purplecat24/Russel · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 74
air alters colours unless it is perfectly clear, and any strong
reflection will alter them completely. Thus the colour we see is a
result of the ray as it reaches the eye, and not simply a property of
the object from which the ray comes. Hence, also, provided certain waves
reach the eye, we shall see a certain colour, whether the object from
which the waves start has any colour or not. Thus it is quite gratuitous
to suppose that physical objects have colours, and therefore there is no
justification for making such a supposition. Exactly similar arguments
will apply to other sense-data.

It remains to ask whether there are any general philosophical arguments
enabling us to say that, if matter is real, it must be of such and such
a nature. As explained above, very many philosophers, perhaps most, have
held that whatever is real must be in some sense mental, or at any rate
that whatever we can know anything about must be in some sense mental.
Such philosophers are called 'idealists'. Idealists tell us that what
appears as matter is really something mental; namely, either (as Leibniz
held) more or less rudimentary minds, or (as Berkeley contended) ideas
in the minds which, as we should commonly say, 'perceive' the matter.
Thus idealists deny the existence of matter as something intrinsically
different from mind, though they do not deny that our sense-data are
signs of something which exists independently of our private sensations.
In the following chapter we shall consider briefly the reasons--in my
opinion fallacious--which idealists advance in favour of their theory.



CHAPTER IV. IDEALISM

The word 'idealism' is used by different philosophers in somewhat
different senses. We shall understand by it the doctrine that whatever
exists, or at any rate whatever can be known to exist, must be in
some sense mental. This doctrine, which is very widely held among
philosophers, has several forms, and is advocated on several different
grounds. The doctrine is so widely held, and so interesting in itself,
that even the briefest survey of philosophy must give some account of
it.

Those who are unaccustomed to philosophical speculation may be inclined
to dismiss such a doctrine as obviously absurd. There is no doubt that
common sense regards tables and chairs and the sun and moon and material
objects generally as something radically different from minds and the
contents of minds, and as having an existence which might continue if
minds ceased. We think of matter as having existed long before there
were any minds, and it is hard to think of it as a mere product of
mental activity. But whether true or false, idealism is not to be
dismissed as obviously absurd.

We have seen that, even if physical objects do have an independent
existence, they must differ very widely from sense-data, and can only
have a _correspondence_ with sense-data, in the same sort of way in
which a catalogue has a correspondence with the things catalogued. Hence
common sense leaves us completely in the dark as to the true intrinsic
nature of physical objects, and if there were good reason to regard them
as mental, we could not legitimately reject this opinion merely because
it strikes us as strange. The truth about physical objects _must_ be
strange. It may be unattainable, but if any philosopher believes that
he has attained it, the fact that what he offers as the truth is strange
ought not to be made a ground of objection to his opinion.

The grounds on which idealism is advocated are generally grounds derived
from the theory of knowledge, that is to say, from a discussion of the
conditions which things must satisfy in order that we may be able to
know them. The first serious attempt to establish idealism on such
grounds was that of Bishop Berkeley. He proved first, by arguments which
were largely valid, that our sense-data cannot be supposed to have an
existence independent of us, but must be, in part at least, 'in' the
mind, in the sense that their existence would not continue if there were
no seeing or hearing or touching or smelling or tasting. So far, his
contention was almost certainly valid, even if some of his arguments
were not so. But he went on to argue that sense-data were the only
things of whose existence our perceptions could assure us; and that
to be known is to be 'in' a mind, and therefore to be mental. Hence he
concluded that nothing can ever be known except what is in some mind,
and that whatever is known without being in my mind must be in some
other mind.

In order to understand his argument, it is necessary to understand his
use of the word 'idea'. He gives the name 'idea' to anything which
is _immediately_ known, as, for example, sense-data are known. Thus a
particular colour which we see is an idea; so is a voice which we hear,
and so on. But the term is not wholly confined to sense-data. There will
also be things remembered or imagined, for with such things also we have
immediate acquaintance at the moment of remembering or imagining. All
such immediate data he calls 'ideas'.

He then proceeds to consider common objects, such as a tree, for
instance. He shows that all we know immediately when we 'perceive' the
tree consists of ideas in his sense of the word, and he argues that
there is not the slightest ground for supposing that there is anything
real about the tree except what is perceived. Its being, he says,
consists in being perceived: in the Latin of the schoolmen its '_esse_'
is '_percipi_'. He fully admits that the tree must continue to exist
even when we shut our eyes or when no human being is near it. But this
continued existence, he says, is due to the fact that God continues to
perceive it; the 'real' tree, which corresponds to what we called the
physical object, consists of ideas in the mind of God, ideas more or
less like those we have when we see the tree, but differing in the fact
that they are permanent in God's mind so long as the tree continues
to exist. All our perceptions, according to him, consist in a

air alters colours unless it is perfectly clear, and any strong

reflection will alter them completely. Thus the colour we see is a

result of the ray as it reaches the eye, and not simply a property of

the object from which the ray comes. Hence, also, provided certain waves

reach the eye, we shall see a certain colour, whether the object from

which the waves start has any colour or not. Thus it is quite gratuitous

to suppose that physical objects have colours, and therefore there is no

justification for making such a supposition. Exactly similar arguments

will apply to other sense-data.

It remains to ask whether there are any general philosophical arguments

enabling us to say that, if matter is real, it must be of such and such

a nature. As explained above, very many philosophers, perhaps most, have

held that whatever is real must be in some sense mental, or at any rate

that whatever we can know anything about must be in some sense mental.

Such philosophers are called 'idealists'. Idealists tell us that what

appears as matter is really something mental; namely, either (as Leibniz

held) more or less rudimentary minds, or (as Berkeley contended) ideas

in the minds which, as we should commonly say, 'perceive' the matter.

Thus idealists deny the existence of matter as something intrinsically

different from mind, though they do not deny that our sense-data are

signs of something which exists independently of our private sensations.

In the following chapter we shall consider briefly the reasons--in my

opinion fallacious--which idealists advance in favour of their theory.

CHAPTER IV. IDEALISM

The word 'idealism' is used by different philosophers in somewhat

different senses. We shall understand by it the doctrine that whatever

exists, or at any rate whatever can be known to exist, must be in

some sense mental. This doctrine, which is very widely held among

philosophers, has several forms, and is advocated on several different

grounds. The doctrine is so widely held, and so interesting in itself,

that even the briefest survey of philosophy must give some account of

it.

Those who are unaccustomed to philosophical speculation may be inclined

to dismiss such a doctrine as obviously absurd. There is no doubt that

common sense regards tables and chairs and the sun and moon and material

objects generally as something radically different from minds and the

contents of minds, and as having an existence which might continue if

minds ceased. We think of matter as having existed long before there

were any minds, and it is hard to think of it as a mere product of

mental activity. But whether true or false, idealism is not to be

dismissed as obviously absurd.

We have seen that, even if physical objects do have an independent

existence, they must differ very widely from sense-data, and can only

have a _correspondence_ with sense-data, in the same sort of way in

which a catalogue has a correspondence with the things catalogued. Hence

common sense leaves us completely in the dark as to the true intrinsic

nature of physical objects, and if there were good reason to regard them

as mental, we could not legitimately reject this opinion merely because

it strikes us as strange. The truth about physical objects _must_ be

strange. It may be unattainable, but if any philosopher believes that

he has attained it, the fact that what he offers as the truth is strange

ought not to be made a ground of objection to his opinion.

The grounds on which idealism is advocated are generally grounds derived

from the theory of knowledge, that is to say, from a discussion of the

conditions which things must satisfy in order that we may be able to

know them. The first serious attempt to establish idealism on such

grounds was that of Bishop Berkeley. He proved first, by arguments which

were largely valid, that our sense-data cannot be supposed to have an

existence independent of us, but must be, in part at least, 'in' the

mind, in the sense that their existence would not continue if there were

no seeing or hearing or touching or smelling or tasting. So far, his

contention was almost certainly valid, even if some of his arguments

were not so. But he went on to argue that sense-data were the only

things of whose existence our perceptions could assure us; and that

to be known is to be 'in' a mind, and therefore to be mental. Hence he

concluded that nothing can ever be known except what is in some mind,

and that whatever is known without being in my mind must be in some

other mind.

In order to understand his argument, it is necessary to understand his

use of the word 'idea'. He gives the name 'idea' to anything which

is _immediately_ known, as, for example, sense-data are known. Thus a

particular colour which we see is an idea; so is a voice which we hear,

and so on. But the term is not wholly confined to sense-data. There will

also be things remembered or imagined, for with such things also we have

immediate acquaintance at the moment of remembering or imagining. All

such immediate data he calls 'ideas'.

He then proceeds to consider common objects, such as a tree, for

instance. He shows that all we know immediately when we 'perceive' the

tree consists of ideas in his sense of the word, and he argues that

there is not the slightest ground for supposing that there is anything

real about the tree except what is perceived. Its being, he says,

consists in being perceived: in the Latin of the schoolmen its '_esse_'

is '_percipi_'. He fully admits that the tree must continue to exist

even when we shut our eyes or when no human being is near it. But this

continued existence, he says, is due to the fact that God continues to

perceive it; the 'real' tree, which corresponds to what we called the

physical object, consists of ideas in the mind of God, ideas more or

less like those we have when we see the tree, but differing in the fact

that they are permanent in God's mind so long as the tree continues

to exist. All our perceptions, according to him, consist in a