Part 13

It seems to me, then, that if we mean by an idea, not mere words, but the kind of idea which words express, any idea, which is true at one time when it occurs, _would_ be true at any time when it were to occur; and that this is so, even though it is an idea, which refers to facts which are mutable. My being in this room is a fact which is now, but which certainly has not been at every time and will not be at every time. And the words "I _am_ in this room," though they express a truth now, would not have expressed one if I had used them yesterday, and will not if I use them to-morrow. But if we consider the idea which these words _now_ express--namely, the idea of the connection of my being in this room with this particular time--it seems to me evident that anybody who had thought of that connection at any time in the past, would have been thinking truly, and that anybody who were to think of it at any time in the future would be thinking truly. This seems to me to be the sense in which truths are immutable--in which no idea can change from true to false. And I think Professor James means to deny of truths generally, if not of all truths, that they are immutable even in this sense. If he does not mean this there seems nothing left for him to mean, when he says that truths are mutable, except (1) that some _facts_ are mutable, and (2) that the same _words_ may be true at one time and false at another. And it seems to me impossible that he could speak as he does, if he meant _nothing more_ than these two things. I believe, therefore, that he is really thinking that ideas which have been once true (_ideas,_ and not merely words) do sometimes afterwards become false: that the very same idea is at one time true and at another false. But he certainly gives no instance which shows that this does ever occur. And how far does he mean his principle to carry him? Does he hold that this idea that Julius Caesar was murdered in the Senate-House, though true now, may, at some future time cease to be true, if it should be more profitable to the lives of future generations to believe that he died in his bed? Things like this are what his words seem to imply; and, even if he does hold that truths like this are _not_ mutable, he never tries to tell us to what kinds of truths he would limit mutability, nor how they differ from such as this.

(III)

Finally, there remains the view that "to an unascertainable extent our truths are man-made products." And the only point I want to make about this view may be put very briefly.

It is noticeable that all the instances which Professor James gives of the ways in which, according to him, "our truths" are "made" are instances of ways in which our _beliefs_ come into existence. In many of these ways, it would seem, false beliefs sometimes come into existence as well as true ones; and I take it Professor James does not always wish to deny this. False beliefs, I think he would say, are just as much "man-made products" as true ones: it is sufficient for his purpose if true beliefs do come into existence in the ways he mentions. And the only point which seems to be illustrated by all these instances, is that in all of them the existence of a true belief does depend in some way or other upon the previous existence of something in some man's mind. They are all of them cases in which we may truly say: This man would not have had just that belief, had not some man previously had such and such experiences, or interests, or purposes. In some cases they are instances of ways in which the existence of a particular belief in a man depends upon _his own_ previous experiences or interests or volitions. But this does not seem to be the case in all. Professor James seems also anxious to illustrate the point that one man's beliefs often depend upon the previous experiences or interests or volitions of _other_ men. And, as I say, the only point which seems to be definitely illustrated in all cases is that the existence of a true belief does depend, _in some way or other,_ upon something which has previously existed in some man's mind. Almost any kind of dependence, it would seem, is sufficient to illustrate Professor James' point.

And as regards this general thesis that almost all our beliefs, true as well as false, depend, in some way or other, upon what has previously been in some human mind, it will, I think, be readily admitted. It is a commonplace, which, so far as I know, hardly anyone would deny. If this is all that is to be meant by saying that our true beliefs are "man-made," it must, I think, be admitted that almost all, If not quite all, really are man-made. And this is all that Professor James' instances seem to me, in fact, to show.

But is this all that Professor James means, when he says that _our truths_ are man-made? Is it conceivable that he only means to insist upon this undeniable, and generally admitted, commonplace? It seems to me quite plain that this is not all that he means. I think he certainly means to suggest that, from the fact that we "make" our true beliefs, something _else_ follows. And I think it is not hard to see one thing more which he does mean. I think he certainly means to suggest that we not only make our true beliefs, but also that we _make them true._ At least as much as this is certainly naturally suggested by his words. No one would persistently say that we make _our truths_, unless he meant, at least, not merely that we make our true beliefs, but also that we make them true--unless he meant not merely that the existence of our true beliefs, but also that their _truth_, depended upon human conditions. This, it seems to me, is one consequence which Professor James means us to draw from the commonplace that the _existence_ of our true beliefs depends upon human conditions. But does this consequence, in fact, follow from that commonplace? From the fact that we make our true beliefs, does it follow that we _make them true?_

_In one sense,_ undoubtedly, even this does follow. If we say (as we may say) that no belief can be true, unless it exists, then it follows that, in a sense, the truth of a belief must always depend upon any conditions upon which its existence depends. If, therefore, the occurrence of a belief depends upon human conditions, so, too, must its truth. If the belief had never existed, it would never have been true; and therefore its truth must, in a sense, depend upon human conditions in exactly the same degree in which its existence depends upon them. This is obvious. But is this all that is meant? Is this all that would be suggested to us by telling us that we make our beliefs true?

It is easy to see that it is not. I may have the belief that it will rain to-morrow. And I may have "made" myself have this belief. It may be the case that I should not have had it, but for peculiarities in my past experiences, in my interests and my volitions. It may be the case that I should not have had it, but for a deliberate attempt to consider the question whether it will rain or not. This may easily happen. And certainly this particular belief of mine would not have been true, unless it existed. Its truth, therefore, depends, in a sense, upon any conditions upon which its existence depends. And this belief may be true. It will be true, if It does rain to-morrow. But, in spite of all these reasons, would anyone think of saying that, in case it is true, I had _made_ it true? Would anyone say that I had had any hand _at all_ in making it true? Plainly no one would. We should say that I had a hand in making it true, if and only If I had a hand in _making the rain fall._ In every case in which we believe in the existence of anything, past or future, we should say that we had helped to make the belief true, if and only if we had helped to cause the existence of the fact which, in that belief, we believed did exist or would exist. Surely this is plain. I may believe that the sun will rise to-morrow. And I may have had a hand in "making" this belief; certainly it often depends for its existence upon what has been previously in my mind. And if the sun does rise, my belief will have been true. I have, therefore, had a hand in making a true belief. But would anyone say that, therefore, I had a hand in _making this belief true_? Certainly no one would. No one would say that anything had contributed to make this belief true, except those conditions (whatever they may be) which contributed to making the sun actually rise.

It is plain, then, that by "making a belief true," we mean something quite different from what Professor James means by "making" that belief. Conditions which have a hand in making a given true belief, may (it appears) have no hand at all in making it true; and conditions which have a hand in making it true may have no hand at all in making _it._ Certainly this is how we use the words. We should never say that we had made a belief true, merely because we had made the belief. But now, which of these two things does Professor James mean? Does he mean _merely_ the accepted commonplace that we make our true beliefs, in the sense that almost all of them depend for their existence on what has been previously in some human mind? Or does he mean also that we _make them true_--that their truth also depends on what has been previously in some human mind?

I cannot help thinking that he has the latter, and not only the former in his mind. But, then, what does this involve? If his instances of "truth-making" are to be anything to the purpose, it should mean that, whenever I have a hand in causing one of my own beliefs, I always have to that extent a hand in making it true. That, therefore, I have a hand in actually making the sun rise, the wind blow, and the rain fall, whenever I cause my beliefs in these things. Nay, more, it should mean that, whenever I "make" a true belief about the past, I must have had a hand in making this true. And if so, then certainly I must have had a hand in causing the French Revolution, in causing my father's birth, in making Professor James write this book. Certainly he implies that some man or other must have helped in causing almost every event, in which any man ever truly believed. That it was we who made the planets revolve round the sun, who made the Alps rise, and the floor of the Pacific sink--all these things, and others like them, seem to be involved. And it is these consequences which seem to me to justify a doubt whether, in fact "our truths are to an unascertainable extent man-made." That some of our truths are man-made--indeed, a great many--I fully admit. We certainly do make some of our beliefs true. The Secretary probably had a belief that I should write this paper, and I have made his belief true by writing it. Men certainly have the power to alter the world to a certain extent; and, so far as they do this, they certainly "make true" any beliefs, which are beliefs in the occurrence of these alterations. But I can see no reason for supposing that they "make true" _nearly_ all those of their beliefs which are true. And certainly the only reason which Professor James seems to give for believing this--namely, that the _existence_ of almost all their beliefs depends on them--seems to be no reason for it at all. For unquestionably a man does not "make true" nearly every belief whose _existence_ depends on him; and if so, the question which of their beliefs and how many, men do "make true" must be settled by quite other considerations.

In conclusion, I wish to sum up what seems to me to be the most important points about this "pragmatist theory of truth," as Professor James represents it. It seems to me that, in what he says about it, he has in his mind some things which are true and others which are false; and I wish to tabulate separately the principal ones which I take to be true, and the principal ones which I take to be false. The true ones seem to me to be these:--

That _most_ of our true beliefs are useful to us; and that _most_ of the beliefs that are useful to us are true.

That the world really does change in some respects; that facts exist at one time, which didn't and won't exist at others; and that hence the world may be better at some future time than it is now or has been in the past.

That the very same words may be true at one time and false at another--that they may express a truth at one time and a falsehood at another.

That the existence of most, if not all, of our beliefs, true as well as false, does depend upon previous events in our mental history; that we should never have had the particular beliefs we do have, had not our previous mental history been such as it was.

That the truth, and not merely the existence, of _some_ of our beliefs, does depend upon us. That we really do make some alterations in the world, and that hence we do help to "make true" all those of our beliefs which are beliefs in the existence of these alterations.

To all of these propositions I have no objection to offer. And they seem to me to be generally admitted commonplaces. A certain class of philosophers do, indeed, imply the denial of every one of them--namely, those philosophers who deny the reality of time. And I think that part of Professor James' object is to protest against the views of these philosophers. All of these propositions do constitute a protest against such views; and so far they might be all that Professor James meant to assert. But I do not think that anyone, fairly reading through what he says, could get the impression that these things, and nothing more, were what he had in his mind. What gives colour and interest to what he says, seems to be obviously something quite different. And, if we try to find out what exactly the chief things are which give his discussion its colour and interest, it seems to me we may distinguish that what he has in his mind, wrapped up in more or less ambiguous language, are the following propositions, to all of which I have tried to urge what seem to me the most obvious objections:--

That utility is a property which distinguishes true beliefs from those which are not true; that, therefore, _all_ true beliefs are useful, and _all_ beliefs, which are useful, are true--by "utility" being sometimes meant "utility on at least one occasion," sometimes "utility in the long run," sometimes "utility for some length of time."

That all beliefs which are useful for some length of time are true.

That utility is the _only_ property which all true beliefs have in common: that, therefore, _if_ it were useful to me to believe in Professor James' existence, this belief _would_ be true, even if he didn't exist; and that, _if_ it were not useful to me to believe this, the belief _would_ be false, even if he did.

That the beliefs, which we express by words, and not merely the words themselves, may be true at one time and _not_ true at another; and that this is a general rule, though perhaps there may be some exceptions.

That whenever the _existence_ of a belief depends to some extent on us, then also the _truth_ of that belief depends to some extent on us; in the sense in which this implies, that, when the existence of my belief that a shower will fall depends upon me, then, if this belief is true, I must have had a hand in making the shower fall: that, therefore, men must have had a hand in making to exist almost every fact which they ever believe to exist.

[1] _Pragmatism: A New Name for some Old Ways of Thinking: Popular Lectures on Philosophy._ By William James. Longmans, Green, and Co., 1907

HUME'S PHILOSOPHY

In both of his two books on the Human Understanding, Hume had, I think, one main general object. He tells us that it was his object to discover "the extent and force of human understanding," to give us "an exact analysis of its powers and capacity." And we may, I think, express what he meant by this in the following way. He plainly held (as we all do) that some men sometimes entertain opinions which they cannot know to be true. And he wished to point out what characteristics are possessed by those of our opinions which we _can_ know to be true, with a view of persuading us that any opinion which does _not_ possess any of these characteristics is of a kind which we _cannot_ know to be so. He thus tries to lay down certain rules to the effect that the _only_ propositions which we can, any of us, know to be true are of certain definite kinds. It is in this sense, I think, that he tries to define the limits of human understanding.

With this object he, first of all, divides all the propositions, which we can even so much as conceive, into two classes. They are all, he says, either propositions about "relations of ideas" or else about "matters of fact." By propositions about "relations of ideas" he means such propositions as that twice two are four, or that black differs from white; and it is, I think, easy enough to see, though by no means easy to define, what kind of propositions it is that he means to include in this division. They are, he says, the only kind of propositions with regard to which we can have "intuitive" or "demonstrative" certainty. But the vast majority of the propositions in which we believe and which interest us most, belong to the other division: they are propositions about "matters of fact." And these again he divides into two classes. So far as his words go, this latter division is between "matters of fact, beyond the present testimony of our senses, or the records of our memory," on the one hand, and matters of fact for which we _have_ the evidence of our memory or senses, on the other. But it is, I think, quite plain that these words do not represent quite accurately the division which he really means to make. He plainly intends to reckon along with facts for which we have the evidence of our _senses_ all facts for which we have the evidence of _direct observation_--such facts, for instance, as those which I observe when I observe that I am angry or afraid, and which cannot be strictly said to be apprehended by my _senses._ The division, then, which he really intends to make is (to put it quite strictly) into the two classes--(1) propositions which assert some matter of fact which I am (in the strictest sense) _observing_ at the moment, or which I have so observed in the past and now remember; and (2) propositions which assert any matter of fact which I am not now observing and never have observed, or, if I have, have quite forgotten.

We have, then, the three classes--(1) propositions which assert "relations of ideas"; (2) propositions which assert "matters of fact" for which we have the evidence of direct observation or personal memory; (3) propositions which assert "matters of fact_"_ for which we have _not_ this evidence. And as regards propositions of the first two classes, Hume does not seem to doubt our capacity for knowledge. He does not doubt that we can know _some_ (though, of course, not _all)_ propositions about "relations of ideas" to be true; he never doubts, for instance, that we can know that twice two are four. And he generally assumes also that each of us can know the truth of _all_ propositions which merely assert some matter of fact which we ourselves are, in the strictest sense, directly observing, or which we have so observed and now remember. He does, indeed, in one place, suggest a doubt whether our memory is _ever_ to be implicitly trusted, but he generally assumes that it _always_ can. It is with regard to propositions of the third class that he is chiefly anxious to determine which of them (if any) we can know to be true and which not. In what cases can any man know any matter of fact which he himself has not directly observed? It is Hume's views on this question which form, I think, the main interest of his philosophy.

He proposes, first of all, by way of answer to it, a rule, which may, I think, be expressed as follows: No man, he says, can ever know any matter of fact, which he has not himself observed, unless he can know that it is connected by "the relation of cause and effect," with some fact which he _has_ observed. And no man can ever know that any two facts are connected by this relation, except by the help of his own past _experience._ In other words, if I am to know any fact, A, which I have not myself observed, my past experience must give me some foundation for the belief that A is causally connected with some fact, B, which I have observed. And the only kind of past experience which can give me any foundation for such a belief is, Hume seems to say, as follows: I must, he says, have found _facts like_ A "constantly conjoined" in the past with _facts like_ B. This is what he _says;_ but we must not, I think, press his words too strictly. I may, for instance, know that A is _probably_ a fact, even where the conjunction of facts like it with facts like B has not been quite constant. Or instead of observing facts like A conjoined with facts like B, I may have observed a whole series of conjunctions--for instance, between A and C, C and D, D and E, and E and B; and such a series, however long, will do quite as well to establish a causal connection between A and B, as if I had directly observed conjunctions between A and B themselves. Such modifications as this, Hume would, I think, certainly allow. But, allowing for them, his principle is, I think, quite clear. I can, he holds, never know any fact whatever, which I have not myself observed, unless I have observed similar facts in the past and have observed that they were "conjoined" (directly or indirectly) with facts similar to some fact which I do now observe or remember. In this sense, he holds, _all_ our knowledge of facts, beyond the reach of our own observation, is founded on _experience._

This is Hume's primary principle. But what consequences does he think will follow from it, as to the kind of facts, beyond our own observation, which we can know? We may, I think, distinguish three entirely different views as to its consequences, which he suggests in different parts of his work.