The Analysis of Mind by Bertrand Russell (red queen free ebook txt) đź“•
The work has been given in the form of lectures both in Londonand Peking, and one lecture, that on Desire, has been publishedin the Athenaeum.
There are a few allusions to China in this book, all of whichwere written before I had been in China, and are not intended tobe taken by the reader as geographically accurate. I have used"China" merely as a synonym for "a distant country," when Iwanted illustrations of unfamiliar things.
Peking, January 1921.
CONTENTS
I. Recent Criticisms of "Consciousness" II. Instinct and HabitIII. Desire and Feeling IV. Influence of Past History on PresentOccurrences in Living Organisms V. Psychological andPhysical Causal Laws VI. Introspection VII. The Definition ofPerception VIII.Sensati
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its force. First, images do not, as a rule, have that wealth of
concrete detail that would make it IMPOSSIBLE to express them
fully in words. They are vague and fragmentary: a finite number
of words, though perhaps a large number, would exhaust at least
their SIGNIFICANT features. For—and this is our second
point—images enter into the content of a belief through the fact
that they are capable of meaning, and their meaning does not, as
a rule, have as much complexity as they have: some of their
characteristics are usually devoid of meaning. Thus it may well
be possible to extract in words all that has meaning in an
image-content; in that case the word-content and the
image-content will have exactly the same objective reference.
The content of a belief, when expressed in words, is the same
thing (or very nearly the same thing) as what in logic is called
a “proposition.” A proposition is a series of words (or sometimes
a single word) expressing the kind of thing that can be asserted
or denied. “That all men are mortal,” “that Columbus discovered
America,” “that Charles I died in his bed,” “that all
philosophers are wise,” are propositions. Not any series of words
is a proposition, but only such series of words as have
“meaning,” or, in our phraseology, “objective reference.” Given
the meanings of separate words, and the rules of syntax, the
meaning of a proposition is determinate. This is the reason why
we can understand a sentence we never heard before. You probably
never heard before the proposition “that the inhabitants of the
Andaman Islands habitually eat stewed hippopotamus for dinner,”
but there is no difficulty in understanding the proposition. The
question of the relation between the meaning of a sentence and
the meanings of the separate words is difficult, and I shall not
pursue it now; I brought it up solely as being illustrative of
the nature of propositions.
We may extend the term “proposition” so as to cover the
image-contents of beliefs consisting of images. Thus, in the case
of remembering a room in which the window is to the left of the
door, when we believe the image-content the proposition will
consist of the image of the window on the left together with the
image of the door on the right. We will distinguish propositions
of this kind as “image-propositions” and propositions in words as
“word-propositions.” We may identify propositions in general with
the contents of actual and possible beliefs, and we may say that
it is propositions that are true or false. In logic we are
concerned with propositions rather than beliefs, since logic is
not interested in what people do in fact believe, but only in the
conditions which determine the truth or falsehood of possible
beliefs. Whenever possible, except when actual beliefs are in
question, it is generally a simplification to deal with
propositions.
It would seem that image-propositions are more primitive than
word-propositions, and may well ante-date language. There is no
reason why memory-images, accompanied by that very simple
belief-feeling which we decided to be the essence of memory,
should not have occurred before language arose; indeed, it would
be rash to assert positively that memory of this sort does not
occur among the higher animals. Our more elementary beliefs,
notably those that are added to sensation to make perception,
often remain at the level of images. For example, most of the
visual objects in our neighbourhood rouse tactile images: we have
a different feeling in looking at a sofa from what we have in
looking at a block of marble, and the difference consists chiefly
in different stimulation of our tactile imagination. It may be
said that the tactile images are merely present, without any
accompanying belief; but I think this view, though sometimes
correct, derives its plausibility as a general proposition from
our thinking of explicit conscious belief only. Most of our
beliefs, like most of our wishes, are “unconscious,” in the sense
that we have never told ourselves that we have them. Such beliefs
display themselves when the expectations that they arouse fail in
any way. For example, if someone puts tea (without milk) into a
glass, and you drink it under the impression that it is going to
be beer; or if you walk on what appears to be a tiled floor, and
it turns out to be a soft carpet made to look like tiles. The
shock of surprise on an occasion of this kind makes us aware of
the expectations that habitually enter into our perceptions; and
such expectations must be classed as beliefs, in spite of the
fact that we do not normally take note of them or put them into
words. I remember once watching a cock pigeon running over and
over again to the edge of a looking-glass to try to wreak
vengeance on the particularly obnoxious bird whom he expected to
find there, judging by what he saw in the glass. He must have
experienced each time the sort of surprise on finding nothing,
which is calculated to lead in time to the adoption of Berkeley’s
theory that objects of sense are only in the mind. His
expectation, though not expressed in words, deserved, I think, to
be called a belief.
I come now to the question what constitutes believing, as opposed
to the content believed.
To begin with, there are various different attitudes that may be
taken towards the same content. Let us suppose, for the sake of
argument, that you have a visual image of your breakfast-table.
You may expect it while you are dressing in the morning; remember
it as you go to your work; feel doubt as to its correctness when
questioned as to your powers of visualizing; merely entertain the
image, without connecting it with anything external, when you are
going to sleep; desire it if you are hungry, or feel aversion for
it if you are ill. Suppose, for the sake of definiteness, that
the content is “an egg for breakfast.” Then you have the
following attitudes “I expect there will be an egg for
breakfast”; “I remember there was an egg for breakfast”; “Was
there an egg for breakfast?” “An egg for breakfast: well, what of
it?” “I hope there will be an egg for breakfast”; “I am afraid
there will be an egg for breakfast and it is sure to be bad.” I
do not suggest that this is a list of all possible attitudes on
the subject; I say only that they are different attitudes, all
concerned with the one content “an egg for breakfast.”
These attitudes are not all equally ultimate. Those that involve
desire and aversion have occupied us in Lecture III. For the
present, we are only concerned with such as are cognitive. In
speaking of memory, we distinguished three kinds of belief
directed towards the same content, namely memory, expectation and
bare assent without any time-determination in the belief-feeling.
But before developing this view, we must examine two other
theories which might be held concerning belief, and which, in
some ways, would be more in harmony with a behaviourist outlook
than the theory I wish to advocate.
(1) The first theory to be examined is the view that the
differentia of belief consists in its causal efficacy I do not
wish to make any author responsible for this theory: I wish
merely to develop it hypothetically so that we may judge of its
tenability.
We defined the meaning of an image or word by causal efficacy,
namely by associations: an image or word acquires meaning, we
said, through having the same associations as what it means.
We propose hypothetically to define “belief” by a different kind
of causal efficacy, namely efficacy in causing voluntary
movements. (Voluntary movements are defined as those vital
movements which are distinguished from reflex movements as
involving the higher nervous centres. I do not like to
distinguish them by means of such notions as “consciousness” or
“will,” because I do not think these notions, in any definable
sense, are always applicable. Moreover, the purpose of the theory
we are examining is to be, as far as possible, physiological and
behaviourist, and this purpose is not achieved if we introduce
such a conception as “consciousness” or “will.” Nevertheless, it
is necessary for our purpose to find some way of distinguishing
between voluntary and reflex movements, since the results would
be too paradoxical, if we were to say that reflex movements also
involve beliefs.) According to this definition, a content is said
to be “believed” when it causes us to move. The images aroused
are the same if you say to me, “Suppose there were an escaped
tiger coming along the street,” and if you say to me, “There is
an escaped tiger coming along the street.” But my actions will be
very different in the two cases: in the first, I shall remain
calm; in the second, it is possible that I may not. It is
suggested, by the theory we are considering, that this difference
of effects constitutes what is meant by saying that in the second
case I believe the proposition suggested, while in the first case
I do not. According to this view, images or words are “believed”
when they cause bodily movements.
I do not think this theory is adequate, but I think it is
suggestive of truth, and not so easily refutable as it might
appear to be at first sight.
It might be objected to the theory that many things which we
certainly believe do not call for any bodily movements. I believe
that Great Britain is an island, that whales are mammals, that
Charles I was executed, and so on; and at first sight it seems
obvious that such beliefs, as a rule, do not call for any action
on my part. But when we investigate the matter more closely, it
becomes more doubtful. To begin with, we must distinguish belief
as a mere DISPOSITION from actual active belief. We speak as if
we always believed that Charles I was executed, but that only
means that we are always ready to believe it when the subject
comes up. The phenomenon we are concerned to analyse is the
active belief, not the permanent disposition. Now, what are the
occasions when, we actively believe that Charles I was executed?
Primarily: examinations, when we perform the bodily movement of
writing it down; conversation, when we assert it to display our
historical erudition; and political discourses, when we are
engaged in showing what Soviet government leads to. In all these
cases bodily movements (writing or speaking) result from our
belief.
But there remains the belief which merely occurs in “thinking.”
One may set to work to recall some piece of history one has been
reading, and what one recalls is believed, although it probably
does not cause any bodily movement whatever. It is true that what
we believe always MAY influence action. Suppose I am invited to
become King of Georgia: I find the prospect attractive, and go to
Cook’s to buy a third-class ticket to my new realm. At the last
moment I remember Charles I and all the other monarchs who have
come to a bad end; I change my mind, and walk out without
completing the transaction. But such incidents are rare, and
cannot constitute the whole of my belief that Charles I was
executed. The conclusion seems to be that, although a belief
always MAY influence action if it becomes relevant to a practical
issue, it often exists actively (not as a mere disposition)
without producing any voluntary movement whatever. If this is
true, we cannot define belief by the effect on voluntary
movements.
There is another, more theoretical, ground for rejecting the view
we are examining. It is clear that a proposition can be either
believed or merely considered, and that
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