Pragmatism and Religion

At the close of the last lecture I reminded you of the first one, in which I had opposed tough-mindedness to tender-mindedness and recommended pragmatism as their mediator. Tough-mindedness positively rejects tender-mindedness's hypothesis of an eternal perfect edition of the universe coexisting with our finite experience.

At the end of the last lecture, I reminded you of the first. In that lecture, I contrasted tough-mindedness with tender-mindedness and recommended pragmatism as a mediator between them. Tough-mindedness firmly rejects the tender-minded view that an eternal, perfect version of the universe exists alongside our finite experience.

On pragmatic principles we cannot reject any hypothesis if consequences useful to life flow from it. Universal conceptions, as things to take account of, may be as real for pragmatism as particular sensations are. They have indeed no meaning and no reality if they have no use. But if they have any use they have that amount of meaning. And the meaning will be true if the use squares well with life's other uses.

By pragmatic principles, we cannot reject any hypothesis if it has consequences useful to life. For pragmatism, universal concepts may be just as real as particular sensations and worth taking into account. Indeed, universal concepts have no meaning or reality if they have no use. But if they have any use, they have that much meaning. And their meaning will be true if their use fits well with the other uses in life.

Well, the use of the Absolute is proved by the whole course of men's religious history. The eternal arms are then beneath. Remember Vivekananda's use of the Atman: it is indeed not a scientific use, for we can make no particular deductions from it. It is emotional and spiritual altogether.

Well, the whole course of human religious history proves the usefulness of the Absolute. The eternal arms are then beneath us. Remember how Vivekananda uses the Atman. This is not a scientific use, because we cannot draw any particular conclusions from it. It is entirely emotional and spiritual.

It is always best to discuss things by the help of concrete examples. Let me read therefore some of those verses entitled "To You" by Walt Whitman—"You" of course meaning the reader or hearer of the poem whosoever he or she may be.

It is always best to discuss things using concrete examples. So let me read some verses from "To You" by Walt Whitman. "You" of course means whoever is reading or listening to the poem.

Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem; I whisper with my lips close to your ear, I have loved many women and men, but I love none better than you.

Whoever you are, I now place my hand on you so that you may be my poem. I whisper close to your ear: I have loved many women and men, but I love no one more than you.

O I have been dilatory and dumb; I should have made my way straight to you long ago; I should have blabb'd nothing but you, I should have chanted nothing but you.

Oh, I have been slow and silent. I should have come straight to you long ago. I should have talked about nothing but you. I should have sung of nothing but you.

I will leave all, and come and make the hymns of you; None have understood you, but I understand you; None have done justice to you—you have not done justice to yourself; None but have found you imperfect—I only find no imperfection in you.

I will leave everything and come write hymns about you. No one has understood you, but I understand you. No one has done you justice. You have not done yourself justice. Everyone else has found you imperfect. I alone find no imperfection in you.

O I could sing such grandeurs and glories about you! You have not known what you are—you have slumber'd upon yourself all your life; What you have done returns already in mockeries.

Oh, I could sing of such greatness and glory in you! You have not known what you are. You have slept through your own life. What you have done already comes back to mock you.

But the mockeries are not you; Underneath them, and within them, I see you lurk; I pursue you where none else has pursued you; Silence, the desk, the flippant expression, the night, the accustom'd routine, if these conceal you from others, or from yourself, they do not conceal you from me; The shaved face, the unsteady eye, the impure complexion, if these balk others, they do not balk me, The pert apparel, the deform'd attitude, drunkenness, greed, premature death, all these I part aside.

But the things that mock you are not you. Beneath and within them, I see you hiding. I pursue you where no one else has pursued you. Silence, the desk, the flippant expression, the night, the familiar routine may hide you from others or from yourself. But they do not hide you from me. The shaved face, the unsteady eye, the unhealthy complexion may put others off. But they do not put me off. The showy clothes, the distorted posture, drunkenness, greed, premature death. I push all these aside.

There is no endowment in man or woman that is not tallied in you; There is no virtue, no beauty, in man or woman, but as good is in you; No pluck, no endurance in others, but as good is in you; No pleasure waiting for others, but an equal pleasure waits for you.

Every gift found in any man or woman is also found in you. Every virtue and every beauty found in anyone is matched in you. Whatever courage or endurance others have, you have just as much. Whatever pleasure awaits others, an equal pleasure awaits you.

Whoever you are! claim your own at any hazard! These shows of the east and west are tame, compared to you; These immense meadows—these interminable rivers—you are immense and interminable as they; You are he or she who is master or mistress over them, Master or mistress in your own right over Nature, elements, pain, passion, dissolution.

Whoever you are, claim what is yours, whatever the risk! The sights of east and west are tame compared with you. These vast meadows and endless rivers are immense and endless, and so are you. You are their master or mistress. In your own right, you are master or mistress over Nature, the elements, pain, passion, and dissolution.

The hopples fall from your ankles—you find an unfailing sufficiency; Old or young, male or female, rude, low, rejected by the rest, whatever you are promulges itself; Through birth, life, death, burial, the means are provided, nothing is scanted; Through angers, losses, ambition, ignorance, ennui, what you are picks its way.

The shackles fall from your ankles. You find that there is always enough. Old or young, male or female, rough, lowly, or rejected by everyone else, whatever you are makes itself known. Through birth, life, death, and burial, everything needed is provided. Nothing is lacking. Through anger, losses, ambition, ignorance, and boredom, what you are finds its way.

Verily a fine and moving poem, in any case, but there are two ways of taking it, both useful.

In any case, it is indeed a beautiful and moving poem, but there are two ways to interpret it. Both are useful.

One is the monistic way, the mystical way of pure cosmic emotion. The glories and grandeurs, they are yours absolutely, even in the midst of your defacements. Whatever may happen to you, whatever you may appear to be, inwardly you are safe. Look back, LIE back, on your true principle of being! This is the famous way of quietism, of indifferentism. Its enemies compare it to a spiritual opium. Yet pragmatism must respect this way, for it has massive historic vindication.

One is the monistic way, the mystical way of pure cosmic emotion. All the glory and grandeur are yours, even when you are disfigured. Whatever may happen to you, and whatever you may seem to be, you are safe within. Look back, LIE back, on the true foundation of your being! This is the famous way of quietism, of indifference. Its enemies compare it to a spiritual opium. Yet pragmatism must respect this way, because history has powerfully vindicated it.

But pragmatism sees another way to be respected also, the pluralistic way of interpreting the poem. The you so glorified, to which the hymn is sung, may mean your better possibilities phenomenally taken, or the specific redemptive effects even of your failures, upon yourself or others. It may mean your loyalty to the possibilities of others whom you admire and love so, that you are willing to accept your own poor life, for it is that glory's partner. You can at least appreciate, applaud, furnish the audience, of so brave a total world. Forget the low in yourself, then, think only of the high. Identify your life therewith; then, through angers, losses, ignorance, ennui, whatever you thus make yourself, whatever you thus most deeply are, picks its way.

But pragmatism sees another way to respect the poem: the pluralistic way of interpreting it. The “you” so glorified, to whom the hymn is sung, may mean your better possibilities as they appear in experience. Or it may mean the specific redeeming effects of even your failures on yourself or others. It may mean your loyalty to the possibilities of others whom you admire and love so much that you are willing to accept your own poor life, because it shares in their glory. At least you can appreciate and applaud so brave a world as a whole. You can be its audience. So forget what is low in yourself and think only of what is high. Identify your life with what is high. Then, through anger, loss, ignorance, boredom, whatever you make yourself in this way, whatever you most deeply are, picks its way forward.

In either way of taking the poem, it encourages fidelity to ourselves. Both ways satisfy; both sanctify the human flux. Both paint the portrait of the YOU on a gold-background. But the background of the first way is the static One, while in the second way it means possibles in the plural, genuine possibles, and it has all the restlessness of that conception.

Either way of reading the poem encourages us to be true to ourselves. Both ways satisfy us. Both make the constant flow of human life sacred. Both paint a portrait of YOU against a gold background. But in the first reading, the background is the unchanging One. In the second, it represents possibilities, genuine possibilities, and has all the restlessness of that idea.

Noble enough is either way of reading the poem; but plainly the pluralistic way agrees with the pragmatic temper best, for it immediately suggests an infinitely larger number of the details of future experience to our mind. It sets definite activities in us at work. Altho this second way seems prosaic and earthborn in comparison with the first way, yet no one can accuse it of tough-mindedness in any brutal sense of the term. Yet if, as pragmatists, you should positively set up the second way AGAINST the first way, you would very likely be misunderstood. You would be accused of denying nobler conceptions, and of being an ally of tough-mindedness in the worst sense.

Either way of reading the poem is noble enough. But the pluralistic way clearly suits the pragmatic outlook best. It immediately brings to mind an infinitely larger number of details of future experience. It prompts us to undertake specific activities. This second way seems ordinary and rooted in everyday life compared with the first. Yet no one can accuse it of being tough-minded in any brutal sense. But if you, as pragmatists, were to set the second way AGAINST the first, you would very likely be misunderstood. You would be accused of rejecting nobler ideas and supporting tough-mindedness in its worst sense.

You remember the letter from a member of this audience from which I read some extracts at our previous meeting. Let me read you an additional extract now. It shows a vagueness in realizing the alternatives before us which I think is very widespread.

You remember the letter from an audience member that I read excerpts from at our last meeting. Let me read another excerpt now. It shows a lack of clarity about the alternatives before us, which I think is very widespread.

"I believe," writes my friend and correspondent, "in pluralism; I believe that in our search for truth we leap from one floating cake of ice to another, on an infinite sea, and that by each of our acts we make new truths possible and old ones impossible; I believe that each man is responsible for making the universe better, and that if he does not do this it will be in so far left undone.

“I believe in pluralism,” writes my friend and correspondent. “In our search for truth, we leap from one floating sheet of ice to another on an infinite sea. With each act, we make new truths possible and old ones impossible. I believe each person is responsible for making the universe better. If someone does not do this, the universe will be that much less improved.

"Yet at the same time I am willing to endure that my children should be incurably sick and suffering (as they are not) and I myself stupid and yet with brains enough to see my stupidity, only on one condition, namely, that through the construction, in imagination and by reasoning, of a RATIONAL UNITY OF ALL THINGS, I can conceive my acts and my thoughts and my troubles as SUPPLEMENTED: BY ALL THE OTHER PHENOMENA OF THE WORLD, AND AS FORMING—WHEN THUS SUPPLEMENTED—A SCHEME WHICH I APPROVE AND ADOPT AS MY I OWN; and for my part I refuse to be persuaded that we cannot look beyond the obvious pluralism of the naturalist and pragmatist to a logical unity in which they take no interest or stock."

"Yet at the same time, I am willing to endure my children being incurably sick and suffering (which they are not). I am also willing to endure being stupid myself, yet having enough intelligence to recognize my stupidity. But I am willing to endure these things only on one condition. Through imagination and reasoning, I must be able to construct a RATIONAL UNITY OF ALL THINGS. Then I must be able to conceive of my acts, thoughts, and troubles as SUPPLEMENTED BY ALL THE OTHER PHENOMENA OF THE WORLD. With that supplement, they must form a scheme that I APPROVE AND ADOPT AS MY OWN. For my part, I refuse to believe that we cannot look beyond the obvious pluralism of the naturalist and pragmatist. We can look toward a logical unity in which they have no interest or belief."

Such a fine expression of personal faith warms the heart of the hearer. But how much does it clear his philosophic head? Does the writer consistently favor the monistic, or the pluralistic, interpretation of the world's poem? His troubles become atoned for WHEN THUS SUPPLEMENTED, he says, supplemented, that is, by all the remedies that THE OTHER PHENOMENA may supply. Obviously here the writer faces forward into the particulars of experience, which he interprets in a pluralistic-melioristic way.

Such a beautiful expression of personal faith warms the listener’s heart. But how much does it clarify the listener’s philosophical thinking? Does the writer consistently favor a monistic or a pluralistic interpretation of the world’s poem? He says his troubles are made up for WHEN SUPPLEMENTED IN THIS WAY. He means supplemented by all the remedies that OTHER PHENOMENA may provide. Clearly, the writer is looking ahead to the details of experience. He interprets them in a pluralistic and melioristic way.

But he believes himself to face backward. He speaks of what he calls the rational UNITY of things, when all the while he really means their possible empirical UNIFICATION. He supposes at the same time that the pragmatist, because he criticizes rationalism's abstract One, is cut off from the consolation of believing in the saving possibilities of the concrete many. He fails in short to distinguish between taking the world's perfection as a necessary principle, and taking it only as a possible terminus ad quem.

But he believes he is looking backward. He speaks of what he calls the rational UNITY of things. Yet he really means that things might be empirically UNIFIED. At the same time, he thinks the pragmatist cannot find comfort in believing the concrete many might be saved. He thinks this because the pragmatist criticizes rationalism's abstract One. In short, he fails to distinguish between treating the world's perfection as a necessary principle and treating it as only a possible final goal.

I regard the writer of this letter as a genuine pragmatist, but as a pragmatist sans le savoir. He appears to me as one of that numerous class of philosophic amateurs whom I spoke of in my first lecture, as wishing to have all the good things going, without being too careful as to how they agree or disagree. "Rational unity of all things" is so inspiring a formula, that he brandishes it offhand, and abstractly accuses pluralism of conflicting with it (for the bare names do conflict), altho concretely he means by it just the pragmatistically unified and ameliorated world. Most of us remain in this essential vagueness, and it is well that we should; but in the interest of clear-headedness it is well that some of us should go farther, so I will try now to focus a little more discriminatingly on this particular religious point.

I see the writer of this letter as a genuine pragmatist, though he does not know it. He seems to belong to the large group of amateur philosophers I mentioned in my first lecture. They want all the good things available, without worrying too much about how they agree or disagree. The phrase "Rational unity of all things" is so inspiring that he waves it about without much thought. He accuses pluralism of conflicting with rational unity in the abstract. The bare names do conflict. Yet in concrete terms, he means just the kind of unified and improved world that pragmatism envisions. Most of us remain essentially vague about this, and it is good that we do. But for the sake of clear thinking, it is good that some of us go further. So I will now try to look more closely at this particular religious question.

Is then this you of yous, this absolutely real world, this unity that yields the moral inspiration and has the religious value, to be taken monistically or pluralistically? Is it ante rem or in rebus? Is it a principle or an end, an absolute or an ultimate, a first or a last? Does it make you look forward or lie back? It is certainly worth while not to clump the two things together, for if discriminated, they have decidedly diverse meanings for life.

So should we understand this you of yous, this absolutely real world, as one or as many? It is the unity that gives us moral inspiration and has religious value. Does it exist before things (ante rem) or in things (in rebus)? Is it a principle or an end, an absolute or an ultimate, a first or a last? Does it make you look forward or lean back? It is certainly worth keeping these two views separate. For when we distinguish them, they have very different meanings for life.

Please observe that the whole dilemma revolves pragmatically about the notion of the world's possibilities. Intellectually, rationalism invokes its absolute principle of unity as a ground of possibility for the many facts. Emotionally, it sees it as a container and limiter of possibilities, a guarantee that the upshot shall be good. Taken in this way, the absolute makes all good things certain, and all bad things impossible (in the eternal, namely), and may be said to transmute the entire category of possibility into categories more secure. One sees at this point that the great religious difference lies between the men who insist that the world MUST AND SHALL BE, and those who are contented with believing that the world MAY BE, saved. The whole clash of rationalistic and empiricist religion is thus over the validity of possibility. It is necessary therefore to begin by focusing upon that word. What may the word 'possible' definitely mean?

Notice that the whole dilemma centers on the world's possibilities and their practical consequences. Intellectually, rationalism appeals to its absolute principle of unity as the basis that makes the many facts possible. Emotionally, rationalism sees that principle as containing and limiting possibilities. It guarantees that the outcome will be good. Seen this way, the absolute makes all good things certain and all bad things impossible, in eternity, that is. It may be said to turn the whole category of possibility into more secure categories. At this point, we can see the great religious difference. Some people insist that the world MUST AND SHALL BE saved. Others are content to believe that the world MAY BE saved. The whole conflict between rationalist and empiricist religion is therefore about whether possibility is valid. So we must begin by focusing on that word. What exactly can 'possible' mean?

To unreflecting men the possible means a sort of third estate of being, less real than existence, more real than non-existence, a twilight realm, a hybrid status, a limbo into which and out of which realities ever and anon are made to pass. Such a conception is of course too vague and nondescript to satisfy us. Here, as elsewhere, the only way to extract a term's meaning is to use the pragmatic method on it. When you say that a thing is possible, what difference does it make?

To people who do not think carefully, the possible is a kind of third state of being. It is less real than existence but more real than nonexistence. It is a twilight realm, a mixed state, a limbo that real things occasionally pass into and out of. Of course, this idea is too vague and ill-defined to satisfy us. Here, as elsewhere, the only way to uncover the meaning of a term is to apply the pragmatic method to it. When you say that something is possible, what difference does it make?

It makes at least this difference that if anyone calls it impossible you can contradict him, if anyone calls it actual you can contradict HIM, and if anyone calls it necessary you can contradict him too. But these privileges of contradiction don't amount to much. When you say a thing is possible, does not that make some farther difference in terms of actual fact?

At least it makes this difference: if anyone calls it impossible, you can disagree. If anyone calls it actual, you can disagree with them too. And if anyone calls it necessary, you can disagree with them as well. But these chances to disagree don't amount to much. When you say something is possible, doesn't that make some further difference to the actual facts?

It makes at least this negative difference that if the statement be true, it follows that there is nothing extant capable of preventing the possible thing. The absence of real grounds of interference may thus be said to make things not impossible, possible therefore in the bare or abstract sense.

It makes at least this negative difference: if the statement is true, nothing exists that can prevent the possible thing. The absence of real grounds for interference may thus be said to make things possible, rather than impossible, in the bare or abstract sense.

But most possibles are not bare, they are concretely grounded, or well-grounded, as we say. What does this mean pragmatically? It means, not only that there are no preventive conditions present, but that some of the conditions of production of the possible thing actually are here. Thus a concretely possible chicken means: (1) that the idea of chicken contains no essential self-contradiction; (2) that no boys, skunks, or other enemies are about; and (3) that at least an actual egg exists. Possible chicken means actual egg—plus actual sitting hen, or incubator, or what not. As the actual conditions approach completeness the chicken becomes a better-and-better-grounded possibility. When the conditions are entirely complete, it ceases to be a possibility, and turns into an actual fact.

But most possibilities are not bare. They are concretely grounded, or well-grounded, as we say. What does this mean in practical terms? It means not only that nothing is present to prevent the possible thing from happening. It also means that some of the conditions needed to produce it are already present. Thus, a concretely possible chicken means: (1) that the idea of a chicken contains no essential contradiction, (2) that no boys, skunks, or other enemies are nearby, and (3) that at least an actual egg exists. A possible chicken means an actual egg, plus an actual hen sitting on it, or an incubator, or something similar. As the actual conditions come closer to being complete, the chicken becomes a better and better grounded possibility. When all the conditions are present, the chicken ceases to be a possibility and becomes an actual fact.

Let us apply this notion to the salvation of the world. What does it pragmatically mean to say that this is possible? It means that some of the conditions of the world's deliverance do actually exist. The more of them there are existent, the fewer preventing conditions you can find, the better-grounded is the salvation's possibility, the more PROBABLE does the fact of the deliverance become.

Let us apply this idea to the salvation of the world. In practical terms, what does it mean to say that the world can be saved? It means that some of the conditions needed to save the world actually exist. The more of these conditions exist, and the fewer obstacles there are, the better the grounds for believing salvation is possible. And the more PROBABLE it becomes that the world will be saved.

So much for our preliminary look at possibility.

That concludes our first look at possibility.

Now it would contradict the very spirit of life to say that our minds must be indifferent and neutral in questions like that of the world's salvation. Anyone who pretends to be neutral writes himself down here as a fool and a sham. We all do wish to minimize the insecurity of the universe; we are and ought to be unhappy when we regard it as exposed to every enemy and open to every life-destroying draft. Nevertheless there are unhappy men who think the salvation of the world impossible. Theirs is the doctrine known as pessimism.

It would go against the very spirit of life to say that we must be indifferent and neutral about questions like the world's salvation. Anyone who claims to be neutral on such a question shows himself to be a fool and a fraud. We all want to make the universe less insecure. We are, and should be, unhappy when we see the universe as exposed to every enemy and every life-destroying draft. Nevertheless, some unhappy people think that saving the world is impossible. Their view is known as pessimism.

Optimism in turn would be the doctrine that thinks the world's salvation inevitable.

Optimism, in turn, is the belief that the world's salvation is inevitable.

Midway between the two there stands what may be called the doctrine of meliorism, tho it has hitherto figured less as a doctrine than as an attitude in human affairs. Optimism has always been the regnant DOCTRINE in european philosophy. Pessimism was only recently introduced by Schopenhauer and counts few systematic defenders as yet. Meliorism treats salvation as neither inevitable nor impossible. It treats it as a possibility, which becomes more and more of a probability the more numerous the actual conditions of salvation become.

Between the two stands what may be called the doctrine of meliorism. Until now, though, meliorism has been more an attitude toward human affairs than a doctrine. Optimism has always been the dominant DOCTRINE in European philosophy. Pessimism was introduced only recently by Schopenhauer, and it still has few systematic defenders. Meliorism holds that salvation is neither inevitable nor impossible. It holds that salvation is possible. The more conditions for salvation are actually present, the more likely salvation becomes.

It is clear that pragmatism must incline towards meliorism. Some conditions of the world's salvation are actually extant, and she cannot possibly close her eyes to this fact: and should the residual conditions come, salvation would become an accomplished reality. Naturally the terms I use here are exceedingly summary. You may interpret the word 'salvation' in any way you like, and make it as diffuse and distributive, or as climacteric and integral a phenomenon as you please.

Clearly, pragmatism must lean toward meliorism. Some conditions for the world's salvation already exist, and pragmatism cannot possibly ignore this fact. If the remaining conditions came about, salvation would become a reality. Naturally, the terms I use here are very broad. You may interpret 'salvation' however you like. You may see it as a gradual, widespread phenomenon or as a single, decisive event.

Take, for example, any one of us in this room with the ideals which he cherishes, and is willing to live and work for. Every such ideal realized will be one moment in the world's salvation. But these particular ideals are not bare abstract possibilities. They are grounded, they are LIVE possibilities, for we are their live champions and pledges, and if the complementary conditions come and add themselves, our ideals will become actual things. What now are the complementary conditions? They are first such a mixture of things as will in the fulness of time give us a chance, a gap that we can spring into, and, finally, OUR ACT.

Take any one of us in this room, with the ideals we cherish and are willing to live and work for. Each ideal that becomes real will be one moment in the world’s salvation. But these particular ideals are not merely abstract possibilities. They have a basis. They are LIVE possibilities, because we are living champions of them and a pledge that they can be realized. If the other necessary conditions come together, our ideals will become real. What are these other conditions? First, there must be a combination of circumstances that eventually gives us a chance, an opening we can jump into. Finally, there must be OUR ACTION.

Does our act then CREATE the world's salvation so far as it makes room for itself, so far as it leaps into the gap? Does it create, not the whole world's salvation of course, but just so much of this as itself covers of the world's extent?

Does our act then CREATE the world's salvation, to the extent that it makes room for itself and leaps into the gap? Does it create, of course, not the whole world's salvation, but only as much as the act covers of the world?

Here I take the bull by the horns, and in spite of the whole crew of rationalists and monists, of whatever brand they be, I ask WHY NOT? Our acts, our turning-places, where we seem to ourselves to make ourselves and grow, are the parts of the world to which we are closest, the parts of which our knowledge is the most intimate and complete. Why should we not take them at their face-value? Why may they not be the actual turning-places and growing-places which they seem to be, of the world—why not the workshop of being, where we catch fact in the making, so that nowhere may the world grow in any other kind of way than this?

Here I take the bull by the horns. Despite the whole crew of rationalists and monists, whatever their kind, I ask: WHY NOT? Our actions and our turning points are the parts of the world closest to us. At these points, we seem to ourselves to shape ourselves and grow. We know these parts of the world most intimately and completely. Why shouldn't we take them at face value? Why couldn't they be what they seem to be, the actual turning points and growing points of the world? Why couldn't they be the workshop of being, where we catch facts in the making? Could it be that the world grows nowhere in any other way?

Irrational! we are told. How can new being come in local spots and patches which add themselves or stay away at random, independently of the rest? There must be a reason for our acts, and where in the last resort can any reason be looked for save in the material pressure or the logical compulsion of the total nature of the world? There can be but one real agent of growth, or seeming growth, anywhere, and that agent is the integral world itself. It may grow all-over, if growth there be, but that single parts should grow per se is irrational.

“Irrational!” we are told. How can new things come into being in separate spots and patches, appearing or not appearing at random, independently of everything else? There must be a reason for our actions. And where else can we ultimately look for a reason except in the physical pressure or logical necessity of the world’s whole nature? There can be only one real source of growth, or what seems to be growth, anywhere. That source is the world as a whole. The world may grow as a whole, if there is any growth at all. But it is irrational to think that individual parts could grow on their own.

But if one talks of rationality and of reasons for things, and insists that they can't just come in spots, what KIND of a reason can there ultimately be why anything should come at all? Talk of logic and necessity and categories and the absolute and the contents of the whole philosophical machine-shop as you will, the only REAL reason I can think of why anything should ever come is that someone wishes it to be here. It is DEMANDED, demanded, it may be, to give relief to no matter how small a fraction of the world's mass. This is living reason, and compared with it material causes and logical necessities are spectral things.

But if we talk about rationality and reasons for things, we may insist that they cannot exist only here and there. If so, what KIND of reason could there ultimately be for anything to exist at all? Talk all you like about logic, necessity, categories, the absolute, and everything else in the philosophical machine shop. The only REAL reason I can think of for anything to exist is that someone wants it here. It is DEMANDED, perhaps to bring relief to even the smallest part of the world’s mass. This is living reason. Compared with it, material causes and logical necessities are ghostly things.

In short the only fully rational world would be the world of wishing-caps, the world of telepathy, where every desire is fulfilled instanter, without having to consider or placate surrounding or intermediate powers. This is the Absolute's own world. He calls upon the phenomenal world to be, and it IS, exactly as he calls for it, no other condition being required. In our world, the wishes of the individual are only one condition. Other individuals are there with other wishes and they must be propitiated first. So Being grows under all sorts of resistances in this world of the many, and, from compromise to compromise, only gets organized gradually into what may be called secondarily rational shape. We approach the wishing-cap type of organization only in a few departments of life. We want water and we turn a faucet. We want a kodak-picture and we press a button. We want information and we telephone. We want to travel and we buy a ticket. In these and similar cases, we hardly need to do more than the wishing—the world is rationally organized to do the rest.

In short, the only fully rational world would be a world of wishing caps and telepathy. Every desire would be fulfilled instantly, without having to consider or appease surrounding or intervening powers. This is the Absolute’s own world. He calls the phenomenal world into being, and it IS, exactly as he calls for it. Nothing else is required. In our world, an individual’s wishes are only one condition. Other individuals have other wishes, and they must be satisfied first. So Being grows against all kinds of resistance in this world of many individuals. Through one compromise after another, Being only gradually takes on what may be called a secondarily rational form. We approach the wishing-cap kind of organization in only a few areas of life. We want water, and we turn on a faucet. We want a Kodak picture, and we press a button. We want information, and we make a phone call. We want to travel, and we buy a ticket. In these and similar cases, we hardly need to do more than wish. The world is rationally organized to do the rest.

But this talk of rationality is a parenthesis and a digression. What we were discussing was the idea of a world growing not integrally but piecemeal by the contributions of its several parts. Take the hypothesis seriously and as a live one. Suppose that the world's author put the case to you before creation, saying: "I am going to make a world not certain to be saved, a world the perfection of which shall be conditional merely, the condition being that each several agent does its own 'level best.' I offer you the chance of taking part in such a world. Its safety, you see, is unwarranted. It is a real adventure, with real danger, yet it may win through. It is a social scheme of co-operative work genuinely to be done. Will you join the procession? Will you trust yourself and trust the other agents enough to face the risk?"

But this discussion of rationality is an aside and a digression. We were discussing the idea of a world growing piece by piece, not as a whole, through the contributions of its various parts. Take that possibility seriously, as something that could really be true. Suppose the world's creator asked you before creation: "I am going to make a world that is not certain to be saved. This world will become perfect only if each individual does their very best. I offer you the chance to take part in such a world. As you can see, its safety is not guaranteed. It is a real adventure, with real danger, yet it may succeed. It is a shared undertaking, with cooperative work that truly needs to be done. Will you join the procession? Will you trust yourself and the other participants enough to face the risk?"

Should you in all seriousness, if participation in such a world were proposed to you, feel bound to reject it as not safe enough? Would you say that, rather than be part and parcel of so fundamentally pluralistic and irrational a universe, you preferred to relapse into the slumber of nonentity from which you had been momentarily aroused by the tempter's voice?

If you were offered a chance to take part in such a world, would you seriously feel bound to reject it as too unsafe? Would you say that, rather than be part of such a fundamentally pluralistic and irrational universe, you preferred to return to the sleep of nonexistence from which the tempter's voice had briefly awakened you?

Of course if you are normally constituted, you would do nothing of the sort. There is a healthy-minded buoyancy in most of us which such a universe would exactly fit. We would therefore accept the offer—"Top! und schlag auf schlag!" It would be just like the world we practically live in; and loyalty to our old nurse Nature would forbid us to say no. The world proposed would seem 'rational' to us in the most living way.

Of course, if you are normally constituted, you would do nothing of the sort. Most of us have a healthy optimism that such a universe would suit perfectly. So we would accept the offer: "Agreed! And blow after blow!" It would be just like the world we actually live in. And loyalty to our old nurse Nature would keep us from saying no. The world offered would seem 'rational' to us in the most vivid sense.

Most of us, I say, would therefore welcome the proposition and add our fiat to the fiat of the creator. Yet perhaps some would not; for there are morbid minds in every human collection, and to them the prospect of a universe with only a fighting chance of safety would probably make no appeal. There are moments of discouragement in us all, when we are sick of self and tired of vainly striving. Our own life breaks down, and we fall into the attitude of the prodigal son. We mistrust the chances of things. We want a universe where we can just give up, fall on our father's neck, and be absorbed into the absolute life as a drop of water melts into the river or the sea.

Most of us, I say, would therefore welcome the proposal and add our own consent to the creator's. Yet perhaps some would not. There are troubled minds in every group of people, and the prospect of a universe with only a fighting chance of safety would probably not appeal to them. We all have moments of discouragement, when we are sick of ourselves and tired of striving in vain. Our own lives fall apart, and we take on the attitude of the prodigal son. We lose faith in how things might turn out. We want a universe where we can simply give up, fall into our father's arms, and be absorbed into the absolute life, as a drop of water dissolves into a river or the sea.

The peace and rest, the security desiderated at such moments is security against the bewildering accidents of so much finite experience. Nirvana means safety from this everlasting round of adventures of which the world of sense consists. The hindoo and the buddhist, for this is essentially their attitude, are simply afraid, afraid of more experience, afraid of life.

At such moments, the peace, rest, and security we seek are protection from the bewildering accidents of our limited experience. Nirvana means safety from the endless cycle of adventures that makes up the world of the senses. This is essentially the attitude of Hindus and Buddhists. They are simply afraid, afraid of more experience, afraid of life.

And to men of this complexion, religious monism comes with its consoling words: "All is needed and essential—even you with your sick soul and heart. All are one with God, and with God all is well. The everlasting arms are beneath, whether in the world of finite appearances you seem to fail or to succeed." There can be no doubt that when men are reduced to their last sick extremity absolutism is the only saving scheme. Pluralistic moralism simply makes their teeth chatter, it refrigerates the very heart within their breast.

For people of this temperament, religious monism offers comforting words: "Everything is needed and essential, even you with your sick soul and heart. All are one with God, and with God all is well. The everlasting arms are beneath you, whether you seem to fail or succeed in the world of finite appearances." There can be no doubt that when people reach the last extremes of suffering, absolutism is the only view that can save them. Pluralistic moralism simply makes their teeth chatter. It chills the very heart within their chest.

So we see concretely two types of religion in sharp contrast. Using our old terms of comparison, we may say that the absolutistic scheme appeals to the tender-minded while the pluralistic scheme appeals to the tough. Many persons would refuse to call the pluralistic scheme religious at all. They would call it moralistic, and would apply the word religious to the monistic scheme alone. Religion in the sense of self-surrender, and moralism in the sense of self-sufficingness, have been pitted against each other as incompatibles frequently enough in the history of human thought.

So we can see two sharply contrasting types of religion. Using our earlier terms, we may say that the absolutist view appeals to the tender-minded, while the pluralist view appeals to the tough-minded. Many people would refuse to call the pluralist view religious at all. They would call it moralistic and reserve the word religious for the monistic view alone. Religion as self-surrender and moralism as self-sufficiency have often been opposed as incompatible throughout the history of human thought.

We stand here before the final question of philosophy. I said in my fourth lecture that I believed the monistic-pluralistic alternative to be the deepest and most pregnant question that our minds can frame. Can it be that the disjunction is a final one? that only one side can be true? Are a pluralism and monism genuine incompatibles? So that, if the world were really pluralistically constituted, if it really existed distributively and were made up of a lot of eaches, it could only be saved piecemeal and de facto as the result of their behavior, and its epic history in no wise short-circuited by some essential oneness in which the severalness were already 'taken up' beforehand and eternally 'overcome'? If this were so, we should have to choose one philosophy or the other. We could not say 'yes, yes' to both alternatives. There would have to be a 'no' in our relations with the possible. We should confess an ultimate disappointment: we could not remain healthy-minded and sick-minded in one indivisible act.

We face the final question of philosophy. In my fourth lecture, I said that the choice between monism and pluralism is the deepest and most significant question our minds can ask. Could this be a final choice? Could only one side be true? Are pluralism and monism truly incompatible? Suppose the world were really pluralistic. Suppose it existed as separate parts and consisted of many individual things. Could it then be saved only piece by piece, as an actual result of how those things behave? And could its epic history in no way be short-circuited by some essential oneness? In that oneness, the separateness would already have been 'taken up' beforehand and eternally 'overcome'. If that were so, we would have to choose one philosophy or the other. We could not say 'yes, yes' to both alternatives. We would have to say 'no' to one possibility. We would have to admit a final disappointment: we could not be healthy-minded and sick-minded in one indivisible act.

Of course as human beings we can be healthy minds on one day and sick souls on the next; and as amateur dabblers in philosophy we may perhaps be allowed to call ourselves monistic pluralists, or free-will determinists, or whatever else may occur to us of a reconciling kind. But as philosophers aiming at clearness and consistency, and feeling the pragmatistic need of squaring truth with truth, the question is forced upon us of frankly adopting either the tender or the robustious type of thought. In particular THIS query has always come home to me: May not the claims of tender-mindedness go too far? May not the notion of a world already saved in toto anyhow, be too saccharine to stand? May not religious optimism be too idyllic? Must ALL be saved? Is NO price to be paid in the work of salvation? Is the last word sweet? Is all 'yes, yes' in the universe? Doesn't the fact of 'no' stand at the very core of life? Doesn't the very 'seriousness' that we attribute to life mean that ineluctable noes and losses form a part of it, that there are genuine sacrifices somewhere, and that something permanently drastic and bitter always remains at the bottom of its cup?

Of course, as human beings, we can be healthy minds one day and sick souls the next. And as amateur dabblers in philosophy, perhaps we may call ourselves monistic pluralists or free-will determinists. We might use any other label that suggests a reconciliation. But as philosophers, we aim for clarity and consistency. We also feel the pragmatic need to make one truth fit with another. So we must choose openly between tender-minded and robust ways of thinking. One question in particular has always struck me: Can the claims of tender-mindedness go too far? Can the idea that the whole world is already saved, no matter what, be too sweet to be believable? Can religious optimism be too idyllic? Must ALL be saved? Is NO price to be paid for salvation? Is the last word sweet? Is everything in the universe 'yes, yes'? Doesn't the fact of 'no' lie at the very core of life? We call life 'serious'. Doesn't that mean unavoidable refusals and losses are part of life? Doesn't it mean there are genuine sacrifices somewhere, and that something harsh and bitter remains forever at the bottom of life's cup?

I can not speak officially as a pragmatist here; all I can say is that my own pragmatism offers no objection to my taking sides with this more moralistic view, and giving up the claim of total reconciliation. The possibility of this is involved in the pragmatistic willingness to treat pluralism as a serious hypothesis. In the end it is our faith and not our logic that decides such questions, and I deny the right of any pretended logic to veto my own faith. I find myself willing to take the universe to be really dangerous and adventurous, without therefore backing out and crying 'no play.' I am willing to think that the prodigal-son attitude, open to us as it is in many vicissitudes, is not the right and final attitude towards the whole of life. I am willing that there should be real losses and real losers, and no total preservation of all that is. I can believe in the ideal as an ultimate, not as an origin, and as an extract, not the whole. When the cup is poured off, the dregs are left behind forever, but the possibility of what is poured off is sweet enough to accept.

I cannot speak officially as a pragmatist here. I can only say that my own pragmatism does not prevent me from taking the more moralistic view. Nor does it prevent me from giving up the claim that everything can be reconciled. This is possible because pragmatism is willing to take pluralism seriously as a hypothesis. In the end, our faith, not our logic, decides such questions. I deny that any supposed logic has the right to veto my faith. I am willing to see the universe as truly dangerous and full of adventure. Yet I will not back out and cry 'no play.' In many of life’s changes, we can adopt the attitude of the prodigal son. But I am willing to think that this is not the right and final attitude toward life as a whole. I am willing to accept that there are real losses and real losers, and that not everything is preserved. I can believe that the ideal is an ultimate goal, not an origin. I can believe that it is something drawn out of the whole, not the whole itself. When the cup is poured off, the dregs are left behind forever. But the possibility of what is poured off is sweet enough for me to accept.

As a matter of fact countless human imaginations live in this moralistic and epic kind of a universe, and find its disseminated and strung-along successes sufficient for their rational needs. There is a finely translated epigram in the greek anthology which admirably expresses this state of mind, this acceptance of loss as unatoned for, even tho the lost element might be one's self:

In fact, countless people imagine a universe of moral struggle and heroic deeds. They find its scattered, occasional successes enough to satisfy their rational needs. A beautifully translated epigram in the Greek Anthology expresses this outlook admirably. It accepts loss as something that is never made good, even if what is lost is oneself:

"A shipwrecked sailor, buried on this coast, Bids you set sail. Full many a gallant bark, when we were lost, Weathered the gale."

"A shipwrecked sailor, buried on this coast, urges you to set sail. Many a brave ship survived the storm that sank ours."

Those puritans who answered 'yes' to the question: Are you willing to be damned for God's glory? were in this objective and magnanimous condition of mind. The way of escape from evil on this system is NOT by getting it 'aufgehoben,' or preserved in the whole as an element essential but 'overcome.' It is by dropping it out altogether, throwing it overboard and getting beyond it, helping to make a universe that shall forget its very place and name.

The Puritans who answered 'yes' to the question, "Are you willing to be damned for God's glory?" had this objective and generous state of mind. In this view, the way to escape evil is NOT to make it 'aufgehoben,' or preserve it as an essential but 'overcome' part of the whole. Instead, we escape evil by leaving it out altogether, throwing it overboard and getting beyond it. We help create a universe that will forget evil's very place and name.

It is then perfectly possible to accept sincerely a drastic kind of a universe from which the element of 'seriousness' is not to be expelled. Whoso does so is, it seems to me, a genuine pragmatist. He is willing to live on a scheme of uncertified possibilities which he trusts; willing to pay with his own person, if need be, for the realization of the ideals which he frames.

It is therefore entirely possible to sincerely accept a harsh kind of universe where 'seriousness' remains. Anyone who does so is, it seems to me, a genuine pragmatist. Such a person is willing to live by possibilities that cannot be guaranteed but that they trust. They are willing, if necessary, to pay personally for making their ideals a reality.

What now actually ARE the other forces which he trusts to co-operate with him, in a universe of such a type? They are at least his fellow men, in the stage of being which our actual universe has reached. But are there not superhuman forces also, such as religious men of the pluralistic type we have been considering have always believed in? Their words may have sounded monistic when they said "there is no God but God"; but the original polytheism of mankind has only imperfectly and vaguely sublimated itself into monotheism, and monotheism itself, so far as it was religious and not a scheme of class-room instruction for the metaphysicians, has always viewed God as but one helper, primus inter pares, in the midst of all the shapers of the great world's fate.

What other forces does he actually trust to work with him in a universe of this kind? At the stage our universe has reached, they include at least his fellow human beings. But aren’t there also superhuman forces, as religious people of the pluralistic type we have considered have always believed? Their words may have sounded monistic when they said "there is no God but God". But humanity’s original polytheism has evolved into monotheism only imperfectly and vaguely. And monotheism has always viewed God as just one helper, first among equals, among all those who shape the world’s fate. This is true of monotheism as a religion, rather than as a scheme for teaching metaphysics in the classroom.

I fear that my previous lectures, confined as they have been to human and humanistic aspects, may have left the impression on many of you that pragmatism means methodically to leave the superhuman out. I have shown small respect indeed for the Absolute, and I have until this moment spoken of no other superhuman hypothesis but that. But I trust that you see sufficiently that the Absolute has nothing but its superhumanness in common with the theistic God. On pragmatistic principles, if the hypothesis of God works satisfactorily in the widest sense of the word, it is true. Now whatever its residual difficulties may be, experience shows that it certainly does work, and that the problem is to build it out and determine it, so that it will combine satisfactorily with all the other working truths. I cannot start upon a whole theology at the end of this last lecture; but when I tell you that I have written a book on men's religious experience, which on the whole has been regarded as making for the reality of God, you will perhaps exempt my own pragmatism from the charge of being an atheistic system. I firmly disbelieve, myself, that our human experience is the highest form of experience extant in the universe. I believe rather that we stand in much the same relation to the whole of the universe as our canine and feline pets do to the whole of human life. They inhabit our drawing-rooms and libraries. They take part in scenes of whose significance they have no inkling. They are merely tangent to curves of history the beginnings and ends and forms of which pass wholly beyond their ken. So we are tangents to the wider life of things. But, just as many of the dog's and cat's ideals coincide with our ideals, and the dogs and cats have daily living proof of the fact, so we may well believe, on the proofs that religious experience affords, that higher powers exist and are at work to save the world on ideal lines similar to our own.

I fear that my previous lectures may have left many of you with the wrong impression. Because I have focused on human and humanistic aspects, you may think pragmatism means deliberately leaving out the superhuman. I have shown little respect for the Absolute, and until now I have discussed no other superhuman hypothesis. But I trust you can see that the Absolute has nothing in common with the theistic God except being superhuman. According to pragmatist principles, if the hypothesis of God works satisfactorily in the widest sense, it is true. Whatever difficulties remain, experience shows that the hypothesis certainly does work. The problem is to develop it and make it more precise, so that it fits satisfactorily with all the other truths that work. I cannot begin a whole theology at the end of this final lecture. But I have written a book about people's religious experience. On the whole, readers have regarded it as supporting the reality of God. Knowing that, perhaps you will not accuse my own pragmatism of being an atheistic system. I firmly reject the belief that human experience is the highest form of experience in the universe. Rather, I believe we stand in much the same relation to the whole universe as our pet dogs and cats do to the whole of human life. They live in our sitting rooms and libraries. They take part in scenes whose meaning they do not begin to understand. They merely touch upon curves of history whose beginnings, ends, and forms lie entirely beyond their understanding. In the same way, we touch upon the wider life of things. But many of our dogs' and cats' ideals match our own, and they have living proof of this every day. Likewise, the evidence of religious experience may well lead us to believe that higher powers exist. These powers are at work to save the world according to ideals similar to our own.

You see that pragmatism can be called religious, if you allow that religion can be pluralistic or merely melioristic in type. But whether you will finally put up with that type of religion or not is a question that only you yourself can decide. Pragmatism has to postpone dogmatic answer, for we do not yet know certainly which type of religion is going to work best in the long run. The various overbeliefs of men, their several faith-ventures, are in fact what are needed to bring the evidence in. You will probably make your own ventures severally. If radically tough, the hurly-burly of the sensible facts of nature will be enough for you, and you will need no religion at all. If radically tender, you will take up with the more monistic form of religion: the pluralistic form, with its reliance on possibilities that are not necessities, will not seem to afford you security enough.

You can see that pragmatism can be called religious if you allow religion to be pluralistic or merely melioristic. In other words, it can allow for many independent realities or hold that the world can be improved. But only you can decide whether you will ultimately accept that kind of religion. Pragmatism must put off any definite answer. We do not yet know for certain which kind of religion will work best in the long run. People’s various beliefs that go beyond the evidence, and their different ventures of faith, are what will bring in the evidence. You will probably each make your own ventures. If you are thoroughly tough-minded, the tumult of nature’s observable facts will be enough for you. You will need no religion at all. If you are thoroughly tender-minded, you will adopt the more monistic form of religion, which sees reality as a single whole. The pluralistic form relies on possibilities rather than necessities. It will not seem to offer you enough security.

But if you are neither tough nor tender in an extreme and radical sense, but mixed as most of us are, it may seem to you that the type of pluralistic and moralistic religion that I have offered is as good a religious synthesis as you are likely to find. Between the two extremes of crude naturalism on the one hand and transcendental absolutism on the other, you may find that what I take the liberty of calling the pragmatistic or melioristic type of theism is exactly what you require.

But perhaps you are neither extremely tough-minded nor extremely tender-minded. Perhaps, like most of us, you are a mix of both. If so, you may find that the pluralistic and moralistic religion I have offered is as good a combination of religious ideas as you are likely to find. Between the extremes of crude naturalism and transcendental absolutism, you may find exactly what you need in what I call pragmatistic or melioristic theism.

The End

The End