What Is Thought?

No words are oftener on our lips than thinking and thought. So profuse and varied, indeed, is our use of these words that it is not easy to define just what we mean by them. The aim of this chapter is to find a single consistent meaning. Assistance may be had by considering some typical ways in which the terms are employed. In the first place thought is used broadly, not to say loosely. Everything that comes to mind, that "goes through our heads," is called a thought. To think of a thing is just to be conscious of it in any way whatsoever. Second, the term is restricted by excluding whatever is directly presented; we think (or think of) only such things as we do not directly see, hear, smell, or taste. Then, third, the meaning is further limited to beliefs that rest upon some kind of evidence or testimony. Of this third type, two kinds—or, rather, two degrees—must be discriminated. In some cases, a belief is accepted with slight or almost no attempt to state the grounds that support it. In other cases, the ground or basis for a belief is deliberately sought and its adequacy to support the belief examined. This process is called reflective thought; it alone is truly educative in value, and it forms, accordingly, the principal subject of this volume. We shall now briefly describe each of the four senses.

Few words are on our lips more often than thinking and thought. We use these words so often and in so many ways that their meaning is hard to define. This chapter aims to find a single, consistent meaning. We can start by considering some typical ways the terms are used. First, thought is used broadly, even loosely. Everything that comes to mind, that "goes through our heads," is called a thought. To think of something is simply to be conscious of it in any way at all. Second, the term is used more narrowly, excluding whatever is directly presented to us. In this sense, we think of only things we do not directly see, hear, smell, or taste. Third, the meaning is limited further to beliefs based on some kind of evidence or testimony. Within this third type, we must distinguish two kinds, or rather, two degrees. In some cases, a belief is accepted with little or almost no attempt to state the grounds supporting it. In other cases, we deliberately seek the grounds for a belief and examine whether they adequately support it. This process is called reflective thought. It alone is truly valuable for education and is therefore the main subject of this book. We will now briefly describe each of the four senses.

I. In its loosest sense, thinking signifies everything that, as we say, is "in our heads" or that "goes through our minds." He who offers "a penny for your thoughts" does not expect to drive any great bargain. In calling the objects of his demand thoughts, he does not intend to ascribe to them dignity, consecutiveness, or truth. Any idle fancy, trivial recollection, or flitting impression will satisfy his demand. Daydreaming, building of castles in the air, that loose flux of casual and disconnected material that floats through our minds in relaxed moments are, in this random sense, thinking. More of our waking life than we should care to admit, even to ourselves, is likely to be whiled away in this inconsequential trifling with idle fancy and unsubstantial hope.

I. In its broadest sense, thinking means everything that, as we say, is "in our heads" or "goes through our minds." Someone who offers "a penny for your thoughts" does not expect a great bargain. By calling what he asks for thoughts, he does not mean that they are dignified, coherent, or true. Any idle fancy, trivial memory, or fleeting impression will satisfy him. Daydreaming, building castles in the air, and the loose flow of random, disconnected material through our minds when we relax are all thinking in this broad sense. We probably spend more of our waking lives than we care to admit, even to ourselves, passing the time with idle fancies and insubstantial hopes.

In this sense, silly folk and dullards think. The story is told of a man in slight repute for intelligence, who, desiring to be chosen selectman in his New England town, addressed a knot of neighbors in this wise: "I hear you don't believe I know enough to hold office. I wish you to understand that I am thinking about something or other most of the time." Now reflective thought is like this random coursing of things through the mind in that it consists of a succession of things thought of; but it is unlike, in that the mere chance occurrence of any chance "something or other" in an irregular sequence does not suffice. Reflection involves not simply a sequence of ideas, but a _con_sequence—a consecutive ordering in such a way that each determines the next as its proper outcome, while each in turn leans back on its predecessors. The successive portions of the reflective thought grow out of one another and support one another; they do not come and go in a medley. Each phase is a step from something to something—technically speaking, it is a term of thought. Each term leaves a deposit which is utilized in the next term. The stream or flow becomes a train, chain, or thread.

In this sense, silly people and dullards think. There is a story about a man who was not considered very intelligent. He wanted to be chosen as a selectman in his New England town. He addressed a group of neighbors this way: "I hear you don't believe I know enough to hold office. I wish you to understand that I am thinking about something or other most of the time." Reflective thought is like this random flow of things through the mind. Both consist of a succession of things thought about. But reflective thought is also different. A random "something or other" appearing by chance in an irregular sequence is not enough. Reflection involves not just a sequence of ideas, but a _con_sequence. The ideas follow one another in order, so that each leads naturally to the next, and each rests on those before it. The successive parts of reflective thought grow out of and support one another. They do not come and go in a jumble. Each phase is a step from something to something else. Technically speaking, each phase is a term of thought. Each term leaves something behind that is used in the next term. The stream or flow becomes a train, chain, or thread.

II. Even when thinking is used in a broad sense, it is usually restricted to matters not directly perceived: to what we do not see, smell, hear, or touch. We ask the man telling a story if he saw a certain incident happen, and his reply may be, "No, I only thought of it." A note of invention, as distinct from faithful record of observation, is present. Most important in this class are successions of imaginative incidents and episodes which, having a certain coherence, hanging together on a continuous thread, lie between kaleidoscopic flights of fancy and considerations deliberately employed to establish a conclusion. The imaginative stories poured forth by children possess all degrees of internal congruity; some are disjointed, some are articulated. When connected, they simulate reflective thought; indeed, they usually occur in minds of logical capacity. These imaginative enterprises often precede thinking of the close-knit type and prepare the way for it. But they do not aim at knowledge, at belief about facts or in truths; and thereby they are marked off from reflective thought even when they most resemble it. Those who express such thoughts do not expect credence, but rather credit for a well-constructed plot or a well-arranged climax. They produce good stories, not—unless by chance—knowledge. Such thoughts are an efflorescence of feeling; the enhancement of a mood or sentiment is their aim; congruity of emotion, their binding tie.

II. Even when thinking is understood broadly, it usually concerns things we do not directly perceive: things we do not see, smell, hear, or touch. We may ask a man telling a story if he saw a certain incident happen. He may reply, "No, I only thought of it." His answer suggests invention rather than a faithful record of observation. The most important examples of this kind of thinking are sequences of imagined incidents and episodes. These have some coherence and are linked by a continuous thread. They fall between shifting flights of fancy and ideas deliberately used to establish a conclusion. The imaginative stories children pour out show all degrees of internal consistency. Some are disjointed, while others are well connected. When the stories are connected, they resemble reflective thought. Indeed, they usually occur in minds capable of logical thought. These imaginative efforts often come before more tightly connected thinking and prepare the way for it. But they do not aim at knowledge, at belief about facts or in truths. This separates them from reflective thought, even when they resemble it most closely. Those who express such thoughts do not expect others to believe them. Rather, they expect credit for a well-constructed plot or a well-arranged climax. They produce good stories, not knowledge, unless by chance. Such thoughts are an outpouring of feeling. Their aim is to heighten a mood or feeling, and what holds them together is a consistency of emotion.

III. In its next sense, thought denotes belief resting upon some basis, that is, real or supposed knowledge going beyond what is directly present. It is marked by acceptance or rejection of something as reasonably probable or improbable. This phase of thought, however, includes two such distinct types of belief that, even though their difference is strictly one of degree, not of kind, it becomes practically important to consider them separately. Some beliefs are accepted when their grounds have not themselves been considered, others are accepted because their grounds have been examined.

III. In its next sense, thought means a belief based on something. That basis is real or supposed knowledge that goes beyond what is directly present. This kind of thought is marked by accepting or rejecting something as reasonably probable or improbable. However, it includes two distinct types of belief. Although the difference between them is strictly one of degree, not kind, it is practically important to consider them separately. Some beliefs are accepted without considering their grounds. Others are accepted because their grounds have been examined.

When we say, "Men used to think the world was flat," or, "I thought you went by the house," we express belief: something is accepted, held to, acquiesced in, or affirmed. But such thoughts may mean a supposition accepted without reference to its real grounds. These may be adequate, they may not; but their value with reference to the support they afford the belief has not been considered.

When we say, "People used to think the world was flat," or, "I thought you went by the house," we express a belief. We accept, hold to, go along with, or affirm something. But such thoughts may express an assumption accepted without considering its actual grounds. Those grounds may be adequate, or they may not be. But their value as support for the belief has not been considered.

Such thoughts grow up unconsciously and without reference to the attainment of correct belief. They are picked up—we know not how. From obscure sources and by unnoticed channels they insinuate themselves into acceptance and become unconsciously a part of our mental furniture. Tradition, instruction, imitation—all of which depend upon authority in some form, or appeal to our own advantage, or fall in with a strong passion—are responsible for them. Such thoughts are prejudices, that is, prejudgments, not judgments proper that rest upon a survey of evidence.¹

Such thoughts develop unconsciously, without any effort to arrive at a correct belief. We pick them up without knowing how. They come from obscure sources through unnoticed channels. We accept them without realizing it, and they become part of the furniture of our minds. Tradition, instruction, and imitation are responsible for these thoughts. All three depend on some form of authority, appeal to our own advantage, or agree with a strong passion. Such thoughts are prejudices, or judgments made in advance. They are not true judgments based on a review of the evidence.¹

IV. Thoughts that result in belief have an importance attached to them which leads to reflective thought, to conscious inquiry into the nature, conditions, and bearings of the belief. To think of whales and camels in the clouds is to entertain ourselves with fancies, terminable at our pleasure, which do not lead to any belief in particular. But to think of the world as flat is to ascribe a quality to a real thing as its real property. This conclusion denotes a connection among things and hence is not, like imaginative thought, plastic to our mood. Belief in the world's flatness commits him who holds it to thinking in certain specific ways of other objects, such as the heavenly bodies, antipodes, the possibility of navigation. It prescribes to him actions in accordance with his conception of these objects.

IV. Thoughts that lead to belief carry an importance that prompts reflective thought. They prompt a conscious inquiry into the nature, conditions, and implications of the belief. To think of whales and camels in the clouds is to entertain ourselves with fantasies. We can end these fantasies whenever we please, and they do not lead to any particular belief. But to think of the world as flat is to attribute a real property to a real thing. This conclusion expresses a connection among things. So, unlike imaginative thought, it cannot be shaped to suit our mood. Believing that the world is flat commits a person to thinking in certain specific ways about other things. These include the heavenly bodies, places on opposite sides of the world, and the possibility of navigation. The belief also directs the person to act in accordance with these ideas.

The consequences of a belief upon other beliefs and upon behavior may be so important, then, that men are forced to consider the grounds or reasons of their belief and its logical consequences. This means reflective thought—thought in its eulogistic and emphatic sense.

A belief may have such important effects on other beliefs and on behavior that people are forced to examine its grounds or reasons and its logical consequences. This is reflective thought, or thought in the positive and emphatic sense of the word.

Men thought the world was flat until Columbus thought it to be round. The earlier thought was a belief held because men had not the energy or the courage to question what those about them accepted and taught, especially as it was suggested and seemingly confirmed by obvious sensible facts. The thought of Columbus was a reasoned conclusion. It marked the close of study into facts, of scrutiny and revision of evidence, of working out the implications of various hypotheses, and of comparing these theoretical results with one another and with known facts. Because Columbus did not accept unhesitatingly the current traditional theory, because he doubted and inquired, he arrived at his thought. Skeptical of what, from long habit, seemed most certain, and credulous of what seemed impossible, he went on thinking until he could produce evidence for both his confidence and his disbelief. Even if his conclusion had finally turned out wrong, it would have been a different sort of belief from those it antagonized, because it was reached by a different method. Active, persistent, and careful consideration of any belief or supposed form of knowledge in the light of the grounds that support it, and the further conclusions to which it tends, constitutes reflective thought. Any one of the first three kinds of thought may elicit this type; but once begun, it is a conscious and voluntary effort to establish belief upon a firm basis of reasons.

People thought the world was flat until Columbus thought it was round. People held the earlier belief because they lacked the energy or courage to question what those around them accepted and taught. They were especially reluctant to question it because obvious facts, apparent to the senses, suggested and seemed to confirm it. Columbus's thought was a reasoned conclusion. He reached it by studying facts, examining and revising evidence, and working out the implications of various hypotheses. He compared these theoretical results with one another and with known facts. Columbus reached his conclusion because he doubted and investigated, rather than accepting the traditional theory without question. Long habit made that theory seem most certain, but he doubted it. He was willing to believe what seemed impossible. He kept thinking until he could produce evidence for both his confidence and his disbelief. Even if his conclusion had ultimately proved wrong, it would still have differed from the beliefs it opposed. That is because he reached it by a different method. Active, persistent, and careful consideration of any belief or supposed knowledge, in light of the reasons supporting it and the further conclusions it leads to, constitutes reflective thought. Any of the first three kinds of thought may give rise to reflective thought. But once reflective thought begins, it is a conscious and voluntary effort to base belief on solid reasons.

There are, however, no sharp lines of demarcation between the various operations just outlined. The problem of attaining correct habits of reflection would be much easier than it is, did not the different modes of thinking blend insensibly into one another. So far, we have considered rather extreme instances of each kind in order to get the field clearly before us. Let us now reverse this operation; let us consider a rudimentary case of thinking, lying between careful examination of evidence and a mere irresponsible stream of fancies. A man is walking on a warm day. The sky was clear the last time he observed it; but presently he notes, while occupied primarily with other things, that the air is cooler. It occurs to him that it is probably going to rain; looking up, he sees a dark cloud between him and the sun, and he then quickens his steps. What, if anything, in such a situation can be called thought? Neither the act of walking nor the noting of the cold is a thought. Walking is one direction of activity; looking and noting are other modes of activity. The likelihood that it will rain is, however, something suggested. The pedestrian feels the cold; he thinks of clouds and a coming shower.

There are, however, no sharp boundaries between the different operations just described. Forming sound habits of reflection would be much easier if the different ways of thinking did not blend gradually into one another. So far, we have considered rather extreme examples of each kind to get a clear view of the subject. Now let us reverse this approach. Let us consider a basic case of thinking, somewhere between careful examination of evidence and a mere unchecked stream of fancies. A man is walking on a warm day. The sky was clear when he last looked at it. But soon, while his attention is mostly on other things, he notices that the air is cooler. It occurs to him that it will probably rain. He looks up and sees a dark cloud between him and the sun. He then quickens his steps. What, if anything, in this situation can be called thought? Neither walking nor noticing the cold is a thought. Walking is one kind of activity. Looking and noticing are other kinds of activity. The likelihood of rain, however, is something suggested. The pedestrian feels the cold. He thinks of clouds and an approaching shower.

So far there is the same sort of situation as when one looking at a cloud is reminded of a human figure and face. Thinking in both of these cases (the cases of belief and of fancy) involves a noted or perceived fact, followed by something else which is not observed but which is brought to mind, suggested by the thing seen. One reminds us, as we say, of the other. Side by side, however, with this factor of agreement in the two cases of suggestion is a factor of marked disagreement. We do not believe in the face suggested by the cloud; we do not consider at all the probability of its being a fact. There is no reflective thought. The danger of rain, on the contrary, presents itself to us as a genuine possibility—as a possible fact of the same nature as the observed coolness. Put differently, we do not regard the cloud as meaning or indicating a face, but merely as suggesting it, while we do consider that the coolness may mean rain. In the first case, seeing an object, we just happen, as we say, to think of something else; in the second, we consider the possibility and nature of the connection between the object seen and the object suggested. The seen thing is regarded as in some way the ground or basis of belief in the suggested thing; it possesses the quality of evidence.

So far, the situation is much like looking at a cloud and being reminded of a human figure and face. In both cases, belief and fancy, thinking involves a fact we notice or perceive. This fact is followed by something else that we do not observe, but that the thing we see brings to mind. As we say, one thing reminds us of the other. But alongside this similarity between the two cases of suggestion, there is a marked difference. We do not believe in the face suggested by the cloud. We do not consider at all whether it is likely to be real. There is no reflective thought. The danger of rain, by contrast, presents itself as a genuine possibility. Rain is a possible fact of the same kind as the coolness we observe. Put differently, we do not regard the cloud as meaning or indicating a face. It merely suggests one. But we do consider that the coolness may mean rain. In the first case, we see an object and, as we say, just happen to think of something else. In the second, we consider whether there could be a connection between the object seen and the object suggested, and what that connection might be. We regard the thing we see as in some way the ground or basis for believing in the thing it suggests. The thing we see has the quality of evidence.

This function by which one thing signifies or indicates another, and thereby leads us to consider how far one may be regarded as warrant for belief in the other, is, then, the central factor in all reflective or distinctively intellectual thinking. By calling up various situations to which such terms as signifies and indicates apply, the student will best realize for himself the actual facts denoted by the words reflective thought. Synonyms for these terms are: points to, tells of, betokens, prognosticates, represents, stands for, implies.² We also say one thing portends another; is ominous of another, or a symptom of it, or a key to it, or (if the connection is quite obscure) that it gives a hint, clue, or intimation.

One thing can signify or indicate another. This leads us to consider how far the first thing justifies belief in the second. This function is the central factor in all reflective or distinctly intellectual thinking. Students can best understand the actual facts described by the words reflective thought by thinking of situations where signifies and indicates apply. Similar terms are: points to, tells of, betokens, prognosticates, represents, stands for, implies.² We also say that one thing portends another, is ominous of another, or is a symptom of it or a key to it. If the connection is quite obscure, we may say that one thing gives a hint, clue, or indication of the other.

Reflection thus implies that something is believed in (or disbelieved in), not on its own direct account, but through something else which stands as witness, evidence, proof, voucher, warrant; that is, as ground of belief. At one time, rain is actually felt or directly experienced; at another time, we infer that it has rained from the looks of the grass and trees, or that it is going to rain because of the condition of the air or the state of the barometer. At one time, we see a man (or suppose we do) without any intermediary fact; at another time, we are not quite sure what we see, and hunt for accompanying facts that will serve as signs, indications, tokens of what is to be believed.

Reflection, then, means believing (or disbelieving) something not because of direct experience, but because of something else. That something else serves as evidence or proof, a ground of belief. Sometimes we actually feel or directly experience rain. At other times, we infer that it has rained from the appearance of the grass and trees. Or we infer that it will rain because of the condition of the air or the barometer reading. Sometimes we see a man (or think we do) without relying on any other fact. At other times, we are not quite sure what we see. Then we look for other facts that can serve as signs of what we should believe.

Thinking, for the purposes of this inquiry, is defined accordingly as that operation in which present facts suggest other facts (or truths) in such a way as to induce belief in the latter upon the ground or warrant of the former. We do not put beliefs that rest simply on inference on the surest level of assurance. To say "I think so" implies that I do not as yet know so. The inferential belief may later be confirmed and come to stand as sure, but in itself it always has a certain element of supposition.

For this inquiry, thinking is defined as the process by which present facts suggest other facts (or truths). The present facts provide the grounds for believing those other facts or truths. We do not regard beliefs based only on inference as the most certain. To say "I think so" implies that I do not yet know so. A belief based on inference may later be confirmed and become certain. But on its own, such a belief always involves some supposition.

So much for the description of the more external and obvious aspects of the fact called thinking. Further consideration at once reveals certain subprocesses which are involved in every reflective operation. These are: (a) a state of perplexity, hesitation, doubt; and (b) an act of search or investigation directed toward bringing to light further facts which serve to corroborate or to nullify the suggested belief.

That describes the more outward and obvious aspects of what we call thinking. Looking further, we immediately see certain processes involved in every act of reflective thinking. These are: (a) a state of confusion, hesitation, or doubt, and (b) a search or investigation for further facts that support or disprove the suggested belief.

(a) In our illustration, the shock of coolness generated confusion and suspended belief, at least momentarily. Because it was unexpected, it was a shock or an interruption needing to be accounted for, identified, or placed. To say that the abrupt occurrence of the change of temperature constitutes a problem may sound forced and artificial; but if we are willing to extend the meaning of the word problem to whatever—no matter how slight and commonplace in character—perplexes and challenges the mind so that it makes belief at all uncertain, there is a genuine problem or question involved in this experience of sudden change.

(a) In our example, the shock of coolness caused confusion and suspended belief, at least for a moment. Because the coolness was unexpected, it was a shock or interruption that needed to be explained, identified, or placed. Calling the sudden change in temperature a problem may sound forced and artificial. But suppose we extend the meaning of problem to anything that puzzles and challenges the mind, making belief at all uncertain. If we do, then the experience of sudden change involves a genuine problem or question, however slight and commonplace.

(b) The turning of the head, the lifting of the eyes, the scanning of the heavens, are activities adapted to bring to recognition facts that will answer the question presented by the sudden coolness. The facts as they first presented themselves were perplexing; they suggested, however, clouds. The act of looking was an act to discover if this suggested explanation held good. It may again seem forced to speak of this looking, almost automatic, as an act of research or inquiry. But once more, if we are willing to generalize our conceptions of our mental operations to include the trivial and ordinary as well as the technical and recondite, there is no good reason for refusing to give such a title to the act of looking. The purport of this act of inquiry is to confirm or to refute the suggested belief. New facts are brought to perception, which either corroborate the idea that a change of weather is imminent, or negate it.

(b) Turning the head, raising the eyes, and scanning the sky are ways of finding facts that explain the sudden coolness. The facts were puzzling at first, but they suggested clouds. Looking at the sky was a way to find out whether this suggested explanation was correct. It may again seem forced to call this almost automatic looking an act of research or inquiry. But there is no good reason to refuse it that name if we are willing to broaden our idea of mental activity. We must include the trivial and ordinary as well as the technical and obscure. The purpose of this inquiry is to confirm or disprove the suggested belief. Looking reveals new facts that either support or contradict the idea that the weather is about to change.

Another instance, commonplace also, yet not quite so trivial, may enforce this lesson. A man traveling in an unfamiliar region comes to a branching of the roads. Having no sure knowledge to fall back upon, he is brought to a standstill of hesitation and suspense. Which road is right? And how shall perplexity be resolved? There are but two alternatives: he must either blindly and arbitrarily take his course, trusting to luck for the outcome, or he must discover grounds for the conclusion that a given road is right. Any attempt to decide the matter by thinking will involve inquiry into other facts, whether brought out by memory or by further observation, or by both. The perplexed wayfarer must carefully scrutinize what is before him and he must cudgel his memory. He looks for evidence that will support belief in favor of either of the roads—for evidence that will weight down one suggestion. He may climb a tree; he may go first in this direction, then in that, looking, in either case, for signs, clues, indications. He wants something in the nature of a signboard or a map, and his reflection is aimed at the discovery of facts that will serve this purpose.

Another common example, though not quite so trivial, may reinforce this lesson. A man traveling in an unfamiliar region comes to a fork in the road. With no reliable knowledge to guide him, he stops, uncertain and hesitant. Which road is right? And how can he resolve his confusion? He has only two choices. He must either choose a road blindly and arbitrarily, trusting to luck, or find grounds for concluding that one road is right. Any attempt to decide by thinking will require him to seek out other facts. He may recall those facts, find them through further observation, or both. The puzzled traveler must carefully examine what is before him and search his memory. He looks for evidence favoring either road, evidence that will give one possibility more weight. He may climb a tree. He may go first in one direction, then in the other, looking for signs, clues, or indications in each case. He wants something like a signpost or a map, and his thinking is aimed at finding facts that will serve this purpose.

The above illustration may be generalized. Thinking begins in what may fairly enough be called a forked-road situation, a situation which is ambiguous, which presents a dilemma, which proposes alternatives. As long as our activity glides smoothly along from one thing to another, or as long as we permit our imagination to entertain fancies at pleasure, there is no call for reflection. Difficulty or obstruction in the way of reaching a belief brings us, however, to a pause. In the suspense of uncertainty, we metaphorically climb a tree; we try to find some standpoint from which we may survey additional facts and, getting a more commanding view of the situation, may decide how the facts stand related to one another.

The example above may be generalized. Thinking begins in what may fairly be called a forked-road situation. Such a situation is unclear, presents a dilemma, and offers alternatives. As long as our activity moves smoothly from one thing to another, there is no need for reflection. Nor is there a need for reflection as long as we let our imagination wander freely. But when something makes it difficult to reach a belief, we pause. While suspended in uncertainty, we metaphorically climb a tree. We try to find a vantage point from which we can see more facts. With a broader view of the situation, we may decide how the facts relate to one another.

Demand for the solution of a perplexity is the steadying and guiding factor in the entire process of reflection. Where there is no question of a problem to be solved or a difficulty to be surmounted, the course of suggestions flows on at random; we have the first type of thought described. If the stream of suggestions is controlled simply by their emotional congruity, their fitting agreeably into a single picture or story, we have the second type. But a question to be answered, an ambiguity to be resolved, sets up an end and holds the current of ideas to a definite channel. Every suggested conclusion is tested by its reference to this regulating end, by its pertinence to the problem in hand. This need of straightening out a perplexity also controls the kind of inquiry undertaken. A traveler whose end is the most beautiful path will look for other considerations and will test suggestions occurring to him on another principle than if he wishes to discover the way to a given city. The problem fixes the end of thought and the end controls the process of thinking.

The need to solve a perplexing problem steadies and guides the entire process of reflection. When there is no problem to solve or difficulty to overcome, ideas come to mind at random. This is the first type of thought described. Ideas may instead be guided simply by how well they fit together emotionally, forming a pleasing picture or story. This is the second type. But a question to answer or an ambiguity to resolve sets a goal and directs the flow of ideas. Each suggested conclusion is tested against this guiding goal, according to its relevance to the problem at hand. The need to clear up a perplexity also governs the kind of inquiry undertaken. A traveler seeking the most beautiful path will look for different things and judge suggestions differently than a traveler seeking the way to a particular city. The problem sets the goal of thought and the goal directs the process of thinking.

We may recapitulate by saying that the origin of thinking is some perplexity, confusion, or doubt. Thinking is not a case of spontaneous combustion; it does not occur just on "general principles." There is something specific which occasions and evokes it. General appeals to a child (or to a grown-up) to think, irrespective of the existence in his own experience of some difficulty that troubles him and disturbs his equilibrium, are as futile as advice to lift himself by his boot-straps.

We can sum up by saying that thinking begins with some perplexity, confusion, or doubt. Thinking does not spontaneously combust. It does not happen just on "general principles." Something specific prompts and calls forth thinking. A child (or an adult) must experience some troubling difficulty that upsets their balance. Without such a difficulty, general appeals to think are as useless as advice to lift oneself by one's bootstraps.

Given a difficulty, the next step is suggestion of some way out—the formation of some tentative plan or project, the entertaining of some theory which will account for the peculiarities in question, the consideration of some solution for the problem. The data at hand cannot supply the solution; they can only suggest it. What, then, are the sources of the suggestion? Clearly past experience and prior knowledge. If the person has had some acquaintance with similar situations, if he has dealt with material of the same sort before, suggestions more or less apt and helpful are likely to arise. But unless there has been experience in some degree analogous, which may now be represented in imagination, confusion remains mere confusion. There is nothing upon which to draw in order to clarify it. Even when a child (or a grown-up) has a problem, to urge him to think when he has no prior experiences involving some of the same conditions, is wholly futile.

When we encounter a difficulty, the next step is to suggest a way out. We might form a tentative plan or project, consider a theory that accounts for the puzzling details, or consider a solution to the problem. The information at hand cannot provide the solution. It can only suggest one. Where, then, do suggestions come from? Clearly, they come from past experience and prior knowledge. If a person is familiar with similar situations or has dealt with similar material before, suggestions are likely to arise. These suggestions may be more or less suitable and helpful. But unless the person has had a somewhat similar experience that can now be recalled in imagination, confusion remains mere confusion. There is nothing to draw on to clear it up. Even when a child or an adult has a problem, urging that person to think is entirely futile without prior experience involving some of the same conditions.

If the suggestion that occurs is at once accepted, we have uncritical thinking, the minimum of reflection. To turn the thing over in mind, to reflect, means to hunt for additional evidence, for new data, that will develop the suggestion, and will either, as we say, bear it out or else make obvious its absurdity and irrelevance. Given a genuine difficulty and a reasonable amount of analogous experience to draw upon, the difference, par excellence, between good and bad thinking is found at this point. The easiest way is to accept any suggestion that seems plausible and thereby bring to an end the condition of mental uneasiness. Reflective thinking is always more or less troublesome because it involves overcoming the inertia that inclines one to accept suggestions at their face value; it involves willingness to endure a condition of mental unrest and disturbance. Reflective thinking, in short, means judgment suspended during further inquiry; and suspense is likely to be somewhat painful. As we shall see later, the most important factor in the training of good mental habits consists in acquiring the attitude of suspended conclusion, and in mastering the various methods of searching for new materials to corroborate or to refute the first suggestions that occur. To maintain the state of doubt and to carry on systematic and protracted inquiry—these are the essentials of thinking.

If we immediately accept the first idea that occurs to us, our thinking is uncritical, with little reflection. To think an idea over, or reflect, means looking for more evidence and new information that will develop the idea. This evidence will either support the idea or make its absurdity and irrelevance clear. Given a real difficulty and a reasonable amount of similar experience to draw on, this is where the difference between good and bad thinking is found above all. The easiest way is to accept any idea that seems plausible and thus end the feeling of mental unease. Reflective thinking is always somewhat difficult because it requires us to overcome our tendency to accept ideas at face value. It requires us to be willing to endure mental unrest and disturbance. In short, reflective thinking means withholding judgment while we investigate further. And withholding judgment is likely to be somewhat painful. As we shall see later, the most important part of developing good mental habits is learning to withhold conclusions. It also means mastering various methods of looking for new evidence to support or refute our first ideas. Maintaining a state of doubt and carrying on a systematic, extended inquiry are essential to thinking.