purplecat24/Russel · Datasets at Hugging Face

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what the senses _immediately_ tell us is not the truth about the object
as it is apart from us, but only the truth about certain sense-data
which, so far as we can see, depend upon the relations between us and
the object. Thus what we directly see and feel is merely 'appearance',
which we believe to be a sign of some 'reality' behind. But if the
reality is not what appears, have we any means of knowing whether there
is any reality at all? And if so, have we any means of finding out what
it is like?

Such questions are bewildering, and it is difficult to know that even
the strangest hypotheses may not be true. Thus our familiar table,
which has roused but the slightest thoughts in us hitherto, has become a
problem full of surprising possibilities. The one thing we know about it
is that it is not what it seems. Beyond this modest result, so far, we
have the most complete liberty of conjecture. Leibniz tells us it is a
community of souls: Berkeley tells us it is an idea in the mind of God;
sober science, scarcely less wonderful, tells us it is a vast collection
of electric charges in violent motion.

Among these surprising possibilities, doubt suggests that perhaps there
is no table at all. Philosophy, if it cannot _answer_ so many questions
as we could wish, has at least the power of _asking_ questions which
increase the interest of the world, and show the strangeness and wonder
lying just below the surface even in the commonest things of daily life.



CHAPTER II. THE EXISTENCE OF MATTER

In this chapter we have to ask ourselves whether, in any sense at all,
there is such a thing as matter. Is there a table which has a certain
intrinsic nature, and continues to exist when I am not looking, or is
the table merely a product of my imagination, a dream-table in a very
prolonged dream? This question is of the greatest importance. For if
we cannot be sure of the independent existence of objects, we cannot
be sure of the independent existence of other people's bodies, and
therefore still less of other people's minds, since we have no grounds
for believing in their minds except such as are derived from observing
their bodies. Thus if we cannot be sure of the independent existence of
objects, we shall be left alone in a desert--it may be that the whole
outer world is nothing but a dream, and that we alone exist. This is an
uncomfortable possibility; but although it cannot be strictly proved to
be false, there is not the slightest reason to suppose that it is true.
In this chapter we have to see why this is the case.

Before we embark upon doubtful matters, let us try to find some more
or less fixed point from which to start. Although we are doubting the
physical existence of the table, we are not doubting the existence
of the sense-data which made us think there was a table; we are not
doubting that, while we look, a certain colour and shape appear to us,
and while we press, a certain sensation of hardness is experienced by
us. All this, which is psychological, we are not calling in question.
In fact, whatever else may be doubtful, some at least of our immediate
experiences seem absolutely certain.

Descartes (1596-1650), the founder of modern philosophy, invented a
method which may still be used with profit--the method of systematic
doubt. He determined that he would believe nothing which he did not see
quite clearly and distinctly to be true. Whatever he could bring himself
to doubt, he would doubt, until he saw reason for not doubting it.
By applying this method he gradually became convinced that the only
existence of which he could be _quite_ certain was his own. He imagined
a deceitful demon, who presented unreal things to his senses in a
perpetual phantasmagoria; it might be very improbable that such a demon
existed, but still it was possible, and therefore doubt concerning
things perceived by the senses was possible.

But doubt concerning his own existence was not possible, for if he did
not exist, no demon could deceive him. If he doubted, he must exist; if
he had any experiences whatever, he must exist. Thus his own existence
was an absolute certainty to him. 'I think, therefore I am,' he said
(_Cogito, ergo sum_); and on the basis of this certainty he set to work
to build up again the world of knowledge which his doubt had laid in
ruins. By inventing the method of doubt, and by showing that subjective
things are the most certain, Descartes performed a great service to
philosophy, and one which makes him still useful to all students of the
subject.

But some care is needed in using Descartes' argument. 'I think,
therefore I am' says rather more than is strictly certain. It might seem
as though we were quite sure of being the same person to-day as we were
yesterday, and this is no doubt true in some sense. But the real Self is
as hard to arrive at as the real table, and does not seem to have that
absolute, convincing certainty that belongs to particular experiences.
When I look at my table and see a certain brown colour, what is quite
certain at once is not '_I_ am seeing a brown colour', but rather,
'a brown colour is being seen'. This of course involves something (or
somebody) which (or who) sees the brown colour; but it does not of
itself involve that more or less permanent person whom we call 'I'. So
far as immediate certainty goes, it might be that the something which
sees the brown colour is quite momentary, and not the same as the
something which has some different experience the next moment.

Thus it is our particular thoughts and feelings that have primitive
certainty. And this applies to dreams and hallucinations as well as to
normal perceptions: when we dream or see a ghost, we certainly do have
the sensations we think we have, but for various reasons it is held that
no physical object corresponds to these sensations. Thus the certainty
of our knowledge of our own experiences does not have to be limited in
any way to allow for exceptional cases. Here, therefore, we have, for

what the senses _immediately_ tell us is not the truth about the object

as it is apart from us, but only the truth about certain sense-data

which, so far as we can see, depend upon the relations between us and

the object. Thus what we directly see and feel is merely 'appearance',

which we believe to be a sign of some 'reality' behind. But if the

reality is not what appears, have we any means of knowing whether there

is any reality at all? And if so, have we any means of finding out what

it is like?

Such questions are bewildering, and it is difficult to know that even

the strangest hypotheses may not be true. Thus our familiar table,

which has roused but the slightest thoughts in us hitherto, has become a

problem full of surprising possibilities. The one thing we know about it

is that it is not what it seems. Beyond this modest result, so far, we

have the most complete liberty of conjecture. Leibniz tells us it is a

community of souls: Berkeley tells us it is an idea in the mind of God;

sober science, scarcely less wonderful, tells us it is a vast collection

of electric charges in violent motion.

Among these surprising possibilities, doubt suggests that perhaps there

is no table at all. Philosophy, if it cannot _answer_ so many questions

as we could wish, has at least the power of _asking_ questions which

increase the interest of the world, and show the strangeness and wonder

lying just below the surface even in the commonest things of daily life.

CHAPTER II. THE EXISTENCE OF MATTER

In this chapter we have to ask ourselves whether, in any sense at all,

there is such a thing as matter. Is there a table which has a certain

intrinsic nature, and continues to exist when I am not looking, or is

the table merely a product of my imagination, a dream-table in a very

prolonged dream? This question is of the greatest importance. For if

we cannot be sure of the independent existence of objects, we cannot

be sure of the independent existence of other people's bodies, and

therefore still less of other people's minds, since we have no grounds

for believing in their minds except such as are derived from observing

their bodies. Thus if we cannot be sure of the independent existence of

objects, we shall be left alone in a desert--it may be that the whole

outer world is nothing but a dream, and that we alone exist. This is an

uncomfortable possibility; but although it cannot be strictly proved to

be false, there is not the slightest reason to suppose that it is true.

In this chapter we have to see why this is the case.

Before we embark upon doubtful matters, let us try to find some more

or less fixed point from which to start. Although we are doubting the

physical existence of the table, we are not doubting the existence

of the sense-data which made us think there was a table; we are not

doubting that, while we look, a certain colour and shape appear to us,

and while we press, a certain sensation of hardness is experienced by

us. All this, which is psychological, we are not calling in question.

In fact, whatever else may be doubtful, some at least of our immediate

experiences seem absolutely certain.

Descartes (1596-1650), the founder of modern philosophy, invented a

method which may still be used with profit--the method of systematic

doubt. He determined that he would believe nothing which he did not see

quite clearly and distinctly to be true. Whatever he could bring himself

to doubt, he would doubt, until he saw reason for not doubting it.

By applying this method he gradually became convinced that the only

existence of which he could be _quite_ certain was his own. He imagined

a deceitful demon, who presented unreal things to his senses in a

perpetual phantasmagoria; it might be very improbable that such a demon

existed, but still it was possible, and therefore doubt concerning

things perceived by the senses was possible.

But doubt concerning his own existence was not possible, for if he did

not exist, no demon could deceive him. If he doubted, he must exist; if

he had any experiences whatever, he must exist. Thus his own existence

was an absolute certainty to him. 'I think, therefore I am,' he said

(_Cogito, ergo sum_); and on the basis of this certainty he set to work

to build up again the world of knowledge which his doubt had laid in

ruins. By inventing the method of doubt, and by showing that subjective

things are the most certain, Descartes performed a great service to

philosophy, and one which makes him still useful to all students of the

subject.

But some care is needed in using Descartes' argument. 'I think,

therefore I am' says rather more than is strictly certain. It might seem

as though we were quite sure of being the same person to-day as we were

yesterday, and this is no doubt true in some sense. But the real Self is

as hard to arrive at as the real table, and does not seem to have that

absolute, convincing certainty that belongs to particular experiences.

When I look at my table and see a certain brown colour, what is quite

certain at once is not '_I_ am seeing a brown colour', but rather,

'a brown colour is being seen'. This of course involves something (or

somebody) which (or who) sees the brown colour; but it does not of

itself involve that more or less permanent person whom we call 'I'. So

far as immediate certainty goes, it might be that the something which

sees the brown colour is quite momentary, and not the same as the

something which has some different experience the next moment.

Thus it is our particular thoughts and feelings that have primitive

certainty. And this applies to dreams and hallucinations as well as to

normal perceptions: when we dream or see a ghost, we certainly do have

the sensations we think we have, but for various reasons it is held that

no physical object corresponds to these sensations. Thus the certainty

of our knowledge of our own experiences does not have to be limited in

any way to allow for exceptional cases. Here, therefore, we have, for