Pragmatism and Common Sense

In the last lecture we turned ourselves from the usual way of talking of the universe's oneness as a principle, sublime in all its blankness, towards a study of the special kinds of union which the universe enfolds. We found many of these to coexist with kinds of separation equally real. "How far am I verified?" is the question which each kind of union and each kind of separation asks us here, so as good pragmatists we have to turn our face towards experience, towards 'facts.'

In the last lecture, we moved away from the usual way of talking about the universe’s oneness. People usually treat it as a principle, sublime in its very vagueness. Instead, we studied the specific kinds of union the universe contains. We found that many of these exist alongside equally real kinds of separation. Each kind of union and separation asks us, "How far am I verified?" So, as good pragmatists, we must turn to experience, to 'facts.'

Absolute oneness remains, but only as an hypothesis, and that hypothesis is reduced nowadays to that of an omniscient knower who sees all things without exception as forming one single systematic fact. But the knower in question may still be conceived either as an Absolute or as an Ultimate; and over against the hypothesis of him in either form the counter-hypothesis that the widest field of knowledge that ever was or will be still contains some ignorance, may be legitimately held. Some bits of information always may escape.

Absolute oneness remains, but only as a hypothesis. Today, that hypothesis has been reduced to the idea of an all-knowing knower. This knower sees all things without exception as forming a single, systematic whole. But this knower may still be understood as either an Absolute or an Ultimate. Against either version of this hypothesis, one may legitimately hold a contrary hypothesis. Even the broadest field of knowledge that ever existed or will exist still contains some ignorance. Some bits of information may always escape notice.

This is the hypothesis of NOETIC PLURALISM, which monists consider so absurd. Since we are bound to treat it as respectfully as noetic monism, until the facts shall have tipped the beam, we find that our pragmatism, tho originally nothing but a method, has forced us to be friendly to the pluralistic view. It MAY be that some parts of the world are connected so loosely with some other parts as to be strung along by nothing but the copula AND. They might even come and go without those other parts suffering any internal change. This pluralistic view, of a world of ADDITIVE constitution, is one that pragmatism is unable to rule out from serious consideration. But this view leads one to the farther hypothesis that the actual world, instead of being complete 'eternally,' as the monists assure us, may be eternally incomplete, and at all times subject to addition or liable to loss.

This is the hypothesis of NOETIC PLURALISM, which monists consider absurd. We must treat it as respectfully as noetic monism until the facts tip the balance. So pragmatism, though originally just a method, has forced us to be open to the pluralistic view. Some parts of the world MAY be connected so loosely to others that nothing joins them except the word AND. They might even come and go without causing any internal change in those other parts. This pluralistic view holds that the world has an ADDITIVE structure. Pragmatism cannot rule it out from serious consideration. But this view leads to a further hypothesis. The actual world may not be complete 'eternally,' as monists assure us. Instead, it may be eternally incomplete, and always open to additions or losses.

It IS at any rate incomplete in one respect, and flagrantly so. The very fact that we debate this question shows that our KNOWLEDGE is incomplete at present and subject to addition. In respect of the knowledge it contains the world does genuinely change and grow. Some general remarks on the way in which our knowledge completes itself—when it does complete itself—will lead us very conveniently into our subject for this lecture, which is 'Common Sense.'

At any rate, it IS incomplete in one respect, and obviously so. The very fact that we debate this question shows that our KNOWLEDGE is incomplete for now and can grow. As its knowledge grows, the world itself genuinely changes and grows. A few general remarks on how our knowledge becomes complete will lead us conveniently into this lecture’s subject, 'Common Sense.' Of course, knowledge does not always become complete.

To begin with, our knowledge grows IN SPOTS. The spots may be large or small, but the knowledge never grows all over: some old knowledge always remains what it was. Your knowledge of pragmatism, let us suppose, is growing now. Later, its growth may involve considerable modification of opinions which you previously held to be true. But such modifications are apt to be gradual. To take the nearest possible example, consider these lectures of mine. What you first gain from them is probably a small amount of new information, a few new definitions, or distinctions, or points of view. But while these special ideas are being added, the rest of your knowledge stands still, and only gradually will you 'line up' your previous opinions with the novelties I am trying to instil, and modify to some slight degree their mass.

To begin with, our knowledge grows IN SPOTS. The spots may be large or small, but knowledge never grows everywhere at once. Some old knowledge always remains as it was. Let us suppose that your knowledge of pragmatism is growing now. Later, this growth may lead you to change opinions you previously held to be true. But such changes tend to be gradual. For the closest possible example, consider these lectures of mine. At first, you probably gain a little new information, a few new definitions, distinctions, or points of view. But while these specific ideas are being added, the rest of your knowledge stays the same. Only gradually will you 'line up' your previous opinions with the new ideas I am trying to teach you. In doing so, you will change your body of opinions to a slight degree.

You listen to me now, I suppose, with certain prepossessions as to my competency, and these affect your reception of what I say, but were I suddenly to break off lecturing, and to begin to sing 'We won't go home till morning' in a rich baritone voice, not only would that new fact be added to your stock, but it would oblige you to define me differently, and that might alter your opinion of the pragmatic philosophy, and in general bring about a rearrangement of a number of your ideas. Your mind in such processes is strained, and sometimes painfully so, between its older beliefs and the novelties which experience brings along.

I suppose you are listening to me now with certain expectations about my competence. These expectations affect how you receive what I say. But suppose I suddenly stopped lecturing and began to sing 'We won't go home till morning' in a rich baritone voice. You would not only learn something new about me. You would also have to see me differently. That might change your opinion of the pragmatic philosophy and, more generally, rearrange a number of your ideas. In such moments, your mind is strained, sometimes painfully, between its older beliefs and the new things experience brings.

Our minds thus grow in spots; and like grease-spots, the spots spread. But we let them spread as little as possible: we keep unaltered as much of our old knowledge, as many of our old prejudices and beliefs, as we can. We patch and tinker more than we renew. The novelty soaks in; it stains the ancient mass; but it is also tinged by what absorbs it. Our past apperceives and co-operates; and in the new equilibrium in which each step forward in the process of learning terminates, it happens relatively seldom that the new fact is added RAW. More usually it is embedded cooked, as one might say, or stewed down in the sauce of the old.

Our minds grow in spots, and like grease spots, those spots spread. But we let them spread as little as possible. We keep as much of our old knowledge and as many of our old prejudices and beliefs unchanged as we can. We patch and tinker more than we replace. New ideas soak in and stain the old mass of knowledge, but the old mass also colors the new ideas. Our past experience helps us understand new things and works with them. Each step in learning ends in a new balance, but a new fact is relatively seldom added RAW. More often, it is embedded cooked, you might say, or stewed down in the sauce of the old.

New truths thus are resultants of new experiences and of old truths combined and mutually modifying one another. And since this is the case in the changes of opinion of to-day, there is no reason to assume that it has not been so at all times. It follows that very ancient modes of thought may have survived through all the later changes in men's opinions. The most primitive ways of thinking may not yet be wholly expunged. Like our five fingers, our ear-bones, our rudimentary caudal appendage, or our other 'vestigial' peculiarities, they may remain as indelible tokens of events in our race-history. Our ancestors may at certain moments have struck into ways of thinking which they might conceivably not have found. But once they did so, and after the fact, the inheritance continues. When you begin a piece of music in a certain key, you must keep the key to the end. You may alter your house ad libitum, but the ground-plan of the first architect persists—you can make great changes, but you cannot change a Gothic church into a Doric temple. You may rinse and rinse the bottle, but you can't get the taste of the medicine or whiskey that first filled it wholly out.

New truths arise from new experiences and old truths, each changing the other. This is how opinions change today. So there is no reason to assume that opinions have not always changed this way. It follows that very old ways of thinking may have survived through all the later changes in human opinions. The most primitive ways of thinking may not yet have been completely erased. Like our five fingers, ear bones, rudimentary tail, or other 'vestigial' features, they may remain as lasting marks of events in our species' history. At certain moments, our ancestors may have taken up ways of thinking they might never have found. But once they did, those ways of thinking continued to be passed down. When you begin a piece of music in a certain key, you must keep that key to the end. You can change your house as much as you like, but the first architect's floor plan remains. You can make great changes, but you cannot turn a Gothic church into a Doric temple. You can rinse a bottle again and again, but you cannot completely remove the taste of the medicine or whiskey that first filled it.

My thesis now is this, that OUR FUNDAMENTAL WAYS OF THINKING ABOUT THINGS ARE DISCOVERIES OF EXCEEDINGLY REMOTE ANCESTORS, WHICH HAVE BEEN ABLE TO PRESERVE THEMSELVES THROUGHOUT THE EXPERIENCE OF ALL SUBSEQUENT TIME. They form one great stage of equilibrium in the human mind's development, the stage of common sense. Other stages have grafted themselves upon this stage, but have never succeeded in displacing it. Let us consider this common-sense stage first, as if it might be final.

My argument is this: OUR MOST BASIC WAYS OF THINKING ABOUT THINGS WERE DISCOVERED BY VERY DISTANT ANCESTORS. THESE WAYS OF THINKING HAVE SURVIVED THROUGH ALL THE EXPERIENCE THAT FOLLOWED. Together, they form a major stage of stability in the development of the human mind: the stage of common sense. Other stages have been built onto common sense, but they have never replaced it. Let us first consider common sense as if it might be the final stage.

In practical talk, a man's common sense means his good judgment, his freedom from excentricity, his GUMPTION, to use the vernacular word. In philosophy it means something entirely different, it means his use of certain intellectual forms or categories of thought. Were we lobsters, or bees, it might be that our organization would have led to our using quite different modes from these of apprehending our experiences. It MIGHT be too (we cannot dogmatically deny this) that such categories, unimaginable by us to-day, would have proved on the whole as serviceable for handling our experiences mentally as those which we actually use.

In everyday speech, a person's common sense means good judgment, freedom from eccentricity, and GUMPTION, to use a familiar word. In philosophy, common sense means something entirely different. It means using certain intellectual forms or categories of thought. If we were lobsters or bees, our different makeup might have led us to understand our experiences in quite different ways. Those categories are unimaginable to us today. But they MIGHT have proved just as useful overall for making sense of our experiences as the categories we actually use. We cannot say for certain that they would not.

If this sounds paradoxical to anyone, let him think of analytical geometry. The identical figures which Euclid defined by intrinsic relations were defined by Descartes by the relations of their points to adventitious co-ordinates, the result being an absolutely different and vastly more potent way of handling curves. All our conceptions are what the Germans call denkmittel, means by which we handle facts by thinking them. Experience merely as such doesn't come ticketed and labeled, we have first to discover what it is. Kant speaks of it as being in its first intention a gewuehl der erscheinungen, a rhapsodie der wahrnehmungen, a mere motley which we have to unify by our wits. What we usually do is first to frame some system of concepts mentally classified, serialized, or connected in some intellectual way, and then to use this as a tally by which we 'keep tab' on the impressions that present themselves. When each is referred to some possible place in the conceptual system, it is thereby 'understood.' This notion of parallel 'manifolds' with their elements standing reciprocally in 'one-to-one relations,' is proving so convenient nowadays in mathematics and logic as to supersede more and more the older classificatory conceptions. There are many conceptual systems of this sort; and the sense manifold is also such a system. Find a one-to-one relation for your sense-impressions ANYWHERE among the concepts, and in so far forth you rationalize the impressions. But obviously you can rationalize them by using various conceptual systems.

If this sounds paradoxical, think of analytical geometry. Euclid defined figures by the relationships within them. Descartes defined the very same figures by relating their points to external coordinates. The result was a completely different and far more powerful way of working with curves. All our concepts are what the Germans call denkmittel, tools for handling facts through thought. Experience itself does not come tagged and labeled. We must first discover what it is. Kant describes experience in its initial form as a gewuehl der erscheinungen, a rhapsodie der wahrnehmungen. It is a mere jumble that we must use our wits to unify. Usually, we start by forming a system of concepts, mentally classified, arranged in sequence, or connected intellectually in some other way. We then use this system as a chart to 'keep tab' on the impressions we encounter. When each impression is assigned a possible place in the conceptual system, it is thereby 'understood.' Today, the idea of parallel 'manifolds', whose elements correspond to each other in 'one-to-one relations', is proving very useful in mathematics and logic. It is increasingly replacing older ideas of classification. There are many conceptual systems of this kind, and the manifold of sense impressions is also such a system. Find a one-to-one relation for your sense impressions ANYWHERE among the concepts, and to that extent you make the impressions intelligible. But obviously you can make them intelligible using different conceptual systems.

The old common-sense way of rationalizing them is by a set of concepts of which the most important are these:

The traditional common-sense way of explaining them uses a set of concepts. The most important are:

Thing;

Thing.

The same or different;

The same or different.

Kinds;

Kinds.

Minds;

Minds.

Bodies;

Bodies.

One Time;

One time.

One Space;

One Space.

Subjects and attributes;

Subjects and attributes.

Causal influences;

Influences that cause things.

The fancied;

The imagined.

The real.

The real.

We are now so familiar with the order that these notions have woven for us out of the everlasting weather of our perceptions that we find it hard to realize how little of a fixed routine the perceptions follow when taken by themselves. The word weather is a good one to use here. In Boston, for example, the weather has almost no routine, the only law being that if you have had any weather for two days, you will probably but not certainly have another weather on the third. Weather-experience as it thus comes to Boston, is discontinuous and chaotic. In point of temperature, of wind, rain or sunshine, it MAY change three times a day. But the Washington weather-bureau intellectualizes this disorder by making each successive bit of Boston weather EPISODIC. It refers it to its place and moment in a continental cyclone, on the history of which the local changes everywhere are strung as beads are strung upon a cord.

We are now so familiar with the order these ideas have woven from the endless weather of our perceptions. As a result, we find it hard to see how little routine those perceptions follow on their own. “Weather” is a good word to use here. In Boston, for example, the weather has almost no routine. Its only law is that after two days of any one kind of weather, the third will probably, but not certainly, bring different weather. As Boston experiences it, the weather is disconnected and chaotic. The temperature, wind, rain, or sunshine MAY change three times a day. But the Washington weather bureau makes intellectual sense of this disorder by treating each successive spell of Boston weather as an EPISODE. It places each spell at a particular point in the course of a continental cyclone. The local changes everywhere are strung along the cyclone’s history like beads on a cord.

Now it seems almost certain that young children and the inferior animals take all their experiences very much as uninstructed Bostonians take their weather. They know no more of time or space as world-receptacles, or of permanent subjects and changing predicates, or of causes, or kinds, or thoughts, or things, than our common people know of continental cyclones. A baby's rattle drops out of his hand, but the baby looks not for it. It has 'gone out' for him, as a candle-flame goes out; and it comes back, when you replace it in his hand, as the flame comes back when relit. The idea of its being a 'thing,' whose permanent existence by itself he might interpolate between its successive apparitions has evidently not occurred to him. It is the same with dogs. Out of sight, out of mind, with them. It is pretty evident that they have no GENERAL tendency to interpolate 'things.' Let me quote here a passage from my colleague G. Santayana's book.

It now seems almost certain that young children and less advanced animals take all their experiences much as uninformed Bostonians take their weather. They know no more about time and space as containers for the world than ordinary people know about continental cyclones. They know just as little about permanent subjects and changing predicates, or about causes, kinds, thoughts, and things. A baby's rattle falls out of his hand, but he does not look for it. For him, it has 'gone out,' like a candle flame. When you put it back in his hand, it comes back, just as the flame does when relit. Evidently, it has not occurred to him that the rattle is a 'thing.' He does not think of it as existing on its own between its successive appearances. The same is true of dogs. For them, out of sight means out of mind. It seems clear that dogs have no GENERAL tendency to assume that 'things' exist between appearances. Let me quote a passage from a book by my colleague G. Santayana.

"If a dog, while sniffing about contentedly, sees afar off his master arriving after long absence...the poor brute asks for no reason why his master went, why he has come again, why he should be loved, or why presently while lying at his feet you forget him and begin to grunt and dream of the chase—all that is an utter mystery, utterly unconsidered. Such experience has variety, scenery, and a certain vital rhythm; its story might be told in dithyrambic verse. It moves wholly by inspiration; every event is providential, every act unpremeditated. Absolute freedom and absolute helplessness have met together: you depend wholly on divine favour, yet that unfathomable agency is not distinguishable from your own life. ...[But] the figures even of that disordered drama have their exits and their entrances; and their cues can be gradually discovered by a being capable of fixing his attention and retaining the order of events. ...In proportion as such understanding advances each moment of experience becomes consequential and prophetic of the rest. The calm places in life are filled with power and its spasms with resource. No emotion can overwhelm the mind, for of none is the basis or issue wholly hidden; no event can disconcert it altogether, because it sees beyond. Means can be looked for to escape from the worst predicament; and whereas each moment had been formerly filled with nothing but its own adventure and surprised emotion, each now makes room for the lesson of what went before and surmises what may be the plot of the whole."⁸

"If a dog is sniffing around contentedly and sees his master returning from far away after a long absence, the poor animal asks no questions. He does not ask why his master left, why he has returned, or why he should be loved. Nor does he ask why, soon afterward, he forgets his master while lying at his feet and begins to grunt and dream of the chase. All this is a complete mystery, and he never gives it a thought. Such experience has variety, scenery, and a certain rhythm of life. Its story might be told in a wildly passionate poem. It moves entirely by inspiration. Every event seems guided by providence, and every act is unplanned. Complete freedom and complete helplessness meet: you depend entirely on divine favor, yet you cannot distinguish that mysterious power from your own life. ...[But] even the figures in that disorderly drama have their exits and entrances. A being who can focus attention and remember the order of events can gradually discover the cues for those exits and entrances. ...As that understanding grows, each moment of experience becomes meaningful and gives some indication of what will follow. Life's calm moments become full of power, and its upheavals bring resources for dealing with them. No emotion can overwhelm the mind, because the cause and outcome of every emotion are at least partly visible. No event can completely disconcert the mind, because it sees beyond the event. One can look for ways to escape the worst predicament. Before, each moment was filled with nothing but its own adventure and the emotion it unexpectedly brought. Now each moment makes room for the lesson of what came before and guesses at what the whole story's plot may be."⁸

Even to-day science and philosophy are still laboriously trying to part fancies from realities in our experience; and in primitive times they made only the most incipient distinctions in this line. Men believed whatever they thought with any liveliness, and they mixed their dreams with their realities inextricably. The categories of 'thought' and 'things' are indispensable here—instead of being realities we now call certain experiences only 'thoughts.' There is not a category, among those enumerated, of which we may not imagine the use to have thus originated historically and only gradually spread.

Even today, science and philosophy are still working hard to separate imagination from reality in our experience. In primitive times, people made only the most basic distinctions between them. People believed whatever they imagined vividly, and they mixed their dreams with reality so completely that they could not separate them. The categories of 'thought' and 'things' are indispensable here. We now call certain experiences 'thoughts' rather than realities. We can imagine that every category listed originated in this way and only gradually came into wider use.

That one Time which we all believe in and in which each event has its definite date, that one Space in which each thing has its position, these abstract notions unify the world incomparably; but in their finished shape as concepts how different they are from the loose unordered time-and-space experiences of natural men! Everything that happens to us brings its own duration and extension, and both are vaguely surrounded by a marginal 'more' that runs into the duration and extension of the next thing that comes. But we soon lose all our definite bearings; and not only do our children make no distinction between yesterday and the day before yesterday, the whole past being churned up together, but we adults still do so whenever the times are large. It is the same with spaces. On a map I can distinctly see the relation of London, Constantinople, and Pekin to the place where I am; in reality I utterly fail to FEEL the facts which the map symbolizes. The directions and distances are vague, confused and mixed. Cosmic space and cosmic time, so far from being the intuitions that Kant said they were, are constructions as patently artificial as any that science can show. The great majority of the human race never use these notions, but live in plural times and spaces, interpenetrant and DURCHEINANDER.

We all believe in one Time, in which every event has its definite date. We also believe in one Space, in which everything has its position. These abstract ideas unify the world in a way nothing else can. But as fully formed concepts, how different they are from the loose, unordered experiences of time and space that ordinary people have! Everything that happens to us has its own duration and extent. Each is vaguely surrounded by a further “more” that runs into the duration and extent of the next thing that happens. But we soon lose our clear sense of where we are in time. Our children make no distinction between yesterday and the day before yesterday. For them, the whole past is jumbled together. And we adults still do the same when the periods of time are long. The same is true of spaces. On a map, I can clearly see how London, Constantinople, and Pekin relate to where I am. But in reality, I completely fail to FEEL the facts the map represents. The directions and distances are vague, confused, and mixed up. Kant said that cosmic space and cosmic time were intuitions. Far from it, they are constructions as plainly artificial as any science can show. The great majority of the human race never use these ideas. Instead, they live in many times and spaces that overlap and are DURCHEINANDER.

Permanent 'things' again; the 'same' thing and its various 'appearances' and 'alterations'; the different 'kinds' of thing; with the 'kind' used finally as a 'predicate,' of which the thing remains the 'subject'—what a straightening of the tangle of our experience's immediate flux and sensible variety does this list of terms suggest! And it is only the smallest part of his experience's flux that anyone actually does straighten out by applying to it these conceptual instruments. Out of them all our lowest ancestors probably used only, and then most vaguely and inaccurately, the notion of 'the same again.' But even then if you had asked them whether the same were a 'thing' that had endured throughout the unseen interval, they would probably have been at a loss, and would have said that they had never asked that question, or considered matters in that light.

Then there are permanent 'things', the 'same' thing and its various 'appearances' and 'alterations', and different 'kinds' of things. Finally, a 'kind' can be used as a 'predicate', while the thing remains the 'subject'. What a way to untangle the immediate flow and sensory variety of our experience this list of terms suggests! Yet anyone actually uses these conceptual tools to straighten out only the smallest part of that flow. Of all these tools, our earliest ancestors probably used only the notion of 'the same again', and even that very vaguely and inaccurately. But suppose you had asked them whether the same was a 'thing' that had lasted throughout the time it was unseen. They would probably have been at a loss. They would have said that they had never asked that question or thought about things in that way.

Kinds, and sameness of kind—what colossally useful DENKMITTEL for finding our way among the many! The manyness might conceivably have been absolute. Experiences might have all been singulars, no one of them occurring twice. In such a world logic would have had no application; for kind and sameness of kind are logic's only instruments. Once we know that whatever is of a kind is also of that kind's kind, we can travel through the universe as if with seven-league boots. Brutes surely never use these abstractions, and civilized men use them in most various amounts.

Kinds and things of the same kind: what enormously useful DENKMITTEL, or tools for thinking, for finding our way among so many things! The many things might conceivably have been entirely distinct. Every experience might have been unique, with none occurring twice. In such a world, logic would have had no use, because kinds and sameness of kind are logic’s only tools. Once we know that everything of a kind also belongs to that kind’s larger kind, we can travel through the universe as if wearing seven-league boots. Animals surely never use these abstractions, and civilized people use them in widely varying amounts.

Causal influence, again! This, if anything, seems to have been an antediluvian conception; for we find primitive men thinking that almost everything is significant and can exert influence of some sort. The search for the more definite influences seems to have started in the question: "Who, or what, is to blame?"—for any illness, namely, or disaster, or untoward thing. From this centre the search for causal influences has spread. Hume and 'Science' together have tried to eliminate the whole notion of influence, substituting the entirely different DENKMITTEL of 'law.' But law is a comparatively recent invention, and influence reigns supreme in the older realm of common sense.

Causal influence again! If any idea is ancient, this one seems to be. We find that early humans thought almost everything had significance and could exert some kind of influence. The search for more specific influences seems to have begun with the question: "Who, or what, is to blame?" The question concerned any illness, disaster, or other misfortune. The search for causal influences spread from there. Hume and 'Science' have together tried to eliminate the whole idea of influence. They have substituted the entirely different DENKMITTEL (tool of thought) of 'law.' But law is a relatively recent invention, and influence still reigns supreme in the older realm of common sense.

The 'possible,' as something less than the actual and more than the wholly unreal, is another of these magisterial notions of common sense. Criticize them as you may, they persist; and we fly back to them the moment critical pressure is relaxed. 'Self,' 'body,' in the substantial or metaphysical sense—no one escapes subjection to THOSE forms of thought. In practice, the common-sense DENKMITTEL are uniformly victorious. Everyone, however instructed, still thinks of a 'thing' in the common-sense way, as a permanent unit-subject that 'supports' its attributes interchangeably. No one stably or sincerely uses the more critical notion, of a group of sense-qualities united by a law. With these categories in our hand, we make our plans and plot together, and connect all the remoter parts of experience with what lies before our eyes. Our later and more critical philosophies are mere fads and fancies compared with this natural mother-tongue of thought.

The 'possible' is something less than the actual but more than the wholly unreal. It is another of these authoritative ideas of common sense. Criticize these ideas as you may, they persist. As soon as we stop examining them critically, we fall back on them. No one escapes the influence of such ways of thinking as 'self' and 'body' in the substantial or metaphysical sense. In practice, the common-sense DENKMITTEL always win. Everyone, however educated, still thinks of a 'thing' in the common-sense way. We think of it as a permanent, unified subject that 'supports' its changing attributes. No one consistently or sincerely uses the more critical idea of a group of sensory qualities united by a law. With these categories in hand, we make plans, plot together, and connect the most distant parts of experience with what lies before our eyes. Compared with this natural mother tongue of thought, our later, more critical philosophies are mere fads and fancies.

Common sense appears thus as a perfectly definite stage in our understanding of things, a stage that satisfies in an extraordinarily successful way the purposes for which we think. 'Things' do exist, even when we do not see them. Their 'kinds' also exist. Their 'qualities' are what they act by, and are what we act on; and these also exist. These lamps shed their quality of light on every object in this room. We intercept IT on its way whenever we hold up an opaque screen. It is the very sound that my lips emit that travels into your ears. It is the sensible heat of the fire that migrates into the water in which we boil an egg; and we can change the heat into coolness by dropping in a lump of ice. At this stage of philosophy all non-European men without exception have remained. It suffices for all the necessary practical ends of life; and, among our own race even, it is only the highly sophisticated specimens, the minds debauched by learning, as Berkeley calls them, who have ever even suspected common sense of not being absolutely true.

Common sense, then, is a definite stage in our understanding of things. It serves the purposes for which we think extraordinarily well. 'Things' exist even when we do not see them. Their 'kinds' exist too. Their 'qualities' are what they act through and what we act on. These qualities also exist. These lamps cast their quality of light on every object in this room. Whenever we hold up an opaque screen, we intercept the light on its way. The very sound my lips produce travels into your ears. The perceptible heat of the fire moves into the water in which we boil an egg. And we can change the heat into coolness by dropping in a lump of ice. All non-European people, without exception, have remained at this stage of philosophy. It is enough for all the necessary practical purposes of life. Even among our own race, only the most sophisticated people have ever suspected that common sense might not be absolutely true. Berkeley calls their minds “debauched by learning.”

But when we look back, and speculate as to how the common-sense categories may have achieved their wonderful supremacy, no reason appears why it may not have been by a process just like that by which the conceptions due to Democritus, Berkeley, or Darwin, achieved their similar triumphs in more recent times. In other words, they may have been successfully DISCOVERED by prehistoric geniuses whose names the night of antiquity has covered up; they may have been verified by the immediate facts of experience which they first fitted; and then from fact to fact and from man to man they may have SPREAD, until all language rested on them and we are now incapable of thinking naturally in any other terms. Such a view would only follow the rule that has proved elsewhere so fertile, of assuming the vast and remote to conform to the laws of formation that we can observe at work in the small and near.

But when we look back and consider how common-sense categories became so dominant, there is no reason to rule out a familiar explanation. They may have gained their dominance much as the ideas of Democritus, Berkeley, or Darwin triumphed in more recent times. In other words, prehistoric geniuses may have DISCOVERED these categories, though their names have been lost in the darkness of antiquity. The immediate facts of experience that the categories first fit may have confirmed them. Then the categories may have SPREAD from fact to fact and from person to person. In time, all language may have come to rest on them. We may now be unable to think naturally in any other terms. This view would simply follow a rule that has proved fruitful elsewhere. It assumes that vast and distant things form according to laws we can observe at work in small and nearby things.

For all utilitarian practical purposes these conceptions amply suffice; but that they began at special points of discovery and only gradually spread from one thing to another, seems proved by the exceedingly dubious limits of their application to-day. We assume for certain purposes one 'objective' Time that AEQUABILITER FLUIT, but we don't livingly believe in or realize any such equally-flowing time. 'Space' is a less vague notion; but 'things,' what are they? Is a constellation properly a thing? or an army? or is an ENS RATIONIS such as space or justice a thing? Is a knife whose handle and blade are changed the 'same'? Is the 'changeling,' whom Locke so seriously discusses, of the human 'kind'? Is 'telepathy' a 'fancy' or a 'fact'? The moment you pass beyond the practical use of these categories (a use usually suggested sufficiently by the circumstances of the special case) to a merely curious or speculative way of thinking, you find it impossible to say within just what limits of fact any one of them shall apply.

For all practical purposes, these concepts are more than adequate. But the very uncertain limits of their use today seem to prove that they began with particular discoveries. They spread only gradually from one thing to another. For certain purposes, we assume one 'objective' Time that flows uniformly, but we do not truly believe in or experience any such evenly flowing time. 'Space' is a less vague idea, but what are 'things'? Is a constellation really a thing? Or an army? Is an abstract concept, such as space or justice, a thing? Is a knife whose handle and blade have been replaced the 'same' knife? Does the 'changeling' whom Locke discusses so seriously belong to the human 'kind'? Is 'telepathy' a 'fancy' or a 'fact'? The circumstances of each case usually suggest well enough how to use these categories in practice. But once you move beyond practical use and think about them out of curiosity or speculation, you run into a problem. You cannot say exactly which facts any one of these categories applies to.

The peripatetic philosophy, obeying rationalist propensities, has tried to eternalize the common-sense categories by treating them very technically and articulately. A 'thing' for instance is a being, or ENS. An ENS is a subject in which qualities 'inhere.' A subject is a substance. Substances are of kinds, and kinds are definite in number, and discrete. These distinctions are fundamental and eternal. As terms of DISCOURSE they are indeed magnificently useful, but what they mean, apart from their use in steering our discourse to profitable issues, does not appear. If you ask a scholastic philosopher what a substance may be in itself, apart from its being the support of attributes, he simply says that your intellect knows perfectly what the word means.

Peripatetic philosophy, following its rationalist tendencies, has tried to make common-sense categories eternal. It has done so by describing them in highly technical and precise terms. A 'thing,' for instance, is a being, or ENS. An ENS is a subject in which qualities 'inhere.' A subject is a substance. Substances belong to kinds, and these kinds are distinct and fixed in number. These distinctions are fundamental and eternal. As terms of DISCOURSE, they are indeed magnificently useful. But apart from their use in guiding our discussions toward profitable results, what they mean is unclear. If you ask a scholastic philosopher what a substance may be in itself, apart from supporting attributes, he simply says that your intellect knows perfectly well what the word means.

But what the intellect knows clearly is only the word itself and its steering function. So it comes about that intellects SIBI PERMISSI, intellects only curious and idle, have forsaken the common-sense level for what in general terms may be called the 'critical' level of thought. Not merely SUCH intellects either—your Humes and Berkeleys and Hegels; but practical observers of facts, your Galileos, Daltons, Faradays, have found it impossible to treat the NAIFS sense-termini of common sense as ultimately real. As common sense interpolates her constant 'things' between our intermittent sensations, so science EXTRApolates her world of 'primary' qualities, her atoms, her ether, her magnetic fields, and the like, beyond the common-sense world. The 'things' are now invisible impalpable things; and the old visible common-sense things are supposed to result from the mixture of these invisibles. Or else the whole NAIF conception of thing gets superseded, and a thing's name is interpreted as denoting only the law or REGEL DER VERBINDUNG by which certain of our sensations habitually succeed or coexist.

But what the intellect clearly knows is only the word itself and its function in guiding us. So intellects left to themselves, merely curious and idle intellects, have abandoned the common-sense level of thought. They have moved to what may generally be called the 'critical' level. And not only such intellects as Hume, Berkeley, and Hegel have done so. Practical observers of facts, such as Galileo, Dalton, and Faraday, have also found it impossible to treat the simple objects of sensation recognized by common sense as ultimately real. Common sense places its permanent 'things' between our intermittent sensations. In a similar way, science projects its world of 'primary' qualities, atoms, ether, magnetic fields, and the like beyond the common-sense world. These 'things' are now invisible and intangible. The familiar, visible things of common sense are supposed to result from mixtures of these invisible things. Or else the whole simple notion of a thing is replaced. A thing's name is then understood to mean only the law or rule of connection by which certain sensations habitually follow one another or occur together.

Science and critical philosophy thus burst the bounds of common sense. With science NAIF realism ceases: 'Secondary' qualities become unreal; primary ones alone remain. With critical philosophy, havoc is made of everything. The common-sense categories one and all cease to represent anything in the way of BEING; they are but sublime tricks of human thought, our ways of escaping bewilderment in the midst of sensation's irremediable flow.

Science and critical philosophy thus break beyond the limits of common sense. Science puts an end to naive realism. 'Secondary' qualities become unreal, and only primary qualities remain. Critical philosophy wreaks havoc on everything. Every common-sense category ceases to represent anything that exists. These categories are only sublime tricks of human thought. They are our ways of escaping confusion amid the unstoppable flow of sensation.

But the scientific tendency in critical thought, tho inspired at first by purely intellectual motives, has opened an entirely unexpected range of practical utilities to our astonished view. Galileo gave us accurate clocks and accurate artillery-practice; the chemists flood us with new medicines and dye-stuffs; Ampere and Faraday have endowed us with the New York subway and with Marconi telegrams. The hypothetical things that such men have invented, defined as they have defined them, are showing an extraordinary fertility in consequences verifiable by sense. Our logic can deduce from them a consequence due under certain conditions, we can then bring about the conditions, and presto, the consequence is there before our eyes. The scope of the practical control of nature newly put into our hand by scientific ways of thinking vastly exceeds the scope of the old control grounded on common sense. Its rate of increase accelerates so that no one can trace the limit; one may even fear that the BEING of man may be crushed by his own powers, that his fixed nature as an organism may not prove adequate to stand the strain of the ever increasingly tremendous functions, almost divine creative functions, which his intellect will more and more enable him to wield. He may drown in his wealth like a child in a bath-tub, who has turned on the water and who cannot turn it off.

But the scientific approach to critical thinking, though inspired at first by purely intellectual motives, has revealed an entirely unexpected range of practical uses, to our astonishment. Galileo gave us accurate clocks and accurate artillery practice. Chemists flood us with new medicines and dyes. Ampere and Faraday have given us the New York subway and Marconi telegrams. The hypothetical things these men invented and defined are producing an extraordinary abundance of results we can verify through our senses. Logic lets us deduce what will follow from them under certain conditions. We can then create those conditions, and presto, the result appears before our eyes. Scientific thinking has given us far greater practical control over nature than the old control based on common sense. This control is growing at an accelerating rate, and no one can see its limit. One may even fear that human BEING may be crushed by its own powers. Our fixed nature as organisms may not be strong enough to bear the strain of the increasingly tremendous powers our intellect will let us exercise. These powers are almost divine powers of creation. Man may drown in his wealth like a child in a bathtub who has turned on the water and cannot turn it off.

The philosophic stage of criticism, much more thorough in its negations than the scientific stage, so far gives us no new range of practical power. Locke, Hume, Berkeley, Kant, Hegel, have all been utterly sterile, so far as shedding any light on the details of nature goes, and I can think of no invention or discovery that can be directly traced to anything in their peculiar thought, for neither with Berkeley's tar-water nor with Kant's nebular hypothesis had their respective philosophic tenets anything to do. The satisfactions they yield to their disciples are intellectual, not practical; and even then we have to confess that there is a large minus-side to the account.

The philosophical stage of criticism rejects ideas much more thoroughly than the scientific stage does. Yet so far, it gives us no new practical power. Locke, Hume, Berkeley, Kant, and Hegel have all been utterly unproductive in shedding light on the details of nature. I can think of no invention or discovery that can be directly traced to their distinctive philosophical ideas. Berkeley’s philosophical principles had nothing to do with his tar-water. Nor did Kant’s principles have anything to do with his nebular hypothesis. The satisfaction these philosophers give their followers is intellectual, not practical. Even then, we must admit that there is a large negative side to the account.

There are thus at least three well-characterized levels, stages or types of thought about the world we live in, and the notions of one stage have one kind of merit, those of another stage another kind. It is impossible, however, to say that any stage as yet in sight is absolutely more TRUE than any other. Common sense is the more CONSOLIDATED stage, because it got its innings first, and made all language into its ally. Whether it or science be the more AUGUST stage may be left to private judgment. But neither consolidation nor augustness are decisive marks of truth. If common sense were true, why should science have had to brand the secondary qualities, to which our world owes all its living interest, as false, and to invent an invisible world of points and curves and mathematical equations instead? Why should it have needed to transform causes and activities into laws of 'functional variation'? Vainly did scholasticism, common sense's college-trained younger sister, seek to stereotype the forms the human family had always talked with, to make them definite and fix them for eternity. Substantial forms (in other words our secondary qualities) hardly outlasted the year of our Lord 1600. People were already tired of them then; and Galileo, and Descartes, with his 'new philosophy,' gave them only a little later their coup de grace.

There are at least three distinct levels, stages, or types of thought about the world we live in. The ideas at each stage have their own kind of merit. But we cannot say that any stage yet in sight is absolutely more TRUE than another. Common sense is the more firmly established stage because it came first and made all language its ally. Whether common sense or science is the more IMPRESSIVE stage is a matter of personal judgment. But neither firm establishment nor impressiveness is a decisive mark of truth. If common sense were true, why would science have had to call secondary qualities false? After all, our world owes all its living interest to those qualities. And why would science have had to invent an invisible world of points, curves, and mathematical equations instead? Why would science have needed to transform causes and activities into laws of 'functional variation'? Scholasticism, the college-trained younger sister of common sense, tried in vain to make the forms people had always talked with definite and fixed for eternity. Substantial forms (in other words, our secondary qualities) hardly survived beyond the year of our Lord 1600. People were already tired of them by then. Soon afterward, Galileo and Descartes, with his 'new philosophy,' delivered the final blow.

But now if the new kinds of scientific 'thing,' the corpuscular and etheric world, were essentially more 'true,' why should they have excited so much criticism within the body of science itself? Scientific logicians are saying on every hand that these entities and their determinations, however definitely conceived, should not be held for literally real. It is AS IF they existed; but in reality they are like co-ordinates or logarithms, only artificial short-cuts for taking us from one part to another of experience's flux. We can cipher fruitfully with them; they serve us wonderfully; but we must not be their dupes.

But if the new scientific 'things', the world of particles and ether, were fundamentally more 'true', why did they provoke so much criticism within science itself? Scientific logicians everywhere say that these entities and their properties should not be considered literally real, however precisely we imagine them. It is AS IF they existed. But in reality, they are like coordinates or logarithms. They are only artificial shortcuts that take us from one part of the flow of experience to another. We can calculate with them to useful effect. They serve us wonderfully, but we must not let them fool us.

There is no RINGING conclusion possible when we compare these types of thinking, with a view to telling which is the more absolutely true. Their naturalness, their intellectual economy, their fruitfulness for practice, all start up as distinct tests of their veracity, and as a result we get confused. Common sense is BETTER for one sphere of life, science for another, philosophic criticism for a third; but whether either be TRUER absolutely, Heaven only knows. Just now, if I understand the matter rightly, we are witnessing a curious reversion to the common-sense way of looking at physical nature, in the philosophy of science favored by such men as Mach, Ostwald and Duhem. According to these teachers no hypothesis is truer than any other in the sense of being a more literal copy of reality. They are all but ways of talking on our part, to be compared solely from the point of view of their USE. The only literally true thing is REALITY; and the only reality we know is, for these logicians, sensible reality, the flux of our sensations and emotions as they pass. 'Energy' is the collective name (according to Ostwald) for the sensations just as they present themselves (the movement, heat, magnetic pull, or light, or whatever it may be) when they are measured in certain ways. So measuring them, we are enabled to describe the correlated changes which they show us, in formulas matchless for their simplicity and fruitfulness for human use. They are sovereign triumphs of economy in thought.

We cannot reach a ringing conclusion when we compare these ways of thinking to decide which is more absolutely true. Their naturalness, their economy of thought, and their usefulness in practice all emerge as separate tests of their truth. As a result, we get confused. Common sense is better for one area of life, science for another, and philosophical criticism for a third. But whether any one is truer in an absolute sense, Heaven only knows. If I understand the matter rightly, we are now seeing a curious return to the common-sense view of physical nature. This return appears in the philosophy of science favored by men such as Mach, Ostwald and Duhem. According to these thinkers, no hypothesis is truer than another in the sense of being a more literal copy of reality. All hypotheses are merely ways of talking, to be compared solely by their use. The only thing that is literally true is reality. And for these thinkers, the only reality we know is what we perceive through our senses. It is the flow of our sensations and emotions as they pass. According to Ostwald, 'Energy' is the collective name for sensations just as they present themselves when measured in certain ways. These sensations might be movement, heat, magnetic pull, light, or anything else. By measuring them in this way, we can describe their related changes in formulas unmatched for simplicity and practical usefulness. These formulas are supreme triumphs of economy in thought.

No one can fail to admire the 'energetic' philosophy. But the hypersensible entities, the corpuscles and vibrations, hold their own with most physicists and chemists, in spite of its appeal. It seems too economical to be all-sufficient. Profusion, not economy, may after all be reality's key-note.

Everyone must admire the 'energetic' philosophy. But despite its appeal, most physicists and chemists still believe in entities beyond the reach of the senses, such as corpuscles and vibrations. The 'energetic' philosophy seems too economical to explain everything. Abundance, not economy, may after all be the defining feature of reality.

I am dealing here with highly technical matters, hardly suitable for popular lecturing, and in which my own competence is small. All the better for my conclusion, however, which at this point is this. The whole notion of truth, which naturally and without reflexion we assume to mean the simple duplication by the mind of a ready-made and given reality, proves hard to understand clearly. There is no simple test available for adjudicating offhand between the divers types of thought that claim to possess it. Common sense, common science or corpuscular philosophy, ultra-critical science, or energetics, and critical or idealistic philosophy, all seem insufficiently true in some regard and leave some dissatisfaction. It is evident that the conflict of these so widely differing systems obliges us to overhaul the very idea of truth, for at present we have no definite notion of what the word may mean. I shall face that task in my next lecture, and will add but a few words, in finishing the present one.

I am dealing here with highly technical matters that are hardly suitable for a general lecture. My own knowledge of them is limited. That makes my conclusion all the stronger, however. For now, my conclusion is this: the whole idea of truth is hard to understand clearly. Naturally, and without thinking about it, we assume truth means that the mind simply copies a reality already given and complete. There is no simple test for deciding on the spot which of the various types of thought can claim truth. Common sense, common science or corpuscular philosophy, ultra-critical science or energetics, and critical or idealistic philosophy all seem insufficiently true in some respect. Each leaves us dissatisfied in some way. These widely different systems conflict, and that conflict clearly forces us to rethink the very idea of truth. For now, we have no definite idea of what the word may mean. I shall take up that task in my next lecture. To finish this one, I will add just a few words.

There are only two points that I wish you to retain from the present lecture. The first one relates to common sense. We have seen reason to suspect it, to suspect that in spite of their being so venerable, of their being so universally used and built into the very structure of language, its categories may after all be only a collection of extraordinarily successful hypotheses (historically discovered or invented by single men, but gradually communicated, and used by everybody) by which our forefathers have from time immemorial unified and straightened the discontinuity of their immediate experiences, and put themselves into an equilibrium with the surface of nature so satisfactory for ordinary practical purposes that it certainly would have lasted forever, but for the excessive intellectual vivacity of Democritus, Archimedes, Galileo, Berkeley, and other excentric geniuses whom the example of such men inflamed. Retain, I pray you, this suspicion about common sense.

There are only two points I want you to remember from this lecture. The first concerns common sense. We have seen reason to question its categories, even though they are so old, so widely used, and built into the very structure of language. They may, after all, be only a collection of extraordinarily successful hypotheses. Individual people discovered or invented these hypotheses, but gradually they spread and came into general use. Since time immemorial, our ancestors have used them to bring unity and order to their disconnected immediate experiences. In this way, they brought themselves into a balance with the surface of nature. This balance was so satisfactory for ordinary practical purposes that it certainly would have lasted forever. But then came the excessive intellectual energy of Democritus, Archimedes, Galileo, Berkeley, and other eccentric geniuses inspired by their example. Please remember this reason to question common sense.

The other point is this. Ought not the existence of the various types of thinking which we have reviewed, each so splendid for certain purposes, yet all conflicting still, and neither one of them able to support a claim of absolute veracity, to awaken a presumption favorable to the pragmatistic view that all our theories are INSTRUMENTAL, are mental modes of ADAPTATION to reality, rather than revelations or gnostic answers to some divinely instituted world-enigma? I expressed this view as clearly as I could in the second of these lectures. Certainly the restlessness of the actual theoretic situation, the value for some purposes of each thought-level, and the inability of either to expel the others decisively, suggest this pragmatistic view, which I hope that the next lectures may soon make entirely convincing. May there not after all be a possible ambiguity in truth?

The other point is this. We have reviewed several types of thinking, each excellent for certain purposes. Yet they still conflict, and none can claim to be absolutely true. Should this not give us reason to favor the pragmatist view? That view holds that all our theories are INSTRUMENTAL, mental ways of ADAPTING to reality. They are not revelations or answers based on special knowledge to a world riddle posed by God. I expressed this view as clearly as I could in the second of these lectures. The unsettled state of current theory certainly suggests this pragmatist view. So do the value of each level of thought for some purposes and the inability of any one to decisively displace the others. I hope the next lectures will soon make this view entirely convincing. Might there, after all, be some ambiguity in truth?