Philosophy of the Modern Era

William James

William James (1842—1910) was primarily a psychologist, but he holds significance as a philosopher for two reasons: he developed a doctrine he termed "radical empiricism," and he was one of the three advocates of a theory known as "pragmatism" or "instrumentalism." Consequently, he became a recognized leader in American philosophy, as he rightly deserved. His study of medicine led him to consider psychology, and his substantial work on this subject, published in 1890, is written with remarkable skill; however, I will not discuss it here, as it contributes more to science than to philosophy.

James's philosophical interests had two facets: scientific and religious. On the scientific side, his medical studies directed his thoughts toward materialism, which was, however, tempered by religious sentiments. His religious beliefs were deeply Protestant, highly democratic, and infused with warmth and human kindness. He categorically refused to follow his brother Henry into the fold of refined snobbery. "Satan," James remarked, "may have been a gentleman, as it is said, but whatever God may be in heaven and on earth, he certainly cannot be a gentleman." This is a particularly telling statement.

With his good-natured disposition and charming humor, he garnered almost universal affection. The only person I know who felt no attachment to him was Santayana, whose doctoral dissertation James labeled "the height of moral corruption." These two individuals were temperamentally opposed to one another, and nothing could bridge that difference. Santayana also cherished religion, but in a completely different manner; he appreciated it aesthetically and historically rather than as a means of moral guidance. Naturally, he preferred Catholicism to Protestantism. Intellectually, he could not accept any Christian dogma but acknowledged that others should believe in them, valuing what he considered the Christian myth. To James, such an attitude could only seem immoral. He inherited from his Puritan ancestors a profound conviction that the essence of life is good behavior, and his democratic sentiments made it impossible for him to silently acknowledge that there exists one truth for philosophers and another for the common people (the vulgar). The opposition between Catholic and Protestant temperaments persisted even among the unorthodox: Santayana was a Catholic freethinker, while William James was a Protestant, albeit a heretical one.

James's doctrine of radical empiricism was first proclaimed in 1904 in an essay titled "Is Consciousness a Thing?" The primary aim of this essay is to deny the relationship between the subject and the object as a fundamental principle. Until that time, philosophers had considered it self-evident that there exists a type of phenomenon called "knowing," wherein one entity, the knower or subject, knows another entity, the known or object. The knower is regarded as the mind or soul; the known object may be a material object, an eternal essence, another mind, or, in self-consciousness, identical with the knower. Almost all mainstream philosophy was closely tied to the dualism of subject and object. If one does not accept the existence of a distinction between subject and object as fundamental, then the distinction between mind and matter, the contemplative ideal, and the traditional concept of "truth" all require radical rethinking.

As for myself, I am convinced that in this matter James is partially correct, and for this reason alone, he deserves to hold an esteemed place among philosophers. I held a different perspective until he and those who agree with him convinced me of the validity of his teachings. But let us examine his arguments.

Consciousness, he argues, is "the name of a non-existent thing; it has no right to occupy a place among fundamental principles. Those who still remain faithful to it merely cling to an echo, a faint reverberation left by the vanishing concept of 'soul' in the atmosphere of philosophy." There exists, he continues, "no primary substance or quality of being, other than that from which material objects are made and from which our thoughts about them are composed." He clarifies that he does not deny that our thoughts represent some function of knowing and that this function can be termed "being conscious." What he does deny, in a rough sense, is the view of consciousness as a "thing." He asserts that there exists "only one primary substance or material from which everything in the world is composed." This substance he names "pure experience." Knowing, he states, is a particular type of relationship between two portions of pure experience. The relationship between subject and object is derivative: "I believe that experience has no internal duality." This indivisible portion of experience can, under certain conditions, be the knowing subject, and under others, the known object.

He defines "pure experience" as "the immediate flow of life that provides material for our subsequent reflection."

It is evident that this doctrine abolishes the distinction between mind and matter, viewing it as a difference between two different "kinds" of what James calls "stuff." Accordingly, those who concur with James on this matter advocate the so-called "neutral monism," which posits that the substance from which the world is constructed is neither mind nor matter but something that precedes both. James himself did not elaborate on this point implied in his theory; rather, his use of the term "pure experience" suggests a possible unconscious Berkeleyan idealism. The word "experience" is one of those terms that philosophers frequently employ but rarely define. Let us consider what it might signify.

Common sense suggests that many phenomena, though they occur, are not given in experience, such as events on the unseen side of the Moon. Both Berkeley and Hegel, albeit for different reasons, denied this and asserted that what is not given to us in experience is nothing. At present, the majority of philosophers believe, and I think justly, that their arguments are flawed. If we were to firmly maintain the view that the "substance" of the world is "experience," we would be compelled to devise complex and untrustworthy explanations for what we mean by something like "the unseen side of the Moon." Moreover, if we could not logically derive phenomena not given in experience from those given in experience, it would be difficult to find grounds for believing in the existence of anything beyond ourselves. True, James denies this, but his arguments are not very convincing.

What do we mean by "experience"? The best way to find an answer is to ask: what is the difference between an event given in experience and one not given in experience? The rain that we see or feel is given in experience, but the rain falling where nothing alive exists is not given in experience. Thus, we conclude that experience exists only where there is life. However, experience extends in space or time not in the same manner as life. Many things happen to me that I do not notice. It can hardly be said that they are "given in experience." It is clear that I experience everything I remember, but many events I do not clearly recall may have caused habits that still persist. A child once burned will fear fire, even if he cannot remember the incident of his burn. I think we can assert that an event is "given in experience" if it has elicited a habit. (Memory is one form of habit.) In general, habits arise only in living organisms. While a poker does not fear fire, no matter how often it is heated to red-hot. Therefore, based on common sense, we would say that "experience" and "the substance of the world" are not equivalent. And I see no compelling reason to depart from common sense in this matter.

Except for the concept of "experience," I find myself in agreement with James's radical empiricism. However, the same cannot be said regarding his pragmatism and "will to believe." It seems to me that the latter is particularly designed for a seemingly noble but sophistic defense of certain religious dogmas—defenses that can hardly be accepted by anyone who truly believes. The work The Will to Believe was published in 1896, and Pragmatism: A New Name for Some Old Ways of Thinking followed in 1907. In the latter, the ideas of the former are further developed. In The Will to Believe, it is asserted that we are often compelled to make practical decisions for which there exist no sufficient theoretical grounds. Even "inaction" constitutes a decision of sorts. Religious problems, James states, fall under this rubric. We have, he argues, the right to adopt a believer’s stance, even though "our purely logical intellect may not be coerced into it." This position resembles that of Rousseau's Savoyard Vicar, yet James has elaborated on it anew.

We are told that the moral duty of truthfulness consists of two equally important commandments: "believe the truth" and "avoid error." The skeptic erroneously concerns himself only with the fulfillment of the latter, and thus he does not believe in the various truths to which less cautious individuals adhere. If believing in truths and avoiding errors are equally important, then when faced with an alternative, I shall act rightly by believing in any of these possibilities, for in doing so, I will have the chance to believe in the truth. However, if I refrain from making a decision, I shall have no chances whatsoever.

If we take this teaching seriously, the resulting ethics would be rather peculiar. Suppose I encounter an unknown individual on a train and ask myself, "Is his name Ebenezer Smith?" If I concede that I do not know this, then undoubtedly I do not believe in the truth regarding his name. If, however, I decide to believe that this is indeed his name, I may have a chance of believing in the truth. The skeptic, James contends, fears being deceived and may, out of that fear, forfeit an important truth. "But who can prove that being deceived out of hope is much worse than being deceived out of fear?" It would seem that if I have long hoped to meet a person named Ebenezer Smith, then positive truthfulness, as opposed to negative truthfulness, should prompt me to believe that every stranger I meet is named thus until I receive decisive evidence to the contrary.

"But," one might say, "the example is absurd, for although you do not know the stranger's name, you are well aware that only a small percentage of humanity bears the name Ebenezer Smith. Therefore, you are not in a state of complete ignorance, which was assumed under your freedom of choice."

It is rather strange that James, throughout his work, never once mentions the concept of probability, even though discussions of any question often easily reveal probabilistic reasoning.

Let us suppose (of course, an orthodox believer could not accept this) that there are no arguments for or against any religion in the world. Imagine you are Chinese, grappling with Confucianism, Buddhism, and Christianity. The laws of logic do not permit you to accept that each of these religions is true. If we assume that Buddhism and Christianity have equal chances of being true, then, since both teachings cannot be true simultaneously, one of them must be true, thereby rendering Confucianism false. If all three teachings had equal chances, the falsehood of each would be more likely than its truth. With this approach, James's principles collapse as soon as we make probability the subject of discussion.

It is odd that James, despite being an outstanding psychologist, allowed himself one oversight in this matter. He speaks as if complete belief or complete disbelief are the only possible states, wholly ignoring the shades of doubt. For instance, suppose I am searching for a book in a cupboard. I think, "It might be in this cupboard," and I continue searching; however, I do not think, "It is in this cupboard," until I see it.

We generally act according to hypotheses, but not quite as we would act according to what we regard as an undeniable fact. When we act on hypotheses, we incessantly seek new evidence.

The commandment of truthfulness, it seems to me, is not as James envisioned. I would articulate it thus: "Extend to any hypothesis deserving of consideration as much trust as it warrants according to the degree of its justification." Moreover, if the hypothesis is significant enough, we are obliged to seek further evidence. Such is the everyday common sense that aligns with the laws of justice, yet it starkly contrasts with what James recommends.

It would be unjust to consider James's position on the "will to believe" in isolation; it was an intermediate doctrine that naturally evolved into pragmatism. According to James, pragmatism is primarily a new definition of the concept of "truth." There were two other proponents of pragmatism: Schiller and Dr. Dewey. The next chapter will be devoted to Dewey; Schiller played a lesser role than the other two. There exists a distinction between James and Dewey in that they emphasize different aspects of this doctrine. Dewey’s worldview is scientific, with his arguments often derived from an examination of the scientific method, while James primarily addressed issues of religion and morality. Broadly speaking, he was prepared to defend any doctrine aimed at making people virtuous and happy. If this doctrine fulfills its purpose, it is "true" in the sense in which James employs the term.

The principle of pragmatism, according to James, was first articulated by Peirce, who asserted that to achieve clarity in our thoughts regarding any object, we need only discern what possible practical consequences that object may contain. James clarifies that the function of philosophy is to determine what difference it makes to you or me if one formula of the world is true rather than another. Thus, theories become tools rather than answers to riddles.

Ideas, James tells us, become true insofar as they assist us in entering into satisfactory relationships with other parts of our experience. "A thought is 'true' insofar as belief in it proves beneficial to our lives." Truth is a kind of good, not a separate category. An idea happens to be true; events render it so. It is accurate to say, along with intellectualists, that a true idea must align with reality, but "alignment" does not mean "copying." To "correspond" to reality, in the broadest sense, can only mean that we are guided either directly toward it or into its vicinity, or that we are brought into such active contact with it that we can influence it or something associated with it better than we could without that correspondence. He adds that "truth," in short, is merely convenient in the manner of our thinking… ultimately and in the end, in action. In other words, our duty to seek truth is part of our overarching obligation to do what is beneficial.

In the chapter on pragmatism and religion, James reaps the fruits of his earlier assertions: “We cannot dismiss any hypothesis if it yields beneficial consequences for life.” “The hypothesis of God is true if it serves satisfactorily in the broadest sense.” “We may well believe, based on the fact of religious experience, that there are higher powers engaged in saving the world in terms of our own ideals.”

In this doctrine, I encounter significant intellectual difficulties. It posits that a belief is “true” if it produces good results. If this definition is to be deemed useful (otherwise, the pragmatists would have to reject it), we must first ascertain: a) what is good, and b) what the results of a particular belief are, and we must know this before we can determine what is “true”; for it is only after we conclude that a belief yields good results that we are entitled to deem it “true.” This leads to an implausible complication. Suppose you wish to ascertain whether Columbus crossed the Atlantic in 1492 or not. You must not, as others would, consult a book. You must first determine what the results of this belief would be and how they would differ from those you would obtain by believing that Columbus crossed the ocean in 1491 or 1493. This is already quite challenging, but it becomes even more difficult to assess these results from an ethical standpoint. It is clear that you might assert that the best outcome would stem from the year 1492, as such an answer would likely earn you high marks on an exam. However, your competitors, who would outscore you if you claim 1491 or 1493, would consider your success in the exam regrettable from an ethical perspective. (When it comes to history, I cannot conceive of any practical outcomes beyond examination grades.)

Yet, this is not the end of your troubles. You must claim that your assessment of the ethical and factual consequences of a belief is true; for if it is false, then your arguments in favor of the truth of that belief are erroneous. To assert that your belief in the consequences is true, according to James, is to claim that it also leads to good consequences, which, in turn, is only true if it too has good consequences, and so forth ad infinitum. Clearly, this is untenable.

There is another difficulty. Suppose I say that there existed a person named Columbus; everyone would agree that I have stated a truth. But why is this true? Because 450 years ago there lived a certain flesh-and-blood man, in short — because of the grounds of my belief, not because of its effect. According to James's definition, it could happen that the assertion “A exists” is true even though A does not exist. I have always found that the hypothesis of Santa Claus “serves us satisfactorily in the broadest sense.” Therefore, the assertion “Santa Claus exists” is true, even though he does not exist. For James states (I repeat): “If the hypothesis of God serves us satisfactorily in the broadest sense, then it is true.” In this case, the question of whether God exists in heaven is simply dismissed as unimportant; if God is a useful hypothesis, that is sufficient. The God who constructs the cosmos is forgotten; only the belief in God and its effects on the inhabitants of our small planet remain. It is no wonder that the Pope condemned the pragmatic defense of religion.

Here we arrive at the fundamental distinction between James's religious views and the religious convictions of people in the past. James is interested in religion as a human phenomenon, but he shows little interest in the object that religion addresses. He desires for people to be happy, and if belief in God makes them happy, then let them believe. All this is merely benevolence, not philosophy. It becomes philosophy only when one states: if belief makes people happy, then it is “true.” For a person who seeks an object of worship, this is insufficient. Such a person will not say, “If I believe in God, I will be happy”; he will say, “I believe in God, and therefore I am happy.” And when he believes in God, he believes in Him as he believes in the existence of Roosevelt, Churchill, or Hitler; God is for him a real being, not merely a human idea that yields good results. It is this genuine faith that will bear good consequences, not James's hollow ersatz. It is clear that when I say, “Hitler exists,” I do not mean that the consequences of believing that Hitler exists will be favorable. The same is true for the sincere believer regarding God.

James's teaching represents an attempt to build a superstructure of faith upon a foundation of skepticism, and, like all such attempts, it leads to errors. In this case, the errors arise from the effort to disregard all facts beyond the individual. Berkeleyan idealism, combined with skepticism, has led to a substitution of belief in God for the reality of God, and it is regarded as no worse. But this is merely one form of the subjective madness characteristic of much contemporary philosophy.