Pragmatism and Humanism

What hardens the heart of everyone I approach with the view of truth sketched in my last lecture is that typical idol of the tribe, the notion of THE Truth, conceived as the one answer, determinate and complete, to the one fixed enigma which the world is believed to propound. For popular tradition, it is all the better if the answer be oracular, so as itself to awaken wonder as an enigma of the second order, veiling rather than revealing what its profundities are supposed to contain. All the great single-word answers to the world's riddle, such as God, the One, Reason, Law, Spirit, Matter, Nature, Polarity, the Dialectic Process, the Idea, the Self, the Oversoul, draw the admiration that men have lavished on them from this oracular role. By amateurs in philosophy and professionals alike, the universe is represented as a queer sort of petrified sphinx whose appeal to man consists in a monotonous challenge to his divining powers. THE Truth: what a perfect idol of the rationalistic mind! I read in an old letter—from a gifted friend who died too young—these words: "In everything, in science, art, morals and religion, there MUST be one system that is right and EVERY other wrong." How characteristic of the enthusiasm of a certain stage of youth! At twenty-one we rise to such a challenge and expect to find the system. It never occurs to most of us even later that the question 'what is THE truth?' is no real question (being irrelative to all conditions) and that the whole notion of THE truth is an abstraction from the fact of truths in the plural, a mere useful summarizing phrase like THE Latin Language or THE Law.

The view of truth I outlined in my last lecture meets resistance from everyone I approach. What hardens their hearts is a typical idol of the tribe: the idea of THE Truth. This is the idea that there is one definite, complete answer to the single, fixed riddle the world supposedly poses. In popular tradition, the answer is all the better if it sounds like an oracle. Then the answer itself inspires wonder as a second riddle. It conceals rather than reveals what its depths are supposed to contain. All the great single-word answers to the world's riddle have drawn admiration because they play this oracular role. These include God, the One, Reason, Law, Spirit, Matter, Nature, Polarity, the Dialectic Process, the Idea, the Self, and the Oversoul. Amateur and professional philosophers alike portray the universe as a strange sort of petrified sphinx. Its appeal to us lies in its monotonous challenge to our powers of divination. THE Truth: what a perfect idol for the rationalistic mind! In an old letter from a gifted friend who died too young, I read these words: "In everything, in science, art, morals and religion, there MUST be one system that is right and EVERY other wrong." How typical of the enthusiasm of a certain stage of youth! At twenty-one, we rise to that challenge and expect to find the right system. Even later, it never occurs to most of us that the question "what is THE truth?" is not a real question. It is unrelated to any conditions. Nor does it occur to most of us that THE truth is an abstraction from the fact of truths, plural. It is merely a useful summary phrase, like THE Latin Language or THE Law.

Common-law judges sometimes talk about the law, and school-masters talk about the latin tongue, in a way to make their hearers think they mean entities pre-existent to the decisions or to the words and syntax, determining them unequivocally and requiring them to obey. But the slightest exercise of reflexion makes us see that, instead of being principles of this kind, both law and latin are results. Distinctions between the lawful and the unlawful in conduct, or between the correct and incorrect in speech, have grown up incidentally among the interactions of men's experiences in detail; and in no other way do distinctions between the true and the false in belief ever grow up. Truth grafts itself on previous truth, modifying it in the process, just as idiom grafts itself on previous idiom, and law on previous law. Given previous law and a novel case, and the judge will twist them into fresh law. Previous idiom; new slang or metaphor or oddity that hits the public taste:—and presto, a new idiom is made. Previous truth; fresh facts:—and our mind finds a new truth.

Common-law judges sometimes talk about the law, and teachers about Latin, in a misleading way. They make listeners think that law and Latin exist before legal decisions or words and syntax. They seem to mean that law and Latin determine those decisions and usages precisely and require them to obey. But a moment’s thought shows us that law and Latin are results, not principles of this kind. Distinctions between lawful and unlawful conduct have grown up incidentally through the interactions of people’s particular experiences. So have distinctions between correct and incorrect speech. And distinctions between true and false beliefs grow up in exactly the same way. Truth builds on previous truth, modifying it in the process, just as expressions build on previous expressions and law on previous law. Given existing law and a new case, a judge will shape them into new law. Given existing expressions and new slang, a metaphor, or an oddity that catches the public’s fancy, presto, a new expression is made. Given previous truth and fresh facts, our minds find a new truth.

All the while, however, we pretend that the eternal is unrolling, that the one previous justice, grammar or truth is simply fulgurating, and not being made. But imagine a youth in the courtroom trying cases with his abstract notion of 'the' law, or a censor of speech let loose among the theatres with his idea of 'the' mother-tongue, or a professor setting up to lecture on the actual universe with his rationalistic notion of 'the Truth' with a big T, and what progress do they make? Truth, law, and language fairly boil away from them at the least touch of novel fact. These things MAKE THEMSELVES as we go. Our rights, wrongs, prohibitions, penalties, words, forms, idioms, beliefs, are so many new creations that add themselves as fast as history proceeds. Far from being antecedent principles that animate the process, law, language, truth are but abstract names for its results.

All the while, however, we pretend that the eternal is unfolding. We pretend that the one preexisting justice, grammar, or truth is simply flashing into view, not being made. But imagine a young person trying cases in court with an abstract notion of 'the' law. Or imagine a speech censor let loose in the theaters with an idea of 'the' mother tongue. Or imagine a professor lecturing on the actual universe with a rationalist notion of 'the Truth' with a big T. What progress do they make? Truth, law, and language seem to boil away from them at the slightest touch of a new fact. These things MAKE THEMSELVES as we go. Our rights, wrongs, prohibitions, penalties, words, forms, idioms, and beliefs are new creations. They keep adding themselves as fast as history moves forward. Law, language, and truth are not preexisting principles that drive the process. They are merely abstract names for its results.

Laws and languages at any rate are thus seen to be man-made: things. Mr. Schiller applies the analogy to beliefs, and proposes the name of 'Humanism' for the doctrine that to an unascertainable extent our truths are man-made products too. Human motives sharpen all our questions, human satisfactions lurk in all our answers, all our formulas have a human twist. This element is so inextricable in the products that Mr. Schiller sometimes seems almost to leave it an open question whether there be anything else. "The world," he says, "is essentially [u lambda nu], it is what we make of it. It is fruitless to define it by what it originally was or by what it is apart from us; it IS what is made of it. Hence ... the world is PLASTIC."¹² He adds that we can learn the limits of the plasticity only by trying, and that we ought to start as if it were wholly plastic, acting methodically on that assumption, and stopping only when we are decisively rebuked.

At any rate, we can see that laws and languages are made by humans. Mr. Schiller applies this comparison to beliefs. He calls his doctrine “Humanism”: our truths, too, are human products, though we cannot determine to what extent. Human motives sharpen all our questions, human satisfactions lie behind all our answers, and all our formulas bear a human stamp. This human element is so inseparable from these products that Mr. Schiller sometimes seems almost to leave open whether anything else is involved. “The world,” he says, “is essentially [u lambda nu], it is what we make of it. It is fruitless to define it by what it originally was or by what it is apart from us. It IS what is made of it. Hence ... the world is PLASTIC.”¹² He adds that we can discover the limits of the world’s plasticity only by trying. He says we should begin as if the world were entirely plastic and act methodically on that assumption. We should stop only when we are decisively proved wrong.

This is Mr. Schiller's butt-end-foremost statement of the humanist position, and it has exposed him to severe attack. I mean to defend the humanist position in this lecture, so I will insinuate a few remarks at this point.

This is Mr. Schiller's back-to-front statement of the humanist position, and it has exposed him to harsh criticism. I intend to defend the humanist position in this lecture, so I will offer a few remarks here.

Mr. Schiller admits as emphatically as anyone the presence of resisting factors in every actual experience of truth-making, of which the new-made special truth must take account, and with which it has perforce to 'agree.' All our truths are beliefs about 'Reality'; and in any particular belief the reality acts as something independent, as a thing FOUND, not manufactured. Let me here recall a bit of my last lecture.

Mr. Schiller agrees as emphatically as anyone that every actual experience of making truth involves resisting factors. Each newly made truth must take these factors into account and must 'agree' with them. All our truths are beliefs about 'Reality'. And in any particular belief, reality acts as something independent, something FOUND, not manufactured. Let me recall a part of my last lecture.

'REALITY' IS IN GENERAL WHAT TRUTHS HAVE TO TAKE ACCOUNT OF;¹³ and the FIRST part of reality from this point of view is the flux of our sensations. Sensations are forced upon us, coming we know not whence. Over their nature, order, and quantity we have as good as no control. THEY are neither true nor false; they simply ARE. It is only what we say about them, only the names we give them, our theories of their source and nature and remote relations, that may be true or not.

'REALITY' IS GENERALLY WHAT TRUTHS MUST TAKE INTO ACCOUNT.¹³ From this point of view, the FIRST part of reality is the constant flow of our sensations. Sensations come to us from we know not where, and we cannot prevent them. We have almost no control over their nature, order, or quantity. Sensations are neither true nor false. They simply ARE. Only what we say about them may be true or false. This includes the names we give them and our theories about their source, nature, and distant relations.

The SECOND part of reality, as something that our beliefs must also obediently take account of, is the RELATIONS that obtain between our sensations or between their copies in our minds. This part falls into two sub-parts: 1) the relations that are mutable and accidental, as those of date and place; and 2) those that are fixed and essential because they are grounded on the inner natures of their terms—such as likeness and unlikeness. Both sorts of relation are matters of immediate perception. Both are 'facts.' But it is the latter kind of fact that forms the more important sub-part of reality for our theories of knowledge. Inner relations namely are 'eternal,' are perceived whenever their sensible terms are compared; and of them our thought—mathematical and logical thought, so-called—must eternally take account.

The SECOND part of reality that our beliefs must also faithfully take account of is the RELATIONS between our sensations, or between their copies in our minds. These relations fall into two groups: 1) those that can change and are accidental, such as relations of date and place, and 2) those that are fixed and essential because they are grounded in the inner nature of the things related, such as likeness and unlikeness. We perceive both kinds of relation directly. Both are 'facts.' But the second kind of fact is the more important part of reality for our theories of knowledge. Inner relations are 'eternal.' We perceive them whenever we compare the things we sense. Our thought, what we call mathematical and logical thought, must always take account of them.

The THIRD part of reality, additional to these perceptions (tho largely based upon them), is the PREVIOUS TRUTHS of which every new inquiry takes account. This third part is a much less obdurately resisting factor: it often ends by giving way. In speaking of these three portions of reality as at all times controlling our belief's formation, I am only reminding you of what we heard in our last hour.

The THIRD part of reality, in addition to these perceptions, is the PREVIOUS TRUTHS that every new inquiry takes into account. These truths are largely based on the perceptions. This third part of reality is much less resistant. It often ends up giving way. By saying that these three parts of reality always shape how we form beliefs, I am only reminding you of what we heard in our last lecture.

Now however fixed these elements of reality may be, we still have a certain freedom in our dealings with them. Take our sensations. THAT they are is undoubtedly beyond our control; but WHICH we attend to, note, and make emphatic in our conclusions depends on our own interests; and, according as we lay the emphasis here or there, quite different formulations of truth result. We read the same facts differently. 'Waterloo,' with the same fixed details, spells a 'victory' for an englishman; for a frenchman it spells a 'defeat.' So, for an optimist philosopher the universe spells victory, for a pessimist, defeat.

However fixed these elements of reality may be, we still have some freedom in how we deal with them. Take our sensations. The fact that we have them is undoubtedly beyond our control. But our interests determine which sensations we notice, pay attention to, and emphasize in our conclusions. Depending on where we place the emphasis, we arrive at quite different versions of the truth. We read the same facts differently. 'Waterloo,' with the same fixed details, means a 'victory' for an Englishman. For a Frenchman, it means a 'defeat.' Similarly, for an optimistic philosopher, the universe means victory. For a pessimistic philosopher, it means defeat.

What we say about reality thus depends on the perspective into which we throw it. The THAT of it is its own; but the WHAT depends on the WHICH; and the which depends on US. Both the sensational and the relational parts of reality are dumb: they say absolutely nothing about themselves. We it is who have to speak for them. This dumbness of sensations has led such intellectualists as T.H. Green and Edward Caird to shove them almost beyond the pale of philosophic recognition, but pragmatists refuse to go so far. A sensation is rather like a client who has given his case to a lawyer and then has passively to listen in the courtroom to whatever account of his affairs, pleasant or unpleasant, the lawyer finds it most expedient to give.

What we say about reality depends on the perspective from which we view it. Its THAT is its own. But its WHAT depends on the WHICH, and the WHICH depends on US. Both sensations and relations are silent: they tell us absolutely nothing about themselves. We have to speak for them. This silence of sensations has led intellectualists such as T.H. Green and Edward Caird to deny them almost any place in philosophy. But pragmatists refuse to go that far. A sensation is rather like a client who has handed his case over to a lawyer. The client must then listen passively in court to whatever account of his affairs the lawyer finds most useful to give, whether pleasant or unpleasant.

Hence, even in the field of sensation, our minds exert a certain arbitrary choice. By our inclusions and omissions we trace the field's extent; by our emphasis we mark its foreground and its background; by our order we read it in this direction or in that. We receive in short the block of marble, but we carve the statue ourselves.

So, even in what we sense, our minds make choices that are somewhat arbitrary. What we include and leave out determines the boundaries of what we sense. What we emphasize determines what stands out and what recedes into the background. The order we choose determines how we read it. In short, we receive the block of marble, but we carve the statue ourselves.

This applies to the 'eternal' parts of reality as well: we shuffle our perceptions of intrinsic relation and arrange them just as freely. We read them in one serial order or another, class them in this way or in that, treat one or the other as more fundamental, until our beliefs about them form those bodies of truth known as logics, geometries, or arithmetics, in each and all of which the form and order in which the whole is cast is flagrantly man-made.

This applies to the 'eternal' parts of reality as well. We rearrange our perceptions of inherent relationships just as freely. We put these relationships in one sequence or another, and classify them in different ways. We treat one or another as more fundamental. Eventually, our beliefs about these relationships form bodies of truth known as logics, geometries, or arithmetics. In every one of these, the form and order of the whole are plainly human-made.

Thus, to say nothing of the new FACTS which men add to the matter of reality by the acts of their own lives, they have already impressed their mental forms on that whole third of reality which I have called 'previous truths.' Every hour brings its new percepts, its own facts of sensation and relation, to be truly taken account of; but the whole of our PAST dealings with such facts is already funded in the previous truths. It is therefore only the smallest and recentest fraction of the first two parts of reality that comes to us without the human touch, and that fraction has immediately to become humanized in the sense of being squared, assimilated, or in some way adapted, to the humanized mass already there. As a matter of fact we can hardly take in an impression at all, in the absence of a pre-conception of what impressions there may possibly be.

People add new FACTS to reality through their own lives, but we can set those aside. People have already shaped with their minds the whole third of reality that I have called 'previous truths.' Every hour brings new perceptions, new facts of sensation and relation, which we must take into account accurately. But all our PAST dealings with such facts are already stored in previous truths. So only the smallest and most recent fraction of the first two parts of reality reaches us untouched by humans. And that fraction must immediately be humanized. It must be reconciled, absorbed, or somehow adapted to the humanized body of knowledge already there. In fact, we can hardly take in an impression without some prior idea of what impressions are possible.

When we talk of reality 'independent' of human thinking, then, it seems a thing very hard to find. It reduces to the notion of what is just entering into experience, and yet to be named, or else to some imagined aboriginal presence in experience, before any belief about the presence had arisen, before any human conception had been applied. It is what is absolutely dumb and evanescent, the merely ideal limit of our minds. We may glimpse it, but we never grasp it; what we grasp is always some substitute for it which previous human thinking has peptonized and cooked for our consumption. If so vulgar an expression were allowed us, we might say that wherever we find it, it has been already FAKED. This is what Mr. Schiller has in mind when he calls independent reality a mere unresisting [u lambda nu], which IS only to be made over by us.

When we talk about reality 'independent' of human thought, it seems very hard to find. It comes down to what is just entering experience and has yet to be named. Or it comes down to some imagined original presence in experience, before any belief about it arose or any human concept was applied to it. Such reality is absolutely silent and fleeting, merely an ideal limit of our minds. We may glimpse it, but we never grasp it. What we grasp is always some substitute that previous human thought has digested and cooked for us to consume. If we may use such a vulgar expression, we might say that wherever we find it, it has already been FAKED. This is what Mr. Schiller means when he calls independent reality a mere unresisting [u lambda nu], which EXISTS only to be made over by us.

That is Mr. Schiller's belief about the sensible core of reality. We 'encounter' it (in Mr. Bradley's words) but don't possess it. Superficially this sounds like Kant's view; but between categories fulminated before nature began, and categories gradually forming themselves in nature's presence, the whole chasm between rationalism and empiricism yawns. To the genuine 'Kantianer' Schiller will always be to Kant as a satyr to Hyperion.

That is Mr. Schiller's belief about the part of reality we perceive through our senses. We 'encounter' it (in Mr. Bradley's words), but we don't possess it. At first, this sounds like Kant's view. But there is a vast gulf between categories proclaimed before nature began and categories gradually formed in nature's presence. That is the gulf between rationalism and empiricism. To a true 'Kantianer', Schiller will always be to Kant what a satyr is to Hyperion.

Other pragmatists may reach more positive beliefs about the sensible core of reality. They may think to get at it in its independent nature, by peeling off the successive man-made wrappings. They may make theories that tell us where it comes from and all about it; and if these theories work satisfactorily they will be true. The transcendental idealists say there is no core, the finally completed wrapping being reality and truth in one. Scholasticism still teaches that the core is 'matter.' Professor Bergson, Heymans, Strong, and others, believe in the core and bravely try to define it. Messrs. Dewey and Schiller treat it as a 'limit.' Which is the truer of all these diverse accounts, or of others comparable with them, unless it be the one that finally proves the most satisfactory? On the one hand there will stand reality, on the other an account of it which proves impossible to better or to alter. If the impossibility prove permanent, the truth of the account will be absolute. Other content of truth than this I can find nowhere. If the anti-pragmatists have any other meaning, let them for heaven's sake reveal it, let them grant us access to it!

Other pragmatists may reach more definite beliefs about the core of reality we perceive through our senses. They may think they can discover its independent nature by peeling away the layers people have added. They may develop theories that explain where it comes from and everything about it. If these theories work satisfactorily, they will be true. The transcendental idealists say there is no core. For them, the completed wrapping is both reality and truth. Scholasticism still teaches that the core is 'matter.' Professor Bergson, Heymans, Strong, and others believe in the core and bravely try to define it. Messrs. Dewey and Schiller treat it as a 'limit.' Which of these diverse accounts, or others like them, is the truest? Surely it is the one that finally proves most satisfactory. On one side stands reality. On the other stands an account of reality that proves impossible to improve or change. If that impossibility proves permanent, the truth of the account will be absolute. I can find no other meaning in the idea of truth. If the anti-pragmatists mean anything else, for heaven's sake let them reveal it. Let them give us access to it!

Not BEING reality, but only our belief ABOUT reality, it will contain human elements, but these will KNOW the non-human element, in the only sense in which there can be knowledge of anything. Does the river make its banks, or do the banks make the river? Does a man walk with his right leg or with his left leg more essentially? Just as impossible may it be to separate the real from the human factors in the growth of our cognitive experience.

Our belief is not reality itself, but only a belief about reality. So it will contain human elements. But these elements will KNOW the non-human element, in the only sense in which anything can be known. Does the river make its banks, or do the banks make the river? Is a man's right leg or his left leg more essential to walking? It may be just as impossible to separate the real and human factors as our knowledge grows.

Let this stand as a first brief indication of the humanistic position. Does it seem paradoxical? If so, I will try to make it plausible by a few illustrations, which will lead to a fuller acquaintance with the subject.

Let this serve as a brief first explanation of the humanistic position. Does it seem paradoxical? If so, I will try to make it more plausible with a few examples. These will also help you become more familiar with the subject.

In many familiar objects everyone will recognize the human element. We conceive a given reality in this way or in that, to suit our purpose, and the reality passively submits to the conception. You can take the number 27 as the cube of 3, or as the product of 3 and 9, or as 26 PLUS 1, or 100 MINUS 73, or in countless other ways, of which one will be just as true as another. You can take a chessboard as black squares on a white ground, or as white squares on a black ground, and neither conception is a false one. You can treat the adjoined figure [Figure of a 'Star of David'] as a star, as two big triangles crossing each other, as a hexagon with legs set up on its angles, as six equal triangles hanging together by their tips, etc. All these treatments are true treatments—the sensible THAT upon the paper resists no one of them. You can say of a line that it runs east, or you can say that it runs west, and the line per se accepts both descriptions without rebelling at the inconsistency.

Everyone can recognize the human element in many familiar objects. We understand a given reality in one way or another to suit our purpose, and the reality passively accepts our interpretation. You can see the number 27 as the cube of 3, or as the product of 3 and 9. You can also see it as 26 PLUS 1, or 100 MINUS 73, or in countless other ways. Each way is just as true as any other. You can see a chessboard as black squares on a white background, or as white squares on a black background. Neither view is false. You can see the figure shown here [Figure of a 'Star of David'] as a star or as two large triangles crossing each other. You can also see it as a hexagon with legs extending from its corners, or as six equal triangles joined at their tips, and so on. All these ways of seeing the figure are true. The visible thing on the paper resists none of them. You can say that a line runs east, or you can say that it runs west. The line itself accepts both descriptions without objecting to their inconsistency.

We carve out groups of stars in the heavens, and call them constellations, and the stars patiently suffer us to do so—tho if they knew what we were doing, some of them might feel much surprised at the partners we had given them. We name the same constellation diversely, as Charles's Wain, the Great Bear, or the Dipper. None of the names will be false, and one will be as true as another, for all are applicable.

We group stars in the sky and call them constellations, and the stars patiently put up with it. Though if they knew what we were doing, some might be very surprised at the partners we had given them. We give the same constellation different names, such as Charles's Wain, the Great Bear, or the Dipper. None of the names is false, and each is as true as the others, because all apply.

In all these cases we humanly make an addition to some sensible reality, and that reality tolerates the addition. All the additions 'agree' with the reality; they fit it, while they build it out. No one of them is false. Which may be treated as the more true, depends altogether on the human use of it. If the 27 is a number of dollars which I find in a drawer where I had left 28, it is 28 minus 1. If it is the number of inches in a shelf which I wish to insert into a cupboard 26 inches wide, it is 26 plus 1. If I wish to ennoble the heavens by the constellations I see there, 'Charles's Wain' would be more true than 'Dipper.' My friend Frederick Myers was humorously indignant that that prodigious star-group should remind us Americans of nothing but a culinary utensil.

In all these cases, we add something human to a reality we can perceive, and that reality accepts the addition. All the additions 'agree' with reality. They fit it while expanding on it. None of them is false. Which one may be treated as more true depends entirely on how we use it. Suppose I find 27 dollars in a drawer where I had left 28. Then the 27 is 28 minus 1. Suppose a shelf I want to put in a cupboard 26 inches wide is 27 inches long. Then the 27 is 26 plus 1. If I want to make the heavens more noble through the constellations I see there, 'Charles's Wain' would be more true than 'Dipper.' My friend Frederick Myers was humorously indignant that this magnificent group of stars should remind us Americans of nothing but a kitchen utensil.

What shall we call a THING anyhow? It seems quite arbitrary, for we carve out everything, just as we carve out constellations, to suit our human purposes. For me, this whole 'audience' is one thing, which grows now restless, now attentive. I have no use at present for its individual units, so I don't consider them. So of an 'army,' of a 'nation.' But in your own eyes, ladies and gentlemen, to call you 'audience' is an accidental way of taking you. The permanently real things for you are your individual persons. To an anatomist, again, those persons are but organisms, and the real things are the organs. Not the organs, so much as their constituent cells, say the histologists; not the cells, but their molecules, say in turn the chemists.

What should we call a THING, anyway? The choice seems quite arbitrary. We carve out everything to suit our human purposes, just as we carve out constellations. For me, this whole 'audience' is one thing, sometimes restless, sometimes attentive. I have no use for its individual members at present, so I don't consider them. The same is true of an 'army' or a 'nation.' But in your own eyes, ladies and gentlemen, calling you an 'audience' is just one incidental way of seeing you. For you, the permanently real things are your individual persons. To an anatomist, though, those persons are only organisms, and the real things are the organs. Histologists say the real things are not so much the organs as the cells that make them up. Chemists, in turn, say the real things are not the cells, but their molecules.

We break the flux of sensible reality into things, then, at our will. We create the subjects of our true as well as of our false propositions.

So we divide the flow of what we experience into things as we choose. We create the subjects of both our true and false statements.

We create the predicates also. Many of the predicates of things express only the relations of the things to us and to our feelings. Such predicates of course are human additions. Caesar crossed the Rubicon, and was a menace to Rome's freedom. He is also an American school-room pest, made into one by the reaction of our schoolboys on his writings. The added predicate is as true of him as the earlier ones.

We also create the descriptions we apply to things. Many descriptions express only how things relate to us and our feelings. Of course, people add these descriptions. Caesar crossed the Rubicon and threatened Rome's freedom. He is also a nuisance in American classrooms, made one by schoolboys' reactions to his writings. This added description is just as true of him as the earlier ones.

You see how naturally one comes to the humanistic principle: you can't weed out the human contribution. Our nouns and adjectives are all humanized heirlooms, and in the theories we build them into, the inner order and arrangement is wholly dictated by human considerations, intellectual consistency being one of them. Mathematics and logic themselves are fermenting with human rearrangements; physics, astronomy and biology follow massive cues of preference. We plunge forward into the field of fresh experience with the beliefs our ancestors and we have made already; these determine what we notice; what we notice determines what we do; what we do again determines what we experience; so from one thing to another, altho the stubborn fact remains that there IS a sensible flux, what is true of it seems from first to last to be largely a matter of our own creation.

You can see how naturally we arrive at the humanistic principle: we cannot remove the human contribution. All our nouns and adjectives are inherited from earlier generations and shaped by human experience. In the theories we build with them, their internal order and arrangement are entirely dictated by human concerns. One of these concerns is intellectual consistency. Even mathematics and logic are alive with human rearrangements. Physics, astronomy, and biology follow strong guides set by human preference. We plunge into new experiences with beliefs that our ancestors and we have already formed. These beliefs determine what we notice. What we notice determines what we do, and what we do in turn determines what we experience. So the process continues. Yet the stubborn fact remains that there IS a flow of sensory experience. What is true of that flow, from beginning to end, seems largely to be something we create.

We build the flux out inevitably. The great question is: does it, with our additions, rise or fall in value? Are the additions WORTHY or UNWORTHY? Suppose a universe composed of seven stars, and nothing else but three human witnesses and their critic. One witness names the stars 'Great Bear'; one calls them 'Charles's Wain'; one calls them the 'Dipper.' Which human addition has made the best universe of the given stellar material? If Frederick Myers were the critic, he would have no hesitation in 'turning-down' the American witness.

We inevitably add to the flux. The great question is: do our additions increase or decrease its value? Are the additions WORTHY or UNWORTHY? Suppose a universe contains seven stars and nothing else except three human witnesses and their critic. One witness names the stars 'Great Bear'. Another calls them 'Charles's Wain'. The third calls them the 'Dipper'. Which human addition has made the best universe from the given stars? If Frederick Myers were the critic, he would have no hesitation in 'rejecting' the American witness.

Lotze has in several places made a deep suggestion. We naively assume, he says, a relation between reality and our minds which may be just the opposite of the true one. Reality, we naturally think, stands ready-made and complete, and our intellects supervene with the one simple duty of describing it as it is already. But may not our descriptions, Lotze asks, be themselves important additions to reality? And may not previous reality itself be there, far less for the purpose of reappearing unaltered in our knowledge, than for the very purpose of stimulating our minds to such additions as shall enhance the universe's total value. "Die erhohung des vorgefundenen daseins" is a phrase used by Professor Eucken somewhere, which reminds one of this suggestion by the great Lotze.

Lotze has offered a profound suggestion in several places. He says we naively assume a relationship between reality and our minds that may be the opposite of the truth. We naturally think that reality is already complete, and that our minds have only one simple duty: to describe it as it already is. But Lotze asks whether our descriptions might themselves be important additions to reality. Might existing reality be there less to appear unchanged in our knowledge than to stimulate our minds to make additions that increase the universe’s total value? Professor Eucken uses the phrase "Die erhohung des vorgefundenen daseins" somewhere. It recalls this suggestion by the great Lotze.

It is identically our pragmatistic conception. In our cognitive as well as in our active life we are creative. We ADD, both to the subject and to the predicate part of reality. The world stands really malleable, waiting to receive its final touches at our hands. Like the kingdom of heaven, it suffers human violence willingly. Man ENGENDERS truths upon it.

This is exactly our pragmatic view. We are creative in both our thinking and our actions. We ADD to both the subject and the predicate of reality. The world is truly open to being shaped, waiting for us to give it its final touches. Like the kingdom of heaven, it willingly submits to human force. Human beings BRING FORTH truths upon it.

No one can deny that such a role would add both to our dignity and to our responsibility as thinkers. To some of us it proves a most inspiring notion. Signer Papini, the leader of italian pragmatism, grows fairly dithyrambic over the view that it opens, of man's divinely-creative functions.

No one can deny that such a role would give us both greater dignity and greater responsibility as thinkers. Some of us find this idea deeply inspiring. Signer Papini, the leader of Italian pragmatism, becomes almost ecstatic over the vision it offers of humanity’s divinely creative powers.

The import of the difference between pragmatism and rationalism is now in sight throughout its whole extent. The essential contrast is that for rationalism reality is ready-made and complete from all eternity, while for pragmatism it is still in the making, and awaits part of its complexion from the future. On the one side the universe is absolutely secure, on the other it is still pursuing its adventures.

The full significance of the difference between pragmatism and rationalism is now clear. The essential contrast is this: for rationalism, reality has been ready-made and complete for all eternity. For pragmatism, reality is still being made, and the future will partly shape its character. In one view, the universe is absolutely secure. In the other, it is still pursuing its adventures.

We have got into rather deep water with this humanistic view, and it is no wonder that misunderstanding gathers round it. It is accused of being a doctrine of caprice. Mr. Bradley, for example, says that a humanist, if he understood his own doctrine, would have to "hold any end however perverted to be rational if I insist on it personally, and any idea however mad to be the truth if only some one is resolved that he will have it so." The humanist view of 'reality,' as something resisting, yet malleable, which controls our thinking as an energy that must be taken 'account' of incessantly (tho not necessarily merely COPIED) is evidently a difficult one to introduce to novices. The situation reminds me of one that I have personally gone through. I once wrote an essay on our right to believe, which I unluckily called the WILL to Believe. All the critics, neglecting the essay, pounced upon the title. Psychologically it was impossible, morally it was iniquitous. The "will to deceive," the "will to make-believe," were wittily proposed as substitutes for it.

We have gotten into fairly deep water with this humanistic view, so it is no wonder that people misunderstand it. The view is accused of being a doctrine of doing whatever one pleases. Mr. Bradley, for example, says that a humanist who understood his own doctrine would have to "hold any end, however perverted, to be rational if I personally insist on it, and any idea, however mad, to be the truth if only someone is determined to make it so." The humanist view of 'reality' is evidently difficult to explain to newcomers. It sees reality as something that resists us but can also be shaped. Reality controls our thinking as a force that we must constantly 'take account' of, though we need not merely COPY it. The situation reminds me of something I once experienced. I wrote an essay on our right to believe, which I unfortunately called the WILL to Believe. All the critics ignored the essay and pounced on the title. They said the will to believe was psychologically impossible and morally wrong. They wittily proposed "the will to deceive" and "the will to make-believe" as replacement titles.

THE ALTERNATIVE BETWEEN PRAGMATISM AND RATIONALISM, IN THE SHAPE IN WHICH WE NOW HAVE IT BEFORE US, IS NO LONGER A QUESTION IN THE THEORY OF KNOWLEDGE, IT CONCERNS THE STRUCTURE OF THE UNIVERSE ITSELF.

As we now see it, the choice between pragmatism and rationalism is no longer a question about knowledge. It concerns the structure of the universe itself.

On the pragmatist side we have only one edition of the universe, unfinished, growing in all sorts of places, especially in the places where thinking beings are at work.

From the pragmatist perspective, there is only one version of the universe. It is unfinished and growing in all sorts of places, especially where thinking beings are at work.

On the rationalist side we have a universe in many editions, one real one, the infinite folio, or edition de luxe, eternally complete; and then the various finite editions, full of false readings, distorted and mutilated each in its own way.

On the rationalist side, we have a universe with many editions. One is real: the infinite folio, or luxury edition, eternally complete. Then there are the various finite editions, full of errors and each distorted and incomplete in its own way.

So the rival metaphysical hypotheses of pluralism and monism here come back upon us. I will develope their differences during the remainder of our hour.

So we return to the competing metaphysical theories of pluralism and monism. I will explain their differences during the rest of our hour.

And first let me say that it is impossible not to see a temperamental difference at work in the choice of sides. The rationalist mind, radically taken, is of a doctrinaire and authoritative complexion: the phrase 'must be' is ever on its lips. The belly-band of its universe must be tight. A radical pragmatist on the other hand is a happy-go-lucky anarchistic sort of creature. If he had to live in a tub like Diogenes he wouldn't mind at all if the hoops were loose and the staves let in the sun.

First, I must say that a difference in temperament clearly influences which side people choose. The extreme rationalist mind is dogmatic and likes to speak with authority. The phrase 'must be' is always on its lips. The bands holding its universe together must be tight. A radical pragmatist, on the other hand, is a carefree, anarchic sort of creature. If he had to live in a tub like Diogenes, he wouldn't mind loose hoops or sunlight coming through the staves.

Now the idea of this loose universe affects your typical rationalists in much the same way as 'freedom of the press' might affect a veteran official in the russian bureau of censorship; or as 'simplified spelling' might affect an elderly schoolmistress. It affects him as the swarm of protestant sects affects a papist onlooker. It appears as backboneless and devoid of principle as 'opportunism' in politics appears to an old-fashioned french legitimist, or to a fanatical believer in the divine right of the people.

The idea of this loose universe affects a typical rationalist much as 'freedom of the press' might affect a veteran official in the Russian censorship bureau. Or it affects him as 'simplified spelling' might affect an elderly schoolteacher. It affects him as the swarm of Protestant sects affects a Catholic onlooker. The idea seems as spineless and unprincipled as 'opportunism' in politics seems to an old-fashioned French legitimist or a fanatical believer in the divine right of the people.

For pluralistic pragmatism, truth grows up inside of all the finite experiences. They lean on each other, but the whole of them, if such a whole there be, leans on nothing. All 'homes' are in finite experience; finite experience as such is homeless. Nothing outside of the flux secures the issue of it. It can hope salvation only from its own intrinsic promises and potencies.

For pluralistic pragmatism, truth grows within all finite experiences. These experiences depend on one another. But all of them together, if they form a whole, depend on nothing. All 'homes' are within finite experience. Finite experience itself is homeless. Nothing outside the flow of experience guarantees how it will turn out. It can hope for salvation only from its own inherent promises and possibilities.

To rationalists this describes a tramp and vagrant world, adrift in space, with neither elephant nor tortoise to plant the sole of its foot upon. It is a set of stars hurled into heaven without even a centre of gravity to pull against. In other spheres of life it is true that we have got used to living in a state of relative insecurity. The authority of 'the State,' and that of an absolute 'moral law,' have resolved themselves into expediencies, and holy church has resolved itself into 'meeting-houses.' Not so as yet within the philosophic class-rooms. A universe with such as US contributing to create its truth, a world delivered to OUR opportunisms and OUR private judgments! Home-rule for Ireland would be a millennium in comparison. We're no more fit for such a part than the Filipinos are 'fit for self-government.' Such a world would not be RESPECTABLE, philosophically. It is a trunk without a tag, a dog without a collar, in the eyes of most professors of philosophy.

To rationalists, this describes a homeless, wandering world, adrift in space, with no elephant or tortoise to stand on. It is a collection of stars flung into the sky without even a center of gravity to pull against. In other areas of life, it is true, we have grown used to living with some insecurity. The authority of 'the State' and of an absolute 'moral law' has given way to practical choices. Holy church has given way to 'meeting-houses.' But not yet in philosophy classrooms. A universe in which people like US help create its truth! A world left to OUR opportunism and OUR private judgments! Home-rule for Ireland would be a millennium by comparison. We are no more fit for such a role than Filipinos are 'fit for self-government.' Such a world would not be philosophically RESPECTABLE. In the eyes of most philosophy professors, it is a trunk without a tag, a dog without a collar.

What then would tighten this loose universe, according to the professors?

So, according to the professors, what would tighten this loose universe?

Something to support the finite many, to tie it to, to unify and anchor it. Something unexposed to accident, something eternal and unalterable. The mutable in experience must be founded on immutability. Behind our de facto world, our world in act, there must be a de jure duplicate fixed and previous, with all that can happen here already there in posse, every drop of blood, every smallest item, appointed and provided, stamped and branded, without chance of variation. The negatives that haunt our ideals here below must be themselves negated in the absolutely Real. This alone makes the universe solid. This is the resting deep. We live upon the stormy surface; but with this our anchor holds, for it grapples rocky bottom. This is Wordsworth's "central peace subsisting at the heart of endless agitation." This is Vivekananda's mystical One of which I read to you. This is Reality with the big R, reality that makes the timeless claim, reality to which defeat can't happen. This is what the men of principles, and in general all the men whom I called tender-minded in my first lecture, think themselves obliged to postulate.

Something must support the many finite things, bind them together, unify them, and anchor them. It must be safe from chance, eternal and unchanging. What changes in our experience must rest on something unchanging. Behind our actual world, the world as it exists, there must be an ideal duplicate, fixed and existing beforehand. Everything that can happen here must already be possible there. Every drop of blood, every smallest detail, must be predetermined and provided for, stamped and branded, with no chance of change. The things that undermine our ideals here on earth must themselves be overcome in the absolutely Real. Only this makes the universe solid. This is the still depth. We live on the stormy surface, but our anchor holds because it grips the rocky bottom. This is Wordsworth's "central peace subsisting at the heart of endless agitation." This is Vivekananda's mystical One, which I read to you. This is Reality with a capital R, reality that makes a timeless claim, reality that cannot be defeated. This is what men of principle, and generally all those I called tender-minded in my first lecture, think they must assume.

And this, exactly this, is what the tough-minded of that lecture find themselves moved to call a piece of perverse abstraction-worship. The tough-minded are the men whose alpha and omega are FACTS. Behind the bare phenomenal facts, as my tough-minded old friend Chauncey Wright, the great Harvard empiricist of my youth, used to say, there is NOTHING. When a rationalist insists that behind the facts there is the GROUND of the facts, the POSSIBILITY of the facts, the tougher empiricists accuse him of taking the mere name and nature of a fact and clapping it behind the fact as a duplicate entity to make it possible. That such sham grounds are often invoked is notorious. At a surgical operation I heard a bystander ask a doctor why the patient breathed so deeply. "Because ether is a respiratory stimulant," the doctor answered. "Ah!" said the questioner, as if relieved by the explanation. But this is like saying that cyanide of potassium kills because it is a 'poison,' or that it is so cold to-night because it is 'winter,' or that we have five fingers because we are 'pentadactyls.' These are but names for the facts, taken from the facts, and then treated as previous and explanatory. The tender-minded notion of an absolute reality is, according to the radically tough-minded, framed on just this pattern. It is but our summarizing name for the whole spread-out and strung-along mass of phenomena, treated as if it were a different entity, both one and previous.

And this, exactly this, is what the tough-minded people from that lecture call a kind of perverse worship of abstractions. For the tough-minded, FACTS are the beginning and end of everything. Behind the bare facts of experience, there is NOTHING. So my tough-minded old friend Chauncey Wright used to say. He was the great Harvard empiricist of my youth. A rationalist insists that behind the facts there is their GROUND, what makes them POSSIBLE. The tougher empiricists accuse the rationalist of merely taking a fact’s name and nature and placing them behind it. They say he treats them as a duplicate entity that makes the fact possible. Such false grounds are often invoked, as everyone knows. At a surgical operation, I heard a bystander ask a doctor why the patient was breathing so deeply. "Because ether is a respiratory stimulant," the doctor answered. "Ah!" said the questioner, as if relieved by the explanation. But this is like saying that potassium cyanide kills because it is a 'poison.' Or that it is so cold tonight because it is 'winter.' Or that we have five fingers because we are 'pentadactyls.' These are merely names drawn from the facts themselves. The names are then treated as if they came before the facts and explained them. According to the radically tough-minded, the tender-minded idea of an absolute reality follows exactly this pattern. Absolute reality is merely our name for the whole mass of phenomena, spread out in space and strung along in time. But the name is treated as if it were a separate entity, both unified and prior to the phenomena.

You see how differently people take things. The world we live in exists diffused and distributed, in the form of an indefinitely numerous lot of eaches, coherent in all sorts of ways and degrees; and the tough-minded are perfectly willing to keep them at that valuation. They can stand that kind of world, their temper being well adapted to its insecurity. Not so the tender-minded party. They must back the world we find ourselves born into by "another and a better" world in which the eaches form an All and the All a One that logically presupposes, co-implicates, and secures each EACH without exception.

You can see how differently people understand things. The world we live in is spread out among an endless number of individual things. These things fit together in all sorts of ways and to different degrees. Tough-minded people are perfectly willing to see them that way. They can accept that kind of world because their temperament suits its insecurity. Tender-minded people cannot. They need to support the world we are born into with "another and a better" world. In that world, the individual things form an All, and the All forms a One. This One logically presupposes, implies, and secures every single thing without exception.

Must we as pragmatists be radically tough-minded? or can we treat the absolute edition of the world as a legitimate hypothesis? It is certainly legitimate, for it is thinkable, whether we take it in its abstract or in its concrete shape.

Must we pragmatists be completely tough-minded? Or can we treat the absolute version of the world as a valid hypothesis? It is certainly valid because we can conceive of it, whether in abstract or concrete form.

By taking it abstractly I mean placing it behind our finite life as we place the word 'winter' behind to-night's cold weather. 'Winter' is only the name for a certain number of days which we find generally characterized by cold weather, but it guarantees nothing in that line, for our thermometer to-morrow may soar into the 70's. Nevertheless the word is a useful one to plunge forward with into the stream of our experience. It cuts off certain probabilities and sets up others: you can put away your straw-hats; you can unpack your arctics. It is a summary of things to look for. It names a part of nature's habits, and gets you ready for their continuation. It is a definite instrument abstracted from experience, a conceptual reality that you must take account of, and which reflects you totally back into sensible realities. The pragmatist is the last person to deny the reality of such abstractions. They are so much past experience funded.

By taking it abstractly, I mean placing it behind our finite life, as we place the word 'winter' behind tonight's cold weather. 'Winter' is only the name for a number of days that we find are generally cold. But it guarantees no such weather, because the thermometer may climb into the 70s tomorrow. Nevertheless, the word is useful as we plunge forward into the stream of experience. It rules out certain probabilities and raises others: you can put away your straw hats, and you can unpack your arctics, your waterproof overshoes. The word sums up what to expect. It names part of nature's habits and prepares you for those habits to continue. It is a definite tool drawn from experience, a conceptual reality you must take into account. It directs you entirely back to the realities you can perceive. The pragmatist is the last person to deny that such abstractions are real. They are a store of past experience.

But taking the absolute edition of the world concretely means a different hypothesis. Rationalists take it concretely and OPPOSE it to the world's finite editions. They give it a particular nature. It is perfect, finished. Everything known there is known along with everything else; here, where ignorance reigns, far otherwise. If there is want there, there also is the satisfaction provided. Here all is process; that world is timeless. Possibilities obtain in our world; in the absolute world, where all that is NOT is from eternity impossible, and all that IS is necessary, the category of possibility has no application. In this world crimes and horrors are regrettable. In that totalized world regret obtains not, for "the existence of ill in the temporal order is the very condition of the perfection of the eternal order."

But treating the absolute version of the world as concrete means a different hypothesis. Rationalists treat it as concrete and contrast it with the finite versions of the world. They give the absolute world a particular nature. It is perfect and complete. Everything known in the absolute world is known together with everything else. Here, where ignorance reigns, things are very different. If there is a need in the absolute world, it is also met there. Here, everything is in process. That world is timeless. Possibilities exist in our world. But the category of possibility does not apply in the absolute world. There, everything that does not exist is eternally impossible, and everything that exists is necessary. In this world, crimes and horrors are regrettable. In that world taken as a whole, there is no regret. For "the existence of ill in the temporal order is the very condition of the perfection of the eternal order."

Once more, either hypothesis is legitimate in pragmatist eyes, for either has its uses. Abstractly, or taken like the word winter, as a memorandum of past experience that orients us towards the future, the notion of the absolute world is indispensable. Concretely taken, it is also indispensable, at least to certain minds, for it determines them religiously, being often a thing to change their lives by, and by changing their lives, to change whatever in the outer order depends on them.

Once again, pragmatists consider either hypothesis valid because both have their uses. Taken abstractly, the idea of the absolute world is indispensable. Like the word winter, it sums up past experience and guides us toward the future. Taken concretely, the idea is also indispensable, at least to certain minds. It shapes their religious outlook and often changes their lives. By changing their lives, it also changes whatever in the outside world depends on them.

We cannot therefore methodically join the tough minds in their rejection of the whole notion of a world beyond our finite experience. One misunderstanding of pragmatism is to identify it with positivistic tough-mindedness, to suppose that it scorns every rationalistic notion as so much jabber and gesticulation, that it loves intellectual anarchy as such and prefers a sort of wolf-world absolutely unpent and wild and without a master or a collar to any philosophic class-room product, whatsoever. I have said so much in these lectures against the over-tender forms of rationalism, that I am prepared for some misunderstanding here, but I confess that the amount of it that I have found in this very audience surprises me, for I have simultaneously defended rationalistic hypotheses so far as these re-direct you fruitfully into experience.

So we cannot simply follow the tough-minded in rejecting the whole idea of a world beyond our limited experience. One misunderstanding is to equate pragmatism with a tough-minded positivism. On this view, pragmatism scorns every rationalist idea as mere babbling and gesturing. It supposedly loves intellectual anarchy for its own sake. It prefers a kind of wolf-world, absolutely free and wild, without a master or a collar, to any product of the philosophy classroom, whatever it may be. I have said so much against overly tender forms of rationalism in these lectures that I expected some misunderstanding. But I confess that the amount of misunderstanding I have found in this very audience surprises me. For at the same time, I have defended rationalist hypotheses insofar as they redirect you fruitfully into experience.

For instance I receive this morning this question on a post-card: "Is a pragmatist necessarily a complete materialist and agnostic?" One of my oldest friends, who ought to know me better, writes me a letter that accuses the pragmatism I am recommending, of shutting out all wider metaphysical views and condemning us to the most terre-a-terre naturalism. Let me read you some extracts from it.

For example, this morning I received a question on a postcard: "Is a pragmatist necessarily a complete materialist and agnostic?" One of my oldest friends, who ought to know me better, wrote me a letter. He accuses the pragmatism I recommend of shutting out all broader metaphysical views and condemning us to the most down-to-earth naturalism. Let me read you some extracts from his letter.

"It seems to me," my friend writes, "that the pragmatic objection to pragmatism lies in the fact that it might accentuate the narrowness of narrow minds.

"It seems to me," my friend writes, "that the practical objection to pragmatism is that it might make narrow-minded people even narrower.

"Your call to the rejection of the namby-pamby and the wishy-washy is of course inspiring. But although it is salutary and stimulating to be told that one should be responsible for the immediate issues and bearings of his words and thoughts, I decline to be deprived of the pleasure and profit of dwelling also on remoter bearings and issues, and it is the TENDENCY of pragmatism to refuse this privilege.

"Your call to reject the weak and wishy-washy is, of course, inspiring. It is healthy and stimulating to be told to take responsibility for the immediate implications and consequences of one's words and thoughts. But I refuse to give up the pleasure and benefit of considering more distant implications and consequences as well. Pragmatism TENDS to deny us that privilege.

"In short, it seems to me that the limitations, or rather the dangers, of the pragmatic tendency, are analogous to those which beset the unwary followers of the 'natural sciences.' Chemistry and physics are eminently pragmatic and many of their devotees, smugly content with the data that their weights and measures furnish, feel an infinite pity and disdain for all students of philosophy and meta-physics, whomsoever. And of course everything can be expressed—after a fashion, and 'theoretically'—in terms of chemistry and physics, that is, EVERYTHING EXCEPT THE VITAL PRINCIPLE OF THE WHOLE, and that, they say, there is no pragmatic use in trying to express; it has no bearings—FOR THEM. I for my part refuse to be persuaded that we cannot look beyond the obvious pluralism of the naturalist and the pragmatist to a logical unity in which they take no interest."

"In short, the limits, or rather the dangers, of pragmatism seem to me similar to those facing unwary followers of the 'natural sciences.' Chemistry and physics are highly pragmatic. Many of their followers are smugly satisfied with the data supplied by their weights and measures. They feel boundless pity and disdain for all students of philosophy and metaphysics, whoever they may be. And of course everything can be expressed, in a way and 'theoretically,' in terms of chemistry and physics. That is, EVERYTHING EXCEPT THE VITAL PRINCIPLE OF THE WHOLE. They say there is no practical use in trying to express that principle. It has no bearing on anything, FOR THEM. For my part, I refuse to believe that we cannot look beyond the obvious pluralism of the naturalist and the pragmatist. We can look to a logical unity that does not interest them."

How is such a conception of the pragmatism I am advocating possible, after my first and second lectures? I have all along been offering it expressly as a mediator between tough-mindedness and tender-mindedness. If the notion of a world ante rem, whether taken abstractly like the word winter, or concretely as the hypothesis of an Absolute, can be shown to have any consequences whatever for our life, it has a meaning. If the meaning works, it will have SOME truth that ought to be held to through all possible reformulations, for pragmatism.

How is such a conception of the pragmatism I advocate possible, after my first and second lectures? All along, I have presented pragmatism as a mediator between tough-mindedness and tender-mindedness. The idea of a world ante rem can be understood abstractly, like the word winter. Or it can be understood concretely, as the hypothesis of an Absolute. Either way, if this idea can be shown to have any consequences for our lives, it has meaning. If that meaning works, then for pragmatism it will have SOME truth. That truth should be preserved through all possible reformulations.

The absolutistic hypothesis, that perfection is eternal, aboriginal, and most real, has a perfectly definite meaning, and it works religiously. To examine how, will be the subject of my next and final lecture.

The absolutist hypothesis says that perfection is eternal, exists from the beginning, and is most real. This hypothesis has a clear meaning, and it works in religious life. In my next and final lecture, I will examine how it works.