PREFACE.
THE IMPORTANCE OF INDIVIDUALS.
PREFACE.
At
most of our American Colleges there are Clubs formed by the students
devoted to particular branches of learning; and these clubs have the
laudable custom of inviting once or twice a year some maturer scholar
to address them, the occasion often being made a public one. I have
from time to time accepted such invitations, and afterwards had my
discourse printed in one or other of the Reviews. It has seemed to me
that these addresses might now be worthy of collection in a volume,
as they shed explanatory light upon each other, and taken together
express a tolerably definite philosophic attitude in a very
untechnical way.Were
I obliged to give a short name to the attitude in question, I should
call it that of
radical empiricism,
in spite of the fact that such brief nicknames are nowhere more
misleading than in philosophy. I say 'empiricism,' because it is
contented to regard its most assured conclusions concerning matters
of fact as hypotheses liable to modification in the course of future
experience; and I say 'radical,' because it treats the doctrine of
monism itself as an hypothesis, and, unlike so much of the half-way
empiricism that is current under the name of positivism or
agnosticism or scientific naturalism, it does not dogmatically affirm
monism as something with which all experience has got to square. The
difference between monism and pluralism is perhaps the most pregnant
of all the differences in philosophy.
Primâ facie
the world is a pluralism; as we find it, its unity seems to be that
of any collection; and our higher thinking consists chiefly of an
effort to redeem it from that first crude form. Postulating more
unity than the first experiences yield, we also discover more. But
absolute unity, in spite of brilliant dashes in its direction, still
remains undiscovered, still remains a
Grenzbegriff.
"Ever not quite" must be the rationalistic philosopher's
last confession concerning it. After all that reason can do has been
done, there still remains the opacity of the finite facts as merely
given, with most of their peculiarities mutually unmediated and
unexplained. To the very last, there are the various 'points of view'
which the philosopher must distinguish in discussing the world; and
what is inwardly clear from one point remains a bare externality and
datum to the other. The negative, the alogical, is never wholly
banished. Something—"call it fate, chance, freedom,
spontaneity, the devil, what you will"—is still wrong and
other and outside and unincluded, from
your
point of view, even though you be the greatest of philosophers.
Something is always mere fact and
givenness;
and there may be in the whole universe no one point of view extant
from which this would not be found to be the case. "Reason,"
as a gifted writer says, "is but one item in the mystery; and
behind the proudest consciousness that ever reigned, reason and
wonder blushed face to face. The inevitable stales, while doubt and
hope are sisters. Not unfortunately the universe is
wild,—game-flavored as a hawk's wing. Nature is miracle all; the
same returns not save to bring the different. The slow round of the
engraver's lathe gains but the breadth of a hair, but the difference
is distributed back over the whole curve, never an instant true,—ever
not quite."[1]This
is pluralism, somewhat rhapsodically expressed. He who takes for his
hypothesis the notion that it is the permanent form of the world is
what I call a radical empiricist. For him the crudity of experience
remains an eternal element thereof. There is no possible point of
view from which the world can appear an absolutely single fact. Real
possibilities, real indeterminations, real beginnings, real ends,
real evil, real crises, catastrophes, and escapes, a real God, and a
real moral life, just as common-sense conceives these things, may
remain in empiricism as conceptions which that philosophy gives up
the attempt either to 'overcome' or to reinterpret in monistic form.Many
of my professionally trained
confrères
will smile at the irrationalism of this view, and at the artlessness
of my essays in point of technical form. But they should be taken as
illustrations of the radically empiricist attitude rather than as
argumentations for its validity. That admits meanwhile of being
argued in as technical a shape as any one can desire, and possibly I
may be spared to do later a share of that work. Meanwhile these
essays seem to light up with a certain dramatic reality the attitude
itself, and make it visible alongside of the higher and lower
dogmatisms between which in the pages of philosophic history it has
generally remained eclipsed from sight.The
first four essays are largely concerned with defending the legitimacy
of religious faith. To some rationalizing readers such advocacy will
seem a sad misuse of one's professional position. Mankind, they will
say, is only too prone to follow faith unreasoningly, and needs no
preaching nor encouragement in that direction. I quite agree that
what mankind at large most lacks is criticism and caution, not faith.
Its cardinal weakness is to let belief follow recklessly upon lively
conception, especially when the conception has instinctive liking at
its back. I admit, then, that were I addressing the Salvation Army or
a miscellaneous popular crowd it would be a misuse of opportunity to
preach the liberty of believing as I have in these pages preached it.
What such audiences most need is that their faiths should be broken
up and ventilated, that the northwest wind of science should get into
them and blow their sickliness and barbarism away. But academic
audiences, fed already on science, have a very different need.
Paralysis of their native capacity for faith and timorous
abulia
in the religious field are their special forms of mental weakness,
brought about by the notion, carefully instilled, that there is
something called scientific evidence by waiting upon which they shall
escape all danger of shipwreck in regard to truth. But there is
really no scientific or other method by which men can steer safely
between the opposite dangers of believing too little or of believing
too much. To face such dangers is apparently our duty, and to hit the
right channel between them is the measure of our wisdom as men. It
does not follow, because recklessness may be a vice in soldiers, that
courage ought never to be preached to them. What
should
be preached is courage weighted with responsibility,—such courage
as the Nelsons and Washingtons never failed to show after they had
taken everything into account that might tell against their success,
and made every provision to minimize disaster in case they met
defeat. I do not think that any one can accuse me of preaching
reckless faith. I have preached the right of the individual to
indulge his personal faith at his personal risk. I have discussed the
kinds of risk; I have contended that none of us escape all of them;
and I have only pleaded that it is better to face them open-eyed than
to act as if we did not know them to be there.After
all, though, you will say, Why such an ado about a matter concerning
which, however we may theoretically differ, we all practically agree?
In this age of toleration, no scientist will ever try actively to
interfere with our religious faith, provided we enjoy it quietly with
our friends and do not make a public nuisance of it in the
market-place. But it is just on this matter of the market-place that
I think the utility of such essays as mine may turn. If religious
hypotheses about the universe be in order at all, then the active
faiths of individuals in them, freely expressing themselves in life,
are the experimental tests by which they are verified, and the only
means by which their truth or falsehood can be wrought out. The
truest scientific hypothesis is that which, as we say, 'works' best;
and it can be no otherwise with religious hypotheses. Religious
history proves that one hypothesis after another has worked ill, has
crumbled at contact with a widening knowledge of the world, and has
lapsed from the minds of men. Some articles of faith, however, have
maintained themselves through every vicissitude, and possess even
more vitality to-day than ever before: it is for the 'science of
religions' to tell us just which hypotheses these are. Meanwhile the
freest competition of the various faiths with one another, and their
openest application to life by their several champions, are the most
favorable conditions under which the survival of the fittest can
proceed. They ought therefore not to lie hid each under its bushel,
indulged-in quietly with friends. They ought to live in publicity,
vying with each other; and it seems to me that (the régime of
tolerance once granted, and a fair field shown) the scientist has
nothing to fear for his own interests from the liveliest possible
state of fermentation in the religious world of his time. Those
faiths will best stand the test which adopt also his hypotheses, and
make them integral elements of their own. He should welcome therefore
every species of religious agitation and discussion, so long as he is
willing to allow that some religious hypothesis
may
be true. Of course there are plenty of scientists who would deny that
dogmatically, maintaining that science has already ruled all possible
religious hypotheses out of court. Such scientists ought, I agree, to
aim at imposing privacy on religious faiths, the public manifestation
of which could only be a nuisance in their eyes. With all such
scientists, as well as with their allies outside of science, my
quarrel openly lies; and I hope that my book may do something to
persuade the reader of their crudity, and range him on my side.
Religious fermentation is always a symptom of the intellectual vigor
of a society; and it is only when they forget that they are
hypotheses and put on rationalistic and authoritative pretensions,
that our faiths do harm. The most interesting and valuable things
about a man are his ideals and over-beliefs. The same is true of
nations and historic epochs; and the excesses of which the particular
individuals and epochs are guilty are compensated in the total, and
become profitable to mankind in the long run.The
essay 'On some Hegelisms' doubtless needs an apology for the
superficiality with which it treats a serious subject. It was written
as a squib, to be read in a college-seminary in Hegel's logic,
several of whose members, mature men, were devout champions of the
dialectical method. My blows therefore were aimed almost entirely at
that. I reprint the paper here (albeit with some misgivings), partly
because I believe the dialectical method to be wholly abominable when
worked by concepts alone, and partly because the essay casts some
positive light on the pluralist-empiricist point of view.The
paper on Psychical Research is added to the volume for convenience
and utility. Attracted to this study some years ago by my love of
sportsmanlike fair play in science, I have seen enough to convince me
of its great importance, and I wish to gain for it what interest I
can. The American Branch of the Society is in need of more support,
and if my article draws some new associates thereto, it will have
served its turn.Apology
is also needed for the repetition of the same passage in two essays
(pp. 59-61 and 96-7, 100-1). My excuse is that one cannot always
express the same thought in two ways that seem equally forcible, so
one has to copy one's former words.The
Crillon-quotation on page 62 is due to Mr. W. M. Salter (who employed
it in a similar manner in the 'Index' for August 24, 1882), and the
dream-metaphor on p. 174 is a reminiscence from some novel of George
Sand's—I forget which—read by me thirty years ago.Finally,
the revision of the essays has consisted almost entirely in
excisions. Probably less than a page and a half in all of new matter
has been added.[1]
B. P. Blood: The Flaw in Supremacy: Published by the Author,
Amsterdam, N. Y., 1893.
THE WILL TO BELIEVE.[1]
In
the recently published Life by Leslie Stephen of his brother,
Fitz-James, there is an account of a school to which the latter went
when he was a boy. The teacher, a certain Mr. Guest, used to converse
with his pupils in this wise: "Gurney, what is the difference
between justification and sanctification?—Stephen, prove the
omnipotence of God!" etc. In the midst of our Harvard
freethinking and indifference we are prone to imagine that here at
your good old orthodox College conversation continues to be somewhat
upon this order; and to show you that we at Harvard have not lost all
interest in these vital subjects, I have brought with me to-night
something like a sermon on justification by faith to read to you,—I
mean an essay in justification
of
faith, a defence of our right to adopt a believing attitude in
religious matters, in spite of the fact that our merely logical
intellect may not have been coerced. 'The Will to Believe,'
accordingly, is the title of my paper.I
have long defended to my own students the lawfulness of voluntarily
adopted faith; but as soon as they have got well imbued with the
logical spirit, they have as a rule refused to admit my contention to
be lawful philosophically, even though in point of fact they were
personally all the time chock-full of some faith or other themselves.
I am all the while, however, so profoundly convinced that my own
position is correct, that your invitation has seemed to me a good
occasion to make my statements more clear. Perhaps your minds will be
more open than those with which I have hitherto had to deal. I will
be as little technical as I can, though I must begin by setting up
some technical distinctions that will help us in the end.I.Let
us give the name of
hypothesis
to anything that may be proposed to our belief; and just as the
electricians speak of live and dead wires, let us speak of any
hypothesis as either
live
or
dead.
A live hypothesis is one which appeals as a real possibility to him
to whom it is proposed. If I ask you to believe in the Mahdi, the
notion makes no electric connection with your nature,—it refuses to
scintillate with any credibility at all. As an hypothesis it is
completely dead. To an Arab, however (even if he be not one of the
Mahdi's followers), the hypothesis is among the mind's possibilities:
it is alive. This shows that deadness and liveness in an hypothesis
are not intrinsic properties, but relations to the individual
thinker. They are measured by his willingness to act. The maximum of
liveness in an hypothesis means willingness to act irrevocably.
Practically, that means belief; but there is some believing tendency
wherever there is willingness to act at all.