let us imagine some insistent Socrates, who, whatever reason we -give him, continues to demand a reason for the reason. We must sooner -or later, and probably before very long, be driven to a point where we -cannot find any further reason, and where it becomes almost certain that -no further reason is even theoretically discoverable. Starting with the -common beliefs of daily life, we can be driven back from point to point, -until we come to some general principle, or some instance of a general -principle, which seems luminously evident, and is not itself capable -of being deduced from anything more evident. In most questions of -daily life, such as whether our food is likely to be nourishing and not -poisonous, we shall be driven back to the inductive principle, which we -discussed in Chapter VI. But beyond that, there seems to be no further -regress. The principle itself is constantly used in our reasoning, -sometimes consciously, sometimes unconsciously; but there is no -reasoning which, starting from some simpler self-evident principle, -leads us to the principle of induction as its conclusion. And the same -holds for other logical principles. Their truth is evident to us, and we -employ them in constructing demonstrations; but they themselves, or at -least some of them, are incapable of demonstration. - -Self-evidence, however, is not confined to those among general -principles which are incapable of proof. When a certain number of -logical principles have been admitted, the rest can be deduced from -them; but the propositions deduced are often just as self-evident as -those that were assumed without proof. All arithmetic, moreover, can -be deduced from the general principles of logic, yet the simple -propositions of arithmetic, such as 'two and two are four', are just as -self-evident as the principles of logic. - -It would seem, also, though this is more disputable, that there are some -self-evident ethical principles, such as 'we ought to pursue what is -good'. - -It should be observed that, in all cases of general principles, -particular instances, dealing with familiar things, are more evident -than the general principle. For example, the law of contradiction states -that nothing can both have a certain property and not have it. This is -evident as soon as it is understood, but it is not so evident as that a -particular rose which we see cannot be both red and not red. (It is of -course possible that parts of the rose may be red and parts not red, or -that the rose may be of a shade of pink which we hardly know whether to -call red or not; but in the former case it is plain that the rose as a -whole is not red, while in the latter case the answer is theoretically -definite as soon as we have decided on a precise definition of 'red'.) -It is usually through particular instances that we come to be able to -see the general principle. Only those who are practised in dealing with -abstractions can readily grasp a general principle without the help of -instances. - -In addition to general principles, the other kind of self-evident truths -are those immediately derived from sensation. We will call such truths -'truths of perception', and the judgements expressing them we will -call 'judgements of perception'. But here a certain amount of care -is required in getting at the precise nature of the truths that are -self-evident. The actual sense-data are neither true nor false. A -particular patch of colour which I see, for example, simply exists: it -is not the sort of thing that is true or false. It is true that there is -such a patch, true that it has a certain shape and degree of brightness, -true that it is surrounded by certain other colours. But the patch -itself, like everything else in the world of sense, is of a radically -different kind from the things that are true or false, and therefore -cannot properly be said to be _true_. Thus whatever self-evident truths -may be obtained from our senses must be different from the sense-data -from which they are obtained. - -It would seem that there are two kinds of self-evident truths of -perception, though perhaps in the last analysis the two kinds may -coalesce. First, there is the kind which simply asserts the _existence_ -of the sense-datum, without in any way analysing it. We see a patch -of red, and we judge 'there is such-and-such a patch of red', or more -strictly 'there is that'; this is one kind of intuitive judgement of -perception. The other kind arises when the object of sense is complex, -and we subject it to some degree of analysis. If, for instance, we see a -_round_ patch of red, we may judge 'that patch of red is round'. This is -again a judgement of perception, but it differs from our previous kind. -In our present kind we have a single sense-datum which has both colour -and shape: the colour is red and the shape is round. Our judgement -analyses the datum into colour and shape, and then recombines them by -stating that the red colour is round in shape. Another example of this -kind of judgement is 'this is to the right of that', where 'this' -and 'that' are seen simultaneously. In this kind of judgement the -sense-datum contains constituents which have some relation to each -other, and the judgement asserts that these constituents have this -relation. - -Another class of intuitive judgements, analogous to those of sense and -yet quite distinct from them, are judgements of _memory_. There is some -danger of confusion as to the nature of memory, owing to the fact that -memory of an object is apt to be accompanied by an image of the object, -and yet the image cannot be what constitutes memory. This is easily seen -by merely noticing that the image is in the present, whereas what is -remembered is known to be in the past. Moreover, we are certainly able -to some extent to compare our image with the object remembered, so -that we often know, within somewhat wide limits, how far our image is -accurate; but this would be impossible, unless the object, as opposed to -the image, were in some way before the mind. Thus the essence of memory -is not constituted by the image, but by having immediately before the -mind an object which is recognized as past. But for the fact of memory -in this sense, we should not know that there ever was a past at all, -nor should we be able to understand the word 'past', any more than a man -born blind can understand the word 'light'. Thus there must be intuitive -judgements of memory, and it is upon them, ultimately, that all our -knowledge of the past depends. - -The case of memory, however, raises a difficulty, for it is notoriously -fallacious, and thus throws doubt on the trustworthiness of intuitive -judgements in general. This difficulty is no light one. But let us -first narrow its scope as far as possible. Broadly speaking, memory is -trustworthy in proportion to the vividness of the experience and to its -nearness in time. If the house next door was struck by lightning half a -minute ago, my memory of what I saw and heard will be so reliable that -it would be preposterous to doubt whether there had been a flash at -all. And the same applies to less vivid experiences, so long as they are -recent. I am absolutely certain that half a minute ago I was sitting in -the same chair in which I am sitting now. Going backward over the day, -I find things of which I am quite certain, other things of which I am -almost certain, other things of which I can become certain by thought -and by calling up attendant circumstances, and some things of which I -am by no means certain. I am quite certain that I ate my breakfast this -morning, but if I were as indifferent to my breakfast as a philosopher -should be, I should be doubtful. As to the conversation at breakfast, -I can recall some of it easily, some with an effort, some only with a -large element of doubt, and some not at all. Thus there is a continual -gradation in the degree of self-evidence of what I remember, and a -corresponding gradation in the trustworthiness of my memory. - -Thus the first answer to the difficulty of fallacious memory is to say -that memory has degrees of self-evidence, and that these correspond -to the degrees of its trustworthiness, reaching a limit of perfect -self-evidence and perfect trustworthiness in our memory of events which -are recent and vivid. - -It would seem, however, that there are cases of very firm belief in a -memory which is wholly false. It is probable that, in these cases, what -is really remembered, in the sense of being immediately before the mind, -is something other than what is falsely believed in, though something -generally associated with it. George IV is said to have at last believed -that he was at the battle of Waterloo, because he had so often said that -he was. In this case, what was immediately remembered was his repeated -assertion; the belief in what he was asserting (if it existed) would -be produced by association with the remembered assertion, and would -therefore not be a genuine case of memory. It would seem that cases of -fallacious memory can probably all be dealt with in this way, i.e. they -can be shown to be not cases of memory in the strict sense at all. - -One important point about self-evidence is made clear by the case of -memory, and that is, that self-evidence has degrees: it is not a quality -which is simply present or absent, but a quality which may be more or -less present, in gradations ranging from absolute certainty down to an -almost imperceptible faintness. Truths of perception and some of the -principles of logic have the very highest degree of self-evidence; -truths of immediate memory have an almost equally high degree. The -inductive principle has less self-evidence than some of the other -principles of logic, such as 'what follows from a true premiss must be -true'. Memories have a diminishing self-evidence as they become remoter -and fainter; the truths of logic and mathematics have (broadly speaking) -less self-evidence as they become more complicated. Judgements of -intrinsic ethical or aesthetic value are apt to have some self-evidence, -but not much. - -Degrees of self-evidence are important in the theory of knowledge, -since, if propositions may (as seems likely) have some degree of -self-evidence without being true, it will not be necessary to abandon -all connexion between self-evidence and truth, but merely to say that, -where there is a conflict, the more self-evident proposition is to be -retained and the less self-evident rejected. - -It seems, however, highly probable that two different notions are -combined in 'self-evidence' as above explained; that one of them, -which corresponds to the highest degree of self-evidence, is really an -infallible guarantee of truth, while the other, which corresponds to -all the other degrees, does not give an infallible guarantee, but only a -greater or less presumption. This, however, is only a suggestion, which -we cannot as yet develop further. After we have dealt with the nature -of truth, we shall return to the subject of self-evidence, in connexion -with the distinction between knowledge and error. - - - -CHAPTER XII. TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD - -Our knowledge of truths, unlike our knowledge of things, has an -opposite, namely _error_. So far as things are concerned, we may know -them or not know them, but there is no positive state of mind which can -be described as erroneous knowledge of things, so long, at any rate, -as we confine ourselves to knowledge by acquaintance. Whatever we are -acquainted with must be something; we may draw wrong inferences from -our acquaintance, but the acquaintance itself cannot be deceptive. Thus -there is no dualism as regards acquaintance. But as regards knowledge of -truths, there is a dualism. We may believe what is false as well as -what is true. We know that on very many subjects different people -hold different and incompatible opinions: hence some beliefs must be -erroneous. Since erroneous beliefs are often held just as strongly -as true beliefs, it becomes a difficult question how they are to be -distinguished from true beliefs. How are we to know, in a given case, -that our belief is not erroneous? This is a question of the very -greatest difficulty, to which no completely satisfactory answer is -possible. There is, however, a preliminary question which is rather less -difficult, and that is: What do we _mean_ by truth and falsehood? It is -this preliminary question which is to be considered in this chapter. In -this chapter we are not asking how we can know whether a belief is true -or false: we are asking what is meant by the question whether a belief -is true or false. It is to be hoped that a clear answer to this question -may help us to obtain an answer to the question what beliefs are -true, but for the present we ask only 'What is truth?' and 'What is -falsehood?' not 'What beliefs are true?' and 'What beliefs are false?' -It is very important to keep these different questions entirely -separate, since any confusion between them is sure to produce an answer -which is not really applicable to either. - -There are three points to observe in the attempt to discover the nature -of truth, three requisites which any theory must fulfil. - -(1) Our theory of truth must be such as to admit of its opposite, -falsehood. A good many philosophers have failed adequately to satisfy -this condition: they have constructed theories according to which all -our thinking ought to have been true, and have then had the greatest -difficulty in finding a place for falsehood. In this respect our theory -of belief must differ from our theory of acquaintance, since in the case -of acquaintance it was not necessary to take account of any opposite. - -(2) It seems fairly evident that if there were no beliefs there could -be no falsehood, and no truth either, in the sense in which truth is -correlative to falsehood. If we imagine a world of mere matter, there -would be no room for falsehood in such a world, and although it would -contain what may be called 'facts', it would not contain any truths, in -the sense in which truths are things of the same kind as falsehoods. -In fact, truth and falsehood are properties of beliefs and statements: -hence a world of mere matter, since it would contain no beliefs or -statements, would also contain no truth or falsehood. - -(3) But, as against what we have just said, it is to be observed that -the truth or falsehood of a belief always depends upon something which -lies outside the belief itself. If I believe that Charles I died on the -scaffold, I believe truly, not because of any intrinsic quality of my -belief, which could be discovered by merely examining the belief, but -because of an historical event which happened two and a half centuries -ago. If I believe that Charles I died in his bed, I believe falsely: no -degree of vividness in my belief, or of care in arriving at it, prevents -it from being false, again because of what happened long ago, and not -because of any intrinsic property of my belief. Hence, although truth -and falsehood are properties of beliefs, they are properties dependent -upon the relations of the beliefs to other things, not upon any internal -quality of the beliefs. - -The third of the above requisites leads us to adopt the view--which has -on the whole been commonest among philosophers--that truth consists in -some form of correspondence between belief and fact. It is, however, by -no means an easy matter to discover a form of correspondence to which -there are no irrefutable objections. By this partly--and partly by the -feeling that, if truth consists in a correspondence of thought with -something outside thought, thought can never know when truth has been -attained--many philosophers have been led to try to find some definition -of truth which shall not consist in relation to something wholly outside -belief. The most important attempt at a definition of this sort is the -theory that truth consists in _coherence_. It is said that the mark of -falsehood is failure to cohere in the body of our beliefs, and that it -is the essence of a truth to form part of the completely rounded system -which is The Truth. - -There is, however, a great difficulty in this view, or rather two great -difficulties. The first is that there is no reason to suppose that -only _one_ coherent body of beliefs is possible. It may be that, with -sufficient imagination, a novelist might invent a past for the world -that would perfectly fit on to what we know, and yet be quite different -from the real past. In more scientific matters, it is certain that there -are often two or more hypotheses which account for all the known facts -on some subject, and although, in such cases, men of science endeavour -to find facts which will rule out all the hypotheses except one, there -is no reason why they should always succeed. - -In philosophy, again, it seems not uncommon for two rival hypotheses -to be both able to account for all the facts. Thus, for example, it is -possible that life is one long dream, and that the outer world has only -that degree of reality that the objects of dreams have; but although -such a view does not seem inconsistent with known facts, there is no -reason to prefer it to the common-sense view, according to which other -people and things do really exist. Thus coherence as the definition -of truth fails because there is no proof that there can be only one -coherent system. - -The other objection to this definition of truth is that it assumes the -meaning of 'coherence' known, whereas, in fact, 'coherence' presupposes -the truth of the laws of logic. Two propositions are coherent when both -may be true, and are incoherent when one at least must be false. Now in -order to know whether two propositions can both be true, we must -know such truths as the law of contradiction. For example, the two -propositions, 'this tree is a beech' and 'this tree is not a beech', -are not coherent, because of the law of contradiction. But if the law of -contradiction itself were subjected to the test of coherence, we should -find that, if we choose to suppose it false, nothing will any longer -be incoherent with anything else. Thus the laws of logic supply the -skeleton or framework within which the test of coherence applies, and -they themselves cannot be established by this test. - -For the above two reasons, coherence cannot be accepted as giving the -_meaning_ of truth, though it is often a most important _test_ of truth -after a certain amount of truth has become known. - -Hence we are driven back to _correspondence with fact_ as constituting -the nature of truth. It remains to define precisely what we mean by -'fact', and what is the nature of the correspondence which must subsist -between belief and fact, in order that belief may be true. - -In accordance with our three requisites, we have to seek a theory of -truth which (1) allows truth to have an opposite, namely falsehood, (2) -makes truth a property of beliefs, but (3) makes it a property wholly -dependent upon the relation of the beliefs to outside things. - -The necessity of allowing for falsehood makes it impossible to regard -belief as a relation of the mind to a single object, which could be said -to be what is believed. If belief were so regarded, we should find that, -like acquaintance, it would not admit of the opposition of truth and -falsehood, but would have to be always true. This may be made clear -by examples. Othello believes falsely that Desdemona loves Cassio. We -cannot say that this belief consists in a relation to a single object, -'Desdemona's love for Cassio', for if there were such an object, the -belief would be true. There is in fact no such object, and therefore -Othello cannot have any relation to such an object. Hence his belief -cannot possibly consist in a relation to this object. - -It might be said that his belief is a relation to a different object, -namely 'that Desdemona loves Cassio'; but it is almost as difficult to -suppose that there is such an object as this, when Desdemona does not -love Cassio, as it was to suppose that there is 'Desdemona's love for -Cassio'. Hence it will be better to seek for a theory of belief which -does not make it consist in a relation of the mind to a single object. - -It is common to think of relations as though they always held between -two terms, but in fact this is not always the case. Some relations -demand three terms, some four, and so on. Take, for instance, the -relation 'between'. So long as only two terms come in, the relation -'between' is impossible: three terms are the smallest number that render -it possible. York is between London and Edinburgh; but if London and -Edinburgh were the only places in the world, there could be nothing -which was between one place and another. Similarly _jealousy_ requires -three people: there can be no such relation that does not involve three -at least. Such a proposition as 'A wishes B to promote C's marriage with -D' involves a relation of four terms; that is to say, A and B and C and -D all come in, and the relation involved cannot be expressed otherwise -than in a form involving all four. Instances might be multiplied -indefinitely, but enough has been said to show that there are relations -which require more than two terms before they can occur. - -The relation involved in _judging_ or _believing_ must, if falsehood is -to be duly allowed for, be taken to be a relation between several terms, -not between two. When Othello believes that Desdemona loves Cassio, he -must not have before his mind a single object, 'Desdemona's love for -Cassio', or 'that Desdemona loves Cassio ', for that would require that -there should be objective falsehoods, which subsist independently of -any minds; and this, though not logically refutable, is a theory to be -avoided if possible. Thus it is easier to account for falsehood if -we take judgement to be a relation in which the mind and the various -objects concerned all occur severally; that is to say, Desdemona and -loving and Cassio must all be terms in the relation which subsists when -Othello believes that Desdemona loves Cassio. This relation, therefore, -is a relation of four terms, since Othello also is one of the terms of -the relation. When we say that it is a relation of four terms, we do not -mean that Othello has a certain relation to Desdemona, and has the same -relation to loving and also to Cassio. This may be true of some other -relation than believing; but believing, plainly, is not a relation which -Othello has to _each_ of the three terms concerned, but to _all_ of -them together: there is only one example of the relation of believing -involved, but this one example knits together four terms. Thus the -actual occurrence, at the moment when Othello is entertaining his -belief, is that the relation called 'believing' is knitting together -into one complex whole the four terms Othello, Desdemona, loving, and -Cassio. What is called belief or judgement is nothing but this relation -of believing or judging, which relates a mind to several things other -than itself. An _act_ of belief or of judgement is the occurrence -between certain terms at some particular time, of the relation of -believing or judging. - -We are now in a position to understand what it is that distinguishes a -true judgement from a false one. For this purpose we will adopt certain -definitions. In every act of judgement there is a mind which judges, and -there are terms concerning which it judges. We will call the mind the -_subject_ in the judgement, and the remaining terms the _objects_. Thus, -when Othello judges that Desdemona loves Cassio, Othello is the subject, -while the objects are Desdemona and loving and Cassio. The subject and -the objects together are called the _constituents_ of the judgement. -It will be observed that the relation of judging has what is called a -'sense' or 'direction'. We may say, metaphorically, that it puts its -objects in a certain _order_, which we may indicate by means of the -order of the words in the sentence. (In an inflected language, the same -thing will be indicated by inflections, e.g. by the difference between -nominative and accusative.) Othello's judgement that Cassio loves -Desdemona differs from his judgement that Desdemona loves Cassio, in -spite of the fact that it consists of the same constituents, because the -relation of judging places the constituents in a different order in the -two cases. Similarly, if Cassio judges that Desdemona loves Othello, -the constituents of the judgement are still the same, but their order is -different. This property of having a 'sense' or 'direction' is one which -the relation of judging shares with all other relations. The 'sense' -of relations is the ultimate source of order and series and a host of -mathematical concepts; but we need not concern ourselves further with -this aspect. - -We spoke of the relation called 'judging' or 'believing' as knitting -together into one complex whole the subject and the objects. In this -respect, judging is exactly like every other relation. Whenever a -relation holds between two or more terms, it unites the terms into a -complex whole. If Othello loves Desdemona, there is such a complex whole -as 'Othello's love for Desdemona'. The terms united by the relation may -be themselves complex, or may be simple, but the whole which results -from their being united must be complex. Wherever there is a relation -which relates certain terms, there is a complex object formed of the -union of those terms; and conversely, wherever there is a complex -object, there is a relation which relates its constituents. When an act -of believing occurs, there is a complex, in which 'believing' is the -uniting relation, and subject and objects are arranged in a certain -order by the 'sense' of the relation of believing. Among the objects, -as we saw in considering 'Othello believes that Desdemona loves Cassio', -one must be a relation--in this instance, the relation 'loving'. But -this relation, as it occurs in the act of believing, is not the relation -which creates the unity of the complex whole consisting of the subject -and the objects. The relation 'loving', as it occurs in the act of -believing, is one of the objects--it is a brick in the structure, not -the cement. The cement is the relation 'believing'. When the belief is -_true_, there is another complex unity, in which the relation which was -one of the objects of the belief relates the other objects. Thus, e.g., -if Othello believes _truly_ that Desdemona loves Cassio, then there is -a complex unity, 'Desdemona's love for Cassio', which is composed -exclusively of the _objects_ of the belief, in the same order as they -had in the belief, with the relation which was one of the objects -occurring now as the cement that binds together the other objects of the -belief. On the other hand, when a belief is _false_, there is no such -complex unity composed only of the objects of the belief. If Othello -believes _falsely_ that Desdemona loves Cassio, then there is no such -complex unity as 'Desdemona's love for Cassio'. - -Thus a belief is _true_ when it _corresponds_ to a certain associated -complex, and _false_ when it does not. Assuming, for the sake of -definiteness, that the objects of the belief are two terms and a -relation, the terms being put in a certain order by the 'sense' of -the believing, then if the two terms in that order are united by the -relation into a complex, the belief is true; if not, it is false. This -constitutes the definition of truth and falsehood that we were in search -of. Judging or believing is a certain complex unity of which a mind is -a constituent; if the remaining constituents, taken in the order which -they have in the belief, form a complex unity, then the belief is true; -if not, it is false. - -Thus although truth and falsehood are properties of beliefs, yet they -are in a sense extrinsic properties, for the condition of the truth of -a belief is something not involving beliefs, or (in general) any mind -at all, but only the _objects_ of the belief. A mind, which believes, -believes truly when there is a _corresponding_ complex not involving the -mind, but only its objects. This correspondence ensures truth, and its -absence entails falsehood. Hence we account simultaneously for the two -facts that beliefs (a) depend on minds for their _existence_, (b) do not -depend on minds for their _truth_. - -We may restate our theory as follows: If we take such a belief as -'Othello believes that Desdemona loves Cassio', we will call Desdemona -and Cassio the _object-terms_, and loving the _object-relation_. If -there is a complex unity 'Desdemona's love for Cassio', consisting of -the object-terms related by the object-relation in the same order as -they have in the belief, then this complex unity is called the _fact -corresponding to the belief_. Thus a belief is true when there is a -corresponding fact, and is false when there is no corresponding fact. - -It will be seen that minds do not _create_ truth or falsehood. They -create beliefs, but when once the beliefs are created, the mind cannot -make them true or false, except in the special case where they concern -future things which are within the power of the person believing, such -as catching trains. What makes a belief true is a _fact_, and this fact -does not (except in exceptional cases) in any way involve the mind of -the person who has the belief. - -Having now decided what we _mean_ by truth and falsehood, we have next -to consider what ways there are of knowing whether this or that belief -is true or false. This consideration will occupy the next chapter. - - - -CHAPTER XIII. KNOWLEDGE, ERROR, AND PROBABLE OPINION - -The question as to what we mean by truth and falsehood, which we -considered in the preceding chapter, is of much less interest than the -question as to how we can know what is true and what is false. This -question will occupy us in the present chapter. There can be no doubt -that _some_ of our beliefs are erroneous; thus we are led to inquire -what certainty we can ever have that such and such a belief is not -erroneous. In other words, can we ever _know_ anything at all, or do we -merely sometimes by good luck believe what is true? Before we can attack -this question, we must, however, first decide what we mean by 'knowing', -and this question is not so easy as might be supposed. - -At first sight we might imagine that knowledge could be defined as 'true -belief'. When what we believe is true, it might be supposed that we had -achieved a knowledge of what we believe. But this would not accord -with the way in which the word is commonly used. To take a very trivial -instance: If a man believes that the late Prime Minister's last name -began with a B, he believes what is true, since the late Prime Minister -was Sir Henry Campbell Bannerman. But if he believes that Mr. Balfour -was the late Prime Minister, he will still believe that the late Prime -Minister's last name began with a B, yet this belief, though true, -would not be thought to constitute knowledge. If a newspaper, by an -intelligent anticipation, announces the result of a battle before any -telegram giving the result has been received, it may by good fortune -announce what afterwards turns out to be the right result, and it may -produce belief in some of its less experienced readers. But in spite of -the truth of their belief, they cannot be said to have knowledge. Thus -it is clear that a true belief is not knowledge when it is deduced from -a false belief. - -In like manner, a true belief cannot be called knowledge when it is -deduced by a fallacious process of reasoning, even if the premisses from -which it is deduced are true. If I know that all Greeks are men and that -Socrates was a man, and I infer that Socrates was a Greek, I cannot be -said to _know_ that Socrates was a Greek, because, although my premisses -and my conclusion are true, the conclusion does not follow from the -premisses. - -But are we to say that nothing is knowledge except what is validly -deduced from true premisses? Obviously we cannot say this. Such a -definition is at once too wide and too narrow. In the first place, it is -too wide, because it is not enough that our premisses should be _true_, -they must also be _known_. The man who believes that Mr. Balfour was the -late Prime Minister may proceed to draw valid deductions from the true -premiss that the late Prime Minister's name began with a B, but he -cannot be said to _know_ the conclusions reached by these deductions. -Thus we shall have to amend our definition by saying that knowledge -is what is validly deduced from _known_ premisses. This, however, is a -circular definition: it assumes that we already know what is meant -by 'known premisses'. It can, therefore, at best define one sort -of knowledge, the sort we call derivative, as opposed to intuitive -knowledge. We may say: '_Derivative_ knowledge is what is validly -deduced from premisses known intuitively'. In this statement there is -no formal defect, but it leaves the definition of _intuitive_ knowledge -still to seek. - -Leaving on one side, for the moment, the question of intuitive -knowledge, let us consider the above suggested definition of derivative -knowledge. The chief objection to it is that it unduly limits knowledge. -It constantly happens that people entertain a true belief, which has -grown up in them because of some piece of intuitive knowledge from which -it is capable of being validly inferred, but from which it has not, as a -matter of fact, been inferred by any logical process. - -Take, for example, the beliefs produced by reading. If the newspapers -announce the death of the King, we are fairly well justified in -believing that the King is dead, since this is the sort of announcement -which would not be made if it were false. And we are quite amply -justified in believing that the newspaper asserts that the King is -dead. But here the intuitive knowledge upon which our belief is based -is knowledge of the existence of sense-data derived from looking at -the print which gives the news. This knowledge scarcely rises into -consciousness, except in a person who cannot read easily. A child may be -aware of the shapes of the letters, and pass gradually and painfully to -a realization of their meaning. But anybody accustomed to reading -passes at once to what the letters mean, and is not aware, except on -reflection, that he has derived this knowledge from the sense-data -called seeing the printed letters. Thus although a valid inference from -the-letters to their meaning is possible, and _could_ be performed -by the reader, it is not in fact performed, since he does not in fact -perform any operation which can be called logical inference. Yet -it would be absurd to say that the reader does not _know_ that the -newspaper announces the King's death. - -We must, therefore, admit as derivative knowledge whatever is the result -of intuitive knowledge even if by mere association, provided there _is_ -a valid logical connexion, and the person in question could become aware -of this connexion by reflection. There are in fact many ways, besides -logical inference, by which we pass from one belief to another: the -passage from the print to its meaning illustrates these ways. These -ways may be called 'psychological inference'. We shall, then, admit such -psychological inference as a means of obtaining derivative knowledge, -provided there is a discoverable logical inference which runs parallel -to the psychological inference. This renders our definition of -derivative knowledge less precise than we could wish, since the word -'discoverable' is vague: it does not tell us how much reflection may be -needed in order to make the discovery. But in fact 'knowledge' is not a -precise conception: it merges into 'probable opinion', as we shall -see more fully in the course of the present chapter. A very precise -definition, therefore, should not be sought, since any such definition -must be more or less misleading. - -The chief difficulty in regard to knowledge, however, does not arise -over derivative knowledge, but over intuitive knowledge. So long as we -are dealing with derivative knowledge, we have the test of intuitive -knowledge to fall back upon. But in regard to intuitive beliefs, it is -by no means easy to discover any criterion by which to distinguish -some as true and others as erroneous. In this question it is scarcely -possible to reach any very precise result: all our knowledge of truths -is infected with some degree of doubt, and a theory which ignored this -fact would be plainly wrong. Something may be done, however, to mitigate -the difficulties of the question. - -Our theory of truth, to begin with, supplies the possibility of -distinguishing certain truths as _self-evident_ in a sense which ensures -infallibility. When a belief is true, we said, there is a corresponding -fact, in which the several objects of the belief form a single complex. -The belief is said to constitute _knowledge_ of this fact, provided -it fulfils those further somewhat vague conditions which we have been -considering in the present chapter. But in regard to any fact, besides -the knowledge constituted by belief, we may also have the kind of -knowledge constituted by _perception_ (taking this word in its widest -possible sense). For example, if you know the hour of the sunset, -you can at that hour know the fact that the sun is setting: this is -knowledge of the fact by way of knowledge of _truths_; but you can also, -if the weather is fine, look to the west and actually see the setting -sun: you then know the same fact by the way of knowledge of _things_. - -Thus in regard to any complex fact, there are, theoretically, two ways -in which it may be known: (1) by means of a judgement, in which its -several parts are judged to be related as they are in fact related; (2) -by means of _acquaintance_ with the complex fact itself, which may (in a -large sense) be called perception, though it is by no means confined to -objects of the senses. Now it will be observed that the second way of -knowing a complex fact, the way of acquaintance, is only possible when -there really is such a fact, while the first way, like all judgement, -is liable to error. The second way gives us the complex whole, and is -therefore only possible when its parts do actually have that relation -which makes them combine to form such a complex. The first way, on the -contrary, gives us the parts and the relation severally, and demands -only the reality of the parts and the relation: the relation may not -relate those parts in that way, and yet the judgement may occur. - -It will be remembered that at the end of Chapter XI we suggested that -there might be two kinds of self-evidence, one giving an absolute -guarantee of truth, the other only a partial guarantee. These two kinds -can now be distinguished. - -We may say that a truth is self-evident, in the first and most absolute -sense, when we have acquaintance with the fact which corresponds to -the truth. When Othello believes that Desdemona loves Cassio, the -corresponding fact, if his belief were true, would be 'Desdemona's -love for Cassio'. This would be a fact with which no one could have -acquaintance except Desdemona; hence in the sense of self-evidence that -we are considering, the truth that Desdemona loves Cassio (if it were -a truth) could only be self-evident to Desdemona. All mental facts, and -all facts concerning sense-data, have this same privacy: there is only -one person to whom they can be self-evident in our present sense, since -there is only one person who can be acquainted with the mental things -or the sense-data concerned. Thus no fact about any particular existing -thing can be self-evident to more than one person. On the other hand, -facts about universals do not have this privacy. Many minds may be -acquainted with the same universals; hence a relation between universals -may be known by acquaintance to many different people. In all cases -where we know by acquaintance a complex fact consisting of certain terms -in a certain relation, we say that the truth that these terms are so -related has the first or absolute kind of self-evidence, and in these -cases the judgement that the terms are so related _must_ be true. Thus -this sort of self-evidence is an absolute guarantee of truth. - -But although this sort of self-evidence is an absolute guarantee of -truth, it does not enable us to be _absolutely_ certain, in the case of -any given judgement, that the judgement in question is true. Suppose -we first perceive the sun shining, which is a complex fact, and thence -proceed to make the judgement 'the sun is shining'. In passing from -the perception to the judgement, it is necessary to analyse the given -complex fact: we have to separate out 'the sun' and 'shining' as -constituents of the fact. In this process it is possible to commit -an error; hence even where a _fact_ has the first or absolute kind of -self-evidence, a judgement believed to correspond to the fact is not -absolutely infallible, because it may not really correspond to the -fact. But if it does correspond (in the sense explained in the preceding -chapter), then it _must_ be true. - -The second sort of self-evidence will be that which belongs to -judgements in the first instance, and is not derived from direct -perception of a fact as a single complex whole. This second kind of -self-evidence will have degrees, from the very highest degree down to a -bare inclination in favour of the belief. Take, for example, the case of -a horse trotting away from us along a hard road. At first our certainty -that we hear the hoofs is complete; gradually, if we listen intently, -there comes a moment when we think perhaps it was imagination or the -blind upstairs or our own heartbeats; at last we become doubtful whether -there was any noise at all; then we _think_ we no longer hear anything, -and at last we _know_ we no longer hear anything. In this process, there -is a continual gradation of self-evidence, from the highest degree to -the least, not in the sense-data themselves, but in the judgements based -on them. - -Or again: Suppose we are comparing two shades of colour, one blue and -one green. We can be quite sure they are different shades of colour; but -if the green colour is gradually altered to be more and more like the -blue, becoming first a blue-green, then a greeny-blue, then blue, -there will come a moment when we are doubtful whether we can see any -difference, and then a moment when we know that we cannot see any -difference. The same thing happens in tuning a musical instrument, or in -any other case where there is a continuous gradation. Thus self-evidence -of this sort is a matter of degree; and it seems plain that the higher -degrees are more to be trusted than the lower degrees. - -In derivative knowledge our ultimate premisses must have some degree of -self-evidence, and so must their connexion with the conclusions deduced -from them. Take for example a piece of reasoning in geometry. It is not -enough that the axioms from which we start should be self-evident: it -is necessary also that, at each step in the reasoning, the connexion of -premiss and conclusion should be self-evident. In difficult reasoning, -this connexion has often only a very small degree of self-evidence; -hence errors of reasoning are not improbable where the difficulty is -great. - -From what has been said it is evident that, both as regards intuitive -knowledge and as regards derivative knowledge, if we assume that -intuitive knowledge is trustworthy in proportion to the degree of its -self-evidence, there will be a gradation in trustworthiness, from the -existence of noteworthy sense-data and the simpler truths of logic and -arithmetic, which may be taken as quite certain, down to judgements -which seem only just more probable than their opposites. What we firmly -believe, if it is true, is called _knowledge_, provided it is either -intuitive or inferred (logically or psychologically) from intuitive -knowledge from which it follows logically. What we firmly believe, if it -is not true, is called _error_. What we firmly believe, if it is neither -knowledge nor error, and also what we believe hesitatingly, because it -is, or is derived from, something which has not the highest degree of -self-evidence, may be called _probable opinion_. Thus the greater -part of what would commonly pass as knowledge is more or less probable -opinion. - -In regard to probable opinion, we can derive great assistance from -_coherence_, which we rejected as the _definition_ of truth, but may -often use as a _criterion_. A body of individually probable opinions, -if they are mutually coherent, become more probable than any one of them -would be individually. It is in this way that many scientific hypotheses -acquire their probability. They fit into a coherent system of probable -opinions, and thus become more probable than they would be in isolation. -The same thing applies to general philosophical hypotheses. Often in a -single case such hypotheses may seem highly doubtful, while yet, when -we consider the order and coherence which they introduce into a mass of -probable opinion, they become pretty nearly certain. This applies, in -particular, to such matters as the distinction between dreams and -waking life. If our dreams, night after night, were as coherent one with -another as our days, we should hardly know whether to believe the dreams -or the waking life. As it is, the test of coherence condemns the -dreams and confirms the waking life. But this test, though it increases -probability where it is successful, never gives absolute certainty, -unless there is certainty already at some point in the coherent system. -Thus the mere organization of probable opinion will never, by itself, -transform it into indubitable knowledge. - - - -CHAPTER XIV. THE LIMITS OF PHILOSOPHICAL KNOWLEDGE - -In all that we have said hitherto concerning philosophy, we have -scarcely touched on many matters that occupy a great space in the -writings of most philosophers. Most philosophers--or, at any rate, very -many--profess to be able to prove, by _a priori_ metaphysical reasoning, -such things as the fundamental dogmas of religion, the essential -rationality of the universe, the illusoriness of matter, the unreality -of all evil, and so on. There can be no doubt that the hope of finding -reason to believe such theses as these has been the chief inspiration of -many life-long students of philosophy. This hope, I believe, is vain. It -would seem that knowledge concerning the universe as a whole is not to -be obtained by metaphysics, and that the proposed proofs that, in virtue -of the laws of logic such and such things _must_ exist and such and such -others cannot, are not capable of surviving a critical scrutiny. In -this chapter we shall briefly consider the kind of way in which such -reasoning is attempted, with a view to discovering whether we can hope -that it may be valid. - -The great representative, in modern times, of the kind of view which -we wish to examine, was Hegel (1770-1831). Hegel's philosophy is very -difficult, and commentators differ as to the true interpretation of it. -According to the interpretation I shall adopt, which is that of many, if -not most, of the commentators and has the merit of giving an interesting -and important type of philosophy, his main thesis is that everything -short of the Whole is obviously fragmentary, and obviously incapable of -existing without the complement supplied by the rest of the world. Just -as a comparative anatomist, from a single bone, sees what kind of animal -the whole must have been, so the metaphysician, according to Hegel, -sees, from any one piece of reality, what the whole of reality must -be--at least in its large outlines. Every apparently separate piece of -reality has, as it were, hooks which grapple it to the next piece; -the next piece, in turn, has fresh hooks, and so on, until the whole -universe is reconstructed. This essential incompleteness appears, -according to Hegel, equally in the world of thought and in the world of -things. In the world of thought, if we take any idea which is -abstract or incomplete, we find, on examination, that if we forget -its incompleteness, we become involved in contradictions; these -contradictions turn the idea in question into its opposite, or -antithesis; and in order to escape, we have to find a new, less -incomplete idea, which is the synthesis of our original idea and its -antithesis. This new idea, though less incomplete than the idea we -started with, will be found, nevertheless, to be still not wholly -complete, but to pass into its antithesis, with which it must be -combined in a new synthesis. In this way Hegel advances until he reaches -the 'Absolute Idea', which, according to him, has no incompleteness, -no opposite, and no need of further development. The Absolute Idea, -therefore, is adequate to describe Absolute Reality; but all lower ideas -only describe reality as it appears to a partial view, not as it is -to one who simultaneously surveys the Whole. Thus Hegel reaches the -conclusion that Absolute Reality forms one single harmonious system, not -in space or time, not in any degree evil, wholly rational, and wholly -spiritual. Any appearance to the contrary, in the world we know, can be -proved logically--so he believes--to be entirely due to our fragmentary -piecemeal view of the universe. If we saw the universe whole, as we may -suppose God sees it, space and time and matter and evil and all striving -and struggling would disappear, and we should see instead an eternal -perfect unchanging spiritual unity. - -In this conception, there is undeniably something sublime, something to -which we could wish to yield assent. Nevertheless, when the arguments -in support of it are carefully examined, they appear to involve much -confusion and many unwarrantable assumptions. The fundamental tenet -upon which the system is built up is that what is incomplete must be not -self-subsistent, but must need the support of other things before it can -exist. It is held that whatever has relations to things outside itself -must contain some reference to those outside things in its own nature, -and could not, therefore, be what it is if those outside things did not -exist. A man's nature, for example, is constituted by his memories and -the rest of his knowledge, by his loves and hatreds, and so on; thus, -but for the objects which he knows or loves or hates, he could not be -what he is. He is essentially and obviously a fragment: taken as the -sum-total of reality he would be self-contradictory. - -This whole point of view, however, turns upon the notion of the 'nature' -of a thing, which seems to mean 'all the truths about the thing'. It is -of course the case that a truth which connects one thing with another -thing could not subsist if the other thing did not subsist. But a -truth about a thing is not part of the thing itself, although it must, -according to the above usage, be part of the 'nature' of the thing. -If we mean by a thing's 'nature' all the truths about the thing, then -plainly we cannot know a thing's 'nature' unless we know all the thing's -relations to all the other things in the universe. But if the word -'nature' is used in this sense, we shall have to hold that the thing -may be known when its 'nature' is not known, or at any rate is not known -completely. There is a confusion, when this use of the word 'nature' is -employed, between knowledge of things and knowledge of truths. We may -have knowledge of a thing by acquaintance even if we know very few -propositions about it--theoretically we need not know any propositions -about it. Thus, acquaintance with a thing does not involve knowledge of -its 'nature' in the above sense. And although acquaintance with a thing -is involved in our knowing any one proposition about a thing, knowledge -of its 'nature', in the above sense, is not involved. Hence, (1) -acquaintance with a thing does not logically involve a knowledge of its -relations, and (2) a knowledge of some of its relations does not involve -a knowledge of all of its relations nor a knowledge of its 'nature' in -the above sense. I may be acquainted, for example, with my toothache, -and this knowledge may be as complete as knowledge by acquaintance ever -can be, without knowing all that the dentist (who is not acquainted -with it) can tell me about its cause, and without therefore knowing its -'nature' in the above sense. Thus the fact that a thing has relations -does not prove that its relations are logically necessary. That is to -say, from the mere fact that it is the thing it is we cannot deduce -that it must have the various relations which in fact it has. This only -_seems_ to follow because we know it already. - -It follows that we cannot prove that the universe as a whole forms a -single harmonious system such as Hegel believes that it forms. And if we -cannot prove this, we also cannot prove the unreality of space and time -and matter and evil, for this is deduced by Hegel from the fragmentary -and relational character of these things. Thus we are left to the -piecemeal investigation of the world, and are unable to know the -characters of those parts of the universe that are remote from our -experience. This result, disappointing as it is to those whose hopes -have been raised by the systems of philosophers, is in harmony with -the inductive and scientific temper of our age, and is borne out by the -whole examination of human knowledge which has occupied our previous -chapters. - -Most of the great ambitious attempts of metaphysicians have proceeded by -the attempt to prove that such and such apparent features of the actual -world were self-contradictory, and therefore could not be real. The -whole tendency of modern thought, however, is more and more in the -direction of showing that the supposed contradictions were illusory, and -that very little can be proved _a priori_ from considerations of what -_must_ be. A good illustration of this is afforded by space and -time. Space and time appear to be infinite in extent, and infinitely -divisible. If we travel along a straight line in either direction, it -is difficult to believe that we shall finally reach a last point, -beyond which there is nothing, not even empty space. Similarly, if in -imagination we travel backwards or forwards in time, it is difficult to -believe that we shall reach a first or last time, with not even empty -time beyond it. Thus space and time appear to be infinite in extent. - -Again, if we take any two points on a line, it seems evident that there -must be other points between them however small the distance between -them may be: every distance can be halved, and the halves can be halved -again, and so on _ad infinitum_. In time, similarly, however little -time may elapse between two moments, it seems evident that there will be -other moments between them. Thus space and time appear to be infinitely -divisible. But as against these apparent facts--infinite extent and -infinite divisibility--philosophers have advanced arguments tending to -show that there could be no infinite collections of things, and that -therefore the number of points in space, or of instants in time, must -be finite. Thus a contradiction emerged between the apparent nature of -space and time and the supposed impossibility of infinite collections. - -Kant, who first emphasized this contradiction, deduced the impossibility -of space and time, which he declared to be merely subjective; and since -his time very many philosophers have believed that space and time are -mere appearance, not characteristic of the world as it really is. Now, -however, owing to the labours of the mathematicians, notably Georg -Cantor, it has appeared that the impossibility of infinite collections -was a mistake. They are not in fact self-contradictory, but only -contradictory of certain rather obstinate mental prejudices. Hence the -reasons for regarding space and time as unreal have become inoperative, -and one of the great sources of metaphysical constructions is dried up. - -The mathematicians, however, have not been content with showing that -space as it is commonly supposed to be is possible; they have shown also -that many other forms of space are equally possible, so far as logic -can show. Some of Euclid's axioms, which appear to common sense to be -necessary, and were formerly supposed to be necessary by philosophers, -are now known to derive their appearance of necessity from our mere -familiarity with actual space, and not from any _a priori_ logical -foundation. By imagining worlds in which these axioms are false, the -mathematicians have used logic to loosen the prejudices of common -sense, and to show the possibility of spaces differing--some more, some -less--from that in which we live. And some of these spaces differ so -little from Euclidean space, where distances such as we can measure are -concerned, that it is impossible to discover by observation whether our -actual space is strictly Euclidean or of one of these other kinds. -Thus the position is completely reversed. Formerly it appeared that -experience left only one kind of space to logic, and logic showed this -one kind to be impossible. Now, logic presents many kinds of space as -possible apart from experience, and experience only partially decides -between them. Thus, while our knowledge of what is has become less -than it was formerly supposed to be, our knowledge of what may be is -enormously increased. Instead of being shut in within narrow walls, of -which every nook and cranny could be explored, we find ourselves in an -open world of free possibilities, where much remains unknown because -there is so much to know. - -What has happened in the case of space and time has happened, to some -extent, in other directions as well. The attempt to prescribe to the -universe by means of _a priori_ principles has broken down; logic, -instead of being, as formerly, the bar to possibilities, has become the -great liberator of the imagination, presenting innumerable alternatives -which are closed to unreflective common sense, and leaving to experience -the task of deciding, where decision is possible, between the many -worlds which logic offers for our choice. Thus knowledge as to what -exists becomes limited to what we can learn from experience--not to -what we can actually experience, for, as we have seen, there is much -knowledge by description concerning things of which we have no direct -experience. But in all cases of knowledge by description, we need some -connexion of universals, enabling us, from such and such a datum, to -infer an object of a certain sort as implied by our datum. Thus in -regard to physical objects, for example, the principle that sense-data -are signs of physical objects is itself a connexion of universals; and -it is only in virtue of this principle that experience enables us to -acquire knowledge concerning physical objects. The same applies to -the law of causality, or, to descend to what is less general, to such -principles as the law of gravitation. - -Principles such as the law of gravitation are proved, or rather are -rendered highly probable, by a combination of experience with some -wholly _a priori_ principle, such as the principle of induction. Thus -our intuitive knowledge, which is the source of all our other knowledge -of truths, is of two sorts: pure empirical knowledge, which tells us of -the existence and some of the properties of particular things with -which we are acquainted, and pure _a priori_ knowledge, which gives us -connexions between universals, and enables us to draw inferences from -the particular facts given in empirical knowledge. Our derivative -knowledge always depends upon some pure _a priori_ knowledge and usually -also depends upon some pure empirical knowledge. - -Philosophical knowledge, if what has been said above is true, does not -differ essentially from scientific knowledge; there is no special -source of wisdom which is open to philosophy but not to science, and the -results obtained by philosophy are not radically different from those -obtained from science. The essential characteristic of philosophy, -which makes it a study distinct from science, is criticism. It examines -critically the principles employed in science and in daily life; it -searches out any inconsistencies there may be in these principles, -and it only accepts them when, as the result of a critical inquiry, no -reason for rejecting them has appeared. If, as many philosophers have -believed, the principles underlying the sciences were capable, when -disengaged from irrelevant detail, of giving us knowledge concerning -the universe as a whole, such knowledge would have the same claim on our -belief as scientific knowledge has; but our inquiry has not revealed any -such knowledge, and therefore, as regards the special doctrines of the -bolder metaphysicians, has had a mainly negative result. But as regards -what would be commonly accepted as knowledge, our result is in the main -positive: we have seldom found reason to reject such knowledge as the -result of our criticism, and we have seen no reason to suppose man -incapable of the kind of knowledge which he is generally believed to -possess. - -When, however, we speak of philosophy as a _criticism_ of knowledge, it -is necessary to impose a certain limitation. If we adopt the attitude -of the complete sceptic, placing ourselves wholly outside all knowledge, -and asking, from this outside position, to be compelled to return within -the circle of knowledge, we are demanding what is impossible, and our -scepticism can never be refuted. For all refutation must begin with -some piece of knowledge which the disputants share; from blank doubt, -no argument can begin. Hence the criticism of knowledge which philosophy -employs must not be of this destructive kind, if any result is to be -achieved. Against this absolute scepticism, no _logical_ argument can be -advanced. But it is not difficult to see that scepticism of this kind -is unreasonable. Descartes' 'methodical doubt', with which modern -philosophy began, is not of this kind, but is rather the kind of -criticism which we are asserting to be the essence of philosophy. His -'methodical doubt' consisted in doubting whatever seemed doubtful; in -pausing, with each apparent piece of knowledge, to ask himself whether, -on reflection, he could feel certain that he really knew it. This is the -kind of criticism which constitutes philosophy. Some knowledge, such as -knowledge of the existence of our sense-data, appears quite indubitable, -however calmly and thoroughly we reflect upon it. In regard to such -knowledge, philosophical criticism does not require that we should -abstain from belief. But there are beliefs--such, for example, as the -belief that physical objects exactly resemble our sense-data--which are -entertained until we begin to reflect, but are found to melt away -when subjected to a close inquiry. Such beliefs philosophy will bid us -reject, unless some new line of argument is found to support them. -But to reject the beliefs which do not appear open to any objections, -however closely we examine them, is not reasonable, and is not what -philosophy advocates. - -The criticism aimed at, in a word, is not that which, without reason, -determines to reject, but that which considers each piece of apparent -knowledge on its merits, and retains whatever still appears to be -knowledge when this consideration is completed. That some risk of error -remains must be admitted, since human beings are fallible. Philosophy -may claim justly that it diminishes the risk of error, and that in some -cases it renders the risk so small as to be practically negligible. To -do more than this is not possible in a world where mistakes must occur; -and more than this no prudent advocate of philosophy would claim to have -performed. - - - -CHAPTER XV. THE VALUE OF PHILOSOPHY - -Having now come to the end of our brief and very incomplete review of -the problems of philosophy, it will be well to consider, in conclusion, -what is the value of philosophy and why it ought to be studied. It is -the more necessary to consider this question, in view of the fact that -many men, under the influence of science or of practical affairs, are -inclined to doubt whether philosophy is anything better than innocent -but useless trifling, hair-splitting distinctions, and controversies on -matters concerning which knowledge is impossible. - -This view of philosophy appears to result, partly from a wrong -conception of the ends of life, partly from a wrong conception of the -kind of goods which philosophy strives to achieve. Physical science, -through the medium of inventions, is useful to innumerable people who -are wholly ignorant of it; thus the study of physical science is to -be recommended, not only, or primarily, because of the effect on the -student, but rather because of the effect on mankind in general. Thus -utility does not belong to philosophy. If the study of philosophy has -any value at all for others than students of philosophy, it must be only -indirectly, through its effects upon the lives of those who study it. -It is in these effects, therefore, if anywhere, that the value of -philosophy must be primarily sought. - -But further, if we are not to fail in our endeavour to determine the -value of philosophy, we must first free our minds from the prejudices -of what are wrongly called 'practical' men. The 'practical' man, as -this word is often used, is one who recognizes only material needs, who -realizes that men must have food for the body, but is oblivious of the -necessity of providing food for the mind. If all men were well off, if -poverty and disease had been reduced to their lowest possible point, -there would still remain much to be done to produce a valuable society; -and even in the existing world the goods of the mind are at least as -important as the goods of the body. It is exclusively among the goods of -the mind that the value of philosophy is to be found; and only those who -are not indifferent to these goods can be persuaded that the study of -philosophy is not a waste of time. - -Philosophy, like all other studies, aims primarily at knowledge. The -knowledge it aims at is the kind of knowledge which gives unity and -system to the body of the sciences, and the kind which results from a -critical examination of the grounds of our convictions, prejudices, and -beliefs. But it cannot be maintained that philosophy has had any very -great measure of success in its attempts to provide definite answers to -its questions. If you ask a mathematician, a mineralogist, a historian, -or any other man of learning, what definite body of truths has been -ascertained by his science, his answer will last as long as you are -willing to listen. But if you put the same question to a philosopher, he -will, if he is candid, have to confess that his study has not achieved -positive results such as have been achieved by other sciences. It is -true that this is partly accounted for by the fact that, as soon as -definite knowledge concerning any subject becomes possible, this subject -ceases to be called philosophy, and becomes a separate science. The -whole study of the heavens, which now belongs to astronomy, was once -included in philosophy; Newton's great work was called 'the mathematical -principles of natural philosophy'. Similarly, the study of the human -mind, which was a part of philosophy, has now been separated from -philosophy and has become the science of psychology. Thus, to a great -extent, the uncertainty of philosophy is more apparent than real: those -questions which are already capable of definite answers are placed in -the sciences, while those only to which, at present, no definite answer -can be given, remain to form the residue which is called philosophy. - -This is, however, only a part of the truth concerning the uncertainty of -philosophy. There are many questions--and among them those that are of -the profoundest interest to our spiritual life--which, so far as we -can see, must remain insoluble to the human intellect unless its powers -become of quite a different order from what they are now. Has the -universe any unity of plan or purpose, or is it a fortuitous concourse -of atoms? Is consciousness a permanent part of the universe, giving -hope of indefinite growth in wisdom, or is it a transitory accident on -a small planet on which life must ultimately become impossible? Are good -and evil of importance to the universe or only to man? Such questions -are asked by philosophy, and variously answered by various philosophers. -But it would seem that, whether answers be otherwise discoverable or -not, the answers suggested by philosophy are none of them demonstrably -true. Yet, however slight may be the hope of discovering an answer, it -is part of the business of philosophy to continue the consideration of -such questions, to make us aware of their importance, to examine all the -approaches to them, and to keep alive that speculative interest in the -universe which is apt to be killed by confining ourselves to definitely -ascertainable knowledge. - -Many philosophers, it is true, have held that philosophy could establish -the truth of certain answers to such fundamental questions. They have -supposed that what is of most importance in religious beliefs could be -proved by strict demonstration to be true. In order to judge of such -attempts, it is necessary to take a survey of human knowledge, and to -form an opinion as to its methods and its limitations. On such a subject -it would be unwise to pronounce dogmatically; but if the investigations -of our previous chapters have not led us astray, we shall be compelled -to renounce the hope of finding philosophical proofs of religious -beliefs. We cannot, therefore, include as part of the value of -philosophy any definite set of answers to such questions. Hence, once -more, the value of philosophy must not depend upon any supposed body of -definitely ascertainable knowledge to be acquired by those who study it. - -The value of philosophy is, in fact, to be sought largely in its very -uncertainty. The man who has no tincture of philosophy goes through -life imprisoned in the prejudices derived from common sense, from the -habitual beliefs of his age or his nation, and from convictions which -have grown up in his mind without the co-operation or consent of his -deliberate reason. To such a man the world tends to become definite, -finite, obvious; common objects rouse no questions, and unfamiliar -possibilities are contemptuously rejected. As soon as we begin to -philosophize, on the contrary, we find, as we saw in our opening -chapters, that even the most everyday things lead to problems to which -only very incomplete answers can be given. Philosophy, though unable to -tell us with certainty what is the true answer to the doubts which it -raises, is able to suggest many possibilities which enlarge our thoughts -and free them from the tyranny of custom. Thus, while diminishing our -feeling of certainty as to what things are, it greatly increases our -knowledge as to what they may be; it removes the somewhat arrogant -dogmatism of those who have never travelled into the region of -liberating doubt, and it keeps alive our sense of wonder by showing -familiar things in an unfamiliar aspect. - -Apart from its utility in showing unsuspected possibilities, philosophy -has a value--perhaps its chief value--through the greatness of the -objects which it contemplates, and the freedom from narrow and personal -aims resulting from this contemplation. The life of the instinctive -man is shut up within the circle of his private interests: family and -friends may be included, but the outer world is not regarded except -as it may help or hinder what comes within the circle of instinctive -wishes. In such a life there is something feverish and confined, in -comparison with which the philosophic life is calm and free. The private -world of instinctive interests is a small one, set in the midst of a -great and powerful world which must, sooner or later, lay our private -world in ruins. Unless we can so enlarge our interests as to include the -whole outer world, we remain like a garrison in a beleagured fortress, -knowing that the enemy prevents escape and that ultimate surrender is -inevitable. In such a life there is no peace, but a constant strife -between the insistence of desire and the powerlessness of will. In one -way or another, if our life is to be great and free, we must escape this -prison and this strife. - -One way of escape is by philosophic contemplation. Philosophic -contemplation does not, in its widest survey, divide the universe into -two hostile camps--friends and foes, helpful and hostile, good and -bad--it views the whole impartially. Philosophic contemplation, when it -is unalloyed, does not aim at proving that the rest of the universe is -akin to man. All acquisition of knowledge is an enlargement of the Self, -but this enlargement is best attained when it is not directly sought. It -is obtained when the desire for knowledge is alone operative, by a study -which does not wish in advance that its objects should have this or that -character, but adapts the Self to the characters which it finds in its -objects. This enlargement of Self is not obtained when, taking the Self -as it is, we try to show that the world is so similar to this Self that -knowledge of it is possible without any admission of what seems alien. -The desire to prove this is a form of self-assertion and, like all -self-assertion, it is an obstacle to the growth of Self which it -desires, and of which the Self knows that it is capable. Self-assertion, -in philosophic speculation as elsewhere, views the world as a means to -its own ends; thus it makes the world of less account than Self, and the -Self sets bounds to the greatness of its goods. In contemplation, on -the contrary, we start from the not-Self, and through its greatness the -boundaries of Self are enlarged; through the infinity of the universe -the mind which contemplates it achieves some share in infinity. - -For this reason greatness of soul is not fostered by those philosophies -which assimilate the universe to Man. Knowledge is a form of union -of Self and not-Self; like all union, it is impaired by dominion, and -therefore by any attempt to force the universe into conformity with -what we find in ourselves. There is a widespread philosophical tendency -towards the view which tells us that Man is the measure of all things, -that truth is man-made, that space and time and the world of universals -are properties of the mind, and that, if there be anything not created -by the mind, it is unknowable and of no account for us. This view, if -our previous discussions were correct, is untrue; but in addition to -being untrue, it has the effect of robbing philosophic contemplation of -all that gives it value, since it fetters contemplation to Self. What -it calls knowledge is not a union with the not-Self, but a set of -prejudices, habits, and desires, making an impenetrable veil between -us and the world beyond. The man who finds pleasure in such a theory of -knowledge is like the man who never leaves the domestic circle for fear -his word might not be law. - -The true philosophic contemplation, on the contrary, finds its -satisfaction in every enlargement of the not-Self, in everything -that magnifies the objects contemplated, and thereby the subject -contemplating. Everything, in contemplation, that is personal or -private, everything that depends upon habit, self-interest, or desire, -distorts the object, and hence impairs the union which the intellect -seeks. By thus making a barrier between subject and object, such -personal and private things become a prison to the intellect. The free -intellect will see as God might see, without a _here_ and _now_, -without hopes and fears, without the trammels of customary beliefs -and traditional prejudices, calmly, dispassionately, in the sole and -exclusive desire of knowledge--knowledge as impersonal, as purely -contemplative, as it is possible for man to attain. Hence also the free -intellect will value more the abstract and universal knowledge into -which the accidents of private history do not enter, than the knowledge -brought by the senses, and dependent, as such knowledge must be, upon -an exclusive and personal point of view and a body whose sense-organs -distort as much as they reveal. - -The mind which has become accustomed to the freedom and impartiality of -philosophic contemplation will preserve something of the same freedom -and impartiality in the world of action and emotion. It will view -its purposes and desires as parts of the whole, with the absence of -insistence that results from seeing them as infinitesimal fragments in -a world of which all the rest is unaffected by any one man's deeds. The -impartiality which, in contemplation, is the unalloyed desire for truth, -is the very same quality of mind which, in action, is justice, and in -emotion is that universal love which can be given to all, and not only -to those who are judged useful or admirable. Thus contemplation enlarges -not only the objects of our thoughts, but also the objects of our -actions and our affections: it makes us citizens of the universe, not -only of one walled city at war with all the rest. In this citizenship -of the universe consists man's true freedom, and his liberation from the -thraldom of narrow hopes and fears. - -Thus, to sum up our discussion of the value of philosophy; Philosophy -is to be studied, not for the sake of any definite answers to its -questions, since no definite answers can, as a rule, be known to be -true, but rather for the sake of the questions themselves; because -these questions enlarge our conception of what is possible, enrich -our intellectual imagination and diminish the dogmatic assurance which -closes the mind against speculation; but above all because, through the -greatness of the universe which philosophy contemplates, the mind also -is rendered great, and becomes capable of that union with the universe -which constitutes its highest good. - - - - -BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE - -The student who wishes to acquire an elementary knowledge of philosophy -will find it both easier and more profitable to read some of the works -of the great philosophers than to attempt to derive an all-round view -from handbooks. The following are specially recommended: - - Plato: _Republic_, especially Books VI and VII. - Descartes: _Meditations_. - Spinoza: _Ethics_. - Leibniz: _The Monadology_. - Berkeley: _Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous_. - Hume: _Enquiry concerning Human Understanding_. - Kant: _Prolegomena to any Future Metaphysic_. - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Problems of Philosophy, by Bertrand Russell - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROBLEMS OF PHILOSOPHY *** - -***** This file should be named 5827.txt or 5827.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/8/2/5827/ - -Produced by Gordon Keener - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/old-2025-02-27/5827.zip b/old/old-2025-02-27/5827.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 2c5d5d5..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-02-27/5827.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/prphi10.txt b/old/prphi10.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3167566..0000000 --- a/old/prphi10.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4463 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Problems of Philosophy, by Bertrand Russell -(#4 in our series by Bertrand Russell) - -Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the -copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing -this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. - -This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project -Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the -header without written permission. - -Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the -eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is -important information about your specific rights and restrictions in -how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a -donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. - - -**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** - -**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** - -*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** - - -Title: The Problems of Philosophy - -Author: Bertrand Russell - -Release Date: June, 2004 [EBook #5827] -[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] -[This file was first posted on September 10, 2002] -[Date last updated: February 14, 2004] - -Edition: 10 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII, with two ISO-8859-1 characters - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE PROBLEMS OF PHILOSOPHY *** - - - - -This eBook was prepared by Gordon Keener <gkeener@nc.rr.com>. - - - - -The Problems of Philosophy -Bertrand Russell - - -PREFACE - -In the following pages I have confined myself in the main to those -problems of philosophy in regard to which I thought it possible to say -something positive and constructive, since merely negative criticism -seemed out of place. For this reason, theory of knowledge occupies a -larger space than metaphysics in the present volume, and some topics -much discussed by philosophers are treated very briefly, if at all. - -I have derived valuable assistance from unpublished writings of -G. E. Moore and J. M. Keynes: from the former, as regards the -relations of sense-data to physical objects, and from the latter as -regards probability and induction. I have also profited greatly by -the criticisms and suggestions of Professor Gilbert Murray. - -1912 - - - -CHAPTER I -APPEARANCE AND REALITY - -Is there any knowledge in the world which is so certain that no -reasonable man could doubt it? This question, which at first sight -might not seem difficult, is really one of the most difficult that can -be asked. When we have realized the obstacles in the way of a -straightforward and confident answer, we shall be well launched on the -study of philosophy--for philosophy is merely the attempt to answer -such ultimate questions, not carelessly and dogmatically, as we do in -ordinary life and even in the sciences, but critically, after -exploring all that makes such questions puzzling, and after realizing -all the vagueness and confusion that underlie our ordinary ideas. - -In daily life, we assume as certain many things which, on a closer -scrutiny, are found to be so full of apparent contradictions that only -a great amount of thought enables us to know what it is that we really -may believe. In the search for certainty, it is natural to begin with -our present experiences, and in some sense, no doubt, knowledge is to -be derived from them. But any statement as to what it is that our -immediate experiences make us know is very likely to be wrong. It -seems to me that I am now sitting in a chair, at a table of a certain -shape, on which I see sheets of paper with writing or print. By -turning my head I see out of the window buildings and clouds and the -sun. I believe that the sun is about ninety-three million miles from -the earth; that it is a hot globe many times bigger than the earth; -that, owing to the earth's rotation, it rises every morning, and will -continue to do so for an indefinite time in the future. I believe -that, if any other normal person comes into my room, he will see the -same chairs and tables and books and papers as I see, and that the -table which I see is the same as the table which I feel pressing -against my arm. All this seems to be so evident as to be hardly worth -stating, except in answer to a man who doubts whether I know anything. -Yet all this may be reasonably doubted, and all of it requires much -careful discussion before we can be sure that we have stated it in a -form that is wholly true. - -To make our difficulties plain, let us concentrate attention on the -table. To the eye it is oblong, brown and shiny, to the touch it is -smooth and cool and hard; when I tap it, it gives out a wooden sound. -Any one else who sees and feels and hears the table will agree with -this description, so that it might seem as if no difficulty would -arise; but as soon as we try to be more precise our troubles begin. -Although I believe that the table is 'really' of the same colour all -over, the parts that reflect the light look much brighter than the -other parts, and some parts look white because of reflected light. I -know that, if I move, the parts that reflect the light will be -different, so that the apparent distribution of colours on the table -will change. It follows that if several people are looking at the -table at the same moment, no two of them will see exactly the same -distribution of colours, because no two can see it from exactly the -same point of view, and any change in the point of view makes some -change in the way the light is reflected. - -For most practical purposes these differences are unimportant, but to -the painter they are all-important: the painter has to unlearn the -habit of thinking that things seem to have the colour which common -sense says they 'really' have, and to learn the habit of seeing things -as they appear. Here we have already the beginning of one of the -distinctions that cause most trouble in philosophy--the distinction -between 'appearance' and 'reality', between what things seem to be and -what they are. The painter wants to know what things seem to be, the -practical man and the philosopher want to know what they are; but the -philosopher's wish to know this is stronger than the practical man's, -and is more troubled by knowledge as to the difficulties of answering -the question. - -To return to the table. It is evident from what we have found, that -there is no colour which pre-eminently appears to be _the_ colour of -the table, or even of any one particular part of the table--it appears -to be of different colours from different points of view, and there is -no reason for regarding some of these as more really its colour than -others. And we know that even from a given point of view the colour -will seem different by artificial light, or to a colour-blind man, or -to a man wearing blue spectacles, while in the dark there will be no -colour at all, though to touch and hearing the table will be -unchanged. This colour is not something which is inherent in the -table, but something depending upon the table and the spectator and -the way the light falls on the table. When, in ordinary life, we -speak of _the_ colour of the table, we only mean the sort of colour -which it will seem to have to a normal spectator from an ordinary -point of view under usual conditions of light. But the other colours -which appear under other conditions have just as good a right to be -considered real; and therefore, to avoid favouritism, we are compelled -to deny that, in itself, the table has any one particular colour. - -The same thing applies to the texture. With the naked eye one can see -the grain, but otherwise the table looks smooth and even. If we -looked at it through a microscope, we should see roughnesses and hills -and valleys, and all sorts of differences that are imperceptible to -the naked eye. Which of these is the 'real' table? We are naturally -tempted to say that what we see through the microscope is more real, -but that in turn would be changed by a still more powerful microscope. -If, then, we cannot trust what we see with the naked eye, why should -we trust what we see through a microscope? Thus, again, the -confidence in our senses with which we began deserts us. - -The shape of the table is no better. We are all in the habit of -judging as to the 'real' shapes of things, and we do this so -unreflectingly that we come to think we actually see the real shapes. -But, in fact, as we all have to learn if we try to draw, a given thing -looks different in shape from every different point of view. If our -table is 'really' rectangular, it will look, from almost all points of -view, as if it had two acute angles and two obtuse angles. If -opposite sides are parallel, they will look as if they converged to a -point away from the spectator; if they are of equal length, they will -look as if the nearer side were longer. All these things are not -commonly noticed in looking at a table, because experience has taught -us to construct the 'real' shape from the apparent shape, and the -'real' shape is what interests us as practical men. But the 'real' -shape is not what we see; it is something inferred from what we see. -And what we see is constantly changing in shape as we move about the -room; so that here again the senses seem not to give us the truth -about the table itself, but only about the appearance of the table. - -Similar difficulties arise when we consider the sense of touch. It is -true that the table always gives us a sensation of hardness, and we -feel that it resists pressure. But the sensation we obtain depends -upon how hard we press the table and also upon what part of the body -we press with; thus the various sensations due to various pressures or -various parts of the body cannot be supposed to reveal _directly_ any -definite property of the table, but at most to be _signs_ of some -property which perhaps _causes_ all the sensations, but is not -actually apparent in any of them. And the same applies still more -obviously to the sounds which can be elicited by rapping the table. - -Thus it becomes evident that the real table, if there is one, is not -the same as what we immediately experience by sight or touch or -hearing. The real table, if there is one, is not _immediately_ known -to us at all, but must be an inference from what is immediately known. -Hence, two very difficult questions at once arise; namely, (1) Is -there a real table at all? (2) If so, what sort of object can it be? - -It will help us in considering these questions to have a few simple -terms of which the meaning is definite and clear. Let us give the -name of 'sense-data' to the things that are immediately known in -sensation: such things as colours, sounds, smells, hardnesses, -roughnesses, and so on. We shall give the name 'sensation' to the -experience of being immediately aware of these things. Thus, whenever -we see a colour, we have a sensation _of_ the colour, but the colour -itself is a sense-datum, not a sensation. The colour is that _of_ -which we are immediately aware, and the awareness itself is the -sensation. It is plain that if we are to know anything about the -table, it must be by means of the sense-data--brown colour, oblong -shape, smoothness, etc.--which we associate with the table; but, for -the reasons which have been given, we cannot say that the table is the -sense-data, or even that the sense-data are directly properties of the -table. Thus a problem arises as to the relation of the sense-data to -the real table, supposing there is such a thing. - -The real table, if it exists, we will call a 'physical object'. Thus -we have to consider the relation of sense-data to physical objects. -The collection of all physical objects is called 'matter'. Thus our -two questions may be re-stated as follows: (1) Is there any such thing -as matter? (2) If so, what is its nature? - -The philosopher who first brought prominently forward the reasons for -regarding the immediate objects of our senses as not existing -independently of us was Bishop Berkeley (1685-1753). His _Three -Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous, in Opposition to Sceptics and -Atheists_, undertake to prove that there is no such thing as matter at -all, and that the world consists of nothing but minds and their ideas. -Hylas has hitherto believed in matter, but he is no match for -Philonous, who mercilessly drives him into contradictions and -paradoxes, and makes his own denial of matter seem, in the end, as if -it were almost common sense. The arguments employed are of very -different value: some are important and sound, others are confused or -quibbling. But Berkeley retains the merit of having shown that the -existence of matter is capable of being denied without absurdity, and -that if there are any things that exist independently of us they -cannot be the immediate objects of our sensations. - -There are two different questions involved when we ask whether matter -exists, and it is important to keep them clear. We commonly mean by -'matter' something which is opposed to 'mind', something which we -think of as occupying space and as radically incapable of any sort of -thought or consciousness. It is chiefly in this sense that Berkeley -denies matter; that is to say, he does not deny that the sense-data -which we commonly take as signs of the existence of the table are -really signs of the existence of _something_ independent of us, but he -does deny that this something is non-mental, that it is neither mind -nor ideas entertained by some mind. He admits that there must be -something which continues to exist when we go out of the room or shut -our eyes, and that what we call seeing the table does really give us -reason for believing in something which persists even when we are not -seeing it. But he thinks that this something cannot be radically -different in nature from what we see, and cannot be independent of -seeing altogether, though it must be independent of _our_ seeing. He -is thus led to regard the 'real' table as an idea in the mind of God. -Such an idea has the required permanence and independence of -ourselves, without being--as matter would otherwise be--something -quite unknowable, in the sense that we can only infer it, and can -never be directly and immediately aware of it. - -Other philosophers since Berkeley have also held that, although the -table does not depend for its existence upon being seen by me, it does -depend upon being seen (or otherwise apprehended in sensation) by -_some_ mind--not necessarily the mind of God, but more often the whole -collective mind of the universe. This they hold, as Berkeley does, -chiefly because they think there can be nothing real--or at any rate -nothing known to be real except minds and their thoughts and feelings. -We might state the argument by which they support their view in some -such way as this: 'Whatever can be thought of is an idea in the mind -of the person thinking of it; therefore nothing can be thought of -except ideas in minds; therefore anything else is inconceivable, and -what is inconceivable cannot exist.' - -Such an argument, in my opinion, is fallacious; and of course those -who advance it do not put it so shortly or so crudely. But whether -valid or not, the argument has been very widely advanced in one form -or another; and very many philosophers, perhaps a majority, have held -that there is nothing real except minds and their ideas. Such -philosophers are called 'idealists'. When they come to explaining -matter, they either say, like Berkeley, that matter is really nothing -but a collection of ideas, or they say, like Leibniz (1646-1716), that -what appears as matter is really a collection of more or less -rudimentary minds. - -But these philosophers, though they deny matter as opposed to mind, -nevertheless, in another sense, admit matter. It will be remembered -that we asked two questions; namely, (1) Is there a real table at all? -(2) If so, what sort of object can it be? Now both Berkeley and -Leibniz admit that there is a real table, but Berkeley says it is -certain ideas in the mind of God, and Leibniz says it is a colony of -souls. Thus both of them answer our first question in the -affirmative, and only diverge from the views of ordinary mortals in -their answer to our second question. In fact, almost all philosophers -seem to be agreed that there is a real table: they almost all agree -that, however much our sense-data--colour, shape, smoothness, -etc.--may depend upon us, yet their occurrence is a sign of something -existing independently of us, something differing, perhaps, completely -from our sense-data, and yet to be regarded as causing those -sense-data whenever we are in a suitable relation to the real table. - -Now obviously this point in which the philosophers are agreed--the -view that there _is_ a real table, whatever its nature may be--is -vitally important, and it will be worth while to consider what reasons -there are for accepting this view before we go on to the further -question as to the nature of the real table. Our next chapter, -therefore, will be concerned with the reasons for supposing that there -is a real table at all. - -Before we go farther it will be well to consider for a moment what it -is that we have discovered so far. It has appeared that, if we take -any common object of the sort that is supposed to be known by the -senses, what the senses _immediately_ tell us is not the truth about -the object as it is apart from us, but only the truth about certain -sense-data which, so far as we can see, depend upon the relations -between us and the object. Thus what we directly see and feel is -merely 'appearance', which we believe to be a sign of some 'reality' -behind. But if the reality is not what appears, have we any means of -knowing whether there is any reality at all? And if so, have we any -means of finding out what it is like? - -Such questions are bewildering, and it is difficult to know that even -the strangest hypotheses may not be true. Thus our familiar table, -which has roused but the slightest thoughts in us hitherto, has become -a problem full of surprising possibilities. The one thing we know -about it is that it is not what it seems. Beyond this modest result, -so far, we have the most complete liberty of conjecture. Leibniz -tells us it is a community of souls: Berkeley tells us it is an idea -in the mind of God; sober science, scarcely less wonderful, tells us -it is a vast collection of electric charges in violent motion. - -Among these surprising possibilities, doubt suggests that perhaps -there is no table at all. Philosophy, if it cannot _answer_ so many -questions as we could wish, has at least the power of _asking_ -questions which increase the interest of the world, and show the -strangeness and wonder lying just below the surface even in the -commonest things of daily life. - - -CHAPTER II -THE EXISTENCE OF MATTER - -In this chapter we have to ask ourselves whether, in any sense at all, -there is such a thing as matter. Is there a table which has a certain -intrinsic nature, and continues to exist when I am not looking, or is -the table merely a product of my imagination, a dream-table in a very -prolonged dream? This question is of the greatest importance. For if -we cannot be sure of the independent existence of objects, we cannot -be sure of the independent existence of other people's bodies, and -therefore still less of other people's minds, since we have no grounds -for believing in their minds except such as are derived from observing -their bodies. Thus if we cannot be sure of the independent existence -of objects, we shall be left alone in a desert--it may be that the -whole outer world is nothing but a dream, and that we alone exist. -This is an uncomfortable possibility; but although it cannot be -strictly proved to be false, there is not the slightest reason to -suppose that it is true. In this chapter we have to see why this is -the case. - -Before we embark upon doubtful matters, let us try to find some more -or less fixed point from which to start. Although we are doubting the -physical existence of the table, we are not doubting the existence of -the sense-data which made us think there was a table; we are not -doubting that, while we look, a certain colour and shape appear to us, -and while we press, a certain sensation of hardness is experienced by -us. All this, which is psychological, we are not calling in question. -In fact, whatever else may be doubtful, some at least of our immediate -experiences seem absolutely certain. - -Descartes (1596-1650), the founder of modern philosophy, invented a -method which may still be used with profit--the method of systematic -doubt. He determined that he would believe nothing which he did not -see quite clearly and distinctly to be true. Whatever he could bring -himself to doubt, he would doubt, until he saw reason for not doubting -it. By applying this method he gradually became convinced that the -only existence of which he could be _quite_ certain was his own. He -imagined a deceitful demon, who presented unreal things to his senses -in a perpetual phantasmagoria; it might be very improbable that such a -demon existed, but still it was possible, and therefore doubt -concerning things perceived by the senses was possible. - -But doubt concerning his own existence was not possible, for if he did -not exist, no demon could deceive him. If he doubted, he must exist; -if he had any experiences whatever, he must exist. Thus his own -existence was an absolute certainty to him. 'I think, therefore I -am,' he said (_Cogito, ergo sum_); and on the basis of this certainty -he set to work to build up again the world of knowledge which his -doubt had laid in ruins. By inventing the method of doubt, and by -showing that subjective things are the most certain, Descartes -performed a great service to philosophy, and one which makes him still -useful to all students of the subject. - -But some care is needed in using Descartes' argument. 'I think, -therefore I am' says rather more than is strictly certain. It might -seem as though we were quite sure of being the same person to-day as -we were yesterday, and this is no doubt true in some sense. But the -real Self is as hard to arrive at as the real table, and does not seem -to have that absolute, convincing certainty that belongs to particular -experiences. When I look at my table and see a certain brown colour, -what is quite certain at once is not '_I_ am seeing a brown colour', -but rather, 'a brown colour is being seen'. This of course involves -something (or somebody) which (or who) sees the brown colour; but it -does not of itself involve that more or less permanent person whom we -call 'I'. So far as immediate certainty goes, it might be that the -something which sees the brown colour is quite momentary, and not the -same as the something which has some different experience the next -moment. - -Thus it is our particular thoughts and feelings that have primitive -certainty. And this applies to dreams and hallucinations as well as -to normal perceptions: when we dream or see a ghost, we certainly do -have the sensations we think we have, but for various reasons it is -held that no physical object corresponds to these sensations. Thus -the certainty of our knowledge of our own experiences does not have to -be limited in any way to allow for exceptional cases. Here, -therefore, we have, for what it is worth, a solid basis from which to -begin our pursuit of knowledge. - -The problem we have to consider is this: Granted that we are certain -of our own sense-data, have we any reason for regarding them as signs -of the existence of something else, which we can call the physical -object? When we have enumerated all the sense-data which we should -naturally regard as connected with the table, have we said all there -is to say about the table, or is there still something else--something -not a sense-datum, something which persists when we go out of the -room? Common sense unhesitatingly answers that there is. What can be -bought and sold and pushed about and have a cloth laid on it, and so -on, cannot be a _mere_ collection of sense-data. If the cloth -completely hides the table, we shall derive no sense-data from the -table, and therefore, if the table were merely sense-data, it would -have ceased to exist, and the cloth would be suspended in empty air, -resting, by a miracle, in the place where the table formerly was. -This seems plainly absurd; but whoever wishes to become a philosopher -must learn not to be frightened by absurdities. - -One great reason why it is felt that we must secure a physical object -in addition to the sense-data, is that we want the same object for -different people. When ten people are sitting round a dinner-table, -it seems preposterous to maintain that they are not seeing the same -tablecloth, the same knives and forks and spoons and glasses. But the -sense-data are private to each separate person; what is immediately -present to the sight of one is not immediately present to the sight of -another: they all see things from slightly different points of view, -and therefore see them slightly differently. Thus, if there are to be -public neutral objects, which can be in some sense known to many -different people, there must be something over and above the private -and particular sense-data which appear to various people. What -reason, then, have we for believing that there are such public neutral -objects? - -The first answer that naturally occurs to one is that, although -different people may see the table slightly differently, still they -all see more or less similar things when they look at the table, and -the variations in what they see follow the laws of perspective and -reflection of light, so that it is easy to arrive at a permanent -object underlying all the different people's sense-data. I bought my -table from the former occupant of my room; I could not buy _his_ -sense-data, which died when he went away, but I could and did buy the -confident expectation of more or less similar sense-data. Thus it is -the fact that different people have similar sense-data, and that one -person in a given place at different times has similar sense-data, -which makes us suppose that over and above the sense-data there is a -permanent public object which underlies or causes the sense-data of -various people at various times. - -Now in so far as the above considerations depend upon supposing that -there are other people besides ourselves, they beg the very question -at issue. Other people are represented to me by certain sense-data, -such as the sight of them or the sound of their voices, and if I had -no reason to believe that there were physical objects independent of -my sense-data, I should have no reason to believe that other people -exist except as part of my dream. Thus, when we are trying to show -that there must be objects independent of our own sense-data, we -cannot appeal to the testimony of other people, since this testimony -itself consists of sense-data, and does not reveal other people's -experiences unless our own sense-data are signs of things existing -independently of us. We must therefore, if possible, find, in our own -purely private experiences, characteristics which show, or tend to -show, that there are in the world things other than ourselves and our -private experiences. - -In one sense it must be admitted that we can never prove the existence -of things other than ourselves and our experiences. No logical -absurdity results from the hypothesis that the world consists of -myself and my thoughts and feelings and sensations, and that -everything else is mere fancy. In dreams a very complicated world may -seem to be present, and yet on waking we find it was a delusion; that -is to say, we find that the sense-data in the dream do not appear to -have corresponded with such physical objects as we should naturally -infer from our sense-data. (It is true that, when the physical world -is assumed, it is possible to find physical causes for the sense-data -in dreams: a door banging, for instance, may cause us to dream of a -naval engagement. But although, in this case, there is a physical -cause for the sense-data, there is not a physical object corresponding -to the sense-data in the way in which an actual naval battle would -correspond.) There is no logical impossibility in the supposition that -the whole of life is a dream, in which we ourselves create all the -objects that come before us. But although this is not logically -impossible, there is no reason whatever to suppose that it is true; -and it is, in fact, a less simple hypothesis, viewed as a means of -accounting for the facts of our own life, than the common-sense -hypothesis that there really are objects independent of us, whose -action on us causes our sensations. - -The way in which simplicity comes in from supposing that there really -are physical objects is easily seen. If the cat appears at one moment -in one part of the room, and at another in another part, it is natural -to suppose that it has moved from the one to the other, passing over a -series of intermediate positions. But if it is merely a set of -sense-data, it cannot have ever been in any place where I did not see -it; thus we shall have to suppose that it did not exist at all while I -was not looking, but suddenly sprang into being in a new place. If -the cat exists whether I see it or not, we can understand from our own -experience how it gets hungry between one meal and the next; but if it -does not exist when I am not seeing it, it seems odd that appetite -should grow during non-existence as fast as during existence. And if -the cat consists only of sense-data, it cannot be hungry, since no -hunger but my own can be a sense-datum to me. Thus the behaviour of -the sense-data which represent the cat to me, though it seems quite -natural when regarded as an expression of hunger, becomes utterly -inexplicable when regarded as mere movements and changes of patches of -colour, which are as incapable of hunger as a triangle is of playing -football. - -But the difficulty in the case of the cat is nothing compared to the -difficulty in the case of human beings. When human beings speak--that -is, when we hear certain noises which we associate with ideas, and -simultaneously see certain motions of lips and expressions of face--it -is very difficult to suppose that what we hear is not the expression -of a thought, as we know it would be if we emitted the same sounds. -Of course similar things happen in dreams, where we are mistaken as to -the existence of other people. But dreams are more or less suggested -by what we call waking life, and are capable of being more or less -accounted for on scientific principles if we assume that there really -is a physical world. Thus every principle of simplicity urges us to -adopt the natural view, that there really are objects other than -ourselves and our sense-data which have an existence not dependent -upon our perceiving them. - -Of course it is not by argument that we originally come by our belief -in an independent external world. We find this belief ready in -ourselves as soon as we begin to reflect: it is what may be called an -_instinctive_ belief. We should never have been led to question this -belief but for the fact that, at any rate in the case of sight, it -seems as if the sense-datum itself were instinctively believed to be -the independent object, whereas argument shows that the object cannot -be identical with the sense-datum. This discovery, however--which is -not at all paradoxical in the case of taste and smell and sound, and -only slightly so in the case of touch--leaves undiminished our -instinctive belief that there _are_ objects _corresponding_ to our -sense-data. Since this belief does not lead to any difficulties, but -on the contrary tends to simplify and systematize our account of our -experiences, there seems no good reason for rejecting it. We may -therefore admit--though with a slight doubt derived from dreams--that -the external world does really exist, and is not wholly dependent for -its existence upon our continuing to perceive it. - -The argument which has led us to this conclusion is doubtless less -strong than we could wish, but it is typical of many philosophical -arguments, and it is therefore worth while to consider briefly its -general character and validity. All knowledge, we find, must be built -up upon our instinctive beliefs, and if these are rejected, nothing is -left. But among our instinctive beliefs some are much stronger than -others, while many have, by habit and association, become entangled -with other beliefs, not really instinctive, but falsely supposed to be -part of what is believed instinctively. - -Philosophy should show us the hierarchy of our instinctive beliefs, -beginning with those we hold most strongly, and presenting each as -much isolated and as free from irrelevant additions as possible. It -should take care to show that, in the form in which they are finally -set forth, our instinctive beliefs do not clash, but form a harmonious -system. There can never be any reason for rejecting one instinctive -belief except that it clashes with others; thus, if they are found to -harmonize, the whole system becomes worthy of acceptance. - -It is of course _possible_ that all or any of our beliefs may be -mistaken, and therefore all ought to be held with at least some slight -element of doubt. But we cannot have _reason_ to reject a belief -except on the ground of some other belief. Hence, by organizing our -instinctive beliefs and their consequences, by considering which among -them is most possible, if necessary, to modify or abandon, we can -arrive, on the basis of accepting as our sole data what we -instinctively believe, at an orderly systematic organization of our -knowledge, in which, though the _possibility_ of error remains, its -likelihood is diminished by the interrelation of the parts and by the -critical scrutiny which has preceded acquiescence. - -This function, at least, philosophy can perform. Most philosophers, -rightly or wrongly, believe that philosophy can do much more than -this--that it can give us knowledge, not otherwise attainable, -concerning the universe as a whole, and concerning the nature of -ultimate reality. Whether this be the case or not, the more modest -function we have spoken of can certainly be performed by philosophy, -and certainly suffices, for those who have once begun to doubt the -adequacy of common sense, to justify the arduous and difficult labours -that philosophical problems involve. - - -CHAPTER III -THE NATURE OF MATTER - -In the preceding chapter we agreed, though without being able to find -demonstrative reasons, that it is rational to believe that our -sense-data--for example, those which we regard as associated with my -table--are really signs of the existence of something independent of -us and our perceptions. That is to say, over and above the sensations -of colour, hardness, noise, and so on, which make up the appearance of -the table to me, I assume that there is something else, of which these -things are appearances. The colour ceases to exist if I shut my eyes, -the sensation of hardness ceases to exist if I remove my arm from -contact with the table, the sound ceases to exist if I cease to rap -the table with my knuckles. But I do not believe that when all these -things cease the table ceases. On the contrary, I believe that it is -because the table exists continuously that all these sense-data will -reappear when I open my eyes, replace my arm, and begin again to rap -with my knuckles. The question we have to consider in this chapter -is: What is the nature of this real table, which persists -independently of my perception of it? - -To this question physical science gives an answer, somewhat incomplete -it is true, and in part still very hypothetical, but yet deserving of -respect so far as it goes. Physical science, more or less -unconsciously, has drifted into the view that all natural phenomena -ought to be reduced to motions. Light and heat and sound are all due -to wave-motions, which travel from the body emitting them to the -person who sees light or feels heat or hears sound. That which has -the wave-motion is either aether or 'gross matter', but in either case -is what the philosopher would call matter. The only properties which -science assigns to it are position in space, and the power of motion -according to the laws of motion. Science does not deny that it _may_ -have other properties; but if so, such other properties are not useful -to the man of science, and in no way assist him in explaining the -phenomena. - -It is sometimes said that 'light _is_ a form of wave-motion', but this -is misleading, for the light which we immediately see, which we know -directly by means of our senses, is _not_ a form of wave-motion, but -something quite different--something which we all know if we are not -blind, though we cannot describe it so as to convey our knowledge to a -man who is blind. A wave-motion, on the contrary, could quite well be -described to a blind man, since he can acquire a knowledge of space by -the sense of touch; and he can experience a wave-motion by a sea -voyage almost as well as we can. But this, which a blind man can -understand, is not what we mean by _light_: we mean by _light_ just -that which a blind man can never understand, and which we can never -describe to him. - -Now this something, which all of us who are not blind know, is not, -according to science, really to be found in the outer world: it is -something caused by the action of certain waves upon the eyes and -nerves and brain of the person who sees the light. When it is said -that light _is_ waves, what is really meant is that waves are the -physical cause of our sensations of light. But light itself, the -thing which seeing people experience and blind people do not, is not -supposed by science to form any part of the world that is independent -of us and our senses. And very similar remarks would apply to other -kinds of sensations. - -It is not only colours and sounds and so on that are absent from the -scientific world of matter, but also _space_ as we get it through -sight or touch. It is essential to science that its matter should be -in _a_ space, but the space in which it is cannot be exactly the space -we see or feel. To begin with, space as we see it is not the same as -space as we get it by the sense of touch; it is only by experience in -infancy that we learn how to touch things we see, or how to get a -sight of things which we feel touching us. But the space of science -is neutral as between touch and sight; thus it cannot be either the -space of touch or the space of sight. - -Again, different people see the same object as of different shapes, -according to their point of view. A circular coin, for example, -though we should always _judge_ it to be circular, will _look_ oval -unless we are straight in front of it. When we judge that it _is_ -circular, we are judging that it has a real shape which is not its -apparent shape, but belongs to it intrinsically apart from its -appearance. But this real shape, which is what concerns science, must -be in a real space, not the same as anybody's _apparent_ space. The -real space is public, the apparent space is private to the percipient. -In different people's _private_ spaces the same object seems to have -different shapes; thus the real space, in which it has its real shape, -must be different from the private spaces. The space of science, -therefore, though _connected_ with the spaces we see and feel, is not -identical with them, and the manner of its connexion requires -investigation. - -We agreed provisionally that physical objects cannot be quite like our -sense-data, but may be regarded as _causing_ our sensations. These -physical objects are in the space of science, which we may call -'physical' space. It is important to notice that, if our sensations -are to be caused by physical objects, there must be a physical space -containing these objects and our sense-organs and nerves and brain. -We get a sensation of touch from an object when we are in contact with -it; that is to say, when some part of our body occupies a place in -physical space quite close to the space occupied by the object. We -see an object (roughly speaking) when no opaque body is between the -object and our eyes in physical space. Similarly, we only hear or -smell or taste an object when we are sufficiently near to it, or when -it touches the tongue, or has some suitable position in physical space -relatively to our body. We cannot begin to state what different -sensations we shall derive from a given object under different -circumstances unless we regard the object and our body as both in one -physical space, for it is mainly the relative positions of the object -and our body that determine what sensations we shall derive from the -object. - -Now our sense-data are situated in our private spaces, either the -space of sight or the space of touch or such vaguer spaces as other -senses may give us. If, as science and common sense assume, there is -one public all-embracing physical space in which physical objects are, -the relative positions of physical objects in physical space must more -or less correspond to the relative positions of sense-data in our -private spaces. There is no difficulty in supposing this to be the -case. If we see on a road one house nearer to us than another, our -other senses will bear out the view that it is nearer; for example, it -will be reached sooner if we walk along the road. Other people will -agree that the house which looks nearer to us is nearer; the ordnance -map will take the same view; and thus everything points to a spatial -relation between the houses corresponding to the relation between the -sense-data which we see when we look at the houses. Thus we may -assume that there is a physical space in which physical objects have -spatial relations corresponding to those which the corresponding -sense-data have in our private spaces. It is this physical space -which is dealt with in geometry and assumed in physics and astronomy. - -Assuming that there is physical space, and that it does thus -correspond to private spaces, what can we know about it? We can know -_only_ what is required in order to secure the correspondence. That -is to say, we can know nothing of what it is like in itself, but we -can know the sort of arrangement of physical objects which results -from their spatial relations. We can know, for example, that the -earth and moon and sun are in one straight line during an eclipse, -though we cannot know what a physical straight line is in itself, as -we know the look of a straight line in our visual space. Thus we come -to know much more about the _relations_ of distances in physical space -than about the distances themselves; we may know that one distance is -greater than another, or that it is along the same straight line as -the other, but we cannot have that immediate acquaintance with -physical distances that we have with distances in our private spaces, -or with colours or sounds or other sense-data. We can know all those -things about physical space which a man born blind might know through -other people about the space of sight; but the kind of things which a -man born blind could never know about the space of sight we also -cannot know about physical space. We can know the properties of the -relations required to preserve the correspondence with sense-data, but -we cannot know the nature of the terms between which the relations -hold. - -With regard to time, our _feeling_ of duration or of the lapse of time -is notoriously an unsafe guide as to the time that has elapsed by the -clock. Times when we are bored or suffering pain pass slowly, times -when we are agreeably occupied pass quickly, and times when we are -sleeping pass almost as if they did not exist. Thus, in so far as -time is constituted by duration, there is the same necessity for -distinguishing a public and a private time as there was in the case of -space. But in so far as time consists in an _order_ of before and -after, there is no need to make such a distinction; the time-order -which events seem to have is, so far as we can see, the same as the -time-order which they do have. At any rate no reason can be given for -supposing that the two orders are not the same. The same is usually -true of space: if a regiment of men are marching along a road, the -shape of the regiment will look different from different points of -view, but the men will appear arranged in the same order from all -points of view. Hence we regard the order as true also in physical -space, whereas the shape is only supposed to correspond to the -physical space so far as is required for the preservation of the -order. - -In saying that the time-order which events seem to have is the same as -the time-order which they really have, it is necessary to guard -against a possible misunderstanding. It must not be supposed that the -various states of different physical objects have the same time-order -as the sense-data which constitute the perceptions of those objects. -Considered as physical objects, the thunder and lightning are -simultaneous; that is to say, the lightning is simultaneous with the -disturbance of the air in the place where the disturbance begins, -namely, where the lightning is. But the sense-datum which we call -hearing the thunder does not take place until the disturbance of the -air has travelled as far as to where we are. Similarly, it takes -about eight minutes for the sun's light to reach us; thus, when we see -the sun we are seeing the sun of eight minutes ago. So far as our -sense-data afford evidence as to the physical sun they afford evidence -as to the physical sun of eight minutes ago; if the physical sun had -ceased to exist within the last eight minutes, that would make no -difference to the sense-data which we call 'seeing the sun'. This -affords a fresh illustration of the necessity of distinguishing -between sense-data and physical objects. - -What we have found as regards space is much the same as what we find -in relation to the correspondence of the sense-data with their -physical counterparts. If one object looks blue and another red, we -may reasonably presume that there is some corresponding difference -between the physical objects; if two objects both look blue, we may -presume a corresponding similarity. But we cannot hope to be -acquainted directly with the quality in the physical object which -makes it look blue or red. Science tells us that this quality is a -certain sort of wave-motion, and this sounds familiar, because we -think of wave-motions in the space we see. But the wave-motions must -really be in physical space, with which we have no direct -acquaintance; thus the real wave-motions have not that familiarity -which we might have supposed them to have. And what holds for colours -is closely similar to what holds for other sense-data. Thus we find -that, although the _relations_ of physical objects have all sorts of -knowable properties, derived from their correspondence with the -relations of sense-data, the physical objects themselves remain -unknown in their intrinsic nature, so far at least as can be -discovered by means of the senses. The question remains whether there -is any other method of discovering the intrinsic nature of physical -objects. - -The most natural, though not ultimately the most defensible, -hypothesis to adopt in the first instance, at any rate as regards -visual sense-data, would be that, though physical objects cannot, for -the reasons we have been considering, be _exactly_ like sense-data, -yet they may be more or less like. According to this view, physical -objects will, for example, really have colours, and we might, by good -luck, see an object as of the colour it really is. The colour which -an object seems to have at any given moment will in general be very -similar, though not quite the same, from many different points of -view; we might thus suppose the 'real' colour to be a sort of medium -colour, intermediate between the various shades which appear from the -different points of view. - -Such a theory is perhaps not capable of being definitely refuted, but -it can be shown to be groundless. To begin with, it is plain that the -colour we see depends only upon the nature of the light-waves that -strike the eye, and is therefore modified by the medium intervening -between us and the object, as well as by the manner in which light is -reflected from the object in the direction of the eye. The -intervening air alters colours unless it is perfectly clear, and any -strong reflection will alter them completely. Thus the colour we see -is a result of the ray as it reaches the eye, and not simply a -property of the object from which the ray comes. Hence, also, -provided certain waves reach the eye, we shall see a certain colour, -whether the object from which the waves start has any colour or not. -Thus it is quite gratuitous to suppose that physical objects have -colours, and therefore there is no justification for making such a -supposition. Exactly similar arguments will apply to other -sense-data. - -It remains to ask whether there are any general philosophical -arguments enabling us to say that, if matter is real, it must be of -such and such a nature. As explained above, very many philosophers, -perhaps most, have held that whatever is real must be in some sense -mental, or at any rate that whatever we can know anything about must -be in some sense mental. Such philosophers are called 'idealists'. -Idealists tell us that what appears as matter is really something -mental; namely, either (as Leibniz held) more or less rudimentary -minds, or (as Berkeley contended) ideas in the minds which, as we -should commonly say, 'perceive' the matter. Thus idealists deny the -existence of matter as something intrinsically different from mind, -though they do not deny that our sense-data are signs of something -which exists independently of our private sensations. In the -following chapter we shall consider briefly the reasons--in my opinion -fallacious--which idealists advance in favour of their theory. - - -CHAPTER IV -IDEALISM - -The word 'idealism' is used by different philosophers in somewhat -different senses. We shall understand by it the doctrine that -whatever exists, or at any rate whatever can be known to exist, must -be in some sense mental. This doctrine, which is very widely held -among philosophers, has several forms, and is advocated on several -different grounds. The doctrine is so widely held, and so interesting -in itself, that even the briefest survey of philosophy must give some -account of it. - -Those who are unaccustomed to philosophical speculation may be -inclined to dismiss such a doctrine as obviously absurd. There is no -doubt that common sense regards tables and chairs and the sun and moon -and material objects generally as something radically different from -minds and the contents of minds, and as having an existence which -might continue if minds ceased. We think of matter as having existed -long before there were any minds, and it is hard to think of it as a -mere product of mental activity. But whether true or false, idealism -is not to be dismissed as obviously absurd. - -We have seen that, even if physical objects do have an independent -existence, they must differ very widely from sense-data, and can only -have a _correspondence_ with sense-data, in the same sort of way in -which a catalogue has a correspondence with the things catalogued. -Hence common sense leaves us completely in the dark as to the true -intrinsic nature of physical objects, and if there were good reason to -regard them as mental, we could not legitimately reject this opinion -merely because it strikes us as strange. The truth about physical -objects _must_ be strange. It may be unattainable, but if any -philosopher believes that he has attained it, the fact that what he -offers as the truth is strange ought not to be made a ground of -objection to his opinion. - -The grounds on which idealism is advocated are generally grounds -derived from the theory of knowledge, that is to say, from a -discussion of the conditions which things must satisfy in order that -we may be able to know them. The first serious attempt to establish -idealism on such grounds was that of Bishop Berkeley. He proved -first, by arguments which were largely valid, that our sense-data -cannot be supposed to have an existence independent of us, but must -be, in part at least, 'in' the mind, in the sense that their existence -would not continue if there were no seeing or hearing or touching or -smelling or tasting. So far, his contention was almost certainly -valid, even if some of his arguments were not so. But he went on to -argue that sense-data were the only things of whose existence our -perceptions could assure us; and that to be known is to be 'in' a -mind, and therefore to be mental. Hence he concluded that nothing can -ever be known except what is in some mind, and that whatever is known -without being in my mind must be in some other mind. - -In order to understand his argument, it is necessary to understand his -use of the word 'idea'. He gives the name 'idea' to anything which is -_immediately_ known, as, for example, sense-data are known. Thus a -particular colour which we see is an idea; so is a voice which we -hear, and so on. But the term is not wholly confined to sense-data. -There will also be things remembered or imagined, for with such things -also we have immediate acquaintance at the moment of remembering or -imagining. All such immediate data he calls 'ideas'. - -He then proceeds to consider common objects, such as a tree, for -instance. He shows that all we know immediately when we 'perceive' -the tree consists of ideas in his sense of the word, and he argues -that there is not the slightest ground for supposing that there is -anything real about the tree except what is perceived. Its being, he -says, consists in being perceived: in the Latin of the schoolmen its -'_esse_' is '_percipi_'. He fully admits that the tree must continue -to exist even when we shut our eyes or when no human being is near it. -But this continued existence, he says, is due to the fact that God -continues to perceive it; the 'real' tree, which corresponds to what -we called the physical object, consists of ideas in the mind of God, -ideas more or less like those we have when we see the tree, but -differing in the fact that they are permanent in God's mind so long as -the tree continues to exist. All our perceptions, according to him, -consist in a partial participation in God's perceptions, and it is -because of this participation that different people see more or less -the same tree. Thus apart from minds and their ideas there is nothing -in the world, nor is it possible that anything else should ever be -known, since whatever is known is necessarily an idea. - -There are in this argument a good many fallacies which have been -important in the history of philosophy, and which it will be as well -to bring to light. In the first place, there is a confusion -engendered by the use of the word 'idea'. We think of an idea as -essentially something in somebody's mind, and thus when we are told -that a tree consists entirely of ideas, it is natural to suppose that, -if so, the tree must be entirely in minds. But the notion of being -'in' the mind is ambiguous. We speak of bearing a person in mind, not -meaning that the person is in our minds, but that a thought of him is -in our minds. When a man says that some business he had to arrange -went clean out of his mind, he does not mean to imply that the -business itself was ever in his mind, but only that a thought of the -business was formerly in his mind, but afterwards ceased to be in his -mind. And so when Berkeley says that the tree must be in our minds if -we can know it, all that he really has a right to say is that a -thought of the tree must be in our minds. To argue that the tree -itself must be in our minds is like arguing that a person whom we bear -in mind is himself in our minds. This confusion may seem too gross to -have been really committed by any competent philosopher, but various -attendant circumstances rendered it possible. In order to see how it -was possible, we must go more deeply into the question as to the -nature of ideas. - -Before taking up the general question of the nature of ideas, we must -disentangle two entirely separate questions which arise concerning -sense-data and physical objects. We saw that, for various reasons of -detail, Berkeley was right in treating the sense-data which constitute -our perception of the tree as more or less subjective, in the sense -that they depend upon us as much as upon the tree, and would not exist -if the tree were not being perceived. But this is an entirely -different point from the one by which Berkeley seeks to prove that -whatever can be immediately known must be in a mind. For this purpose -arguments of detail as to the dependence of sense-data upon us are -useless. It is necessary to prove, generally, that by being known, -things are shown to be mental. This is what Berkeley believes himself -to have done. It is this question, and not our previous question as -to the difference between sense-data and the physical object, that -must now concern us. - -Taking the word 'idea' in Berkeley's sense, there are two quite -distinct things to be considered whenever an idea is before the mind. -There is on the one hand the thing of which we are aware--say the -colour of my table--and on the other hand the actual awareness itself, -the mental act of apprehending the thing. The mental act is -undoubtedly mental, but is there any reason to suppose that the thing -apprehended is in any sense mental? Our previous arguments concerning -the colour did not prove it to be mental; they only proved that its -existence depends upon the relation of our sense organs to the -physical object--in our case, the table. That is to say, they proved -that a certain colour will exist, in a certain light, if a normal eye -is placed at a certain point relatively to the table. They did not -prove that the colour is in the mind of the percipient. - -Berkeley's view, that obviously the colour must be in the mind, seems -to depend for its plausibility upon confusing the thing apprehended -with the act of apprehension. Either of these might be called an -'idea'; probably either would have been called an idea by Berkeley. -The act is undoubtedly in the mind; hence, when we are thinking of the -act, we readily assent to the view that ideas must be in the mind. -Then, forgetting that this was only true when ideas were taken as acts -of apprehension, we transfer the proposition that 'ideas are in the -mind' to ideas in the other sense, i.e. to the things apprehended by -our acts of apprehension. Thus, by an unconscious equivocation, we -arrive at the conclusion that whatever we can apprehend must be in our -minds. This seems to be the true analysis of Berkeley's argument, and -the ultimate fallacy upon which it rests. - -This question of the distinction between act and object in our -apprehending of things is vitally important, since our whole power of -acquiring knowledge is bound up with it. The faculty of being -acquainted with things other than itself is the main characteristic of -a mind. Acquaintance with objects essentially consists in a relation -between the mind and something other than the mind; it is this that -constitutes the mind's power of knowing things. If we say that the -things known must be in the mind, we are either unduly limiting the -mind's power of knowing, or we are uttering a mere tautology. We are -uttering a mere tautology if we mean by '_in_ the mind' the same as by -'_before_ the mind', i.e. if we mean merely being apprehended by the -mind. But if we mean this, we shall have to admit that what, _in this -sense_, is in the mind, may nevertheless be not mental. Thus when we -realize the nature of knowledge, Berkeley's argument is seen to be -wrong in substance as well as in form, and his grounds for supposing -that 'ideas'--i.e. the objects apprehended--must be mental, are found -to have no validity whatever. Hence his grounds in favour of idealism -may be dismissed. It remains to see whether there are any other -grounds. - -It is often said, as though it were a self-evident truism, that we -cannot know that anything exists which we do not know. It is inferred -that whatever can in any way be relevant to our experience must be at -least capable of being known by us; whence it follows that if matter -were essentially something with which we could not become acquainted, -matter would be something which we could not know to exist, and which -could have for us no importance whatever. It is generally also -implied, for reasons which remain obscure, that what can have no -importance for us cannot be real, and that therefore matter, if it is -not composed of minds or of mental ideas, is impossible and a mere -chimaera. - -To go into this argument fully at our present stage would be -impossible, since it raises points requiring a considerable -preliminary discussion; but certain reasons for rejecting the argument -may be noticed at once. To begin at the end: there is no reason why -what cannot have any _practical_ importance for us should not be real. -It is true that, if _theoretical_ importance is included, everything -real is of _some_ importance to us, since, as persons desirous of -knowing the truth about the universe, we have some interest in -everything that the universe contains. But if this sort of interest -is included, it is not the case that matter has no importance for us, -provided it exists even if we cannot know that it exists. We can, -obviously, suspect that it may exist, and wonder whether it does; -hence it is connected with our desire for knowledge, and has the -importance of either satisfying or thwarting this desire. - -Again, it is by no means a truism, and is in fact false, that we -cannot know that anything exists which we do not know. The word -'know' is here used in two different senses. (1) In its first use it -is applicable to the sort of knowledge which is opposed to error, the -sense in which what we know is _true_, the sense which applies to our -beliefs and convictions, i.e. to what are called _judgements_. In -this sense of the word we know _that_ something is the case. This -sort of knowledge may be described as knowledge of _truths_. (2) In -the second use of the word 'know' above, the word applies to our -knowledge of _things_, which we may call _acquaintance_. This is the -sense in which we know sense-data. (The distinction involved is -roughly that between _savoir_ and _connaître_ in French, or between -_wissen_ and _kennen_ in German.) - -Thus the statement which seemed like a truism becomes, when re-stated, -the following: 'We can never truly judge that something with which we -are not acquainted exists.' This is by no means a truism, but on the -contrary a palpable falsehood. I have not the honour to be acquainted -with the Emperor of China, but I truly judge that he exists. It may -be said, of course, that I judge this because of other people's -acquaintance with him. This, however, would be an irrelevant retort, -since, if the principle were true, I could not know that any one else -is acquainted with him. But further: there is no reason why I should -not know of the existence of something with which nobody is -acquainted. This point is important, and demands elucidation. - -If I am acquainted with a thing which exists, my acquaintance gives me -the knowledge that it exists. But it is not true that, conversely, -whenever I can know that a thing of a certain sort exists, I or some -one else must be acquainted with the thing. What happens, in cases -where I have true judgement without acquaintance, is that the thing is -known to me by _description_, and that, in virtue of some general -principle, the existence of a thing answering to this description can -be inferred from the existence of something with which I am -acquainted. In order to understand this point fully, it will be well -first to deal with the difference between knowledge by acquaintance -and knowledge by description, and then to consider what knowledge of -general principles, if any, has the same kind of certainty as our -knowledge of the existence of our own experiences. These subjects -will be dealt with in the following chapters. - - -CHAPTER V -KNOWLEDGE BY ACQUAINTANCE AND KNOWLEDGE BY DESCRIPTION - -In the preceding chapter we saw that there are two sorts of knowledge: -knowledge of things, and knowledge of truths. In this chapter we -shall be concerned exclusively with knowledge of things, of which in -turn we shall have to distinguish two kinds. Knowledge of things, -when it is of the kind we call knowledge by _acquaintance_, is -essentially simpler than any knowledge of truths, and logically -independent of knowledge of truths, though it would be rash to assume -that human beings ever, in fact, have acquaintance with things without -at the same time knowing some truth about them. Knowledge of things -by _description_, on the contrary, always involves, as we shall find -in the course of the present chapter, some knowledge of truths as its -source and ground. But first of all we must make clear what we mean -by 'acquaintance' and what we mean by 'description'. - -We shall say that we have _acquaintance_ with anything of which we are -directly aware, without the intermediary of any process of inference -or any knowledge of truths. Thus in the presence of my table I am -acquainted with the sense-data that make up the appearance of my -table--its colour, shape, hardness, smoothness, etc.; all these are -things of which I am immediately conscious when I am seeing and -touching my table. The particular shade of colour that I am seeing -may have many things said about it--I may say that it is brown, that -it is rather dark, and so on. But such statements, though they make -me know truths about the colour, do not make me know the colour itself -any better than I did before so far as concerns knowledge of the -colour itself, as opposed to knowledge of truths about it, I know the -colour perfectly and completely when I see it, and no further -knowledge of it itself is even theoretically possible. Thus the -sense-data which make up the appearance of my table are things with -which I have acquaintance, things immediately known to me just as they -are. - -My knowledge of the table as a physical object, on the contrary, is -not direct knowledge. Such as it is, it is obtained through -acquaintance with the sense-data that make up the appearance of the -table. We have seen that it is possible, without absurdity, to doubt -whether there is a table at all, whereas it is not possible to doubt -the sense-data. My knowledge of the table is of the kind which we -shall call 'knowledge by description'. The table is 'the physical -object which causes such-and-such sense-data'. This describes the -table by means of the sense-data. In order to know anything at all -about the table, we must know truths connecting it with things with -which we have acquaintance: we must know that 'such-and-such -sense-data are caused by a physical object'. There is no state of -mind in which we are directly aware of the table; all our knowledge of -the table is really knowledge of truths, and the actual thing which is -the table is not, strictly speaking, known to us at all. We know a -description, and we know that there is just one object to which this -description applies, though the object itself is not directly known to -us. In such a case, we say that our knowledge of the object is -knowledge by description. - -All our knowledge, both knowledge of things and knowledge of truths, -rests upon acquaintance as its foundation. It is therefore important -to consider what kinds of things there are with which we have -acquaintance. - -Sense-data, as we have already seen, are among the things with which -we are acquainted; in fact, they supply the most obvious and striking -example of knowledge by acquaintance. But if they were the sole -example, our knowledge would be very much more restricted than it is. -We should only know what is now present to our senses: we could not -know anything about the past--not even that there was a past--nor -could we know any truths about our sense-data, for all knowledge of -truths, as we shall show, demands acquaintance with things which are -of an essentially different character from sense-data, the things -which are sometimes called 'abstract ideas', but which we shall call -'universals'. We have therefore to consider acquaintance with other -things besides sense-data if we are to obtain any tolerably adequate -analysis of our knowledge. - -The first extension beyond sense-data to be considered is acquaintance -by _memory_. It is obvious that we often remember what we have seen -or heard or had otherwise present to our senses, and that in such -cases we are still immediately aware of what we remember, in spite of -the fact that it appears as past and not as present. This immediate -knowledge by memory is the source of all our knowledge concerning the -past: without it, there could be no knowledge of the past by -inference, since we should never know that there was anything past to -be inferred. - -The next extension to be considered is acquaintance by -_introspection_. We are not only aware of things, but we are often -aware of being aware of them. When I see the sun, I am often aware of -my seeing the sun; thus 'my seeing the sun' is an object with which I -have acquaintance. When I desire food, I may be aware of my desire -for food; thus 'my desiring food' is an object with which I am -acquainted. Similarly we may be aware of our feeling pleasure or -pain, and generally of the events which happen in our minds. This -kind of acquaintance, which may be called self-consciousness, is the -source of all our knowledge of mental things. It is obvious that it -is only what goes on in our own minds that can be thus known -immediately. What goes on in the minds of others is known to us -through our perception of their bodies, that is, through the -sense-data in us which are associated with their bodies. But for our -acquaintance with the contents of our own minds, we should be unable -to imagine the minds of others, and therefore we could never arrive at -the knowledge that they have minds. It seems natural to suppose that -self-consciousness is one of the things that distinguish men from -animals: animals, we may suppose, though they have acquaintance with -sense-data, never become aware of this acquaintance. I do not mean -that they _doubt_ whether they exist, but that they have never become -conscious of the fact that they have sensations and feelings, nor -therefore of the fact that they, the subjects of their sensations and -feelings, exist. - -We have spoken of acquaintance with the contents of our minds as -_self_-consciousness, but it is not, of course, consciousness of our -_self_: it is consciousness of particular thoughts and feelings. The -question whether we are also acquainted with our bare selves, as -opposed to particular thoughts and feelings, is a very difficult one, -upon which it would be rash to speak positively. When we try to look -into ourselves we always seem to come upon some particular thought or -feeling, and not upon the 'I' which has the thought or feeling. -Nevertheless there are some reasons for thinking that we are -acquainted with the 'I', though the acquaintance is hard to -disentangle from other things. To make clear what sort of reason -there is, let us consider for a moment what our acquaintance with -particular thoughts really involves. - -When I am acquainted with 'my seeing the sun', it seems plain that I -am acquainted with two different things in relation to each other. On -the one hand there is the sense-datum which represents the sun to me, -on the other hand there is that which sees this sense-datum. All -acquaintance, such as my acquaintance with the sense-datum which -represents the sun, seems obviously a relation between the person -acquainted and the object with which the person is acquainted. When a -case of acquaintance is one with which I can be acquainted (as I am -acquainted with my acquaintance with the sense-datum representing the -sun), it is plain that the person acquainted is myself. Thus, when I -am acquainted with my seeing the sun, the whole fact with which I am -acquainted is 'Self-acquainted-with-sense-datum'. - -Further, we know the truth 'I am acquainted with this sense-datum'. -It is hard to see how we could know this truth, or even understand -what is meant by it, unless we were acquainted with something which we -call 'I'. It does not seem necessary to suppose that we are -acquainted with a more or less permanent person, the same to-day as -yesterday, but it does seem as though we must be acquainted with that -thing, whatever its nature, which sees the sun and has acquaintance -with sense-data. Thus, in some sense it would seem we must be -acquainted with our Selves as opposed to our particular experiences. -But the question is difficult, and complicated arguments can be -adduced on either side. Hence, although acquaintance with ourselves -seems _probably_ to occur, it is not wise to assert that it -undoubtedly does occur. - -We may therefore sum up as follows what has been said concerning -acquaintance with things that exist. We have acquaintance in -sensation with the data of the outer senses, and in introspection with -the data of what may be called the inner sense--thoughts, feelings, -desires, etc.; we have acquaintance in memory with things which have -been data either of the outer senses or of the inner sense. Further, -it is probable, though not certain, that we have acquaintance with -Self, as that which is aware of things or has desires towards things. - -In addition to our acquaintance with particular existing things, we -also have acquaintance with what we shall call _universals_, that is -to say, general ideas, such as _whiteness_, _diversity_, -_brotherhood_, and so on. Every complete sentence must contain at -least one word which stands for a universal, since all verbs have a -meaning which is universal. We shall return to universals later on, -in Chapter IX; for the present, it is only necessary to guard against -the supposition that whatever we can be acquainted with must be -something particular and existent. Awareness of universals is called -_conceiving_, and a universal of which we are aware is called a -_concept_. - -It will be seen that among the objects with which we are acquainted -are not included physical objects (as opposed to sense-data), nor -other people's minds. These things are known to us by what I call -'knowledge by description', which we must now consider. - -By a 'description' I mean any phrase of the form 'a so-and-so' or 'the -so-and-so'. A phrase of the form 'a so-and-so' I shall call an -'ambiguous' description; a phrase of the form 'the so-and-so' (in the -singular) I shall call a 'definite' description. Thus 'a man' is an -ambiguous description, and 'the man with the iron mask' is a definite -description. There are various problems connected with ambiguous -descriptions, but I pass them by, since they do not directly concern -the matter we are discussing, which is the nature of our knowledge -concerning objects in cases where we know that there is an object -answering to a definite description, though we are not acquainted with -any such object. This is a matter which is concerned exclusively with -definite descriptions. I shall therefore, in the sequel, speak simply -of 'descriptions' when I mean 'definite descriptions'. Thus a -description will mean any phrase of the form 'the so-and-so' in the -singular. - -We shall say that an object is 'known by description' when we know -that it is 'the so-and-so', i.e. when we know that there is one -object, and no more, having a certain property; and it will generally -be implied that we do not have knowledge of the same object by -acquaintance. We know that the man with the iron mask existed, and -many propositions are known about him; but we do not know who he was. -We know that the candidate who gets the most votes will be elected, -and in this case we are very likely also acquainted (in the only sense -in which one can be acquainted with some one else) with the man who -is, in fact, the candidate who will get most votes; but we do not know -which of the candidates he is, i.e. we do not know any proposition of -the form 'A is the candidate who will get most votes' where A is one -of the candidates by name. We shall say that we have 'merely -descriptive knowledge' of the so-and-so when, although we know that -the so-and-so exists, and although we may possibly be acquainted with -the object which is, in fact, the so-and-so, yet we do not know any -proposition '_a_ is the so-and-so', where _a_ is something with which -we are acquainted. - -When we say 'the so-and-so exists', we mean that there is just one -object which is the so-and-so. The proposition '_a_ is the so-and-so' -means that _a_ has the property so-and-so, and nothing else has. 'Mr. -A. is the Unionist candidate for this constituency' means 'Mr. A. -is a Unionist candidate for this constituency, and no one else is'. -'The Unionist candidate for this constituency exists' means 'some one -is a Unionist candidate for this constituency, and no one else is'. -Thus, when we are acquainted with an object which is the so-and-so, we -know that the so-and-so exists; but we may know that the so-and-so -exists when we are not acquainted with any object which we know to be -the so-and-so, and even when we are not acquainted with any object -which, in fact, is the so-and-so. - -Common words, even proper names, are usually really descriptions. -That is to say, the thought in the mind of a person using a proper -name correctly can generally only be expressed explicitly if we -replace the proper name by a description. Moreover, the description -required to express the thought will vary for different people, or for -the same person at different times. The only thing constant (so long -as the name is rightly used) is the object to which the name applies. -But so long as this remains constant, the particular description -involved usually makes no difference to the truth or falsehood of the -proposition in which the name appears. - -Let us take some illustrations. Suppose some statement made about -Bismarck. Assuming that there is such a thing as direct acquaintance -with oneself, Bismarck himself might have used his name directly to -designate the particular person with whom he was acquainted. In this -case, if he made a judgement about himself, he himself might be a -constituent of the judgement. Here the proper name has the direct use -which it always wishes to have, as simply standing for a certain -object, and not for a description of the object. But if a person who -knew Bismarck made a judgement about him, the case is different. What -this person was acquainted with were certain sense-data which he -connected (rightly, we will suppose) with Bismarck's body. His body, -as a physical object, and still more his mind, were only known as the -body and the mind connected with these sense-data. That is, they were -known by description. It is, of course, very much a matter af chance -which characteristics of a man's appearance will come into a friend's -mind when he thinks of him; thus the description actually in the -friend's mind is accidental. The essential point is that he knows -that the various descriptions all apply to the same entity, in spite -of not being acquainted with the entity in question. - -When we, who did not know Bismarck, make a judgement about him, the -description in our minds will probably be some more or less vague mass -of historical knowledge--far more, in most cases, than is required to -identify him. But, for the sake of illustration, let us assume that -we think of him as 'the first Chancellor of the German Empire'. Here -all the words are abstract except 'German'. The word 'German' will, -again, have different meanings for different people. To some it will -recall travels in Germany, to some the look of Germany on the map, and -so on. But if we are to obtain a description which we know to be -applicable, we shall be compelled, at some point, to bring in a -reference to a particular with which we are acquainted. Such -reference is involved in any mention of past, present, and future (as -opposed to definite dates), or of here and there, or of what others -have told us. Thus it would seem that, in some way or other, a -description known to be applicable to a particular must involve some -reference to a particular with which we are acquainted, if our -knowledge about the thing described is not to be merely what follows -_logically_ from the description. For example, 'the most long-lived -of men' is a description involving only universals, which must apply -to some man, but we can make no judgements concerning this man which -involve knowledge about him beyond what the description gives. If, -however, we say, 'The first Chancellor of the German Empire was an -astute diplomatist', we can only be assured of the truth of our -judgement in virtue of something with which we are acquainted--usually -a testimony heard or read. Apart from the information we convey to -others, apart from the fact about the actual Bismarck, which gives -importance to our judgement, the thought we really have contains the -one or more particulars involved, and otherwise consists wholly of -concepts. - -All names of places--London, England, Europe, the Earth, the Solar -System--similarly involve, when used, descriptions which start from -some one or more particulars with which we are acquainted. I suspect -that even the Universe, as considered by metaphysics, involves such a -connexion with particulars. In logic, on the contrary, where we are -concerned not merely with what does exist, but with whatever might or -could exist or be, no reference to actual particulars is involved. - -It would seem that, when we make a statement about something only -known by description, we often _intend_ to make our statement, not in -the form involving the description, but about the actual thing -described. That is to say, when we say anything about Bismarck, we -should like, if we could, to make the judgement which Bismarck alone -can make, namely, the judgement of which he himself is a constituent. -In this we are necessarily defeated, since the actual Bismarck is -unknown to us. But we know that there is an object B, called -Bismarck, and that B was an astute diplomatist. We can thus -_describe_ the proposition we should like to affirm, namely, 'B was an -astute diplomatist', where B is the object which was Bismarck. If we -are describing Bismarck as 'the first Chancellor of the German -Empire', the proposition we should like to affirm may be described as -'the proposition asserting, concerning the actual object which was the -first Chancellor of the German Empire, that this object was an astute -diplomatist'. What enables us to communicate in spite of the varying -descriptions we employ is that we know there is a true proposition -concerning the actual Bismarck, and that however we may vary the -description (so long as the description is correct) the proposition -described is still the same. This proposition, which is described and -is known to be true, is what interests us; but we are not acquainted -with the proposition itself, and do not know it, though we know it is -true. - -It will be seen that there are various stages in the removal from -acquaintance with particulars: there is Bismarck to people who knew -him; Bismarck to those who only know of him through history; the man -with the iron mask; the longest-lived of men. These are progressively -further removed from acquaintance with particulars; the first comes as -near to acquaintance as is possible in regard to another person; in -the second, we shall still be said to know 'who Bismarck was'; in the -third, we do not know who was the man with the iron mask, though we -can know many propositions about him which are not logically deducible -from the fact that he wore an iron mask; in the fourth, finally, we -know nothing beyond what is logically deducible from the definition of -the man. There is a similar hierarchy in the region of universals. -Many universals, like many particulars, are only known to us by -description. But here, as in the case of particulars, knowledge -concerning what is known by description is ultimately reducible to -knowledge concerning what is known by acquaintance. - -The fundamental principle in the analysis of propositions containing -descriptions is this: _Every proposition which we can understand must -be composed wholly of constituents with which we are acquainted_. - -We shall not at this stage attempt to answer all the objections which -may be urged against this fundamental principle. For the present, we -shall merely point out that, in some way or other, it must be possible -to meet these objections, for it is scarcely conceivable that we can -make a judgement or entertain a supposition without knowing what it is -that we are judging or supposing about. We must attach _some_ meaning -to the words we use, if we are to speak significantly and not utter -mere noise; and the meaning we attach to our words must be something -with which we are acquainted. Thus when, for example, we make a -statement about Julius Caesar, it is plain that Julius Caesar himself -is not before our minds, since we are not acquainted with him. We -have in mind some description of Julius Caesar: 'the man who was -assassinated on the Ides of March', 'the founder of the Roman Empire', -or, perhaps, merely 'the man whose name was _Julius Caesar_'. (In -this last description, _Julius Caesar_ is a noise or shape with which -we are acquainted.) Thus our statement does not mean quite what it -seems to mean, but means something involving, instead of Julius -Caesar, some description of him which is composed wholly of -particulars and universals with which we are acquainted. - -The chief importance of knowledge by description is that it enables us -to pass beyond the limits of our private experience. In spite of the -fact that we can only know truths which are wholly composed of terms -which we have experienced in acquaintance, we can yet have knowledge -by description of things which we have never experienced. In view of -the very narrow range of our immediate experience, this result is -vital, and until it is understood, much of our knowledge must remain -mysterious and therefore doubtful. - - -CHAPTER VI -ON INDUCTION - -In almost all our previous discussions we have been concerned in the -attempt to get clear as to our data in the way of knowledge of -existence. What things are there in the universe whose existence is -known to us owing to our being acquainted with them? So far, our -answer has been that we are acquainted with our sense-data, and, -probably, with ourselves. These we know to exist. And past -sense-data which are remembered are known to have existed in the past. -This knowledge supplies our data. - -But if we are to be able to draw inferences from these data--if we are -to know of the existence of matter, of other people, of the past -before our individual memory begins, or of the future, we must know -general principles of some kind by means of which such inferences can -be drawn. It must be known to us that the existence of some one sort -of thing, A, is a sign of the existence of some other sort of thing, -B, either at the same time as A or at some earlier or later time, as, -for example, thunder is a sign of the earlier existence of lightning. -If this were not known to us, we could never extend our knowledge -beyond the sphere of our private experience; and this sphere, as we -have seen, is exceedingly limited. The question we have now to -consider is whether such an extension is possible, and if so, how it -is effected. - -Let us take as an illustration a matter about which none of us, in -fact, feel the slightest doubt. We are all convinced that the sun -will rise to-morrow. Why? Is this belief a mere blind outcome of -past experience, or can it be justified as a reasonable belief? It is -not easy to find a test by which to judge whether a belief of this -kind is reasonable or not, but we can at least ascertain what sort of -general beliefs would suffice, if true, to justify the judgement that -the sun will rise to-morrow, and the many other similar judgements -upon which our actions are based. - -It is obvious that if we are asked why we believe that the sun will -rise to-morrow, we shall naturally answer 'Because it always has risen -every day'. We have a firm belief that it will rise in the future, -because it has risen in the past. If we are challenged as to why we -believe that it will continue to rise as heretofore, we may appeal to -the laws of motion: the earth, we shall say, is a freely rotating -body, and such bodies do not cease to rotate unless something -interferes from outside, and there is nothing outside to interfere -with the earth between now and to-morrow. Of course it might be -doubted whether we are quite certain that there is nothing outside to -interfere, but this is not the interesting doubt. The interesting -doubt is as to whether the laws of motion will remain in operation -until to-morrow. If this doubt is raised, we find ourselves in the -same position as when the doubt about the sunrise was first raised. - -The _only_ reason for believing that the laws of motion will remain in -operation is that they have operated hitherto, so far as our knowledge -of the past enables us to judge. It is true that we have a greater -body of evidence from the past in favour of the laws of motion than we -have in favour of the sunrise, because the sunrise is merely a -particular case of fulfilment of the laws of motion, and there are -countless other particular cases. But the real question is: Do _any_ -number of cases of a law being fulfilled in the past afford evidence -that it will be fulfilled in the future? If not, it becomes plain -that we have no ground whatever for expecting the sun to rise -to-morrow, or for expecting the bread we shall eat at our next meal -not to poison us, or for any of the other scarcely conscious -expectations that control our daily lives. It is to be observed that -all such expectations are only _probable_; thus we have not to seek -for a proof that they _must_ be fulfilled, but only for some reason in -favour of the view that they are _likely_ to be fulfilled. - -Now in dealing with this question we must, to begin with, make an -important distinction, without which we should soon become involved in -hopeless confusions. Experience has shown us that, hitherto, the -frequent repetition of some uniform succession or coexistence has been -a _cause_ of our expecting the same succession or coexistence on the -next occasion. Food that has a certain appearance generally has a -certain taste, and it is a severe shock to our expectations when the -familiar appearance is found to be associated with an unusual taste. -Things which we see become associated, by habit, with certain tactile -sensations which we expect if we touch them; one of the horrors of a -ghost (in many ghost-stories) is that it fails to give us any -sensations of touch. Uneducated people who go abroad for the first -time are so surprised as to be incredulous when they find their native -language not understood. - -And this kind of association is not confined to men; in animals also -it is very strong. A horse which has been often driven along a -certain road resists the attempt to drive him in a different -direction. Domestic animals expect food when they see the person who -usually feeds them. We know that all these rather crude expectations -of uniformity are liable to be misleading. The man who has fed the -chicken every day throughout its life at last wrings its neck instead, -showing that more refined views as to the uniformity of nature would -have been useful to the chicken. - -But in spite of the misleadingness of such expectations, they -nevertheless exist. The mere fact that something has happened a -certain number of times causes animals and men to expect that it will -happen again. Thus our instincts certainly cause us to believe that -the sun will rise to-morrow, but we may be in no better a position -than the chicken which unexpectedly has its neck wrung. We have -therefore to distinguish the fact that past uniformities _cause_ -expectations as to the future, from the question whether there is any -reasonable ground for giving weight to such expectations after the -question of their validity has been raised. - -The problem we have to discuss is whether there is any reason for -believing in what is called 'the uniformity of nature'. The belief in -the uniformity of nature is the belief that everything that has -happened or will happen is an instance of some general law to which -there are no exceptions. The crude expectations which we have been -considering are all subject to exceptions, and therefore liable to -disappoint those who entertain them. But science habitually assumes, -at least as a working hypothesis, that general rules which have -exceptions can be replaced by general rules which have no exceptions. -'Unsupported bodies in air fall' is a general rule to which balloons -and aeroplanes are exceptions. But the laws of motion and the law of -gravitation, which account for the fact that most bodies fall, also -account for the fact that balloons and aeroplanes can rise; thus the -laws of motion and the law of gravitation are not subject to these -exceptions. - -The belief that the sun will rise to-morrow might be falsified if the -earth came suddenly into contact with a large body which destroyed its -rotation; but the laws of motion and the law of gravitation would not -be infringed by such an event. The business of science is to find -uniformities, such as the laws of motion and the law of gravitation, -to which, so far as our experience extends, there are no exceptions. -In this search science has been remarkably successful, and it may be -conceded that such uniformities have held hitherto. This brings us -back to the question: Have we any reason, assuming that they have -always held in the past, to suppose that they will hold in the future? - -It has been argued that we have reason to know that the future will -resemble the past, because what was the future has constantly become -the past, and has always been found to resemble the past, so that we -really have experience of the future, namely of times which were -formerly future, which we may call past futures. But such an argument -really begs the very question at issue. We have experience of past -futures, but not of future futures, and the question is: Will future -futures resemble past futures? This question is not to be answered by -an argument which starts from past futures alone. We have therefore -still to seek for some principle which shall enable us to know that -the future will follow the same laws as the past. - -The reference to the future in this question is not essential. The -same question arises when we apply the laws that work in our -experience to past things of which we have no experience--as, for -example, in geology, or in theories as to the origin of the Solar -System. The question we really have to ask is: 'When two things have -been found to be often associated, and no instance is known of the one -occurring without the other, does the occurrence of one of the two, in -a fresh instance, give any good ground for expecting the other?' On -our answer to this question must depend the validity of the whole of -our expectations as to the future, the whole of the results obtained -by induction, and in fact practically all the beliefs upon which our -daily life is based. - -It must be conceded, to begin with, that the fact that two things have -been found often together and never apart does not, by itself, suffice -to _prove_ demonstratively that they will be found together in the -next case we examine. The most we can hope is that the oftener things -are found together, the more probable it becomes that they will be -found together another time, and that, if they have been found -together often enough, the probability will amount _almost_ to -certainty. It can never quite reach certainty, because we know that -in spite of frequent repetitions there sometimes is a failure at the -last, as in the case of the chicken whose neck is wrung. Thus -probability is all we ought to seek. - -It might be urged, as against the view we are advocating, that we know -all natural phenomena to be subject to the reign of law, and that -sometimes, on the basis of observation, we can see that only one law -can possibly fit the facts of the case. Now to this view there are -two answers. The first is that, even if _some_ law which has no -exceptions applies to our case, we can never, in practice, be sure -that we have discovered that law and not one to which there are -exceptions. The second is that the reign of law would seem to be -itself only probable, and that our belief that it will hold in the -future, or in unexamined cases in the past, is itself based upon the -very principle we are examining. - -The principle we are examining may be called the _principle of -induction_, and its two parts may be stated as follows: - -(a) When a thing of a certain sort A has been found to be associated -with a thing of a certain other sort B, and has never been found -dissociated from a thing of the sort B, the greater the number of -cases in which A and B have been associated, the greater is the -probability that they will be associated in a fresh case in which one -of them is known to be present; - -(b) Under the same circumstances, a sufficient number of cases of -association will make the probability of a fresh association nearly a -certainty, and will make it approach certainty without limit. - -As just stated, the principle applies only to the verification of our -expectation in a single fresh instance. But we want also to know that -there is a probability in favour of the general law that things of the -sort A are _always_ associated with things of the sort B, provided a -sufficient number of cases of association are known, and no cases of -failure of association are known. The probability of the general law -is obviously less than the probability of the particular case, since -if the general law is true, the particular case must also be true, -whereas the particular case may be true without the general law being -true. Nevertheless the probability of the general law is increased by -repetitions, just as the probability of the particular case is. We -may therefore repeat the two parts of our principle as regards the -general law, thus: - -(a) The greater the number of cases in which a thing of the sort A has -been found associated with a thing of the sort B, the more probable it -is (if no cases of failure of association are known) that A is always -associated with B; - -(b) Under the same circumstances, a sufficient number of cases of the -association of A with B will make it nearly certain that A is always -associated with B, and will make this general law approach certainty -without limit. - -It should be noted that probability is always relative to certain -data. In our case, the data are merely the known cases of coexistence -of A and B. There may be other data, which _might_ be taken into -account, which would gravely alter the probability. For example, a -man who had seen a great many white swans might argue, by our -principle, that on the data it was _probable_ that all swans were -white, and this might be a perfectly sound argument. The argument is -not disproved ny the fact that some swans are black, because a thing -may very well happen in spite of the fact that some data render it -improbable. In the case of the swans, a man might know that colour is -a very variable characteristic in many species of animals, and that, -therefore, an induction as to colour is peculiarly liable to error. -But this knowledge would be a fresh datum, by no means proving that -the probability relatively to our previous data had been wrongly -estimated. The fact, therefore, that things often fail to fulfil our -expectations is no evidence that our expectations will not _probably_ -be fulfilled in a given case or a given class of cases. Thus our -inductive principle is at any rate not capable of being _disproved_ by -an appeal to experience. - -The inductive principle, however, is equally incapable of being -_proved_ by an appeal to experience. Experience might conceivably -confirm the inductive principle as regards the cases that have been -already examined; but as regards unexamined cases, it is the inductive -principle alone that can justify any inference from what has been -examined to what has not been examined. All arguments which, on the -basis of experience, argue as to the future or the unexperienced parts -of the past or present, assume the inductive principle; hence we can -never use experience to prove the inductive principle without begging -the question. Thus we must either accept the inductive principle on -the ground of its intrinsic evidence, or forgo all justification of -our expectations about the future. If the principle is unsound, we -have no reason to expect the sun to rise to-morrow, to expect bread to -be more nourishing than a stone, or to expect that if we throw -ourselves off the roof we shall fall. When we see what looks like our -best friend approaching us, we shall have no reason to suppose that -his body is not inhabited by the mind of our worst enemy or of some -total stranger. All our conduct is based upon associations which have -worked in the past, and which we therefore regard as likely to work in -the future; and this likelihood is dependent for its validity upon the -inductive principle. - -The general principles of science, such as the belief in the reign of -law, and the belief that every event must have a cause, are as -completely dependent upon the inductive principle as are the beliefs -of daily life All such general principles are believed because mankind -have found innumerable instances of their truth and no instances of -their falsehood. But this affords no evidence for their truth in the -future, unless the inductive principle is assumed. - -Thus all knowledge which, on a basis of experience tells us something -about what is not experienced, is based upon a belief which experience -can neither confirm nor confute, yet which, at least in its more -concrete applications, appears to be as firmly rooted in us as many of -the facts of experience. The existence and justification of such -beliefs--for the inductive principle, as we shall see, is not the only -example--raises some of the most difficult and most debated problems -of philosophy. We will, in the next chapter, consider briefly what -may be said to account for such knowledge, and what is its scope and -its degree of certainty. - - -CHAPTER VII -ON OUR KNOWLEDGE OF GENERAL PRINCIPLES - -We saw in the preceding chapter that the principle of induction, while -necessary to the validity of all arguments based on experience, is -itself not capable of being proved by experience, and yet is -unhesitatingly believed by every one, at least in all its concrete -applications. In these characteristics the principle of induction -does not stand alone. There are a number of other principles which -cannot be proved or disproved by experience, but are used in arguments -which start from what is experienced. - -Some of these principles have even greater evidence than the principle -of induction, and the knowledge of them has the same degree of -certainty as the knowledge of the existence of sense-data. They -constitute the means of drawing inferences from what is given in -sensation; and if what we infer is to be true, it is just as necessary -that our principles of inference should be true as it is that our data -should be true. The principles of inference are apt to be overlooked -because of their very obviousness--the assumption involved is assented -to without our realizing that it is an assumption. But it is very -important to realize the use of principles of inference, if a correct -theory of knowledge is to be obtained; for our knowledge of them -raises interesting and difficult questions. - -In all our knowledge of general principles, what actually happens is -that first of all we realize some particular application of the -principle, and then we realize that the particularity is irrelevant, -and that there is a generality which may equally truly be affirmed. -This is of course familiar in such matters as teaching arithmetic: -'two and two are four' is first learnt in the case of some particular -pair of couples, and then in some other particular case, and so on, -until at last it becomes possible to see that it is true of any pair -of couples. The same thing happens with logical principles. Suppose -two men are discussing what day of the month it is. One of them says, -'At least you will admit that _if_ yesterday was the 15th to-day must -be the 16th.' 'Yes', says the other, 'I admit that.' 'And you know', -the first continues, 'that yesterday was the 15th, because you dined -with Jones, and your diary will tell you that was on the 15th.' 'Yes', -says the second; 'therefore to-day _is_ the 16th.' - -Now such an argument is not hard to follow; and if it is granted that -its premisses are true in fact, no one will deny that the conclusion -must also be true. But it depends for its truth upon an instance of a -general logical principle. The logical principle is as follows: -'Suppose it known that _if_ this is true, then that is true. Suppose -it also known that this _is_ true, then it follows that that is true.' -When it is the case that if this is true, that is true, we shall say -that this 'implies' that, and that that 'follows from' this. Thus our -principle states that if this implies that, and this is true, then -that is true. In other words, 'anything implied by a true proposition -is true', or 'whatever follows from a true proposition is true'. - -This principle is really involved--at least, concrete instances of it -are involved--in all demonstrations. Whenever one thing which we -believe is used to prove something else, which we consequently -believe, this principle is relevant. If any one asks: 'Why should I -accept the results of valid arguments based on true premisses?' we can -only answer by appealing to our principle. In fact, the truth of the -principle is impossible to doubt, and its obviousness is so great that -at first sight it seems almost trivial. Such principles, however, are -not trivial to the philosopher, for they show that we may have -indubitable knowledge which is in no way derived from objects of -sense. - -The above principle is merely one of a certain number of self-evident -logical principles. Some at least of these principles must be granted -before any argument or proof becomes possible. When some of them have -been granted, others can be proved, though these others, so long as -they are simple, are just as obvious as the principles taken for -granted. For no very good reason, three of these principles have been -singled out by tradition under the name of 'Laws of Thought'. - -They are as follows: - -(1) _The law of identity_: 'Whatever is, is.' - -(2) _The law of contradiction_: 'Nothing can both be and not be.' - -(3) _The law of excluded middle_: 'Everything must either be or not -be.' - -These three laws are samples of self-evident logical principles, but -are not really more fundamental or more self-evident than various -other similar principles: for instance, the one we considered just -now, which states that what follows from a true premiss is true. The -name 'laws of thought' is also misleading, for what is important is -not the fact that we think in accordance with these laws, but the fact -that things behave in accordance with them; in other words, the fact -that when we think in accordance with them we think _truly_. But this -is a large question, to which we must return at a later stage. - -In addition to the logical principles which enable us to prove from a -given premiss that something is _certainly_ true, there are other -logical principles which enable us to prove, from a given premiss, -that there is a greater or less probability that something is true. -An example of such principles--perhaps the most important example is -the inductive principle, which we considered in the preceding chapter. - -One of the great historic controversies in philosophy is the -controversy between the two schools called respectively 'empiricists' -and 'rationalists'. The empiricists--who are best represented by the -British philosophers, Locke, Berkeley, and Hume--maintained that all -our knowledge is derived from experience; the rationalists--who are -represented by the Continental philosophers of the seventeenth -century, especially Descartes and Leibniz--maintained that, in -addition to what we know by experience, there are certain 'innate -ideas' and 'innate principles', which we know independently of -experience. It has now become possible to decide with some confidence -as to the truth or falsehood of these opposing schools. It must be -admitted, for the reasons already stated, that logical principles are -known to us, and cannot be themselves proved by experience, since all -proof presupposes them. In this, therefore, which was the most -important point of the controversy, the rationalists were in the -right. - -On the other hand, even that part of our knowledge which is -_logically_ independent of experience (in the sense that experience -cannot prove it) is yet elicited and caused by experience. It is on -occasion of particular experiences that we become aware of the general -laws which their connexions exemplify. It would certainly be absurd -to suppose that there are innate principles in the sense that babies -are born with a knowledge of everything which men know and which -cannot be deduced from what is experienced. For this reason, the word -'innate' would not now be employed to describe our knowledge of -logical principles. The phrase '_a priori_' is less objectionable, -and is more usual in modern writers. Thus, while admitting that all -knowledge is elicited and caused by experience, we shall nevertheless -hold that some knowledge is _a priori_, in the sense that the -experience which makes us think of it does not suffice to prove it, -but merely so directs our attention that we see its truth without -requiring any proof from experience. - -There is another point of great importance, in which the empiricists -were in the right as against the rationalists. Nothing can be known -to _exist_ except by the help of experience. That is to say, if we -wish to prove that something of which we have no direct experience -exists, we must have among our premisses the existence of one or more -things of which we have direct experience. Our belief that the -Emperor of China exists, for example, rests upon testimony, and -testimony consists, in the last analysis, of sense-data seen or heard -in reading or being spoken to. Rationalists believed that, from -general consideration as to what must be, they could deduce the -existence of this or that in the actual world. In this belief they -seem to have been mistaken. All the knowledge that we can acquire _a -priori_ concerning existence seems to be hypothetical: it tells us -that if one thing exists, another must exist, or, more generally, that -if one proposition is true, another must be true. This is exemplified -by the principles we have already dealt with, such as '_if_ this is -true, and this implies that, then that is true', or '_if_ this and -that have been repeatedly found connected, they will probably be -connected in the next instance in which one of them is found'. Thus -the scope and power of _a priori_ principles is strictly limited. All -knowledge that something exists must be in part dependent on -experience. When anything is known immediately, its existence is -known by experience alone; when anything is proved to exist, without -being known immediately, both experience and _a priori_ principles -must be required in the proof. Knowledge is called _empirical_ when -it rests wholly or partly upon experience. Thus all knowledge which -asserts existence is empirical, and the only _a priori_ knowledge -concerning existence is hypothetical, giving connexions among things -that exist or may exist, but not giving actual existence. - -_A priori_ knowledge is not all of the logical kind we have been -hitherto considering. Perhaps the most important example of -non-logical _a priori_ knowledge is knowledge as to ethical value. I -am not speaking of judgements as to what is useful or as to what is -virtuous, for such judgements do require empirical premisses; I am -speaking of judgements as to the intrinsic desirability of things. If -something is useful, it must be useful because it secures some end; -the end must, if we have gone far enough, be valuable on its own -account, and not merely because it is useful for some further end. -Thus all judgements as to what is useful depend upon judgements as to -what has value on its own account. - -We judge, for example, that happiness is more desirable than misery, -knowledge than ignorance, goodwill than hatred, and so on. Such -judgements must, in part at least, be immediate and _a priori_. Like -our previous _a priori_ judgements, they may be elicited by -experience, and indeed they must be; for it seems not possible to -judge whether anything is intrinsically valuable unless we have -experienced something of the same kind. But it is fairly obvious that -they cannot be proved by experience; for the fact that a thing exists -or does not exist cannot prove either that it is good that it should -exist or that it is bad. The pursuit of this subject belongs to -ethics, where the impossibility of deducing what ought to be from what -is has to be established. In the present connexion, it is only -important to realize that knowledge as to what is intrinsically of -value is _a priori_ in the same sense in which logic is _a priori_, -namely in the sense that the truth of such knowledge can be neither -proved nor disproved by experience. - -All pure mathematics is _a priori_, like logic. This was strenuously -denied by the empirical philosophers, who maintained that experience -was as much the source of our knowledge of arithmetic as of our -knowledge of geography. They maintained that by the repeated -experience of seeing two things and two other things, and finding that -altogether they made four things, we were led by induction to the -conclusion that two things and two other things would _always_ make -four things altogether. If, however, this were the source of our -knowledge that two and two are four, we should proceed differently, in -persuading ourselves of its truth, from the way in which we do -actually proceed. In fact, a certain number of instances are needed -to make us think of two abstractly, rather than of two coins or two -books or two people, or two of any other specified kind. But as soon -as we are able to divest our thoughts of irrelevant particularity, we -become able to see the general principle that two and two are four; -any one instance is seen to be _typical_, and the examination of other -instances becomes unnecessary.[1] - -[1] Cf. A. N. Whitehead, _Introduction to Mathematics_ (Home -University Library). - -The same thing is exemplified in geometry. If we want to prove some -property of _all_ triangles, we draw some one triangle and reason -about it; but we can avoid making use of any property which it does -not share with all other triangles, and thus, from our particular -case, we obtain a general result. We do not, in fact, feel our -certainty that two and two are four increased by fresh instances, -because, as soon as we have seen the truth of this proposition, our -certainty becomes so great as to be incapable of growing greater. -Moreover, we feel some quality of necessity about the proposition 'two -and two are four', which is absent from even the best attested -empirical generalizations. Such generalizations always remain mere -facts: we feel that there might be a world in which they were false, -though in the actual world they happen to be true. In any possible -world, on the contrary, we feel that two and two would be four: this -is not a mere fact, but a necessity to which everything actual and -possible must conform. - -The case may be made clearer by considering a genuinely-empirical -generalization, such as 'All men are mortal.' It is plain that we -believe this proposition, in the first place, because there is no -known instance of men living beyond a certain age, and in the second -place because there seem to be physiological grounds for thinking that -an organism such as a man's body must sooner or later wear out. -Neglecting the second ground, and considering merely our experience of -men's mortality, it is plain that we should not be content with one -quite clearly understood instance of a man dying, whereas, in the case -of 'two and two are four', one instance does suffice, when carefully -considered, to persuade us that the same must happen in any other -instance. Also we can be forced to admit, on reflection, that there -may be some doubt, however slight, as to whether _all_ men are mortal. -This may be made plain by the attempt to imagine two different worlds, -in one of which there are men who are not mortal, while in the other -two and two make five. When Swift invites us to consider the race of -Struldbugs who never die, we are able to acquiesce in imagination. -But a world where two and two make five seems quite on a different -level. We feel that such a world, if there were one, would upset the -whole fabric of our knowledge and reduce us to utter doubt. - -The fact is that, in simple mathematical judgements such as 'two and -two are four', and also in many judgements of logic, we can know the -general proposition without inferring it from instances, although some -instance is usually necessary to make clear to us what the general -proposition means. This is why there is real utility in the process -of _deduction_, which goes from the general to the general, or from -the general to the particular, as well as in the process of -_induction_, which goes from the particular to the particular, or from -the particular to the general. It is an old debate among philosophers -whether deduction ever gives _new_ knowledge. We can now see that in -certain cases, at least, it does do so. If we already know that two -and two always make four, and we know that Brown and Jones are two, -and so are Robinson and Smith, we can deduce that Brown and Jones and -Robinson and Smith are four. This is new knowledge, not contained in -our premisses, because the general proposition, 'two and two are -four', never told us there were such people as Brown and Jones and -Robinson and Smith, and the particular premisses do not tell us that -there were four of them, whereas the particular proposition deduced -does tell us both these things. - -But the newness of the knowledge is much less certain if we take the -stock instance of deduction that is always given in books on logic, -namely, 'All men are mortal; Socrates is a man, therefore Socrates is -mortal.' In this case, what we really know beyond reasonable doubt is -that certain men, A, B, C, were mortal, since, in fact, they have -died. If Socrates is one of these men, it is foolish to go the -roundabout way through 'all men are mortal' to arrive at the -conclusion that _probably_ Socrates is mortal. If Socrates is not one -of the men on whom our induction is based, we shall still do better to -argue straight from our A, B, C, to Socrates, than to go round by the -general proposition, 'all men are mortal'. For the probability that -Socrates is mortal is greater, on our data, than the probability that -all men are mortal. (This is obvious, because if all men are mortal, -so is Socrates; but if Socrates is mortal, it does not follow that all -men are mortal.) Hence we shall reach the conclusion that Socrates is -mortal with a greater approach to certainty if we make our argument -purely inductive than if we go by way of 'all men are mortal' and then -use deduction. - -This illustrates the difference between general propositions known _a -priori_ such as 'two and two are four', and empirical generalizations -such as 'all men are mortal'. In regard to the former, deduction is -the right mode of argument, whereas in regard to the latter, induction -is always theoretically preferable, and warrants a greater confidence -in the truth of our conclusion, because all empirical generalizations -are more uncertain than the instances of them. - -We have now seen that there are propositions known _a priori_, and -that among them are the propositions of logic and pure mathematics, as -well as the fundamental propositions of ethics. The question which -must next occupy us is this: How is it possible that there should be -such knowledge? And more particularly, how can there be knowledge of -general propositions in cases where we have not examined all the -instances, and indeed never can examine them all, because their number -is infinite? These questions, which were first brought prominently -forward by the German philosopher Kant (1724-1804), are very -difficult, and historically very important. - - -CHAPTER VIII -HOW _A PRIORI_ KNOWLEDGE IS POSSIBLE - -Immanuel Kant is generally regarded as the greatest of the modern -philosophers. Though he lived through the Seven Years War and the -French Revolution, he never interrupted his teaching of philosophy at -Königsberg in East Prussia. His most distinctive contribution was -the invention of what he called the 'critical' philosophy, which, -assuming as a datum that there is knowledge of various kinds, inquired -how such knowledge comes to be possible, and deduced, from the answer -to this inquiry, many metaphysical results as to the nature of the -world. Whether these results were valid may well be doubted. But -Kant undoubtedly deserves credit for two things: first, for having -perceived that we have _a priori_ knowledge which is not purely -'analytic', i.e. such that the opposite would be self-contradictory, -and secondly, for having made evident the philosophical importance of -the theory of knowledge. - -Before the time of Kant, it was generally held that whatever knowledge -was _a priori_ must be 'analytic'. What this word means will be best -illustrated by examples. If I say, 'A bald man is a man', 'A plane -figure is a figure', 'A bad poet is a poet', I make a purely analytic -judgement: the subject spoken about is given as having at least two -properties, of which one is singled out to be asserted of it. Such -propositions as the above are trivial, and would never be enunciated -in real life except by an orator preparing the way for a piece of -sophistry. They are called 'analytic' because the predicate is -obtained by merely analysing the subject. Before the time of Kant it -was thought that all judgements of which we could be certain _a -priori_ were of this kind: that in all of them there was a predicate -which was only part of the subject of which it was asserted. If this -were so, we should be involved in a definite contradiction if we -attempted to deny anything that could be known _a priori_. 'A bald -man is not bald' would assert and deny baldness of the same man, and -would therefore contradict itself. Thus according to the philosophers -before Kant, the law of contradiction, which asserts that nothing can -at the same time have and not have a certain property, sufficed to -establish the truth of all _a priori_ knowledge. - -Hume (1711-76), who preceded Kant, accepting the usual view as to what -makes knowledge _a priori_, discovered that, in many cases which had -previously been supposed analytic, and notably in the case of cause -and effect, the connexion was really synthetic. Before Hume, -rationalists at least had supposed that the effect could be logically -deduced from the cause, if only we had sufficient knowledge. Hume -argued--correctly, as would now be generally admitted--that this could -not be done. Hence he inferred the far more doubtful proposition that -nothing could be known _a priori_ about the connexion of cause and -effect. Kant, who had been educated in the rationalist tradition, was -much perturbed by Hume's scepticism, and endeavoured to find an answer -to it. He perceived that not only the connexion of cause and effect, -but all the propositions of arithmetic and geometry, are 'synthetic', -i.e. not analytic: in all these propositions, no analysis of the -subject will reveal the predicate. His stock instance was the -proposition 7 + 5 = 12. He pointed out, quite truly, that 7 and 5 -have to be put together to give 12: the idea of 12 is not contained in -them, nor even in the idea of adding them together. Thus he was led -to the conclusion that all pure mathematics, though _a priori_, is -synthetic; and this conclusion raised a new problem of which he -endeavoured to find the solution. - -The question which Kant put at the beginning of his philosophy, namely -'How is pure mathematics possible?' is an interesting and difficult -one, to which every philosophy which is not purely sceptical must find -some answer. The answer of the pure empiricists, that our -mathematical knowledge is derived by induction from particular -instances, we have already seen to be inadequate, for two reasons: -first, that the validity of the inductive principle itself cannot be -proved by induction; secondly, that the general propositions of -mathematics, such as 'two and two always make four', can obviously be -known with certainty by consideration of a single instance, and gain -nothing by enumeration of other cases in which they have been found to -be true. Thus our knowledge of the general propositions of -mathematics (and the same applies to logic) must be accounted for -otherwise than our (merely probable) knowledge of empirical -generalizations such as 'all men are mortal'. - -The problem arises through the fact that such knowledge is general, -whereas all experience is particular. It seems strange that we should -apparently be able to know some truths in advance about particular -things of which we have as yet no experience; but it cannot easily be -doubted that logic and arithmetic will apply to such things. We do -not know who will be the inhabitants of London a hundred years hence; -but we know that any two of them and any other two of them will make -four of them. This apparent power of anticipating facts about things -of which we have no experience is certainly surprising. Kant's -solution of the problem, though not valid in my opinion, is -interesting. It is, however, very difficult, and is differently -understood by different philosophers. We can, therefore, only give -the merest outline of it, and even that will be thought misleading by -many exponents of Kant's system. - -What Kant maintained was that in all our experience there are two -elements to be distinguished, the one due to the object (i.e. to what -we have called the 'physical object'), the other due to our own -nature. We saw, in discussing matter and sense-data, that the -physical object is different from the associated sense-data, and that -the sense-data are to be regarded as resulting from an interaction -between the physical object and ourselves. So far, we are in -agreement with Kant. But what is distinctive of Kant is the way in -which he apportions the shares of ourselves and the physical object -respectively. He considers that the crude material given in -sensation--the colour, hardness, etc.--is due to the object, and that -what we supply is the arrangement in space and time, and all the -relations between sense-data which result from comparison or from -considering one as the cause of the other or in any other way. His -chief reason in favour of this view is that we seem to have _a priori_ -knowledge as to space and time and causality and comparison, but not -as to the actual crude material of sensation. We can be sure, he -says, that anything we shall ever experience must show the -characteristics affirmed of it in our _a priori_ knowledge, because -these characteristics are due to our own nature, and therefore nothing -can ever come into our experience without acquiring these -characteristics. - -The physical object, which he calls the 'thing in itself',[1] he -regards as essentially unknowable; what can be known is the object as -we have it in experience, which he calls the 'phenomenon'. The -phenomenon, being a joint product of us and the thing in itself, is -sure to have those characteristics which are due to us, and is -therefore sure to conform to our _a priori_ knowledge. Hence this -knowledge, though true of all actual and possible experience, must not -be supposed to apply outside experience. Thus in spite of the -existence of _a priori_ knowledge, we cannot know anything about the -thing in itself or about what is not an actual or possible object of -experience. In this way he tries to reconcile and harmonize the -contentions of the rationalists with the arguments of the empiricists. - -[1] Kant's 'thing in itself' is identical in _definition_ with the -physical object, namely, it is the cause of sensations. In the -properties deduced from the definition it is not identical, since Kant -held (in spite of some inconsistency as regards cause) that we can -know that none of the categories are applicable to the 'thing in -itself'. - -Apart from minor grounds on which Kant's philosophy may be criticized, -there is one main objection which seems fatal to any attempt to deal -with the problem of _a priori_ knowledge by his method. The thing to -be accounted for is our certainty that the facts must always conform -to logic and arithmetic. To say that logic and arithmetic are -contributed by us does not account for this. Our nature is as much a -fact of the existing world as anything, and there can be no certainty -that it will remain constant. It might happen, if Kant is right, that -to-morrow our nature would so change as to make two and two become -five. This possibility seems never to have occurred to him, yet it is -one which utterly destroys the certainty and universality which he is -anxious to vindicate for arithmetical propositions. It is true that -this possibility, formally, is inconsistent with the Kantian view that -time itself is a form imposed by the subject upon phenomena, so that -our real Self is not in time and has no to-morrow. But he will still -have to suppose that the time-order of phenomena is determined by -characteristics of what is behind phenomena, and this suffices for the -substance of our argument. - -Reflection, moreover, seems to make it clear that, if there is any -truth in our arithmetical beliefs, they must apply to things equally -whether we think of them or not. Two physical objects and two other -physical objects must make four physical objects, even if physical -objects cannot be experienced. To assert this is certainly within the -scope of what we mean when we state that two and two are four. Its -truth is just as indubitable as the truth of the assertion that two -phenomena and two other phenomena make four phenomena. Thus Kant's -solution unduly limits the scope of _a priori_ propositions, in -addition to failing in the attempt at explaining their certainty. - -Apart from the special doctrines advocated by Kant, it is very common -among philosophers to regard what is _a priori_ as in some sense -mental, as concerned rather with the way we must think than with any -fact of the outer world. We noted in the preceding chapter the three -principles commonly called 'laws of thought'. The view which led to -their being so named is a natural one, but there are strong reasons -for thinking that it is erroneous. Let us take as an illustration the -law of contradiction. This is commonly stated in the form 'Nothing -can both be and not be', which is intended to express the fact that -nothing can at once have and not have a given quality. Thus, for -example, if a tree is a beech it cannot also be not a beech; if my -table is rectangular it cannot also be not rectangular, and so on. - -Now what makes it natural to call this principle a law of _thought_ is -that it is by thought rather than by outward observation that we -persuade ourselves of its necessary truth. When we have seen that a -tree is a beech, we do not need to look again in order to ascertain -whether it is also not a beech; thought alone makes us know that this -is impossible. But the conclusion that the law of contradiction is a -law of _thought_ is nevertheless erroneous. What we believe, when we -believe the law of contradiction, is not that the mind is so made that -it must believe the law of contradiction. _This_ belief is a -subsequent result of psychological reflection, which presupposes the -belief in the law of contradiction. The belief in the law of -contradiction is a belief about things, not only about thoughts. It -is not, e.g., the belief that if we _think_ a certain tree is a beech, -we cannot at the same time _think_ that it is not a beech; it is the -belief that if the tree _is_ a beech, it cannot at the same time _be_ -not a beech. Thus the law of contradiction is about things, and not -merely about thoughts; and although belief in the law of contradiction -is a thought, the law of contradiction itself is not a thought, but a -fact concerning the things in the world. If this, which we believe -when we believe the law of contradiction, were not true of the things -in the world, the fact that we were compelled to _think_ it true would -not save the law of contradiction from being false; and this shows -that the iaw is not a law of _thought_. - -A similar argument applies to any other _a priori_ judgement. When we -judge that two and two are four, we are not making a judgement about -our thoughts, but about all actual or possible couples. The fact that -our minds are so constituted as to believe that two and two are four, -though it is true, is emphatically not what we assert when we assert -that two and two are four. And no fact about the constitution of our -minds could make it _true_ that two and two are four. Thus our _a -priori_ knowledge, if it is not erroneous, is not merely knowledge -about the constitution of our minds, but is applicable to whatever the -world may contain, both what is mental and what is non-mental. - -The fact seems to be that all our _a priori_ knowledge is concerned -with entities which do not, properly speaking, _exist_, either in the -mental or in the physical world. These entities are such as can be -named by parts of speech which are not substantives; they are such -entities as qualities and relations. Suppose, for instance, that I am -in my room. I exist, and my room exists; but does 'in' exist? Yet -obviously the word 'in' has a meaning; it denotes a relation which -holds between me and my room. This relation is something, although we -cannot say that it exists _in the same sense_ in which I and my room -exist. The relation 'in' is something which we can think about and -understand, for, if we could not understand it, we could not -understand the sentence 'I am in my room'. Many philosophers, -following Kant, have maintained that relations are the work of the -mind, that things in themselves have no relations, but that the mind -brings them together in one act of thought and thus produces the -relations which it judges them to have. - -This view, however, seems open to objections similar to those which we -urged before against Kant. It seems plain that it is not thought -which produces the truth of the proposition 'I am in my room'. It may -be true that an earwig is in my room, even if neither I nor the earwig -nor any one else is aware of this truth; for this truth concerns only -the earwig and the room, and does not depend upon anything else. Thus -relations, as we shall see more fully in the next chapter, must be -placed in a world which is neither mental nor physical. This world is -of great importance to philosophy, and in particular to the problems -of _a priori_ knowledge. In the next chapter we shall proceed to -develop its nature and its bearing upon the questions with which we -have been dealing. - - -CHAPTER IX -THE WORLD OF UNIVERSALS - -At the end of the preceding chapter we saw that such entities as -relations appear to have a being which is in some way different from -that of physical objects, and also different from that of minds and -from that of sense-data. In the present chapter we have to consider -what is the nature of this kind of being, and also what objects there -are that have this kind of being. We will begin with the latter -question. - -The problem with which we are now concerned is a very old one, since -it was brought into philosophy by Plato. Plato's 'theory of ideas' is -an attempt to solve this very problem, and in my opinion it is one of -the most successful attempts hitherto made. The theory to be -advocated in what follows is largely Plato's, with merely such -modifications as time has shown to be necessary. - -The way the problem arose for Plato was more or less as follows. Let -us consider, say, such a notion as _justice_. If we ask ourselves -what justice is, it is natural to proceed by considering this, that, -and the other just act, with a view to discovering what they have in -common. They must all, in some sense, partake of a common nature, -which will be found in whatever is just and in nothing else. This -common nature, in virtue of which they are all just, will be justice -itself, the pure essence the admixture of which with facts of ordinary -life produces the multiplicity of just acts. Similarly with any other -word which may be applicable to common facts, such as 'whiteness' for -example. The word will be applicable to a number of particular things -because they all participate in a common nature or essence. This pure -essence is what Plato calls an 'idea' or 'form'. (It must not be -supposed that 'ideas', in his sense, exist in minds, though they may -be apprehended by minds.) The 'idea' _justice_ is not identical with -anything that is just: it is something other than particular things, -which particular things partake of. Not being particular, it cannot -itself exist in the world of sense. Moreover it is not fleeting or -changeable like the things of sense: it is eternally itself, immutable -and indestructible. - -Thus Plato is led to a supra-sensible world, more real than the common -world of sense, the unchangeable world of ideas, which alone gives to -the world of sense whatever pale reflection of reality may belong to -it. The truly real world, for Plato, is the world of ideas; for -whatever we may attempt to say about things in the world of sense, we -can only succeed in saying that they participate in such and such -ideas, which, therefore, constitute all their character. Hence it is -easy to pass on into a mysticism. We may hope, in a mystic -illumination, to see the ideas as we see objects of sense; and we may -imagine that the ideas exist in heaven. These mystical developments -are very natural, but the basis of the theory is in logic, and it is -as based in logic that we have to consider it. - -The word 'idea' has acquired, in the course of time, many associations -which are quite misleading when applied to Plato's 'ideas'. We shall -therefore use the word 'universal' instead of the word 'idea', to -describe what Plato meant. The essence of the sort of entity that -Plato meant is that it is opposed to the particular things that are -given in sensation. We speak of whatever is given in sensation, or is -of the same nature as things given in sensation, as a _particular_; by -opposition to this, a _universal_ will be anything which may be shared -by many particulars, and has those characteristics which, as we saw, -distinguish justice and whiteness from just acts and white things. - -When we examine common words, we find that, broadly speaking, proper -names stand for particulars, while other substantives, adjectives, -prepositions, and verbs stand for universals. Pronouns stand for -particulars, but are ambiguous: it is only by the context or the -circumstances that we know what particulars they stand for. The word -'now' stands for a particular, namely the present moment; but like -pronouns, it stands for an ambiguous particular, because the present -is always changing. - -It will be seen that no sentence can be made up without at least one -word which denotes a universal. The nearest approach would be some -such statement as 'I like this'. But even here the word 'like' -denotes a universal, for I may like other things, and other people may -like things. Thus all truths involve universals, and all knowledge of -truths involves acquaintance with universals. - -Seeing that nearly all the words to be found in the dictionary stand -for universals, it is strange that hardly anybody except students of -philosophy ever realizes that there are such entities as universals. -We do not naturally dwell upon those words in a sentence which do not -stand for particulars; and if we are forced to dwell upon a word which -stands for a universal, we naturally think of it as standing for some -one of the particulars that come under the universal. When, for -example, we hear the sentence, 'Charles I's head was cut off', we may -naturally enough think of Charles I, of Charles I's head, and of the -operation of cutting off _his_ head, which are all particulars; but we -do not naturally dwell upon what is meant by the word 'head' or the -word 'cut', which is a universal: We feel such words to be incomplete -and insubstantial; they seem to demand a context before anything can -be done with them. Hence we succeed in avoiding all notice of -universals as such, until the study of philosophy forces them upon our -attention. - -Even among philosophers, we may say, broadly, that only those -universals which are named by adjectives or substantives have been -much or often recognized, while those named by verbs and prepositions -have been usually overlooked. This omission has had a very great -effect upon philosophy; it is hardly too much to say that most -metaphysics, since Spinoza, has been largely determined by it. The -way this has occurred is, in outline, as follows: Speaking generally, -adjectives and common nouns express qualities or properties of single -things, whereas prepositions and verbs tend to express relations -between two or more things. Thus the neglect of prepositions and -verbs led to the belief that every proposition can be regarded as -attributing a property to a single thing, rather than as expressing a -relation between two or more things. Hence it was supposed that, -ultimately, there can be no such entities as relations between things. -Hence either there can be only one thing in the universe, or, if there -are many things, they cannot possibly interact in any way, since any -interaction would be a relation, and relations are impossible. - -The first of these views, advocated by Spinoza and held in our own day -by Bradley and many other philosophers, is called _monism_; the -second, advocated by Leibniz but not very common nowadays, is called -_monadism_, because each of the isolated things is called a _monad_. -Both these opposing philosophies, interesting as they are, result, in -my opinion, from an undue attention to one sort of universals, namely -the sort represented by adjectives and substantives rather than by -verbs and prepositions. - -As a matter of fact, if any one were anxious to deny altogether that -there are such things as universals, we should find that we cannot -strictly prove that there are such entities as _qualities_, i.e. the -universals represented by adjectives and substantives, whereas we can -prove that there must be _relations_, i.e. the sort of universals -generally represented by verbs and prepositions. Let us take in -illustration the universal _whiteness_. If we believe that there is -such a universal, we shall say that things are white because they have -the quality of whiteness. This view, however, was strenuously denied -by Berkeley and Hume, who have been followed in this by later -empiricists. The form which their denial took was to deny that there -are such things as 'abstract ideas '. When we want to think of -whiteness, they said, we form an image of some particular white thing, -and reason concerning this particular, taking care not to deduce -anything concerning it which we cannot see to be equally true of any -other white thing. As an account of our actual mental processes, this -is no doubt largely true. In geometry, for example, when we wish to -prove something about all triangles, we draw a particular triangle and -reason about it, taking care not to use any characteristic which it -does not share with other triangles. The beginner, in order to avoid -error, often finds it useful to draw several triangles, as unlike each -other as possible, in order to make sure that his reasoning is equally -applicable to all of them. But a difficulty emerges as soon as we ask -ourselves how we know that a thing is white or a triangle. If we wish -to avoid the universals _whiteness_ and _triangularity_, we shall -choose some particular patch of white or some particular triangle, and -say that anything is white or a triangle if it has the right sort of -resemblance to our chosen particular. But then the resemblance -required will have to be a universal. Since there are many white -things, the resemblance must hold between many pairs of particular -white things; and this is the characteristic of a universal. It will -be useless to say that there is a different resemblance for each pair, -for then we shall have to say that these resemblances resemble each -other, and thus at last we shall be forced to admit resemblance as a -universal. The relation of resemblance, therefore, must be a true -universal. And having been forced to admit this universal, we find -that it is no longer worth while to invent difficult and unplausible -theories to avoid the admission of such universals as whiteness and -triangularity. - -Berkeley and Hume failed to perceive this refutation of their -rejection of 'abstract ideas', because, like their adversaries, they -only thought of _qualities_, and altogether ignored _relations_ as -universals. We have therefore here another respect in which the -rationalists appear to have been in the right as against the -empiricists, although, owing to the neglect or denial of relations, -the deductions made by rationalists were, if anything, more apt to be -mistaken than those made by empiricists. - -Having now seen that there must be such entities as universals, the -next point to be proved is that their being is not merely mental. By -this is meant that whatever being belongs to them is independent of -their being thought of or in any way apprehended by minds. We have -already touched on this subject at the end of the preceding chapter, -but we must now consider more fully what sort of being it is that -belongs to universals. - -Consider such a proposition as 'Edinburgh is north of London'. Here -we have a relation between two places, and it seems plain that the -relation subsists independently of our knowledge of it. When we come -to know that Edinburgh is north of London, we come to know something -which has to do only with Edinburgh and London: we do not cause the -truth of the proposition by coming to know it, on the contrary we -merely apprehend a fact which was there before we knew it. The part -of the earth's surface where Edinburgh stands would be north of the -part where London stands, even if there were no human being to know -about north and south, and even if there were no minds at all in the -universe. This is, of course, denied by many philosophers, either for -Berkeley's reasons or for Kant's. But we have already considered -these reasons, and decided that they are inadequate. We may therefore -now assume it to be true that nothing mental is presupposed in the -fact that Edinburgh is north of London. But this fact involves the -relation 'north of', which is a universal; and it would be impossible -for the whole fact to involve nothing mental if the relation 'north -of', which is a constituent part of the fact, did involve anything -mental. Hence we must admit that the relation, like the terms it -relates, is not dependent upon thought, but belongs to the independent -world which thought apprehends but does not create. - -This conclusion, however, is met by the difficulty that the relation -'north of' does not seem to _exist_ in the same sense in which -Edinburgh and London exist. If we ask 'Where and when does this -relation exist?' the answer must be 'Nowhere and nowhen'. There is no -place or time where we can find the relation 'north of'. It does not -exist in Edinburgh any more than in London, for it relates the two and -is neutral as between them. Nor can we say that it exists at any -particular time. Now everything that can be apprehended by the senses -or by introspection exists at some particular time. Hence the -relation 'north of' is radically different from such things. It is -neither in space nor in time, neither material nor mental; yet it is -something. - -It is largely the very peculiar kind of being that belongs to -universals which has led many people to suppose that they are really -mental. We can think _of_ a universal, and our thinking then exists -in a perfectly ordinary sense, like any other mental act. Suppose, -for example, that we are thinking of whiteness. Then _in one sense_ -it may be said that whiteness is 'in our mind'. We have here the same -ambiguity as we noted in discussing Berkeley in Chapter IV. In the -strict sense, it is not whiteness that is in our mind, but the act of -thinking of whiteness. The connected ambiguity in the word 'idea', -which we noted at the same time, also causes confusion here. In one -sense of this word, namely the sense in which it denotes the _object_ -of an act of thought, whiteness is an 'idea'. Hence, if the ambiguity -is not guarded against, we may come to think that whiteness is an -'idea' in the other sense, i.e. an act of thought; and thus we come -to think that whiteness is mental. But in so thinking, we rob it of -its essential quality of universality. One man's act of thought is -necessarily a different thing from another man's; one man's act of -thought at one time is necessarily a different thing from the same -man's act of thought at another time. Hence, if whiteness were the -thought as opposed to its object, no two different men could think of -it, and no one man could think of it twice. That which many different -thoughts of whiteness have in common is their _object_, and this -object is different from all of them. Thus universals are not -thoughts, though when known they are the objects of thoughts. - -We shall find it convenient only to speak of things _existing_ when -they are in time, that is to say, when we can point to some time at -which they exist (not excluding the possibility of their existing at -all times). Thus thoughts and feelings, minds and physical objects -exist. But universals do not exist in this sense; we shall say that -they _subsist_ or _have being_, where 'being' is opposed to -'existence' as being timeless. The world of universals, therefore, -may also be described as the world of being. The world of being is -unchangeable, rigid, exact, delightful to the mathematician, the -logician, the builder of metaphysical systems, and all who love -perfection more than life. The world of existence is fleeting, vague, -without sharp boundaries, without any clear plan or arrangement, but -it contains all thoughts and feelings, all the data of sense, and all -physical objects, everything that can do either good or harm, -everything that makes any difference to the value of life and the -world. According to our temperaments, we shall prefer the -contemplation of the one or of the other. The one we do not prefer -will probably seem to us a pale shadow of the one we prefer, and -hardly worthy to be regarded as in any sense real. But the truth is -that both have the same claim on our impartial attention, both are -real, and both are important to the metaphysician. Indeed no sooner -have we distinguished the two worlds than it becomes necessary to -consider their relations. - -But first of all we must examine our knowledge of universals. This -consideration will occupy us in the following chapter, where we shall -find that it solves the problem of _a priori_ knowledge, from which we -were first led to consider universals. - - -CHAPTER X -ON OUR KNOWLEDGE OF UNIVERSALS - -In regard to one man's knowledge at a given time, universals, like -particulars, may be divided into those known by acquaintance, those -known only by description, and those not known either by acquaintance -or by description. - -Let us consider first the knowledge of universals by acquaintance. It -is obvious, to begin with, that we are acquainted with such universals -as white, red, black, sweet, sour, loud, hard, etc., i.e. with -qualities which are exemplified in sense-data. When we see a white -patch, we are acquainted, in the first instance, with the particular -patch; but by seeing many white patches, we easily learn to abstract -the whiteness which they all have in common, and in learning to do -this we are learning to be acquainted with whiteness. A similar -process will make us acquainted with any other universal of the same -sort. Universals of this sort may be called 'sensible qualities'. -They can be apprehended with less effort of abstraction than any -others, and they seem less removed from particulars than other -universals are. - -We come next to relations. The easiest relations to apprehend are -those which hold between the different parts of a single complex -sense-datum. For example, I can see at a glance the whole of the page -on which I am writing; thus the whole page is included in one -sense-datum. But I perceive that some parts of the page are to the -left of other parts, and some parts are above other parts. The -process of abstraction in this case seems to proceed somewhat as -follows: I see successively a number of sense-data in which one part -is to the left of another; I perceive, as in the case of different -white patches, that all these sense-data have something in common, and -by abstraction I find that what they have in common is a certain -relation between their parts, namely the relation which I call 'being -to the left of'. In this way I become acquainted with the universal -relation. - -In like manner I become aware of the relation of before and after in -time. Suppose I hear a chime of bells: when the last bell of the -chime sounds, I can retain the whole chime before my mind, and I can -perceive that the earlier bells came before the later ones. Also in -memory I perceive that what I am remembering came before the present -time. From either of these sources I can abstract the universal -relation of before and after, just as I abstracted the universal -relation 'being to the left of'. Thus time-relations, like -space-relations, are among those with which we are acquainted. - -Another relation with which we become acquainted in much the same way -is resemblance. If I see simultaneously two shades of green, I can -see that they resemble each other; if I also see a shade of red: at -the same time, I can see that the two greens have more resemblance to -each other than either has to the red. In this way I become -acquainted with the universal _resemblance_ or _similarity_. - -Between universals, as between particulars, there are relations of -which we may be immediately aware. We have just seen that we can -perceive that the resemblance between two shades of green is greater -than the resemblance between a shade of red and a shade of green. -Here we are dealing with a relation, namely 'greater than', between -two relations. Our knowledge of such relations, though it requires -more power of abstraction than is required for perceiving the -qualities of sense-data, appears to be equally immediate, and (at -least in some cases) equally indubitable. Thus there is immediate -knowledge concerning universals as well as concerning sense-data. - -Returning now to the problem of _a priori_ knowledge, which we left -unsolved when we began the consideration of universals, we find -ourselves in a position to deal with it in a much more satisfactory -manner than was possible before. Let us revert to the proposition -'two and two are four'. It is fairly obvious, in view of what has -been said, that this proposition states a relation between the -universal 'two' and the universal 'four'. This suggests a proposition -which we shall now endeavour to establish: namely, _All _a priori_ -knowledge deals exclusively with the relations of universals_. This -proposition is of great importance, and goes a long way towards -solving our previous difficulties concerning _a priori_ knowledge. - -The only case in which it might seem, at first sight, as if our -proposition were untrue, is the case in which an _a priori_ -proposition states that _all_ of one class of particulars belong to -some other class, or (what comes to the same thing) that _all_ -particulars having some one property also have some other. In this -case it might seem as though we were dealing with the particulars that -have the property rather than with the property. The proposition 'two -and two are four' is really a case in point, for this may be stated in -the form 'any two and any other two are four', or 'any collection -formed of two twos is a collection of four'. If we can show that such -statements as this really deal only with universals, our proposition -may be regarded as proved. - -One way of discovering what a proposition deals with is to ask -ourselves what words we must understand--in other words, what objects -we must be acquainted with--in order to see what the proposition -means. As soon as we see what the proposition means, even if we do -not yet know whether it is true or false, it is evident that we must -have acquaintance with whatever is really dealt with by the -proposition. By applying this test, it appears that many propositions -which might seem to be concerned with particulars are really concerned -only with universals. In the special case of 'two and two are four', -even when we interpret it as meaning 'any collection formed of two -twos is a collection of four', it is plain that we can understand the -proposition, i.e. we can see what it is that it asserts, as soon as -we know what is meant by 'collection' and 'two' and 'four'. It is -quite unnecessary to know all the couples in the world: if it were -necessary, obviously we could never understand the proposition, since -the couples are infinitely numerous and therefore cannot all be known -to us. Thus although our general statement _implies_ statements about -particular couples, _as soon as we know that there are such particular -couples_, yet it does not itself assert or imply that there are such -particular couples, and thus fails to make any statement whatever -about any actual particular couple. The statement made is about -'couple', the universal, and not about this or that couple. - -Thus the statement 'two and two are four' deals exclusively with -universals, and therefore may be known by anybody who is acquainted -with the universals concerned and can perceive the relation between -them which the statement asserts. It must be taken as a fact, -discovered by reflecting upon our knowledge, that we have the power of -sometimes perceiving such relations between universals, and therefore -of sometimes knowing general _a priori_ propositions such as those of -arithmetic and logic. The thing that seemed mysterious, when we -formerly considered such knowledge, was that it seemed to anticipate -and control experience. This, however, we can now see to have been an -error. _No_ fact concerning anything capable of being experienced can -be known independently of experience. We know _a priori_ that two -things and two other things together make four things, but we do _not_ -know _a priori_ that if Brown and Jones are two, and Robinson and -Smith are two, then Brown and Jones and Robinson and Smith are four. -The reason is that this proposition cannot be understood at all unless -we know that there are such people as Brown and Jones and Robinson and -Smith, and this we can only know by experience. Hence, although our -general proposition is _a priori_, all its applications to actual -particulars involve experience and therefore contain an empirical -element. In this way what seemed mysterious in our _a priori_ -knowledge is seen to have been based upon an error. - -It will serve to make the point clearer if we contrast our genuine _a -priori_ judgement with an empirical generalization, such as 'all men -are mortals'. Here as before, we can _understand_ what the -proposition means as soon as we understand the universals involved, -namely _man_ and _mortal_. It is obviously unnecessary to have an -individual acquaintance with the whole human race in order to -understand what our proposition means. Thus the difference between an -_a priori_ general proposition and an empirical generalization does -not come in the _meaning_ of the proposition; it comes in the nature -of the _evidence_ for it. In the empirical case, the evidence -consists in the particular instances. We believe that all men are -mortal because we know that there are innumerable instances of men -dying, and no instances of their living beyond a certain age. We do -not believe it because we see a connexion between the universal _man_ -and the universal _mortal_. It is true that if physiology can prove, -assuming the general laws that govern living bodies, that no living -organism can last for ever, that gives a connexion between _man_ and -_mortality_ which would enable us to assert our proposition without -appealing to the special evidence of _men_ dying. But that only means -that our generalization has been subsumed under a wider -generalization, for which the evidence is still of the same kind, -though more extensive. The progress of science is constantly -producing such subsumptions, and therefore giving a constantly wider -inductive basis for scientific generalizations. But although this -gives a greater _degree_ of certainty, it does not give a different -_kind_: the ultimate ground remains inductive, i.e. derived from -instances, and not an _a priori_ connexion of universals such as we -have in logic and arithmetic. - -Two opposite points are to be observed concerning _a priori_ general -propositions. The first is that, if many particular instances are -known, our general proposition may be arrived at in the first instance -by induction, and the connexion of universals may be only subsequently -perceived. For example, it is known that if we draw perpendiculars to -the sides of a triangle from the opposite angles, all three -perpendiculars meet in a point. It would be quite possible to be -first led to this proposition by actually drawing perpendiculars in -many cases, and finding that they always met in a point; this -experience might lead us to look for the general proof and find it. -Such cases are common in the experience of every mathematician. - -The other point is more interesting, and of more philosophical -importance. It is, that we may sometimes know a general proposition -in cases where we do not know a single instance of it. Take such a -case as the following: We know that any two numbers can be multiplied -together, and will give a third called their _product_. We know that -all pairs of integers the product of which is less than 100 have been -actually multiplied together, and the value of the product recorded in -the multiplication table. But we also know that the number of -integers is infinite, and that only a finite number of pairs of -integers ever have been or ever will be thought of by human beings. -Hence it follows that there are pairs of integers which never have -been and never will be thought of by human beings, and that all of -them deal with integers the product of which is over 100. Hence we -arrive at the proposition: 'All products of two integers, which never -have been and never will be thought of by any human being, are over -100.' Here is a general proposition of which the truth is undeniable, -and yet, from the very nature of the case, we can never give an -instance; because any two numbers we may think of are excluded by the -terms of the proposition. - -This possibility, of knowledge of general propositions of which no -instance can be given, is often denied, because it is not perceived -that the knowledge of such propositions only requires a knowledge of -the relations of universals, and does not require any knowledge of -instances of the universals in question. Yet the knowledge of such -general propositions is quite vital to a great deal of what is -generally admitted to be known. For example, we saw, in our early -chapters, that knowledge of physical objects, as opposed to -sense-data, is only obtained by an inference, and that they are not -things with which we are acquainted. Hence we can never know any -proposition of the form 'this is a physical object', where 'this' is -something immediately known. It follows that all our knowledge -concerning physical objects is such that no actual instance can be -given. We can give instances of the associated sense-data, but we -cannot give instances of the actual physical objects. Hence our -knowledge as to physical objects depends throughout upon this -possibility of general knowledge where no instance can be given. And -the same applies to our knowledge of other people's minds, or of any -other class of things of which no instance is known to us by -acquaintance. - -We may now take a survey of the sources of our knowledge, as they have -appeared in the course of our analysis. We have first to distinguish -knowledge of things and knowledge of truths. In each there are two -kinds, one immediate and one derivative. Our immediate knowledge of -things, which we called _acquaintance_, consists of two sorts, -according as the things known are particulars or universals. Among -particulars, we have acquaintance with sense-data and (probably) with -ourselves. Among universals, there seems to be no principle by which -we can decide which can be known by acquaintance, but it is clear that -among those that can be so known are sensible qualities, relations of -space and time, similarity, and certain abstract logical universals. -Our derivative knowledge of things, which we call knowledge by -_description_, always involves both acquaintance with something and -knowledge of truths. Our immediate knowledge of _truths_ may be -called _intuitive_ knowledge, and the truths so known may be called -_self-evident_ truths. Among such truths are included those which -merely state what is given in sense, and also certain abstract logical -and arithmetical principles, and (though with less certainty) some -ethical propositions. Our _derivative_ knowledge of truths consists -of everything that we can deduce from self-evident truths by the use -of self-evident principles of deduction. - -If the above account is correct, all our knowledge of truths depends -upon our intuitive knowledge. It therefore becomes important to -consider the nature and scope of intuitive knowledge, in much the same -way as, at an earlier stage, we considered the nature and scope of -knowledge by acquaintance. But knowledge of truths raises a further -problem, which does not arise in regard to knowledge of things, namely -the problem of _error_. Some of our beliefs turn out to be erroneous, -and therefore it becomes necessary to consider how, if at all, we can -distinguish knowledge from error. This problem does not arise with -regard to knowledge by acquaintance, for, whatever may be the object -of acquaintance, even in dreams and hallucinations, there is no error -involved so long as we do not go beyond the immediate object: error -can only arise when we regard the immediate object, i.e. the -sense-datum, as the mark of some physical object. Thus the problems -connected with knowledge of truths are more difficult than those -connected with knowledge of things. As the first of the problems -connected with knowledge of truths, let us examine the nature and -scope of our intuitive judgements. - - -CHAPTER XI -ON INTUITIVE KNOWLEDGE - -There is a common impression that everything that we believe ought to -be capable of proof, or at least of being shown to be highly probable. -It is felt by many that a belief for which no reason can be given is -an unreasonable belief. In the main, this view is just. Almost all -our common beliefs are either inferred, or capable of being inferred, -from other beliefs which may be regarded as giving the reason for -them. As a rule, the reason has been forgotten, or has even never -been consciously present to our minds. Few of us ever ask ourselves, -for example, what reason there is to suppose the food we are just -going to eat will not turn out to be poison. Yet we feel, when -challenged, that a perfectly good reason could be found, even if we -are not ready with it at the moment. And in this belief we are -usually justified. - -But let us imagine some insistent Socrates, who, whatever reason we -give him, continues to demand a reason for the reason. We must sooner -or later, and probably before very long, be driven to a point where we -cannot find any further reason, and where it becomes almost certain -that no further reason is even theoretically discoverable. Starting -with the common beliefs of daily life, we can be driven back from -point to point, until we come to some general principle, or some -instance of a general principle, which seems luminously evident, and -is not itself capable of being deduced from anything more evident. In -most questions of daily life, such as whether our food is likely to be -nourishing and not poisonous, we shall be driven back to the inductive -principle, which we discussed in Chapter VI. But beyond that, there -seems to be no further regress. The principle itself is constantly -used in our reasoning, sometimes consciously, sometimes unconsciously; -but there is no reasoning which, starting from some simpler -self-evident principle, leads us to the principle of induction as its -conclusion. And the same holds for other logical principles. Their -truth is evident to us, and we employ them in constructing -demonstrations; but they themselves, or at least some of them, are -incapable of demonstration. - -Self-evidence, however, is not confined to those among general -principles which are incapable of proof. When a certain number of -logical principles have been admitted, the rest can be deduced from -them; but the propositions deduced are often just as self-evident as -those that were assumed without proof. All arithmetic, moreover, can -be deduced from the general principles of logic, yet the simple -propositions of arithmetic, such as 'two and two are four', are just -as self-evident as the principles of logic. - -It would seem, also, though this is more disputable, that there are -some self-evident ethical principles, such as 'we ought to pursue what -is good'. - -It should be observed that, in all cases of general principles, -particular instances, dealing with familiar things, are more evident -than the general principle. For example, the law of contradiction -states that nothing can both have a certain property and not have it. -This is evident as soon as it is understood, but it is not so evident -as that a particular rose which we see cannot be both red and not red. -(It is of course possible that parts of the rose may be red and parts -not red, or that the rose may be of a shade of pink which we hardly -know whether to call red or not; but in the former case it is plain -that the rose as a whole is not red, while in the latter case the -answer is theoretically definite as soon as we have decided on a -precise definition of 'red'.) It is usually through particular -instances that we come to be able to see the general principle. Only -those who are practised in dealing with abstractions can readily grasp -a general principle without the help of instances. - -In addition to general principles, the other kind of self-evident -truths are those immediately derived from sensation. We will call -such truths 'truths of perception', and the judgements expressing them -we will call 'judgements of perception'. But here a certain amount of -care is required in getting at the precise nature of the truths that -are self-evident. The actual sense-data are neither true nor false. -A particular patch of colour which I see, for example, simply exists: -it is not the sort of thing that is true or false. It is true that -there is such a patch, true that it has a certain shape and degree of -brightness, true that it is surrounded by certain other colours. But -the patch itself, like everything else in the world of sense, is of a -radically different kind from the things that are true or false, and -therefore cannot properly be said to be _true_. Thus whatever -self-evident truths may be obtained from our senses must be different -from the sense-data from which they are obtained. - -It would seem that there are two kinds of self-evident truths of -perception, though perhaps in the last analysis the two kinds may -coalesce. First, there is the kind which simply asserts the -_existence_ of the sense-datum, without in any way analysing it. We -see a patch of red, and we judge 'there is such-and-such a patch of -red', or more strictly 'there is that'; this is one kind of intuitive -judgement of perception. The other kind arises when the object of -sense is complex, and we subject it to some degree of analysis. If, -for instance, we see a _round_ patch of red, we may judge 'that patch -of red is round'. This is again a judgement of perception, but it -differs from our previous kind. In our present kind we have a single -sense-datum which has both colour and shape: the colour is red and the -shape is round. Our judgement analyses the datum into colour and -shape, and then recombines them by stating that the red colour is -round in shape. Another example of this kind of judgement is 'this is -to the right of that', where 'this' and 'that' are seen -simultaneously. In this kind of judgement the sense-datum contains -constituents which have some relation to each other, and the judgement -asserts that these constituents have this relation. - -Another class of intuitive judgements, analogous to those of sense and -yet quite distinct from them, are judgements of _memory_. There is -some danger of confusion as to the nature of memory, owing to the fact -that memory of an object is apt to be accompanied by an image of the -object, and yet the image cannot be what constitutes memory. This is -easily seen by merely noticing that the image is in the present, -whereas what is remembered is known to be in the past. Moreover, we -are certainly able to some extent to compare our image with the object -remembered, so that we often know, within somewhat wide limits, how -far our image is accurate; but this would be impossible, unless the -object, as opposed to the image, were in some way before the mind. -Thus the essence of memory is not constituted by the image, but by -having immediately before the mind an object which is recognized as -past. But for the fact of memory in this sense, we should not know -that there ever was a past at all, nor should we be able to understand -the word 'past', any more than a man born blind can understand the -word 'light'. Thus there must be intuitive judgements of memory, and -it is upon them, ultimately, that all our knowledge of the past -depends. - -The case of memory, however, raises a difficulty, for it is -notoriously fallacious, and thus throws doubt on the trustworthiness -of intuitive judgements in general. This difficulty is no light one. -But let us first narrow its scope as far as possible. Broadly -speaking, memory is trustworthy in proportion to the vividness of the -experience and to its nearness in time. If the house next door was -struck by lightning half a minute ago, my memory of what I saw and -heard will be so reliable that it would be preposterous to doubt -whether there had been a flash at all. And the same applies to less -vivid experiences, so long as they are recent. I am absolutely -certain that half a minute ago I was sitting in the same chair in -which I am sitting now. Going backward over the day, I find things of -which I am quite certain, other things of which I am almost certain, -other things of which I can become certain by thought and by calling -up attendant circumstances, and some things of which I am by no means -certain. I am quite certain that I ate my breakfast this morning, but -if I were as indifferent to my breakfast as a philosopher should be, I -should be doubtful. As to the conversation at breakfast, I can recall -some of it easily, some with an effort, some only with a large element -of doubt, and some not at all. Thus there is a continual gradation in -the degree of self-evidence of what I remember, and a corresponding -gradation in the trustworthiness of my memory. - -Thus the first answer to the difficulty of fallacious memory is to say -that memory has degrees of self-evidence, and that these correspond to -the degrees of its trustworthiness, reaching a limit of perfect -self-evidence and perfect trustworthiness in our memory of events -which are recent and vivid. - -It would seem, however, that there are cases of very firm belief in a -memory which is wholly false. It is probable that, in these cases, -what is really remembered, in the sense of being immediately before -the mind, is something other than what is falsely believed in, though -something generally associated with it. George IV is said to have at -last believed that he was at the battle of Waterloo, because he had so -often said that he was. In this case, what was immediately remembered -was his repeated assertion; the belief in what he was asserting (if it -existed) would be produced by association with the remembered -assertion, and would therefore not be a genuine case of memory. It -would seem that cases of fallacious memory can probably all be dealt -with in this way, i.e. they can be shown to be not cases of memory in -the strict sense at all. - -One important point about self-evidence is made clear by the case of -memory, and that is, that self-evidence has degrees: it is not a -quality which is simply present or absent, but a quality which may be -more or less present, in gradations ranging from absolute certainty -down to an almost imperceptible faintness. Truths of perception and -some of the principles of logic have the very highest degree of -self-evidence; truths of immediate memory have an almost equally high -degree. The inductive principle has less self-evidence than some of -the other principles of logic, such as 'what follows from a true -premiss must be true'. Memories have a diminishing self-evidence as -they become remoter and fainter; the truths of logic and mathematics -have (broadly speaking) less self-evidence as they become more -complicated. Judgements of intrinsic ethical or aesthetic value are -apt to have some self-evidence, but not much. - -Degrees of self-evidence are important in the theory of knowledge, -since, if propositions may (as seems likely) have some degree of -self-evidence without being true, it will not be necessary to abandon -all connexion between self-evidence and truth, but merely to say that, -where there is a conflict, the more self-evident proposition is to be -retained and the less self-evident rejected. - -It seems, however, highly probable that two different notions are -combined in 'self-evidence' as above explained; that one of them, -which corresponds to the highest degree of self-evidence, is really an -infallible guarantee of truth, while the other, which corresponds to -all the other degrees, does not give an infallible guarantee, but only -a greater or less presumption. This, however, is only a suggestion, -which we cannot as yet develop further. After we have dealt with the -nature of truth, we shall return to the subject of self-evidence, in -connexion with the distinction between knowledge and error. - - -CHAPTER XII -TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD - -Our knowledge of truths, unlike our knowledge of things, has an -opposite, namely _error_. So far as things are concerned, we may know -them or not know them, but there is no positive state of mind which -can be described as erroneous knowledge of things, so long, at any -rate, as we confine ourselves to knowledge by acquaintance. Whatever -we are acquainted with must be something; we may draw wrong inferences -from our acquaintance, but the acquaintance itself cannot be -deceptive. Thus there is no dualism as regards acquaintance. But as -regards knowledge of truths, there is a dualism. We may believe what -is false as well as what is true. We know that on very many subjects -different people hold different and incompatible opinions: hence some -beliefs must be erroneous. Since erroneous beliefs are often held -just as strongly as true beliefs, it becomes a difficult question how -they are to be distinguished from true beliefs. How are we to know, -in a given case, that our belief is not erroneous? This is a question -of the very greatest difficulty, to which no completely satisfactory -answer is possible. There is, however, a preliminary question which -is rather less difficult, and that is: What do we _mean_ by truth and -falsehood? It is this preliminary question which is to be considered -in this chapter. In this chapter we are not asking how we can know -whether a belief is true or false: we are asking what is meant by the -question whether a belief is true or false. It is to be hoped that a -clear answer to this question may help us to obtain an answer to the -question what beliefs are true, but for the present we ask only 'What -is truth?' and 'What is falsehood?' not 'What beliefs are true?' and -'What beliefs are false?' It is very important to keep these different -questions entirely separate, since any confusion between them is sure -to produce an answer which is not really applicable to either. - -There are three points to observe in the attempt to discover the -nature of truth, three requisites which any theory must fulfil. - -(1) Our theory of truth must be such as to admit of its opposite, -falsehood. A good many philosophers have failed adequately to -satisfy this condition: they have constructed theories according -to which all our thinking ought to have been true, and have then -had the greatest difficulty in finding a place for falsehood. In -this respect our theory of belief must differ from our theory of -acquaintance, since in the case of acquaintance it was not -necessary to take account of any opposite. - -(2) It seems fairly evident that if there were no beliefs there could -be no falsehood, and no truth either, in the sense in which truth -is correlative to falsehood. If we imagine a world of mere -matter, there would be no room for falsehood in such a world, and -although it would contain what may be called 'facts', it would not -contain any truths, in the sense in which truths are things of the -same kind as falsehoods. In fact, truth and falsehood are -properties of beliefs and statements: hence a world of mere -matter, since it would contain no beliefs or statements, would -also contain no truth or falsehood. - -(3) But, as against what we have just said, it is to be observed that -the truth or falsehood of a belief always depends upon something -which lies outside the belief itself. If I believe that Charles I -died on the scaffold, I believe truly, not because of any -intrinsic quality of my belief, which could be discovered by -merely examining the belief, but because of an historical event -which happened two and a half centuries ago. If I believe that -Charles I died in his bed, I believe falsely: no degree of -vividness in my belief, or of care in arriving at it, prevents it -from being false, again because of what happened long ago, and not -because of any intrinsic property of my belief. Hence, although -truth and falsehood are properties of beliefs, they are properties -dependent upon the relations of the beliefs to other things, not -upon any internal quality of the beliefs. - -The third of the above requisites leads us to adopt the view--which -has on the whole been commonest among philosophers--that truth -consists in some form of correspondence between belief and fact. It -is, however, by no means an easy matter to discover a form of -correspondence to which there are no irrefutable objections. By this -partly--and partly by the feeling that, if truth consists in a -correspondence of thought with something outside thought, thought can -never know when truth has been attained--many philosophers have been -led to try to find some definition of truth which shall not consist in -relation to something wholly outside belief. The most important -attempt at a definition of this sort is the theory that truth consists -in _coherence_. It is said that the mark of falsehood is failure to -cohere in the body of our beliefs, and that it is the essence of a -truth to form part of the completely rounded system which is The -Truth. - -There is, however, a great difficulty in this view, or rather two -great difficulties. The first is that there is no reason to suppose -that only _one_ coherent body of beliefs is possible. It may be that, -with sufficient imagination, a novelist might invent a past for the -world that would perfectly fit on to what we know, and yet be quite -different from the real past. In more scientific matters, it is -certain that there are often two or more hypotheses which account for -all the known facts on some subject, and although, in such cases, men -of science endeavour to find facts which will rule out all the -hypotheses except one, there is no reason why they should always -succeed. - -In philosophy, again, it seems not uncommon for two rival hypotheses -to be both able to account for all the facts. Thus, for example, it -is possible that life is one long dream, and that the outer world has -only that degree of reality that the objects of dreams have; but -although such a view does not seem inconsistent with known facts, -there is no reason to prefer it to the common-sense view, according to -which other people and things do really exist. Thus coherence as the -definition of truth fails because there is no proof that there can be -only one coherent system. - -The other objection to this definition of truth is that it assumes the -meaning of 'coherence' known, whereas, in fact, 'coherence' -presupposes the truth of the laws of logic. Two propositions are -coherent when both may be true, and are incoherent when one at least -must be false. Now in order to know whether two propositions can both -be true, we must know such truths as the law of contradiction. For -example, the two propositions, 'this tree is a beech' and 'this tree -is not a beech', are not coherent, because of the law of -contradiction. But if the law of contradiction itself were subjected -to the test of coherence, we should find that, if we choose to suppose -it false, nothing will any longer be incoherent with anything else. -Thus the laws of logic supply the skeleton or framework within which -the test of coherence applies, and they themselves cannot be -established by this test. - -For the above two reasons, coherence cannot be accepted as giving the -_meaning_ of truth, though it is often a most important _test_ of -truth after a certain amount of truth has become known. - -Hence we are driven back to _correspondence with fact_ as constituting -the nature of truth. It remains to define precisely what we mean by -'fact', and what is the nature of the correspondence which must -subsist between belief and fact, in order that belief may be true. - -In accordance with our three requisites, we have to seek a theory of -truth which (1) allows truth to have an opposite, namely falsehood, -(2) makes truth a property of beliefs, but (3) makes it a property -wholly dependent upon the relation of the beliefs to outside things. - -The necessity of allowing for falsehood makes it impossible to regard -belief as a relation of the mind to a single object, which could be -said to be what is believed. If belief were so regarded, we should -find that, like acquaintance, it would not admit of the opposition of -truth and falsehood, but would have to be always true. This may be -made clear by examples. Othello believes falsely that Desdemona loves -Cassio. We cannot say that this belief consists in a relation to a -single object, 'Desdemona's love for Cassio', for if there were such -an object, the belief would be true. There is in fact no such object, -and therefore Othello cannot have any relation to such an object. -Hence his belief cannot possibly consist in a relation to this object. - -It might be said that his belief is a relation to a different object, -namely 'that Desdemona loves Cassio'; but it is almost as difficult to -suppose that there is such an object as this, when Desdemona does not -love Cassio, as it was to suppose that there is 'Desdemona's love for -Cassio'. Hence it will be better to seek for a theory of belief which -does not make it consist in a relation of the mind to a single object. - -It is common to think of relations as though they always held between -two terms, but in fact this is not always the case. Some relations -demand three terms, some four, and so on. Take, for instance, the -relation 'between'. So long as only two terms come in, the relation -'between' is impossible: three terms are the smallest number that -render it possible. York is between London and Edinburgh; but if -London and Edinburgh were the only places in the world, there could be -nothing which was between one place and another. Similarly _jealousy_ -requires three people: there can be no such relation that does not -involve three at least. Such a proposition as 'A wishes B to promote -C's marriage with D' involves a relation of four terms; that is to -say, A and B and C and D all come in, and the relation involved cannot -be expressed otherwise than in a form involving all four. Instances -might be multiplied indefinitely, but enough has been said to show -that there are relations which require more than two terms before they -can occur. - -The relation involved in _judging_ or _believing_ must, if falsehood -is to be duly allowed for, be taken to be a relation between several -terms, not between two. When Othello believes that Desdemona loves -Cassio, he must not have before his mind a single object, 'Desdemona's -love for Cassio', or 'that Desdemona loves Cassio ', for that would -require that there should be objective falsehoods, which subsist -independently of any minds; and this, though not logically refutable, -is a theory to be avoided if possible. Thus it is easier to account -for falsehood if we take judgement to be a relation in which the mind -and the various objects concerned all occur severally; that is to say, -Desdemona and loving and Cassio must all be terms in the relation -which subsists when Othello believes that Desdemona loves Cassio. -This relation, therefore, is a relation of four terms, since Othello -also is one of the terms of the relation. When we say that it is a -relation of four terms, we do not mean that Othello has a certain -relation to Desdemona, and has the same relation to loving and also to -Cassio. This may be true of some other relation than believing; but -believing, plainly, is not a relation which Othello has to _each_ of -the three terms concerned, but to _all_ of them together: there is -only one example of the relation of believing involved, but this one -example knits together four terms. Thus the actual occurrence, at the -moment when Othello is entertaining his belief, is that the relation -called 'believing' is knitting together into one complex whole the -four terms Othello, Desdemona, loving, and Cassio. What is called -belief or judgement is nothing but this relation of believing or -judging, which relates a mind to several things other than itself. An -_act_ of belief or of judgement is the occurrence between certain -terms at some particular time, of the relation of believing or -judging. - -We are now in a position to understand what it is that distinguishes a -true judgement from a false one. For this purpose we will adopt -certain definitions. In every act of judgement there is a mind which -judges, and there are terms concerning which it judges. We will call -the mind the _subject_ in the judgement, and the remaining terms the -_objects_. Thus, when Othello judges that Desdemona loves Cassio, -Othello is the subject, while the objects are Desdemona and loving and -Cassio. The subject and the objects together are called the -_constituents_ of the judgement. It will be observed that the -relation of judging has what is called a 'sense' or 'direction'. We -may say, metaphorically, that it puts its objects in a certain -_order_, which we may indicate by means of the order of the words in -the sentence. (In an inflected language, the same thing will be -indicated by inflections, e.g. by the difference between nominative -and accusative.) Othello's judgement that Cassio loves Desdemona -differs from his judgement that Desdemona loves Cassio, in spite of -the fact that it consists of the same constituents, because the -relation of judging places the constituents in a different order in -the two cases. Similarly, if Cassio judges that Desdemona loves -Othello, the constituents of the judgement are still the same, but -their order is different. This property of having a 'sense' or -'direction' is one which the relation of judging shares with all other -relations. The 'sense' of relations is the ultimate source of order -and series and a host of mathematical concepts; but we need not -concern ourselves further with this aspect. - -We spoke of the relation called 'judging' or 'believing' as knitting -together into one complex whole the subject and the objects. In this -respect, judging is exactly like every other relation. Whenever a -relation holds between two or more terms, it unites the terms into a -complex whole. If Othello loves Desdemona, there is such a complex -whole as 'Othello's love for Desdemona'. The terms united by the -relation may be themselves complex, or may be simple, but the whole -which results from their being united must be complex. Wherever there -is a relation which relates certain terms, there is a complex object -formed of the union of those terms; and conversely, wherever there is -a complex object, there is a relation which relates its constituents. -When an act of believing occurs, there is a complex, in which -'believing' is the uniting relation, and subject and objects are -arranged in a certain order by the 'sense' of the relation of -believing. Among the objects, as we saw in considering 'Othello -believes that Desdemona loves Cassio', one must be a relation--in this -instance, the relation 'loving'. But this relation, as it occurs in -the act of believing, is not the relation which creates the unity of -the complex whole consisting of the subject and the objects. The -relation 'loving', as it occurs in the act of believing, is one of the -objects--it is a brick in the structure, not the cement. The cement -is the relation 'believing'. When the belief is _true_, there is -another complex unity, in which the relation which was one of the -objects of the belief relates the other objects. Thus, e.g., if -Othello believes _truly_ that Desdemona loves Cassio, then there is a -complex unity, 'Desdemona's love for Cassio', which is composed -exclusively of the _objects_ of the belief, in the same order as they -had in the belief, with the relation which was one of the objects -occurring now as the cement that binds together the other objects of -the belief. On the other hand, when a belief is _false_, there is no -such complex unity composed only of the objects of the belief. If -Othello believes _falsely_ that Desdemona loves Cassio, then there is -no such complex unity as 'Desdemona's love for Cassio'. - -Thus a belief is _true_ when it _corresponds_ to a certain associated -complex, and _false_ when it does not. Assuming, for the sake of -definiteness, that the objects of the belief are two terms and a -relation, the terms being put in a certain order by the 'sense' of the -believing, then if the two terms in that order are united by the -relation into a complex, the belief is true; if not, it is false. -This constitutes the definition of truth and falsehood that we were in -search of. Judging or believing is a certain complex unity of which a -mind is a constituent; if the remaining constituents, taken in the -order which they have in the belief, form a complex unity, then the -belief is true; if not, it is false. - -Thus although truth and falsehood are properties of beliefs, yet they -are in a sense extrinsic properties, for the condition of the truth of -a belief is something not involving beliefs, or (in general) any mind -at all, but only the _objects_ of the belief. A mind, which believes, -believes truly when there is a _corresponding_ complex not involving -the mind, but only its objects. This correspondence ensures truth, -and its absence entails falsehood. Hence we account simultaneously -for the two facts that beliefs (a) depend on minds for their -_existence_, (b) do not depend on minds for their _truth_. - -We may restate our theory as follows: If we take such a belief as -'Othello believes that Desdemona loves Cassio', we will call Desdemona -and Cassio the _object-terms_, and loving the _object-relation_. If -there is a complex unity 'Desdemona's love for Cassio', consisting of -the object-terms related by the object-relation in the same order as -they have in the belief, then this complex unity is called the _fact -corresponding to the belief_. Thus a belief is true when there is a -corresponding fact, and is false when there is no corresponding fact. - -It will be seen that minds do not _create_ truth or falsehood. They -create beliefs, but when once the beliefs are created, the mind cannot -make them true or false, except in the special case where they concern -future things which are within the power of the person believing, such -as catching trains. What makes a belief true is a _fact_, and this -fact does not (except in exceptional cases) in any way involve the -mind of the person who has the belief. - -Having now decided what we _mean_ by truth and falsehood, we have next -to consider what ways there are of knowing whether this or that belief -is true or false. This consideration will occupy the next chapter. - - -CHAPTER XIII -KNOWLEDGE, ERROR, AND PROBABLE OPINION - -The question as to what we mean by truth and falsehood, which we -considered in the preceding chapter, is of much less interest than the -question as to how we can know what is true and what is false. This -question will occupy us in the present chapter. There can be no doubt -that _some_ of our beliefs are erroneous; thus we are led to inquire -what certainty we can ever have that such and such a belief is not -erroneous. In other words, can we ever _know_ anything at all, or do -we merely sometimes by good luck believe what is true? Before we can -attack this question, we must, however, first decide what we mean by -'knowing', and this question is not so easy as might be supposed. - -At first sight we might imagine that knowledge could be defined as -'true belief'. When what we believe is true, it might be supposed -that we had achieved a knowledge of what we believe. But this would -not accord with the way in which the word is commonly used. To take a -very trivial instance: If a man believes that the late Prime -Minister's last name began with a B, he believes what is true, since -the late Prime Minister was Sir Henry Campbell Bannerman. But if he -believes that Mr. Balfour was the late Prime Minister, he will still -believe that the late Prime Minister's last name began with a B, yet -this belief, though true, would not be thought to constitute -knowledge. If a newspaper, by an intelligent anticipation, announces -the result of a battle before any telegram giving the result has been -received, it may by good fortune announce what afterwards turns out to -be the right result, and it may produce belief in some of its less -experienced readers. But in spite of the truth of their belief, they -cannot be said to have knowledge. Thus it is clear that a true belief -is not knowledge when it is deduced from a false belief. - -In like manner, a true belief cannot be called knowledge when it is -deduced by a fallacious process of reasoning, even if the premisses -from which it is deduced are true. If I know that all Greeks are men -and that Socrates was a man, and I infer that Socrates was a Greek, I -cannot be said to _know_ that Socrates was a Greek, because, although -my premisses and my conclusion are true, the conclusion does not -follow from the premisses. - -But are we to say that nothing is knowledge except what is validly -deduced from true premisses? Obviously we cannot say this. Such a -definition is at once too wide and too narrow. In the first place, it -is too wide, because it is not enough that our premisses should be -_true_, they must also be _known_. The man who believes that Mr. -Balfour was the late Prime Minister may proceed to draw valid -deductions from the true premiss that the late Prime Minister's name -began with a B, but he cannot be said to _know_ the conclusions -reached by these deductions. Thus we shall have to amend our -definition by saying that knowledge is what is validly deduced from -_known_ premisses. This, however, is a circular definition: it -assumes that we already know what is meant by 'known premisses'. It -can, therefore, at best define one sort of knowledge, the sort we call -derivative, as opposed to intuitive knowledge. We may say: -'_Derivative_ knowledge is what is validly deduced from premisses -known intuitively'. In this statement there is no formal defect, but -it leaves the definition of _intuitive_ knowledge still to seek. - -Leaving on one side, for the moment, the question of intuitive -knowledge, let us consider the above suggested definition of -derivative knowledge. The chief objection to it is that it unduly -limits knowledge. It constantly happens that people entertain a true -belief, which has grown up in them because of some piece of intuitive -knowledge from which it is capable of being validly inferred, but from -which it has not, as a matter of fact, been inferred by any logical -process. - -Take, for example, the beliefs produced by reading. If the newspapers -announce the death of the King, we are fairly well justified in -believing that the King is dead, since this is the sort of -announcement which would not be made if it were false. And we are -quite amply justified in believing that the newspaper asserts that the -King is dead. But here the intuitive knowledge upon which our belief -is based is knowledge of the existence of sense-data derived from -looking at the print which gives the news. This knowledge scarcely -rises into consciousness, except in a person who cannot read easily. -A child may be aware of the shapes of the letters, and pass gradually -and painfully to a realization of their meaning. But anybody -accustomed to reading passes at once to what the letters mean, and is -not aware, except on reflection, that he has derived this knowledge -from the sense-data called seeing the printed letters. Thus although -a valid inference from the-letters to their meaning is possible, and -_could_ be performed by the reader, it is not in fact performed, since -he does not in fact perform any operation which can be called logical -inference. Yet it would be absurd to say that the reader does not -_know_ that the newspaper announces the King's death. - -We must, therefore, admit as derivative knowledge whatever is the -result of intuitive knowledge even if by mere association, provided -there _is_ a valid logical connexion, and the person in question could -become aware of this connexion by reflection. There are in fact many -ways, besides logical inference, by which we pass from one belief to -another: the passage from the print to its meaning illustrates these -ways. These ways may be called 'psychological inference'. We shall, -then, admit such psychological inference as a means of obtaining -derivative knowledge, provided there is a discoverable logical -inference which runs parallel to the psychological inference. This -renders our definition of derivative knowledge less precise than we -could wish, since the word 'discoverable' is vague: it does not tell -us how much reflection may be needed in order to make the discovery. -But in fact 'knowledge' is not a precise conception: it merges into -'probable opinion', as we shall see more fully in the course of the -present chapter. A very precise definition, therefore, should not be -sought, since any such definition must be more or less misleading. - -The chief difficulty in regard to knowledge, however, does not arise -over derivative knowledge, but over intuitive knowledge. So long as -we are dealing with derivative knowledge, we have the test of -intuitive knowledge to fall back upon. But in regard to intuitive -beliefs, it is by no means easy to discover any criterion by which to -distinguish some as true and others as erroneous. In this question it -is scarcely possible to reach any very precise result: all our -knowledge of truths is infected with some degree of doubt, and a -theory which ignored this fact would be plainly wrong. Something may -be done, however, to mitigate the difficulties of the question. - -Our theory of truth, to begin with, supplies the possibility of -distinguishing certain truths as _self-evident_ in a sense which -ensures infallibility. When a belief is true, we said, there is a -corresponding fact, in which the several objects of the belief form a -single complex. The belief is said to constitute _knowledge_ of this -fact, provided it fulfils those further somewhat vague conditions -which we have been considering in the present chapter. But in regard -to any fact, besides the knowledge constituted by belief, we may also -have the kind of knowledge constituted by _perception_ (taking this -word in its widest possible sense). For example, if you know the hour -of the sunset, you can at that hour know the fact that the sun is -setting: this is knowledge of the fact by way of knowledge of -_truths_; but you can also, if the weather is fine, look to the west -and actually see the setting sun: you then know the same fact by the -way of knowledge of _things_. - -Thus in regard to any complex fact, there are, theoretically, two ways -in which it may be known: (1) by means of a judgement, in which its -several parts are judged to be related as they are in fact related; -(2) by means of _acquaintance_ with the complex fact itself, which may -(in a large sense) be called perception, though it is by no means -confined to objects of the senses. Now it will be observed that the -second way of knowing a complex fact, the way of acquaintance, is only -possible when there really is such a fact, while the first way, like -all judgement, is liable to error. The second way gives us the -complex whole, and is therefore only possible when its parts do -actually have that relation which makes them combine to form such a -complex. The first way, on the contrary, gives us the parts and the -relation severally, and demands only the reality of the parts and the -relation: the relation may not relate those parts in that way, and yet -the judgement may occur. - -It will be remembered that at the end of Chapter XI we suggested that -there might be two kinds of self-evidence, one giving an absolute -guarantee of truth, the other only a partial guarantee. These two -kinds can now be distinguished. - -We may say that a truth is self-evident, in the first and most -absolute sense, when we have acquaintance with the fact which -corresponds to the truth. When Othello believes that Desdemona loves -Cassio, the corresponding fact, if his belief were true, would be -'Desdemona's love for Cassio'. This would be a fact with which no one -could have acquaintance except Desdemona; hence in the sense of -self-evidence that we are considering, the truth that Desdemona loves -Cassio (if it were a truth) could only be self-evident to Desdemona. -All mental facts, and all facts concerning sense-data, have this same -privacy: there is only one person to whom they can be self-evident in -our present sense, since there is only one person who can be -acquainted with the mental things or the sense-data concerned. Thus -no fact about any particular existing thing can be self-evident to -more than one person. On the other hand, facts about universals do -not have this privacy. Many minds may be acquainted with the same -universals; hence a relation between universals may be known by -acquaintance to many different people. In all cases where we know by -acquaintance a complex fact consisting of certain terms in a certain -relation, we say that the truth that these terms are so related has -the first or absolute kind of self-evidence, and in these cases the -judgement that the terms are so related _must_ be true. Thus this -sort of self-evidence is an absolute guarantee of truth. - -But although this sort of self-evidence is an absolute guarantee of -truth, it does not enable us to be _absolutely_ certain, in the case -of any given judgement, that the judgement in question is true. -Suppose we first perceive the sun shining, which is a complex fact, -and thence proceed to make the judgement 'the sun is shining'. In -passing from the perception to the judgement, it is necessary to -analyse the given complex fact: we have to separate out 'the sun' and -'shining' as constituents of the fact. In this process it is possible -to commit an error; hence even where a _fact_ has the first or -absolute kind of self-evidence, a judgement believed to correspond to -the fact is not absolutely infallible, because it may not really -correspond to the fact. But if it does correspond (in the sense -explained in the preceding chapter), then it _must_ be true. - -The second sort of self-evidence will be that which belongs to -judgements in the first instance, and is not derived from direct -perception of a fact as a single complex whole. This second kind of -self-evidence will have degrees, from the very highest degree down to -a bare inclination in favour of the belief. Take, for example, the -case of a horse trotting away from us along a hard road. At first our -certainty that we hear the hoofs is complete; gradually, if we listen -intently, there comes a moment when we think perhaps it was -imagination or the blind upstairs or our own heartbeats; at last we -become doubtful whether there was any noise at all; then we _think_ we -no longer hear anything, and at last we _know_ we no longer hear -anything. In this process, there is a continual gradation of -self-evidence, from the highest degree to the least, not in the -sense-data themselves, but in the judgements based on them. - -Or again: Suppose we are comparing two shades of colour, one blue and -one green. We can be quite sure they are different shades of colour; -but if the green colour is gradually altered to be more and more like -the blue, becoming first a blue-green, then a greeny-blue, then blue, -there will come a moment when we are doubtful whether we can see any -difference, and then a moment when we know that we cannot see any -difference. The same thing happens in tuning a musical instrument, or -in any other case where there is a continuous gradation. Thus -self-evidence of this sort is a matter of degree; and it seems plain -that the higher degrees are more to be trusted than the lower degrees. - -In derivative knowledge our ultimate premisses must have some degree -of self-evidence, and so must their connexion with the conclusions -deduced from them. Take for example a piece of reasoning in geometry. -It is not enough that the axioms from which we start should be -self-evident: it is necessary also that, at each step in the -reasoning, the connexion of premiss and conclusion should be -self-evident. In difficult reasoning, this connexion has often only a -very small degree of self-evidence; hence errors of reasoning are not -improbable where the difficulty is great. - -From what has been said it is evident that, both as regards intuitive -knowledge and as regards derivative knowledge, if we assume that -intuitive knowledge is trustworthy in proportion to the degree of its -self-evidence, there will be a gradation in trustworthiness, from the -existence of noteworthy sense-data and the simpler truths of logic and -arithmetic, which may be taken as quite certain, down to judgements -which seem only just more probable than their opposites. What we -firmly believe, if it is true, is called _knowledge_, provided it is -either intuitive or inferred (logically or psychologically) from -intuitive knowledge from which it follows logically. What we firmly -believe, if it is not true, is called _error_. What we firmly -believe, if it is neither knowledge nor error, and also what we -believe hesitatingly, because it is, or is derived from, something -which has not the highest degree of self-evidence, may be called -_probable opinion_. Thus the greater part of what would commonly pass -as knowledge is more or less probable opinion. - -In regard to probable opinion, we can derive great assistance from -_coherence_, which we rejected as the _definition_ of truth, but may -often use as a _criterion_. A body of individually probable opinions, -if they are mutually coherent, become more probable than any one of -them would be individually. It is in this way that many scientific -hypotheses acquire their probability. They fit into a coherent system -of probable opinions, and thus become more probable than they would be -in isolation. The same thing applies to general philosophical -hypotheses. Often in a single case such hypotheses may seem highly -doubtful, while yet, when we consider the order and coherence which -they introduce into a mass of probable opinion, they become pretty -nearly certain. This applies, in particular, to such matters as the -distinction between dreams and waking life. If our dreams, night -after night, were as coherent one with another as our days, we should -hardly know whether to believe the dreams or the waking life. As it -is, the test of coherence condemns the dreams and confirms the waking -life. But this test, though it increases probability where it is -successful, never gives absolute certainty, unless there is certainty -already at some point in the coherent system. Thus the mere -organization of probable opinion will never, by itself, transform it -into indubitable knowledge. - - -CHAPTER XIV -THE LIMITS OF PHILOSOPHICAL KNOWLEDGE - -In all that we have said hitherto concerning philosophy, we have -scarcely touched on many matters that occupy a great space in the -writings of most philosophers. Most philosophers--or, at any rate, -very many--profess to be able to prove, by _a priori_ metaphysical -reasoning, such things as the fundamental dogmas of religion, the -essential rationality of the universe, the illusoriness of matter, the -unreality of all evil, and so on. There can be no doubt that the hope -of finding reason to believe such theses as these has been the chief -inspiration of many life-long students of philosophy. This hope, I -believe, is vain. It would seem that knowledge concerning the -universe as a whole is not to be obtained by metaphysics, and that the -proposed proofs that, in virtue of the laws of logic such and such -things _must_ exist and such and such others cannot, are not capable -of surviving a critical scrutiny. In this chapter we shall briefly -consider the kind of way in which such reasoning is attempted, with a -view to discovering whether we can hope that it may be valid. - -The great representative, in modern times, of the kind of view which -we wish to examine, was Hegel (1770-1831). Hegel's philosophy is very -difficult, and commentators differ as to the true interpretation of -it. According to the interpretation I shall adopt, which is that of -many, if not most, of the commentators and has the merit of giving an -interesting and important type of philosophy, his main thesis is that -everything short of the Whole is obviously fragmentary, and obviously -incapable of existing without the complement supplied by the rest of -the world. Just as a comparative anatomist, from a single bone, sees -what kind of animal the whole must have been, so the metaphysician, -according to Hegel, sees, from any one piece of reality, what the -whole of reality must be--at least in its large outlines. Every -apparently separate piece of reality has, as it were, hooks which -grapple it to the next piece; the next piece, in turn, has fresh -hooks, and so on, until the whole universe is reconstructed. This -essential incompleteness appears, according to Hegel, equally in the -world of thought and in the world of things. In the world of thought, -if we take any idea which is abstract or incomplete, we find, on -examination, that if we forget its incompleteness, we become involved -in contradictions; these contradictions turn the idea in question into -its opposite, or antithesis; and in order to escape, we have to find a -new, less incomplete idea, which is the synthesis of our original idea -and its antithesis. This new idea, though less incomplete than the -idea we started with, will be found, nevertheless, to be still not -wholly complete, but to pass into its antithesis, with which it must -be combined in a new synthesis. In this way Hegel advances until he -reaches the 'Absolute Idea', which, according to him, has no -incompleteness, no opposite, and no need of further development. The -Absolute Idea, therefore, is adequate to describe Absolute Reality; -but all lower ideas only describe reality as it appears to a partial -view, not as it is to one who simultaneously surveys the Whole. Thus -Hegel reaches the conclusion that Absolute Reality forms one single -harmonious system, not in space or time, not in any degree evil, -wholly rational, and wholly spiritual. Any appearance to the -contrary, in the world we know, can be proved logically--so he -believes--to be entirely due to our fragmentary piecemeal view of the -universe. If we saw the universe whole, as we may suppose God sees -it, space and time and matter and evil and all striving and struggling -would disappear, and we should see instead an eternal perfect -unchanging spiritual unity. - -In this conception, there is undeniably something sublime, something -to which we could wish to yield assent. Nevertheless, when the -arguments in support of it are carefully examined, they appear to -involve much confusion and many unwarrantable assumptions. The -fundamental tenet upon which the system is built up is that what is -incomplete must be not self-subsistent, but must need the support of -other things before it can exist. It is held that whatever has -relations to things outside itself must contain some reference to -those outside things in its own nature, and could not, therefore, be -what it is if those outside things did not exist. A man's nature, for -example, is constituted by his memories and the rest of his knowledge, -by his loves and hatreds, and so on; thus, but for the objects which -he knows or loves or hates, he could not be what he is. He is -essentially and obviously a fragment: taken as the sum-total of -reality he would be self-contradictory. - -This whole point of view, however, turns upon the notion of the -'nature' of a thing, which seems to mean 'all the truths about the -thing'. It is of course the case that a truth which connects one -thing with another thing could not subsist if the other thing did not -subsist. But a truth about a thing is not part of the thing itself, -although it must, according to the above usage, be part of the -'nature' of the thing. If we mean by a thing's 'nature' all the -truths about the thing, then plainly we cannot know a thing's 'nature' -unless we know all the thing's relations to all the other things in -the universe. But if the word 'nature' is used in this sense, we -shall have to hold that the thing may be known when its 'nature' is -not known, or at any rate is not known completely. There is a -confusion, when this use of the word 'nature' is employed, between -knowledge of things and knowledge of truths. We may have knowledge of -a thing by acquaintance even if we know very few propositions about -it--theoretically we need not know any propositions about it. Thus, -acquaintance with a thing does not involve knowledge of its 'nature' -in the above sense. And although acquaintance with a thing is -involved in our knowing any one proposition about a thing, knowledge -of its 'nature', in the above sense, is not involved. Hence, (1) -acquaintance with a thing does not logically involve a knowledge of -its relations, and (2) a knowledge of some of its relations does not -involve a knowledge of all of its relations nor a knowledge of its -'nature' in the above sense. I may be acquainted, for example, with -my toothache, and this knowledge may be as complete as knowledge by -acquaintance ever can be, without knowing all that the dentist (who is -not acquainted with it) can tell me about its cause, and without -therefore knowing its 'nature' in the above sense. Thus the fact that -a thing has relations does not prove that its relations are logically -necessary. That is to say, from the mere fact that it is the thing it -is we cannot deduce that it must have the various relations which in -fact it has. This only _seems_ to follow because we know it already. - -It follows that we cannot prove that the universe as a whole forms a -single harmonious system such as Hegel believes that it forms. And if -we cannot prove this, we also cannot prove the unreality of space and -time and matter and evil, for this is deduced by Hegel from the -fragmentary and relational character of these things. Thus we are -left to the piecemeal investigation of the world, and are unable to -know the characters of those parts of the universe that are remote -from our experience. This result, disappointing as it is to those -whose hopes have been raised by the systems of philosophers, is in -harmony with the inductive and scientific temper of our age, and is -borne out by the whole examination of human knowledge which has -occupied our previous chapters. - -Most of the great ambitious attempts of metaphysicians have proceeded -by the attempt to prove that such and such apparent features of the -actual world were self-contradictory, and therefore could not be real. -The whole tendency of modern thought, however, is more and more in the -direction of showing that the supposed contradictions were illusory, -and that very little can be proved _a priori_ from considerations of -what _must_ be. A good illustration of this is afforded by space and -time. Space and time appear to be infinite in extent, and infinitely -divisible. If we travel along a straight line in either direction, it -is difficult to believe that we shall finally reach a last point, -beyond which there is nothing, not even empty space. Similarly, if in -imagination we travel backwards or forwards in time, it is difficult -to believe that we shall reach a first or last time, with not even -empty time beyond it. Thus space and time appear to be infinite in -extent. - -Again, if we take any two points on a line, it seems evident that -there must be other points between them however small the distance -between them may be: every distance can be halved, and the halves can -be halved again, and so on _ad infinitum_. In time, similarly, -however little time may elapse between two moments, it seems evident -that there will be other moments between them. Thus space and time -appear to be infinitely divisible. But as against these apparent -facts--infinite extent and infinite divisibility--philosophers have -advanced arguments tending to show that there could be no infinite -collections of things, and that therefore the number of points in -space, or of instants in time, must be finite. Thus a contradiction -emerged between the apparent nature of space and time and the supposed -impossibility of infinite collections. - -Kant, who first emphasized this contradiction, deduced the -impossibility of space and time, which he declared to be merely -subjective; and since his time very many philosophers have believed -that space and time are mere appearance, not characteristic of the -world as it really is. Now, however, owing to the labours of the -mathematicians, notably Georg Cantor, it has appeared that the -impossibility of infinite collections was a mistake. They are not in -fact self-contradictory, but only contradictory of certain rather -obstinate mental prejudices. Hence the reasons for regarding space -and time as unreal have become inoperative, and one of the great -sources of metaphysical constructions is dried up. - -The mathematicians, however, have not been content with showing that -space as it is commonly supposed to be is possible; they have shown -also that many other forms of space are equally possible, so far as -logic can show. Some of Euclid's axioms, which appear to common sense -to be necessary, and were formerly supposed to be necessary by -philosophers, are now known to derive their appearance of necessity -from our mere familiarity with actual space, and not from any _a -priori_ logical foundation. By imagining worlds in which these axioms -are false, the mathematicians have used logic to loosen the prejudices -of common sense, and to show the possibility of spaces differing--some -more, some less--from that in which we live. And some of these spaces -differ so little from Euclidean space, where distances such as we can -measure are concerned, that it is impossible to discover by -observation whether our actual space is strictly Euclidean or of one -of these other kinds. Thus the position is completely reversed. -Formerly it appeared that experience left only one kind of space to -logic, and logic showed this one kind to be impossible. Now, logic -presents many kinds of space as possible apart from experience, and -experience only partially decides between them. Thus, while our -knowledge of what is has become less than it was formerly supposed to -be, our knowledge of what may be is enormously increased. Instead of -being shut in within narrow walls, of which every nook and cranny -could be explored, we find ourselves in an open world of free -possibilities, where much remains unknown because there is so much to -know. - -What has happened in the case of space and time has happened, to some -extent, in other directions as well. The attempt to prescribe to the -universe by means of _a priori_ principles has broken down; logic, -instead of being, as formerly, the bar to possibilities, has become -the great liberator of the imagination, presenting innumerable -alternatives which are closed to unreflective common sense, and -leaving to experience the task of deciding, where decision is -possible, between the many worlds which logic offers for our choice. -Thus knowledge as to what exists becomes limited to what we can learn -from experience--not to what we can actually experience, for, as we -have seen, there is much knowledge by description concerning things of -which we have no direct experience. But in all cases of knowledge by -description, we need some connexion of universals, enabling us, from -such and such a datum, to infer an object of a certain sort as implied -by our datum. Thus in regard to physical objects, for example, the -principle that sense-data are signs of physical objects is itself a -connexion of universals; and it is only in virtue of this principle -that experience enables us to acquire knowledge concerning physical -objects. The same applies to the law of causality, or, to descend to -what is less general, to such principles as the law of gravitation. - -Principles such as the law of gravitation are proved, or rather are -rendered highly probable, by a combination of experience with some -wholly _a priori_ principle, such as the principle of induction. Thus -our intuitive knowledge, which is the source of all our other -knowledge of truths, is of two sorts: pure empirical knowledge, which -tells us of the existence and some of the properties of particular -things with which we are acquainted, and pure _a priori_ knowledge, -which gives us connexions between universals, and enables us to draw -inferences from the particular facts given in empirical knowledge. -Our derivative knowledge always depends upon some pure _a priori_ -knowledge and usually also depends upon some pure empirical knowledge. - -Philosophical knowledge, if what has been said above is true, does not -differ essentially from scientific knowledge; there is no special -source of wisdom which is open to philosophy but not to science, and -the results obtained by philosophy are not radically different from -those obtained from science. The essential characteristic of -philosophy, which makes it a study distinct from science, is -criticism. It examines critically the principles employed in science -and in daily life; it searches out any inconsistencies there may be in -these principles, and it only accepts them when, as the result of a -critical inquiry, no reason for rejecting them has appeared. If, as -many philosophers have believed, the principles underlying the -sciences were capable, when disengaged from irrelevant detail, of -giving us knowledge concerning the universe as a whole, such knowledge -would have the same claim on our belief as scientific knowledge has; -but our inquiry has not revealed any such knowledge, and therefore, as -regards the special doctrines of the bolder metaphysicians, has had a -mainly negative result. But as regards what would be commonly -accepted as knowledge, our result is in the main positive: we have -seldom found reason to reject such knowledge as the result of our -criticism, and we have seen no reason to suppose man incapable of the -kind of knowledge which he is generally believed to possess. - -When, however, we speak of philosophy as a _criticism_ of knowledge, -it is necessary to impose a certain limitation. If we adopt the -attitude of the complete sceptic, placing ourselves wholly outside all -knowledge, and asking, from this outside position, to be compelled to -return within the circle of knowledge, we are demanding what is -impossible, and our scepticism can never be refuted. For all -refutation must begin with some piece of knowledge which the -disputants share; from blank doubt, no argument can begin. Hence the -criticism of knowledge which philosophy employs must not be of this -destructive kind, if any result is to be achieved. Against this -absolute scepticism, no _logical_ argument can be advanced. But it is -not difficult to see that scepticism of this kind is unreasonable. -Descartes' 'methodical doubt', with which modern philosophy began, is -not of this kind, but is rather the kind of criticism which we are -asserting to be the essence of philosophy. His 'methodical doubt' -consisted in doubting whatever seemed doubtful; in pausing, with each -apparent piece of knowledge, to ask himself whether, on reflection, he -could feel certain that he really knew it. This is the kind of -criticism which constitutes philosophy. Some knowledge, such as -knowledge of the existence of our sense-data, appears quite -indubitable, however calmly and thoroughly we reflect upon it. In -regard to such knowledge, philosophical criticism does not require -that we should abstain from belief. But there are beliefs--such, for -example, as the belief that physical objects exactly resemble our -sense-data--which are entertained until we begin to reflect, but are -found to melt away when subjected to a close inquiry. Such beliefs -philosophy will bid us reject, unless some new line of argument is -found to support them. But to reject the beliefs which do not appear -open to any objections, however closely we examine them, is not -reasonable, and is not what philosophy advocates. - -The criticism aimed at, in a word, is not that which, without reason, -determines to reject, but that which considers each piece of apparent -knowledge on its merits, and retains whatever still appears to be -knowledge when this consideration is completed. That some risk of -error remains must be admitted, since human beings are fallible. -Philosophy may claim justly that it diminishes the risk of error, and -that in some cases it renders the risk so small as to be practically -negligible. To do more than this is not possible in a world where -mistakes must occur; and more than this no prudent advocate of -philosophy would claim to have performed. - - -CHAPTER XV -THE VALUE OF PHILOSOPHY - -Having now come to the end of our brief and very incomplete review of -the problems of philosophy, it will be well to consider, in -conclusion, what is the value of philosophy and why it ought to be -studied. It is the more necessary to consider this question, in view -of the fact that many men, under the influence of science or of -practical affairs, are inclined to doubt whether philosophy is -anything better than innocent but useless trifling, hair-splitting -distinctions, and controversies on matters concerning which knowledge -is impossible. - -This view of philosophy appears to result, partly from a wrong -conception of the ends of life, partly from a wrong conception of the -kind of goods which philosophy strives to achieve. Physical science, -through the medium of inventions, is useful to innumerable people who -are wholly ignorant of it; thus the study of physical science is to be -recommended, not only, or primarily, because of the effect on the -student, but rather because of the effect on mankind in general. Thus -utility does not belong to philosophy. If the study of philosophy has -any value at all for others than students of philosophy, it must be -only indirectly, through its effects upon the lives of those who study -it. It is in these effects, therefore, if anywhere, that the value of -philosophy must be primarily sought. - -But further, if we are not to fail in our endeavour to determine the -value of philosophy, we must first free our minds from the prejudices -of what are wrongly called 'practical' men. The 'practical' man, as -this word is often used, is one who recognizes only material needs, -who realizes that men must have food for the body, but is oblivious of -the necessity of providing food for the mind. If all men were well -off, if poverty and disease had been reduced to their lowest possible -point, there would still remain much to be done to produce a valuable -society; and even in the existing world the goods of the mind are at -least as important as the goods of the body. It is exclusively among -the goods of the mind that the value of philosophy is to be found; and -only those who are not indifferent to these goods can be persuaded -that the study of philosophy is not a waste of time. - -Philosophy, like all other studies, aims primarily at knowledge. The -knowledge it aims at is the kind of knowledge which gives unity and -system to the body of the sciences, and the kind which results from a -critical examination of the grounds of our convictions, prejudices, -and beliefs. But it cannot be maintained that philosophy has had any -very great measure of success in its attempts to provide definite -answers to its questions. If you ask a mathematician, a mineralogist, -a historian, or any other man of learning, what definite body of -truths has been ascertained by his science, his answer will last as -long as you are willing to listen. But if you put the same question -to a philosopher, he will, if he is candid, have to confess that his -study has not achieved positive results such as have been achieved by -other sciences. It is true that this is partly accounted for by the -fact that, as soon as definite knowledge concerning any subject -becomes possible, this subject ceases to be called philosophy, and -becomes a separate science. The whole study of the heavens, which now -belongs to astronomy, was once included in philosophy; Newton's great -work was called 'the mathematical principles of natural philosophy'. -Similarly, the study of the human mind, which was a part of -philosophy, has now been separated from philosophy and has become the -science of psychology. Thus, to a great extent, the uncertainty of -philosophy is more apparent than real: those questions which are -already capable of definite answers are placed in the sciences, while -those only to which, at present, no definite answer can be given, -remain to form the residue which is called philosophy. - -This is, however, only a part of the truth concerning the uncertainty -of philosophy. There are many questions--and among them those that -are of the profoundest interest to our spiritual life--which, so far -as we can see, must remain insoluble to the human intellect unless its -powers become of quite a different order from what they are now. Has -the universe any unity of plan or purpose, or is it a fortuitous -concourse of atoms? Is consciousness a permanent part of the -universe, giving hope of indefinite growth in wisdom, or is it a -transitory accident on a small planet on which life must ultimately -become impossible? Are good and evil of importance to the universe or -only to man? Such questions are asked by philosophy, and variously -answered by various philosophers. But it would seem that, whether -answers be otherwise discoverable or not, the answers suggested by -philosophy are none of them demonstrably true. Yet, however slight -may be the hope of discovering an answer, it is part of the business -of philosophy to continue the consideration of such questions, to make -us aware of their importance, to examine all the approaches to them, -and to keep alive that speculative interest in the universe which is -apt to be killed by confining ourselves to definitely ascertainable -knowledge. - -Many philosophers, it is true, have held that philosophy could -establish the truth of certain answers to such fundamental questions. -They have supposed that what is of most importance in religious -beliefs could be proved by strict demonstration to be true. In order -to judge of such attempts, it is necessary to take a survey of human -knowledge, and to form an opinion as to its methods and its -limitations. On such a subject it would be unwise to pronounce -dogmatically; but if the investigations of our previous chapters have -not led us astray, we shall be compelled to renounce the hope of -finding philosophical proofs of religious beliefs. We cannot, -therefore, include as part of the value of philosophy any definite set -of answers to such questions. Hence, once more, the value of -philosophy must not depend upon any supposed body of definitely -ascertainable knowledge to be acquired by those who study it. - -The value of philosophy is, in fact, to be sought largely in its very -uncertainty. The man who has no tincture of philosophy goes through -life imprisoned in the prejudices derived from common sense, from the -habitual beliefs of his age or his nation, and from convictions which -have grown up in his mind without the co-operation or consent of his -deliberate reason. To such a man the world tends to become definite, -finite, obvious; common objects rouse no questions, and unfamiliar -possibilities are contemptuously rejected. As soon as we begin to -philosophize, on the contrary, we find, as we saw in our opening -chapters, that even the most everyday things lead to problems to which -only very incomplete answers can be given. Philosophy, though unable -to tell us with certainty what is the true answer to the doubts which -it raises, is able to suggest many possibilities which enlarge our -thoughts and free them from the tyranny of custom. Thus, while -diminishing our feeling of certainty as to what things are, it greatly -increases our knowledge as to what they may be; it removes the -somewhat arrogant dogmatism of those who have never travelled into the -region of liberating doubt, and it keeps alive our sense of wonder by -showing familiar things in an unfamiliar aspect. - -Apart from its utility in showing unsuspected possibilities, -philosophy has a value--perhaps its chief value--through the greatness -of the objects which it contemplates, and the freedom from narrow and -personal aims resulting from this contemplation. The life of the -instinctive man is shut up within the circle of his private interests: -family and friends may be included, but the outer world is not -regarded except as it may help or hinder what comes within the circle -of instinctive wishes. In such a life there is something feverish and -confined, in comparison with which the philosophic life is calm and -free. The private world of instinctive interests is a small one, set -in the midst of a great and powerful world which must, sooner or -later, lay our private world in ruins. Unless we can so enlarge our -interests as to include the whole outer world, we remain like a -garrison in a beleagured fortress, knowing that the enemy prevents -escape and that ultimate surrender is inevitable. In such a life -there is no peace, but a constant strife between the insistence of -desire and the powerlessness of will. In one way or another, if our -life is to be great and free, we must escape this prison and this -strife. - -One way of escape is by philosophic contemplation. Philosophic -contemplation does not, in its widest survey, divide the universe into -two hostile camps--friends and foes, helpful and hostile, good and -bad--it views the whole impartially. Philosophic contemplation, when -it is unalloyed, does not aim at proving that the rest of the universe -is akin to man. All acquisition of knowledge is an enlargement of the -Self, but this enlargement is best attained when it is not directly -sought. It is obtained when the desire for knowledge is alone -operative, by a study which does not wish in advance that its objects -should have this or that character, but adapts the Self to the -characters which it finds in its objects. This enlargement of Self is -not obtained when, taking the Self as it is, we try to show that the -world is so similar to this Self that knowledge of it is possible -without any admission of what seems alien. The desire to prove this -is a form of self-assertion and, like all self-assertion, it is an -obstacle to the growth of Self which it desires, and of which the Self -knows that it is capable. Self-assertion, in philosophic speculation -as elsewhere, views the world as a means to its own ends; thus it -makes the world of less account than Self, and the Self sets bounds to -the greatness of its goods. In contemplation, on the contrary, we -start from the not-Self, and through its greatness the boundaries of -Self are enlarged; through the infinity of the universe the mind which -contemplates it achieves some share in infinity. - -For this reason greatness of soul is not fostered by those -philosophies which assimilate the universe to Man. Knowledge is a -form of union of Self and not-Self; like all union, it is impaired by -dominion, and therefore by any attempt to force the universe into -conformity with what we find in ourselves. There is a widespread -philosophical tendency towards the view which tells us that Man is the -measure of all things, that truth is man-made, that space and time and -the world of universals are properties of the mind, and that, if there -be anything not created by the mind, it is unknowable and of no -account for us. This view, if our previous discussions were correct, -is untrue; but in addition to being untrue, it has the effect of -robbing philosophic contemplation of all that gives it value, since it -fetters contemplation to Self. What it calls knowledge is not a union -with the not-Self, but a set of prejudices, habits, and desires, -making an impenetrable veil between us and the world beyond. The man -who finds pleasure in such a theory of knowledge is like the man who -never leaves the domestic circle for fear his word might not be law. - -The true philosophic contemplation, on the contrary, finds its -satisfaction in every enlargement of the not-Self, in everything that -magnifies the objects contemplated, and thereby the subject -contemplating. Everything, in contemplation, that is personal or -private, everything that depends upon habit, self-interest, or desire, -distorts the object, and hence impairs the union which the intellect -seeks. By thus making a barrier between subject and object, such -personal and private things become a prison to the intellect. The -free intellect will see as God might see, without a _here_ and _now_, -without hopes and fears, without the trammels of customary beliefs and -traditional prejudices, calmly, dispassionately, in the sole and -exclusive desire of knowledge--knowledge as impersonal, as purely -contemplative, as it is possible for man to attain. Hence also the -free intellect will value more the abstract and universal knowledge -into which the accidents of private history do not enter, than the -knowledge brought by the senses, and dependent, as such knowledge must -be, upon an exclusive and personal point of view and a body whose -sense-organs distort as much as they reveal. - -The mind which has become accustomed to the freedom and impartiality -of philosophic contemplation will preserve something of the same -freedom and impartiality in the world of action and emotion. It will -view its purposes and desires as parts of the whole, with the absence -of insistence that results from seeing them as infinitesimal fragments -in a world of which all the rest is unaffected by any one man's deeds. -The impartiality which, in contemplation, is the unalloyed desire for -truth, is the very same quality of mind which, in action, is justice, -and in emotion is that universal love which can be given to all, and -not only to those who are judged useful or admirable. Thus -contemplation enlarges not only the objects of our thoughts, but also -the objects of our actions and our affections: it makes us citizens of -the universe, not only of one walled city at war with all the rest. -In this citizenship of the universe consists man's true freedom, and -his liberation from the thraldom of narrow hopes and fears. - -Thus, to sum up our discussion of the value of philosophy; Philosophy -is to be studied, not for the sake of any definite answers to its -questions, since no definite answers can, as a rule, be known to be -true, but rather for the sake of the questions themselves; because -these questions enlarge our conception of what is possible, enrich our -intellectual imagination and diminish the dogmatic assurance which -closes the mind against speculation; but above all because, through -the greatness of the universe which philosophy contemplates, the mind -also is rendered great, and becomes capable of that union with the -universe which constitutes its highest good. - - -BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE - -The student who wishes to acquire an elementary knowledge of -philosophy will find it both easier and more profitable to read some -of the works of the great philosophers than to attempt to derive an -all-round view from handbooks. The following are specially -recommended: - -Plato: _Republic_, especially Books VI and VII. -Descartes: _Meditations_. -Spinoza: _Ethics_. -Leibniz: _The Monadology_. -Berkeley: _Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous_. -Hume: _Enquiry concerning Human Understanding_. -Kant: _Prolegomena to any Future Metaphysic_. - - - - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE PROBLEMS OF PHILOSOPHY *** - -This file should be named prphi10.txt or prphi10.zip -Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, prphi11.txt -VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, prphi10a.txt - -Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance -of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. -Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, -even years after the official publication date. - -Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til -midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. -The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at -Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A -preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment -and editing by those who wish to do so. - -Most people start at our Web sites at: -http://gutenberg.net or -http://promo.net/pg - -These Web sites include award-winning information about Project -Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new -eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!). - - -Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement -can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is -also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the -indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an -announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. - -http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext04 or -ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext04 - -Or /etext03, 02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 - -Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, -as it appears in our Newsletters. - - -Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) - -We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The -time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours -to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright -searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our -projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value -per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 -million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text -files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+ -We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002 -If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total -will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end. - -The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks! -This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, -which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. - -Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated): - -eBooks Year Month - - 1 1971 July - 10 1991 January - 100 1994 January - 1000 1997 August - 1500 1998 October - 2000 1999 December - 2500 2000 December - 3000 2001 November - 4000 2001 October/November - 6000 2002 December* - 9000 2003 November* -10000 2004 January* - - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created -to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. - -We need your donations more than ever! - -As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people -and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut, -Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, -Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, -Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New -Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, -Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South -Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West -Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming. - -We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones -that have responded. - -As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list -will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states. -Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state. - -In answer to various questions we have received on this: - -We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally -request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and -you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have, -just ask. - -While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are -not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting -donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to -donate. - -International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about -how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made -deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are -ways. - -Donations by check or money order may be sent to: - -Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -PMB 113 -1739 University Ave. -Oxford, MS 38655-4109 - -Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment -method other than by check or money order. - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by -the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN -[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are -tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising -requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be -made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states. - -We need your donations more than ever! - -You can get up to date donation information online at: - -http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html - - -*** - -If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, -you can always email directly to: - -Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> - -Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. - -We would prefer to send you information by email. - - -**The Legal Small Print** - - -(Three Pages) - -***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START*** -Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. -They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with -your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from -someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our -fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement -disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how -you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to. - -*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK -By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept -this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive -a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by -sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person -you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical -medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. - -ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS -This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks, -is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart -through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). -Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright -on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and -distribute it in the United States without permission and -without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth -below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook -under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. - -Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market -any commercial products without permission. - -To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable -efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain -works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any -medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other -things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged -disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer -codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. - -LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES -But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, -[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may -receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims -all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including -legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR -UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, -INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE -OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE -POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. - -If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of -receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) -you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that -time to the person you received it from. If you received it -on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and -such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement -copy. If you received it electronically, such person may -choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to -receive it electronically. - -THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS -TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A -PARTICULAR PURPOSE. - -Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or -the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the -above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you -may have other legal rights. - -INDEMNITY -You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, -and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated -with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including -legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the -following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this eBook, -[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook, -or [3] any Defect. - -DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" -You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by -disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this -"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, -or: - -[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this - requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the - eBook or this "small print!" statement. You may however, - if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable - binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, - including any form resulting from conversion by word - processing or hypertext software, but only so long as - *EITHER*: - - [*] The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and - does *not* contain characters other than those - intended by the author of the work, although tilde - (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may - be used to convey punctuation intended by the - author, and additional characters may be used to - indicate hypertext links; OR - - [*] The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at - no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent - form by the program that displays the eBook (as is - the case, for instance, with most word processors); - OR - - [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at - no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the - eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC - or other equivalent proprietary form). - -[2] Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this - "Small Print!" statement. - -[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the - gross profits you derive calculated using the method you - already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you - don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are - payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" - the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were - legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent - periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to - let us know your plans and to work out the details. - -WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? -Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of -public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed -in machine readable form. - -The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, -public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. -Money should be paid to the: -"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or -software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: -hart@pobox.com - -[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only -when distributed free of all fees. Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by -Michael S. Hart. Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be -used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be -they hardware or software or any other related product without -express permission.] - -*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* - diff --git a/old/prphi10.zip b/old/prphi10.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index fe9e765..0000000 --- a/old/prphi10.zip +++ /dev/null |