Part 9

Now there is one obvious defect in this type of argument, if designed to prove that _no_ sensible quality exists at any place where it is perceived as being--a defect, which Berkeley himself admits in his "Principles," though he omits to notice it where he repeats the argument in his "Hylas." Even if we assume that the heat and the cold cannot _both_ exist in the same place (and I admit that, in this case, the contrary assumption does seem repugnant to Common Sense), it does not follow that _neither_ exists there. That is to say this type of argument, even if we grant its initial assumption, will only entitle us to conclude that _some_ sensible qualities which we perceive as being in a certain place at a certain time, do not exist in that place at that time. And this conclusion, I am inclined to think, is true. In the case, for instance, of the so-called "images" which we perceive in a looking-glass, we may very readily admit that the colours and shapes which we perceive do _not_ exist at the places where they appear to be--namely at various distances behind the glass. But yet, so far as I can see, we have no reason whatever for supposing that they do not, _except_ the assumption that our observations give us reason to believe that _other_ sensible qualities _do_ exist in those positions behind the glass; and the assumption that _where_ these _other_ sensible qualities do exist, those which we see in the glass do _not_ exist. I should, therefore, admit that _some_ sensible qualities which we perceive as being in certain places, do _not_ exist in those places, while still retaining my belief that others do. And _perhaps_ this explanation is the one which should also be adopted in the case of sensible qualities which appear to be at a great distance from us. When, for instance, (as we say), "we see the moon," _what_ we perceive (if the moon be full) is a round bright silver disc, of a small size, at a place very distant from us. Does that silver disc exist at that place? With what suppositions does the assumption that it _does_ conflict? Only, so far as I can see, with the supposition that the place in question is _really_ occupied by a body such as science has taught us to suppose that the moon _really_ is--a spherical body immensely larger than objects, in comparison with which the silver disc which we perceive is small; _or else_ with the supposition that the place in question is really occupied by some part of our atmosphere, or some part of the medium which science supposes to exist between our atmosphere and the moon; _or else_ with the supposition that the place in question is really occupied by what we might see, if the moon were nearer to us by many thousands of miles. Unless we suppose that some other object _is_ in the place, in which the silver disc appears to be, and that this object is of a kind which cannot occupy the _same_ place which is occupied by a silver disc, we have no reason to suppose that the silver disc does _not_ really exist in the place where it appears to be. And, in this case, we _perhaps_ have reason for both suppositions and should therefore conclude that the silver disc, which we perceive, does not exist in any real place.

Part, therefore, of these objections to our theory may, I think, be met by admitting that _some_ of the ... sensible qualities which we perceive do not exist at the places where they appear to exist, though ethers do. But there is, I think, another class of cases, in which we may be justified in denying that two things which (it is asserted) cannot occupy the same space, really cannot. I will take an instance which is, I think, typical. When we look at a drop of blood with the naked eye, we perceive a small red spot, uniformly red all over. But when (as we say) we look at the _same_ object under a microscope of a certain power, I am informed that we see a much larger spot, of similar shape, indeed, but _not_ uniformly red--having, in fact, small red spots at different positions in a yellowish field. And if we were again to look at the _same_ object through a microscope of much higher power still, we might perceive yet a third different arrangement of colours. Is there any fatal objection to supposing that all _three_ appearances--the uniform red spot, the yellowish field with reddish spots in it, and the third, whatever that may be--do all really occupy the same real spatial area? I cannot see that there is. We are familiar with the idea that a given spatial area may contain parts which are invisible to us. And hence, I think it is quite conceivable that parts of a given area may be _really_ occupied by one colour, while the whole is _really_ occupied by another. And this, I think, is what we actually _do_ believe in many cases. At all events, we certainly believe that the area which appears to be occupied by one colour really is _the same area_ as that which appears to be occupied by another. And, unless we assume that the area, in both cases, really is the same, we can certainly have no reason to deny that each colour does really occupy the area which it appears to occupy.

For these reasons I think that the difficulties in the way of supposing that _some_ of the sensible qualities which we perceive as being in certain places, really exist in the places in which we perceive them to be, are not insuperable. I have indeed not done justice to these difficulties; but then, neither have I done justice to what is to be said on the other side. At all events, I think it is plain that we have no reason to assert, in any case whatever, that a perceived colour does _not_ really exist in the place where it is perceived as being, _unless_ we assume that that very same place really is occupied by something else_--either_ by some different sensible qualities _or_ by material objects such as physical science supposes to exist. But what reason can we give for such an assumption? I have tried to show that our own observations can give us none, _unless_ we assume that some of the sensible qualities, which we observe as occupying certain places, do really exist in those places. And, if this is so, then we must admit that neither he who believes (with Reid) in the existence of other minds and of matter also, nor he who believes in the existence of other minds and denies that of matter, can have, in his own observations, the slightest reason either for his assertion or for his denial: we must admit that he can have no reason for either assertion or denial, except one which consists in the assumption of the existence or nonexistence of something which he does _not_ observe--something, therefore, of the very same kind as that for which he gives it as a reason. I am very unwilling to suppose that this is the case: I am very unwilling to suppose that he who believes that Sindbad the Sailor really saw what the "Arabian Nights" represent him as seeing, has just as good reason (so far as his own observation goes) for believing this as he who denies it has for denying it. Still this may be the case. We _must_, perhaps, be content to assume as certain that for which our observation gives no reason: to assume such propositions as that Sindbad did _not_ see a Roc, and that you _do_ hear my voice. But if it is said that these things are certain; then it also appears to me to be certain that the colours which I perceive do exist (_some_ of them) where I perceive them. The more I look at objects round me, the more I am unable to resist the conviction that what I see does exist, as truly and as really, as my perception of it The conviction is overwhelming.

This being, then, the state of the case, I think I may at least plead that we have grounds for suspense of judgment as to whether what I see does _not_ really exist; grounds, too, for renewed enquiry, more careful than such enquiry has sometimes been in the past.

[1] Not now in 1921.

WILLIAM JAMES

My object in this paper is to discuss some of the things which Prof. William James says about truth in the recent book, to which he has given the above name.[1] In Lecture VI he professes to give an account of a theory, which he calls "the pragmatist theory of truth;" and he professes to give a briefer preliminary account of the same theory in Lecture II. Moreover, in Lecture VII, he goes on to make some further remarks about truth. In all these Lectures he seems to me to make statements to which there are very obvious objections; and my main object is to point out, as clearly and simply as I can, what seem to me to be the principal objections to some of these statements.

We may, I think, distinguish three different things which he seems particularly anxious to assert about truth.

(I) In the first place, he is plainly anxious to assert some connection between truth and "verification" or "utility." Our true ideas, he seems to say, are those that "work," in the sense that they are or can be "verified," or are "useful."

(II) In the second place, he seems to object to the view that truth is something "static" or "immutable." He is anxious to assert that truths are in some sense "mutable."

(III) In the third place, he asserts that "to an unascertainable extent our truths are man-made products" (p. 242).

To what he asserts under each of these three heads there are, I think, serious objections; and I now propose to point out what seem to me to be the principal ones, under each head separately.

(I)

Professor James is plainly anxious to assert _some_ connection between truth and "verification" or "utility." And that there is _some_ connection between them everybody will admit. That _many_ of our true ideas are verified; that _many_ of them can be verified; and that _many_ of them are useful, is, I take it, quite indisputable. But Professor James seems plainly to wish to assert something more than this. And one more thing which he wishes to assert is, I think, pretty plain. He suggests, at the beginning of Lecture VI, that he is going to tell us in what sense it is that our true ideas "agree with reality." Truth, he says, certainly _means_ their agreement with reality; the only question is as to what we are to understand by the words "agreement" and "reality" in this proposition. And he first briefly considers the theory, that the sense in which our true ideas agree with reality, is that they "copy" some reality. And he affirms that some of our true ideas really do do this. But he rejects the theory, as a theory of what truth means, on the ground that they do not _all_ do so. Plainly, therefore, he implies that no theory of what truth _means_ will be correct, unless it tells us of some property which belongs to _all_ our true ideas without exception. But his own theory is a theory of what truth means. Apparently, therefore, he wishes to assert that not only many but _all_ our true ideas are or can be verified; that _all_ of them are useful. And it is, I think, pretty plain that this is _one_ of the things which he wishes to assert.

Apparently, therefore, Professor James wishes to assert that _all_ our true ideas are or can be verified--that _all_ are useful. And certainly this is not a truism like the proposition that _many_ of them are so. Even if this were all that he meant, it would be worth discussing. But even this, I think, is not all. The very first proposition in which he expresses his theory is the following. "True ideas," he says (p. 201) "are those that we can assimilate, validate, corroborate and verify. False ideas are those that we cannot." And what does this mean? Let us, for brevity's sake, substitute the word "verify" alone for the four words which Professor James uses, as he himself subsequently seems to do. He asserts, then, that true ideas are _those which_ we can verify. And plainly he does not mean by this merely that _some_ of the ideas which we can verify are true, while plenty of others, which we can verify, are not true. The plain meaning of his words is that _all_ the ideas which we can verify are true. No one would use them who did not mean this. Apparently, therefore, Professor James means to assert not merely that we can verify all our true ideas; but also that all the ideas, which we can verify, are true. And so, too, with utility or usefulness. He seems to mean not merely that all our true ideas are useful; but that all those which are useful are true. This would follow, for one thing, from the fact that he seems to use the words "verification" or "verifiability" and "usefulness" as if they came to the same thing. But, in this case too, he asserts it in words that have but one plain meaning. "The true" he says (p. 222) "is only the expedient in the way of our thinking." "The true" is _the_ expedient: that is, _all_ expedient thinking is true. Or again: "An idea is 'true' so long as to believe it is profitable to our lives" (p. 75). That is to say, _every_ idea, which is profitable to our lives, is, while it is so, true. These words certainly have a plain enough meaning. Apparently, therefore, Professor James means to assert not merely that all true ideas are useful, but also that all useful ideas are true.

Professor James' words, then, do at least suggest that he wishes to assert all four of the following propositions. He wishes to assert, it would seem--

(1) That we can verify all those of our ideas, which are true.

(2) That all those among our ideas, which we can verify, are true.

(3) That all our true ideas are useful.

(4) That all those of our ideas, which are useful, are true.

These four propositions are what I propose first to consider. He does mean to assert them, at least. Very likely he wishes to assert something more even than these. He does, in fact, suggest that he means to assert, in addition, that these properties of "verifiability" and "utility" are the _only_ properties (beside that of being properly _called_ "true") which belong to all our true ideas and to none but true ideas. But this obviously cannot be true, unless all these four propositions are true. And therefore we may as well consider them first.

First, then, can we verify all our true ideas?

I wish only to point out the plainest and most obvious reasons why I think it is doubtful whether we can.

We are very often in doubt as to whether we did or did not do a certain thing in the past. We may have the idea that we did, and also the idea that we did not; and we may wish to find out which idea is the true one. Very often, indeed, I may believe very strongly, that I did do a certain thing; and somebody else, who has equally good reason to know, may believe equally strongly that I did not. For instance, I may have written a letter, and may believe that I used certain words in it. But my correspondent may believe that I did not. Can we always verify either of these ideas? Certainly sometimes we can. The letter may be produced, and prove that I did use the words in question. And I shall then have verified my idea. Or it may prove that I did not use them. And then we shall have verified my correspondent's idea. But, suppose the letter has been destroyed; suppose there is no copy of it, nor any trustworthy record of what was said in it; suppose there is no other witness as to what I said in it, beside myself and my correspondent? Can we then always verify which of our ideas is the true one? I think it is very doubtful whether we can _nearly_ always. Certainly we may often try to discover any possible means of verification, and be quite unable, for a time at least, to discover any. Such cases, in which we are unable, for a time at least, to verify either of two contradictory ideas, occur very commonly indeed. Let us take an even more trivial instance than the last. Bad whist-players often do not notice at all carefully which cards they have among the lower cards in a suit. At the end of a hand they cannot be certain whether they had or had not the seven of diamonds, or the five of spades. And, after the cards have been shuffled, a dispute will sometimes arise as to whether a particular player had the seven of diamonds or not. His partner may think that he had, and he himself may think that he had not. Both may be uncertain, and the memory of both, on such a point, may be well known to be untrustworthy. And, moreover, neither of the other players may be able to remember any better. Is it always possible to verify which of these ideas is the true one? Either the player did or did not have the seven of diamonds. This much is certain. One person thinks that he did, and another thinks he did not; and both, so soon as the question is raised, have before their minds both of these ideas--the idea that he did, and the idea that he did not. This also is certain. And it is certain that one or other of these two ideas is true. But can they always verify either of them? Sometimes, no doubt, they can, even after the cards have been shuffled. There may have been a fifth person present, overlooking the play, whose memory is perfectly trustworthy, and whose word may be taken as settling the point. Or the players may themselves be able, by recalling other incidents of play, to arrive at such a certainty as may be said to verify the one hypothesis or the other. But very often neither of these two things will occur. And, in such a case, is it always possible to verify the true idea? Perhaps, theoretically, it may be still possible. Theoretically, I suppose, the fact that one player, and not any of the other three, had the card in his hand, may have made some difference to the card, which _might_ be discovered by some possible method of scientific investigation. Perhaps some such difference may remain even after the same card has been repeatedly used in many subsequent games. But suppose the same question arises again, a week after the original game was played. Did you, or did you not, last week have the seven of diamonds in that particular hand? The question has not been settled in the meantime; and now, perhaps, the original pack of cards has been destroyed. Is it still possible to verify either idea? Theoretically, I suppose, it may be still possible. But even this, I think, is very doubtful. And surely it is plain that, humanly and practically speaking, it will often have become quite impossible to verify either idea. In all probability it never will be possible for any man to verify whether I had the card or not on this particular occasion. No doubt we are here speaking of an idea, which some man _could have_ verified at one time. But the hypothesis I am considering is the hypothesis that we never have a true idea, which we _can_ not verify; that is to say, which we cannot verify _after_ the idea has occurred. And with regard to this hypothesis, it seems to me quite plain that _very often indeed_ we have two ideas, one or other of which is certainly true; and yet that, in all probability, it is no longer possible and never will be possible for any man to verify either.

It seems to me, then, that we very often have true ideas which we cannot verify; true ideas, which, in all probability, no man ever will be able to verify. And, so far, I have given only comparatively trivial instances. But it is plain that, in the same sense, historians are very frequently occupied with true ideas, which it is doubtful whether they can verify. One historian thinks that a certain event took place, and another that it did not; and both may admit that they cannot verify their idea. Subsequent historians may, no doubt, sometimes be able to verify one or the other. New evidence may be discovered or men may learn to make a better use of evidence already in existence. But is it certain that this will _always_ happen? Is it certain that _every_ question, about which historians have doubted, will some day be able to be settled by verification of one or the other hypothesis? Surely the probability is that in the case of an immense number of events, with regard to which we should like to know whether they happened or not, it never will be possible for any man to verify either the one hypothesis or the other. Yet it may be certain that either the events in question did happen or did not. Here, therefore, again, we have a large number of ideas--cases where many men doubt whether a thing did happen or did not, and have therefore the idea both of its having happened and of its not having happened--with regard to which it is certain that half of them are true, but where it seems highly doubtful whether any single one of them will ever be able to be verified. No doubt it is just possible that men will some day be able to verify every one of them. But surely it is very doubtful whether they will. And the theory against which I am protesting is the positive assertion that we _can_ verify all our true ideas--that some one some day certainly will be able to verify every one of them. This theory, I urge, has all probability against it.