THE PROBLEM OF TRUTH AND ERROR
It has been shown in the last chapter how urgent has become the problem
of discriminating between the true and false among relative 'truths.'
For absolute truth has become a chimera, self-evidence an illusion, and
intuition untrustworthy. All three are psychologically very real to
those who believe in them, but logically they succumb to the assaults of
a scepticism which infers from the fact that no 'truths' are absolute
that all may reasonably be overthrown.
The only obstacle to its triumph lies in the existence of 'relative'
truths which are _not_ absolute, and do not claim to be, and in the
unexamined possibility that in a relativist interpretation of all truth
a meaning may be found for the distinction between 'true' and 'false.'
Now, not even a sceptic could deny that the size of an object is better
measured by a yard-measure than by the eye, even though it may be
meaningless to ask what its size may be absolutely; or that it is
probable that bread will be found more nourishing than stone, even
though it may not be a perfect elixir of life. Even if he denied this,
the sceptic's _acts_ would convict his _words_ of insincerity, and
_practically_, at any rate, no one has been or can be a sceptic,
whatever the extent of his _theoretic_ doubts.
This fact is construed by the pragmatist as a significant indication of
the way out of the epistemological _impasse_. The 'relative' truths,
which Intellectualism passed by with contempt, may differ in _practical
value_ and lead to the conceptions of _practical truth_ and certainty
which may be better adapted to the requirements of human life than the
elusive and discredited ideals of absolute truth and certainty, and may
enable us to justify the distinctions we make between the 'true' and the
'false. At any rate, this suggestion seems worth following up.
To begin with, we must radically disabuse our minds of the idea that
thinking _starts from certainty._ Even the self-evident and
self-confident 'intuitions' that impress the uncritical so much with
their claim to infallibility are really the results of antecedent doubts
and ponderings, and would never be enunciated unless there were thought
to be a dispute about them. In real life thought starts from
perplexities, from situations in which, as Professor Dewey says, beliefs
have to be 'reconstructed,' and it aims at setting doubts at rest. It is
psychologically impossible for a rational mind to assert what it knows
to be true, and supposes everyone else to admit the truth of. This is
why even a philosopher's conversation does not consist of a rehearsal of
all the unchallenged truisms that he can remember.
Being thus conditioned by a doubt, every judgment is a challenge. It
claims truth, and backs its claims by the authority of its maker; but it
would be folly to imagine that it thereby becomes _ipso facto_ true, or
is meant to be universally accepted without testing. Its maker must know
this as well as anyone, unless his dogmatism has quite blotted out his
common sense. Indeed, he may himself have given preference to the
judgment he made over the alternatives that occurred to him only after
much debate and hesitation, and may propound it only as a basis for
further discussion and testing.
Initially, then, every judgment is a _truth-claim_, and this claim is
merely _formal_. It does not _mean_ that the claim is absolutely true,
and that it is impious to question it. On the contrary, it has still to
be validated by others, and may work in such a way that its own maker
withdraws it, and corrects it by a better. The intellectualist accounts
of truth have all failed to make this vital distinction between
'truth-claim' and validated truth. They rest on a _confusion of formal
with absolute truth_, and it is on this account that they cannot
distinguish between 'truth' and error. For false judgments also formally
claim 'truth,' No judgment alleges that it is false.[C]
On the other hand, if the distinction between truth-claims and validated
truths is made, there ceases to be any _theoretic_ difficulty about the
conception and correction of errors, however difficult it may be to
detect them in practice. 'Truths' will be 'claims' which have worked
well and maintained themselves; 'errors,' such as have been superseded
by better ones. All 'truths' must be _tested_ by something more
objective than their own self-assertiveness, and this testing by their
working and the consequences to which they lead may go on indefinitely.
In other words, however much a 'truth' has been validated, it is always
possible to test it further. _I.e.,_ it is never theoretically
'absolute,' however well it may practically be assured. For a
confirmation of this doctrine Pragmatism appeals to the history of
scientific truth, which has shown a continuous correction of 'truths,'
which were re-valued as 'errors,' as better statements for them became
available.
It may also be confirmed negatively by the breakdown of the current
definitions of truth, which all seem in the end to mean nothing.
The oldest and commonest definition of a 'truth' which is given is that
it is 'the correspondence of a thought to reality.' But Intellectualism
never perceived the difficulties lurking in it. At first sight this
seems a brave attempt to get outside the circle of thought in order to
test its value and to control its vagaries. Unluckily, this theory can
only assert, and neither explains nor proves, the connection between the
thought and the reality it desiderates. For, granting that it is the
intent of every thought to correspond with reality, we must yet inquire
how the alleged correspondence is to be made out. Made out it must be;
for as the criterion is quite formal and holds of all assertions, the
claim to 'correspond' may be false. To prove the correspondence, then,
the 'reality' would have somehow to be known apart from the truth-claim
of the thought, in order that the two might be compared and found to
agree. But if the reality were already known directly, what would be
the need of asserting an idea of it and claiming 'truth' for this? How,
moreover, could the claim be tested, if, as is admitted, the reality is
not directly known? To assert the 'correspondence' must become a
groundless postulate about something which is defined to transcend all
knowledge. The correspondence theory, then, does not _test_ the
truth-claim of the assertion; it only gives a fresh definition of it. A
'true' thought, it says, is one which _claims to correspond_ with a
'reality.' _But so does a false,_ and hence the theory leaves us as we
were, puzzled to distinguish them.[D]
Yet the theory is not wholly wrong. Many of our thoughts do claim to
correspond with reality in ways that can be verified. If the judgment
'There is a green carpet in my hall' is taken to mean 'If I enter my
hall, I shall _see_ a green carpet,' perception tests whether the
judgment 'corresponds' with the reality perceived, and so goes to
validate or disprove the claim. But the limits within which this
correspondence works are very strait. It applies only to such judgments
as are anticipations of perception,[E] and will test a truth-claim only
where there is willingness to act on it. It implies an experiment, and
is not a wholly intellectual process.
The superiority of the 'correspondence' theory over the belief in
'intuitions' lies in its insistence that thought is not to audit its own
accounts. Its success or failure depends upon factors external to it,
which establish the truth or falsehood of its claims. No such guarantee
is offered by the next theory, which is known as the 'consistence' or
'coherence' theory. In order to avoid the difficulty which wrecked the
'correspondence' theory, that of making the truth of an assertion reside
in an inexperienceable relation to an unattainable reality, this view
maintains that an idea is true if it is consistent with the rest of our
thoughts, and so can be fitted with them into a coherent system. No
doubt a coherence among our ideas is a convenience and a part of their
'working,' but it is hardly a test of their objective truth. For a
harmonious system of thoughts is conceivable which would either not
apply to reality at all, or, if applied, would completely fail. On this
theory systematic delusions, fictions, and dreams, might properly lay
claim to truth. True, they might not be quite consistent: but neither
are the systems of our sciences. If, then, this _absolute_ coherence be
insisted on, this test condemns our whole knowledge; if not, it remains
formal, and fails to recognize any distinctions of value in the claims
which can be systematized.
To avoid this _reductio ad absurdum_, it has been suggested that it is
not the coherence of the idea in human, finite, minds which constitutes
'truth,' but the perfect consistency of the experience of an Absolute
Mind. The test, then, of our limited coherency will lie in its relation
to this Absolute System. But here we have the correspondence doctrine
once again in a fresh disguise; our human systems are now 'true' if they
correspond with the Absolute's, But as there is no way for us of sharing
the Absolute Experience, our test is again illusory, and productive of a
depressing scepticism; and, again, we have only asserted that truth is
what _claims_ to be part of the Absolute System.
A word may be devoted to the simple refusal of intuitionists to give an
account of Truth on the ground that it is 'indefinable.' Truth is taken
to be an ultimate unanalyzable quality of certain propositions,
intuitively felt, and incapable of description. Error, by the same
token, should be equally indefinable and as immediately apprehended.
How, then, can there be differences of opinion, and mistakes as to what
is true and what false? How is it that a proposition which is felt to be
'true' so often turns out to be erroneous? If all errors are felt to be
true by those they deceive, is it not clear that immediate feeling is
not a good enough test of a validated truth? Thus, once again, we find
that an account of truth-claim is being foisted on us in place of a
description of truth-testing.
The intellectualist, then, being in every case unable to justify the
vital distinction commonly made between the true and the false, we
return to the pragmatist. He starts with no preconceptions as to what
truth must mean, whether it exists or not; he is content to watch how
_de facto_ claims to truth get themselves validated in experience. He
observes that every question is intimately related to some scheme of
human purposes. For it has to be _put_, in order to come into being.
Hence every inquiry arises, and every question is asked, because of
obstacles and problems which arise in the carrying out of human
purposes. So soon as uncertainty arises in the course of fulfilling a
purpose, an idea or belief is formulated _and acted on_, to fill the gap
where immediate certitude has broken down. This engenders the
truth-claim, which is necessarily a 'good' in its maker's eyes, because
it has been selected by him and judged _preferable_ to any alternative
that occurred to him.
How, then, is it tested? Simply by the consequences which follow from
adopting it and using it as an assumption upon which to work. If these
consequences are satisfactory, if they promote the purpose in hand,
instead of thwarting it, and thus have a valuable effect upon life, then
the truth-claim maintains its 'truth,' and is so far validated. This is
the universal method of testing assertions alike in the formation of
mathematical laws, physical hypotheses, religious beliefs, and ethical
postulates. Hence such pragmatic aphorisms as 'truth is useful' or
'truth is a matter of practical consequences' mean essentially that all
assertions must be _tested by being applied to a real problem of
knowing._ What is signified by such statements is that no 'truth' must
be accepted merely on account of the insistence of its claim, but that
every idea must be tested by the consequences of its working. Its truth
will then depend upon those consequences being fruitful for life in
general, and in particular for the purpose behind the particular inquiry
in which it arose. Truth is a _value_ and a satisfaction; but
'intellectual satisfaction' is not a morbid delight in dialectical and
verbal juggling: it is the satisfaction which rewards the hard labour of
rationalizing experience and rendering it more conformable with human
desires.
It should be clear, though it is often misunderstood, that there is
nothing arbitrary or 'subjective' in this method of testing beliefs. It
does not mean that we are free to assert the truth of every idea which
seems to us pretty or pleasant. The very term 'useful' was chosen by
pragmatists as a protest against the common philosophic licence of
alleging 'truths' which could never be applied or tested, and were
supposed to be none the worse for being 'useless.' It is clear both that
such 'truths' must be a monopoly of Intellectualism, and also that they
do allow every man to believe whatever he wishes, provided only that he
boldly claims 'self-evidence' for his idiosyncrasy. In this purely
subjective sense, into which Intellectualism is driven, it is, however,
clear that there can be no useless ideas. For any idea anyone decided to
adopt, because it pleased or amused him, would be _ipso facto_ true.
Pragmatism, therefore, by refuting 'useless' knowledge, shows that it
does _not_ admit such merely subjective 'uses.' It insists that ideas
must be more objectively useful--viz., by showing ability to cope with
the situation they were devised to meet. If they fail to harmonize with
the situation they are untrue, however attractive they may be. For ideas
do not function in a void; they have to work in a world of fact, and to
adapt themselves to all facts, though they may succeed in transforming
them in the end.
Nor has an idea to reckon only with facts: it has also to cohere with
other ideas. It must be congruous with the mass of other beliefs held
for good reasons by the thinker who accepts it. For no one can afford to
have a stock of beliefs which conflict too violently with those of his
fellows. If his 'intuitions' contrast too seriously with those of
others, and he acts on them, he will be shut up as a lunatic. If, then,
the 'useful' idea has to approve itself both to its maker and his
fellows without developing limitations in its use, it is clear that a
pragmatic truth is really far less arbitrary and subjective than the
'truths' accepted as absolute, on the bare ground that they seem
'self-evident' to a few intellectualists.
If, however, it be urged that pragmatic truths never grow absolutely
true at all, and that the most prolonged pragmatic tests do not exclude
the possibility of an ultimate error in the idea, there is no difficulty
about admitting this. The pragmatic test yields _practical_, and not
'absolute,' certainty. The existence of absolute certainty is denied,
and the demand for it, in a world which contains only the practical
sort, merely plays into the hands of scepticism. The uncertainty of all
our verificatory processes, however, is not the creation of the
pragmatist, nor is he a god to abolish it. Abstractly, there is always a
doubt about what transcends our immediate experience, and this is why it
is so healthy to have to repudiate so many theoretic doubts in every act
we do. For beliefs have to be acted on, and the results of the action
rightly react on the beliefs. The pragmatic test is practically
adequate, and is the only one available. That it brings out the risk of
action only brings out its superiority to a theory which cannot get
started at all until it is supplied with absolute certainty, and
meantime can only idly rail at all existing human truths.
We have in all this consistently referred the truth of ideas to
individual experiences for verification. This evidently makes all truths
in some sense dependent upon the personality of those who assert and
accept them. Intellectualist logic, on the other hand, has always
proclaimed that mental processes, if true, are 'independent' of the
idiosyncrasies of particular minds. Ideas have a _fixed_ meaning, and
cohere in bodies of 'universal' truth, quite irrespective of whether any
particular mind harbours them or not. This is not only a contention
fatal to the pragmatic claims, but also bound up with other assumptions
of Formal Logic. So it becomes necessary to inquire whether this Logic
is a success, and so can coherently abstract from the personality of the
knower and the particular situations that incite him to know.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote C: Not even 'I lie,' which is meaningless as it stands, _Cf._
Dr. Schiller's _Formal Logic_, p. 373.]
[Footnote D: This same difficulty reappears in various forms, as _e.g._,
in a recent theory which makes the truth of a judgment lie in its
asserting a relation between different objects, and not in the existence
of those objects themselves. This formula also applies as evidently to
false judgments as to true. It, too, brings no independent evidence of
the existence of the objects referred to, and might fall into error
through asserting a relation between objects which did not exist. It is,
moreover, incapable of showing that a relation corresponding to the idea
we have of it really exists when we judge that it does.]
[Footnote E: Each perception, however, contains much that is supplied by
the mind, not 'given' to it.]