160. How does coherent thought differ from dreaming?
161. How does coherent thought differ from mere recurrent thought?
162. What are the conditions on which coherent thought depends?
163. What is the significance of language for coherent thought?
164. What are the two sources of the idea of self?
165. What influence has language on the concept of the unity and indivisibility of self?
166. What is the true concept of the unity of mind?
167. How does intelligence differ from memory?
168. How does the text describe “lack of intelligence”?
169. How does human intelligence differ from that of animals?
§ 18. BELIEF
It seems, then, that all our knowledge is a mere adaptation to external circumstances, that truth is entirely relative, being only a fitting relation between the subject and his surroundings. But are there no truths whose evidence is inherent in them? Are there no axioms which are immediately evident? Is it not our task to derive all other truths from these axioms by means of logical rules the correctness of which we are obliged to admit? Or, if there are also secondary truths, which we recognize as such only because they suit our experience, are not those immediately evident truths a superior kind, preëminently worthy of the name? For example, the logical, mathematical, and religious truths?
Our previous discussion of truth and knowledge is indeed insufficient. We called truth any mental state which is in harmony with objective reality, no matter whether this relation of harmony is itself thought of in the truth or not. But we may use the word _truth_, or _knowledge_, in a subjective sense, meaning by it a complex mental state which _includes the thought of its agreeing_ with objective reality; that is, a state which includes the _belief_ of its objective counterpart. Most people take it for granted that knowledge is mental activity which has its objective counterpart. However, there are very many subjective truths to which an objective reality cannot correspond. Christian, Jewish, pagan, and philosophical martyrs have testified with their blood to their faiths, which in certain respects contradict each other. They must, therefore, have sacrificed their lives partly for something objectively untrue. On the other hand, there are objective truths which are not believed; for instance, theories which are rejected for some time, but later prove to be right.
We have seen how objectively correct thought originates. Let us now consider the origin of thought which includes the thought of the existence of its objective counterpart; that is, the origin of belief.
An infant has no consciousness of either reality or unreality. He has simply conscious states, without any such distinction. But he cannot fail to learn the distinction. He is hungry. He cries. He becomes conscious of reproduced former experiences of food and of the mother bringing the food. And, indeed, the door opens, the mother enters with the food, very similar to the imagined mother, and yet differing in vividness, in permanence, in number of details. At a later time the child imagines strange compositions: animals with legs both below and on their backs, so that they can turn over and continue running when one set of legs is tired; princes and princesses with golden crowns on their heads; fairies carrying marvelous gifts in their hands. But nothing of this kind appears with the vividness, permanence, and distinctness characteristic of the mother entering the door. Human beings who appear with a similar vividness, permanence, and distinctness, either are bareheaded or wear plain-looking hats; and their gifts amount to but little. When the child imagines the experience with his mother, he recalls the substitution of the vivid and stable consciousness for the feeble and fleeting image of the mother and the food. When he imagines his dreams of princes and fairies, he recalls the substitution of those vivid but homely mental states for less vivid but more beautiful ones. When such experiences have been repeated hundreds of times, the child begins to realize that there is a distinction of the greatest importance between the two classes. He forms the abstract concepts of sensory perception and of fancy--of consciousness of various sensory qualities and characterized by indescribable vividness, permanence, and distinctness; and on the other hand, of consciousness of various sensory qualities and characterized by feebleness, fleetingness, and vagueness, and in this respect flatly contradicted by the mental states of the other kind. _In these abstract conceptions consists the consciousness of reality and unreality._ Reality and unreality are not logical opposites, but merely relative concepts.
As soon as the ideas of reality and unreality are once formed, ample opportunity is found for their application. They are applied also to cases which do not belong to either of the extremes of vividness, permanence, and distinctness, or feebleness, fleetingness, and vagueness. Finally, they are applied by mere analogy to cases which do not directly call for their application--as in a discussion of historical truths. At this point another distinction is made. Trees with leaves of silver are never presented to our sense organs. But the elements which make up even the most contradictory compounds of fancy have been known through the sense organs and become known again as sensory impressions. Trees with a foliage of silver are not seen in everyday life; but trees are seen, and leaf-like things of silver, too. Even if all our ideational thought were fancy, its elements would tend to make us conscious of the concept of reality rather than of unreality because separately the elements have often been experienced with a high degree of vividness, permanence, and distinctness. The opportunities for thinking of reality are incomparably more numerous in human life than those for thinking of unreality. We develop the habit of conceiving our thoughts as real, unless there is a positive force compelling us to accept the opposite concept. Thus we understand why the child, as soon as he has formed these two concepts, is immensely credulous.
Tell the child that the moon is going to drop from heaven, and he will look up, expecting to see it fall. The child’s experience is limited. There is but rarely a positive force tending to reproduce in his consciousness the concept of unreality. Where there is no such force, the child does not remain neutral, skeptical, but conceives his thought as including objective reality. Language assists in this tendency, for the first words acquired by the child mean objective realities, persons, clothes, furniture, and so on. The frequent use of these words strengthens the habit of thinking of things as realities. Of much influence is also the use of the verb _to be_ as a mere copula and also in the sense of _to exist_. The child is thus induced to regard a thing as existing because it is thought _to be_ yellow, round, etc. That _to be_ is used in this ambiguous manner in all languages seems to be additional proof of what is historically certain, that the human race, like the human child, has passed through a period of extreme credulity. This racial credulity through the traditional usage of language contributes now to the credulity of the individual.
Gradually the child’s experience becomes more extensive and begins to exert upon the multitude of original beliefs an influence which sometimes continues all through life, although ultimately the progress becomes very slow. Experience steadily encroaches upon the realm of belief, driving it from ground which it previously occupied. It also gives additional authority to belief, enabling it to hold more firmly that to which previously it possessed but a doubtful title.
Much that contradicts frequent experiences is taken out of the realm of belief and called a fairy tale or a story. Trees with golden apples? There is no such thing, the real apples assert--we are all mellow and meaty, not hard as gold. A Santa Claus who distributes gifts to all the children everywhere at the same time? Impossible, says everyday experience. He who is here cannot also be yonder and in a thousand other places.
On the other hand, experience gives strength to the child’s belief. Single matters of belief are connected mutually and with the absolute basis of all knowledge, the sensory perceptions of the present. When I am obliged to think, however briefly and vaguely, that as really as I now see this paper and perceive the words printed on it, I was at that particular time, previous to those and those events of the meantime, at a certain place witnessing a certain act, my belief in the reality of this event is unshakable. Whatever can be connected in this manner with this fixed point, is itself fixed, placed beyond doubt.
Why can I believe my dreams while I am dreaming them, but not after waking up? Because consciousness is limited during sleep. There are _no perceptions_ with their normal vividness, permanence, and distinctness, with which the dream may be compared as to its reality. There are but _few other ideas_ accompanied by a vivid idea of reality, with which the dream may be compared. The dream has therefore the _maximum of reality_ of all mental states present at that time in the mind. This is meant when we _believe_ our dreams while we dream them. In a dream it may seem real to be shot toward the moon in an immense shell in company with other people, as in Jules Verne’s story. But in waking life this thought is altogether devoid of reality. In comparison with the reality of my present experience and of my ideas of the limits of engineering, of the low temperature of interstellar space, and so on, that thought of a journey in a shell immediately makes me conscious of the vivid idea of unreality. I cannot believe that story.
We call a verbal statement _proved_ as soon as the connection between it and our present experience has been established in such a manner that the idea of reality is aroused in our mind. The believing of that which has been proved is called _knowing_. Belief is often used in a narrower sense, excluding that which is known and including only that which does not arouse either an idea of reality or an idea of unreality. Both usages are justifiable, the narrower one and also the wider one. Knowledge and belief are opposed as well as related. It is of much practical importance to distinguish that which has been proved from that which has not been proved. But it is also of practical importance to distinguish that which is surely unreal from that which is merely unproved. It is quite impossible in human life to prove every statement before we permit it to affect our thought and our action.
The chief thing which a man must have learned when he arrives at maturity is this: that the number of facts to be believed is very much smaller than he thought originally. The belief of childhood and youth is subject to continuous losses. Something is, indeed, confirmed and strengthened by growing experience; but it was believed before it was known, and cannot properly be called an additional belief. Much that has been believed for some time is recognized as unreal. That apparent errors have to be recognized as truths happens much more rarely. Experience makes a man more and more skeptical, cautious. This is of great advantage to him in his adaptation to the world, and higher institutions of learning to a large extent have their purpose in aiding the young to develop cautious, critical habits of thinking. A student goes to college not merely in order to cram himself with bare facts, but to be trained in the habit of seeing men and things in the abundance of their relations, of asking for their passports before granting them free passage.
Thus the original tendency to believe is gradually limited, more in one individual, less in another. But it is never perfectly eradicated. This, indeed, would not be advantageous. A limited tendency to believe is indispensable. Two conditions contribute chiefly toward the retention of a belief which can be neither proved nor disproved: authority and personal needs.
“He told us so” is reported to have been a common remark among the disciples of Pythagoras. And to the present time disciples of any master have not failed to quote their master. It is not even necessary to be a master in order to be a prophet. A strong voice, significant gesticulation, and impressive speech are sufficient to guide the belief of the masses of the people. When everybody holds a certain belief and gives expression to it, no member of the crowd can escape the influence of the constant repetition of the thought. I cannot help believing what my friends or my associates in a profession believe. Even if I begin to reflect on the reasonableness of accepting as a truth what I have merely often heard, I can hardly free myself of the belief. Is it not highly improbable that all of them should have been led into error without noticing it? On the consensus of everybody, philosophers have frequently founded their highest doctrines. Cicero calls it the voice of nature. On the other hand, narrow-minded people often attempt to fight a truth which they dislike by pointing out partial disagreements among its adherents.
But the belief in statements which are neither proved nor disproved is not always based on authority; that is, produced by emphatic and often-repeated expression of these statements by the people among whom we live. It is frequently the result of strong and deep-seated needs of the human mind. As long as these needs make themselves felt, they call up in the mind ideas of remedies and means in harmony with analogous experiences; and unless these remedies and means are contradicted by other experiences, they are believed. One may call this, in distinction from the authoritative belief, practical or emotional belief.
Every one believes in his own destiny. Every mother believes in her son. Napoleon believed in his star. A general who doubts if he is going to win the impending battle has already half lost it. Can he prove it, that is, can he interpret what he sees and what is reported to him in such a manner that the idea of his winning the battle cannot appear in his mind without the idea of reality? He is probably very far from giving his experiences such an interpretation. Of course, he will do his best in order to make victory come his way. But his knowledge constantly informs him that the outcome is dubious. Yet this knowledge does not keep him from believing that it is not dubious. He cannot help believing it. His whole existence depends on this belief. His honor, his future career, his nation, all is lost unless he wins. The idea of loss is impossible. It is inhibited by the idea of success, by that idea which alone can give him the prudence and presence of mind that are needed.
Or the mother who believes that her son will turn out a respectable man, does she do it because of her experiences? Her experiences are perhaps opposed to her belief; she believes, nevertheless. Circumstances were unfavorable to her son, his father does not understand his real nature, he merely enjoys his youth: thus she comforts herself. Experience is not the foundation of her belief, but her belief interprets her experience. The belief is founded on the fact that she needs it. The idea of a wayward son would deprive her of the most valued part of her existence. Therefore she cannot believe it.
Misfortune of any kind has a marvelous belief-creating power, because it constantly revives ideas of remedying the misfortune. “Whoever has lived among people,” says Spinoza, “knows how full of wisdom they feel, insulted if any one should offer any advice, as long as their affairs are prosperous. But let misfortune overpower them, and they are willing to ask any one’s advice, and to accept it, however senseless and ill-considered it may be.”
Experiential, authoritative, and practical belief differ according to their sources, but they appear in life in various combinations. However, one of three kinds can usually be found to be the chief component in a system of conviction. That we cannot escape the authoritative belief is plain. Who could repeat every observation made by others in order to avoid the possibility of accepting erroneous reports? Practical belief has different limits according to the amount of experience possessed by each individual. And a whole class of people having about the same kind and amount of experience may thus be distinguished from another class by their practical beliefs. A practical belief of one, which is not shared by another, is called by the latter a superstition. How much superstitions differ and how much they change is well known. Recall, for example, a superstitious means of improving one’s looks, of curing diseases, of regaining a lost love. But wherever a superstition is difficult to contradict because it is so stated as to concern only that which is beyond experience (spiritualism), or when it is supported by a famous name, it may successfully resist all attempts at overthrowing it.
We saw that practical belief is not altogether independent of experiential belief. Neither is the latter independent of the former. When two theories agree equally well with experiential facts, we accept the one that is simpler. Not because we know that it is nature’s obligation to proceed in the simplest manner possible, and that therefore the simpler theory is more likely to be correct; but because our practical needs compel us to accept a simpler theory whenever we can. We believe the Copernican theory of the solar system and reject the Ptolemaic system. Not because one is more correct than the other; but because the Copernican system combines the same objective fitness with an immeasurably greater simplicity. The simple we desire; the simple, therefore, we believe. A simple connection of a variety of things is pleasant, beautiful. It is easy to survey it. It takes but a small amount of mental energy to imagine it. Whenever our experiences leave us a choice, we choose what is simpler. In other cases, too, practical belief comes to the aid of experiential belief. In the border regions of knowledge and within the blank spaces found within the field of knowledge, belief must take the place of knowledge.
