Introduction to Philosophy: Essay 2
Directions: Read the excerpt below from Chapter 6, Section 20 ("Perception in General") of Thomas Reid's An Inquiry into the Human Mind. Explain Reid's response to traditional arguments for skepticism. In your opinion, do you think his argument is successful? Why or why not? Your answer should be a well-formed essay, typed, single-spaced, and no more than one page in length. The essay must be submitted to Turnitin.com by the beginning of class on Tuesday, October 26.
Perception in General
Thomas Reid, "Perception in General" from An Inquiry into the Human Mind, in the version by Jonathan Bennett presented at www.earlymoderntexts.com
Sensation and the perception of external objects by the senses have commonly been considered as one and the same thing, though really they are very different in their natures. The purposes of common life give us no need to distinguish them, and the accepted opinions of philosophers tend rather to run them together; but they are distinct from one another, and if we don't attend carefully to their distinctness we can't possibly get a sound conception of how our senses operate. The simplest operations of the mind aren't capable of being logically defined; all we can do is to describe them, so as to lead those of you who are conscious of them in yourselves to attend to them and reflect on them; and it is often very difficult to describe them so as to produce this result.
The same form of words is used to denote sensation and perception, which makes us apt to look on them as things of the same nature. Thus: I feel a pain. I see a tree. The first denotes a sensation, the second a perception. The grammatical analysis of the two expressions is the same, for both consist of an active verb and an object. But if we attend to the things signified by these expressions we shall find that in the first the distinction between the act and the object is not real but grammatical; in the second the distinction is not just grammatical but real.
The form of the expression ‘I feel pain' might seem to imply that the feeling is something distinct from the pain felt, but in reality they are not distinct. Just as ‘thinking a thought' is an expression that can't signify anything more than ‘thinking' does, so ‘feeling a pain' signifies no more than ‘being pained'. What I have just said about pain is true of every other mere sensation. It is difficult to give examples because very few of our sensations have names; and when a sensation does have a name it will also be the name of something else that is associated with the sensation. But when we attend to the sensation by itself, and separate it from other things that are linked with it in the imagination, it appears to be something that can't exist except in a sentient mind, and not to be distinct from the act of the mind by which it is felt.
Perception, as I here understand it, always has an object distinct from the act by which it is perceived—an object that can exist whether or not it is perceived. I perceive a tree that grows just outside my window: there is here an object that is perceived, and an act of the mind by which it is perceived; and these two are not only distinguishable but are extremely unalike in their natures. The object is made up of a trunk, branches and leaves; but the act of the mind by which it is perceived has no trunk, branches or leaves! I am conscious of this act of my mind and I can reflect on it; but it is too simple to admit of an analysis or definition, and I can't find proper words to describe it. I find nothing that resembles it so much as the memory of the tree or the imagining of it; yet both of these differ essentially from perception, and they also differ from one another. It is useless for a philosopher such as Hume to assure me that imagining the tree, remembering it, and perceiving it are all one, and differ only in degree of liveliness. I know better, for I am as well acquainted with all three of those as I am with the rooms in my own house. I also know this: perceiving an object implies both conceiving of its form and believing in its present existence. I know, moreover, that this belief isn't the effect of arguments and reasoning; it is the immediate effect of my constitution.
I am aware that this belief that I have in perception stands exposed to the big guns of scepticism. But they don't have much effect on it. The sceptic asks me: Why do you believe in the existence of the external object that you perceive? Reply: This belief, sir, is not made by me; it came from the mint of nature; it bears her image and official stamp, and, if it isn't right that's not my fault; I took it on trust, without suspicion. Sceptic: Reason is the only judge of truth, and you ought to rid yourself of every opinion and every belief that isn't based on reason. Reply: Why, sir, should I trust the faculty of reason more than that of perception? They came out of the same workshop and were made by the same craftsman; and if he puts one piece of false ware into my hands, what's to stop him from putting another? Perhaps the sceptic will agree to distrust reason rather than give any credence to perception. He may argue like this: Since you concede that the object that you perceive and the act of your mind by which you perceive it are quite different things, either can exist without the other: just as the object can exist without being perceived, so the perception can exist without an object. There is nothing so shameful in a philosopher as to be deceived and deluded; and therefore you ought to resolve firmly to withhold assent, and to get rid of all this belief in external objects, which may be all delusion.
For my part, I will never attempt to get rid of it. The sober part of mankind won't be much concerned to know my reasons, but if they can be of use to any sceptic, here they are.
(1) It isn't in my power to get rid of my belief in external objects, so why should I waste time trying to do so? It would be enjoyable to fly to the moon, and to make a visit to Jupiter and Saturn; but when I know that nature has bound me down by the law of gravitation to this planet that I inhabit, I rest content and quietly allow myself to be carried along in its orbit. Well, my belief is carried along by perception as irresistibly as my body is carried along by the earth. And the greatest sceptic will find that this holds for him too. He may struggle hard to disbelieve the information of his senses, like a man struggling to swim against a current; but ah! it is useless. It is useless for him to strain every nerve, and to wrestle with nature and with every object that impinges on his senses. For after all this effort, when his strength is exhausted in the forlorn attempt, he will be carried down the current with the common herd of believers.
(2) I think that it wouldn't be prudent to throw off this belief, even if I could. If nature intended to deceive me and lead me astray by false appearances, and I by my great cunning and profound logic discovered this, prudence would dictate to me that I should put up with this indignity as quietly as I could and not call nature an impostor to her face, for fear that she would get even with me in some other way. What do I gain by resenting this injury? ‘You ought at least not to believe what she says.' This indeed seems reasonable if she intends to lead me astray. But what is the consequence? I resolve not to believe my senses. I break my nose against a post that comes in my way; I step into a canal; and after twenty such wise and rational actions I am arrested and dumped into a mad-house. Now, I admit that I would rather be one of the credulous fools whom nature leads astray than one of the wise and rational philosophers who resolve to withhold assent at all this expense. If a man pretends to be a sceptic with regard to what his senses tell him, yet prudently keeps out of harm's way as other men do, he must excuse my suspicion that either he is a hypocrite or he is deceiving himself. For if the scales of his belief were so evenly poised as to lean no more to one side than to its opposite, his actions couldn't possibly be directed by any rules of ordinary prudence.
(3) Although those two reasons are perhaps two more than enough, I shall offer a third. For a considerable part of my life I completely trusted what nature told me through my senses, before I had learned enough logic to be able to start a doubt about this. And now when I think back on my past, I don't find that I have been led astray by this belief. I find that without it I would have perished by a thousand accidents. I find that without it I would have been no wiser now than when I was born. I wouldn't even have been able to acquire the logic that suggests these sceptical doubts with regard to my senses. So I regard this instructive belief as one of nature's best gifts. I thank God , the author of my being, who gave it to me before the eyes of my reason were opened and still gives it to me as a guide in matters where reason leaves me in the dark. And now I follow the direction of my senses not merely from instinct but also from confidence and trust in a reliable and kindly guide—trust based on my experience of his paternal care and goodness.
In all this I deal with the author of my being in just the way I have thought it reasonable to deal with my parents and teachers. I instinctively believed whatever they told me, long before I had the idea of a lie or thought of the possibility of their deceiving me. Afterwards, I found on reflection that they had acted like fair and honest people who wished me well. I found that if I hadn't believed what they told me before I could give any reason for doing so, I would even today have been little better than an imbecile. And although my natural credulity has sometimes led to my being imposed on by deceivers, it has been of infinite advantage to me on the whole; and so I consider my credulity as another good gift of nature. And the trust that I used to give instinctively I continue to give thoughtfully to those of whose integrity and truthfulness I have had experience.