Charles Sanders Peirce (1839-1914) was a brilliant American philosopher from a prominent New England family who never achieved mainstream respectability among the academics of his day, but is now regarded as one of the greatest minds of the past two centuries. One of his most well-known works is his essay "The Fixation of Belief" published in 1877. In it he lays out the four common methods for moving from doubt (a kind of irritation) to belief (a state of relief or rest). A key point is that Peirce believed in a reality that exists independent of humans or other observers. This forms the basis for science, and goes against the grain of those who might wish to force reality to conform to their wishes. His analysis is of particular interest today given what some have called the "epistemic crisis".
His writing is sometimes incandescently clear and sometimes obscure. As his friend William James called it, "flashes of brilliant light relieved against Cimmerian darkness! " I have edited the text with the goal of making it flow more easily for the modern reader. I have introduced no ideas of my own. I make apology only to Peirce himself, and ask his forbearance, with the notion that through my small effort he will reach a wider audience. The original manuscript as published can be found here. — KJ
The Fixation of Belief
by Charles Sanders Peirce, 1877
Few persons care to study logic, because everybody conceives themselves to be proficient enough in the art of reasoning already. But I observe that this satisfaction is limited to oneself, and does not extend to other people.
We come to the full possession of our power of drawing inferences the last of all our faculties, for it is not so much a natural gift as a long and difficult art. The history of its practice would make a grand subject. [A historical survey about how reasoning has evolved over the centuries is omitted here -Ed.].
The object of reasoning is to find out, from the consideration of what we already know, something else which we do not know. Consequently, reasoning is good if it gives a true conclusion from true premises, and not otherwise. Thus, the question of its validity is purely one of fact and not of thinking.
If "A" are the premises and "B" the conclusion, the question is whether if A is true, B is true. If so, the inference is valid; if not, not. It is not in the least the question whether, when the premises are accepted by the mind, we feel an impulse to accept the conclusion also. It is true that we do generally reason correctly by nature. But that is an accident; the true conclusion would remain true if we had no impulse to accept it; and the false one would remain false, even if we could not resist the tendency to believe in it.
We are, doubtless, in the main logical animals, but we are not perfectly so. Most of us, for example, are naturally more sanguine and hopeful than logic would justify. We seem to be so constituted that in the absence of any facts to go upon we are happy and self-satisfied; so that the effect of experience is continually to contract our hopes and aspirations. Yet a lifetime of the application of this corrective does not usually eradicate our sanguine disposition. Where hope is unchecked by any experience, it is likely that our optimism is extravagant.
Logicality in regard to practical matters is the most useful quality an animal can possess, and might, therefore, result from the action of natural selection; but outside of these it is probably of more advantage to the animal to have his mind filled with pleasing and encouraging visions, independently of their truth; and thus, upon unpractical subjects, natural selection might occasion a fallacious tendency of thought.
That which leads us to draw one inference rather than another from given premises is some habit of mind, whether it be constitutional or acquired. The habit is good or otherwise depending on whether it produces true conclusions from true premises or not. We tend to regard an inference as valid or not depending on whether the habit which determines it tends to produce true conclusions in general or not, without reference to the truth or falsity of that inference specially. The particular habit of mind may be called a guiding principle.
A book might be written to signalize all the most important of these guiding principles of reasoning. It would probably be, we must confess, of no service to a person whose thought is directed wholly to practical subjects, and whose activity moves along thoroughly beaten
paths. The problems which present themselves to such a mind are matters of routine which they have learned once for all to handle in learning their business. But let a person venture into an unfamiliar field, or where their results are not continually checked by experience, and all history shows that the most robust intellect will ofttimes lose its orientation and waste its efforts in directions which bring it no nearer to the goal, or even carry it entirely astray. Such a person is like a ship in the open sea, with no one on board who understands the rules of navigation. And in such a case some general study of the guiding principles of reasoning would be sure to be found useful.
The subject could hardly be treated, however, without being first limited; since almost any fact may serve as a guiding principle. But it so happens that there exists a division among facts, such that in one class are all those which are absolutely essential as guiding principles, and in other classes all the rest. This division is between those facts which are necessarily taken for granted in asking whether a certain conclusion follows from certain premises, and those which are not implied in that question. A moment's thought will show that a variety of facts are already assumed when the logical question is first asked. It is implied, for instance, that there are such states of mind as doubt and belief — that a passage from one to the other is possible, the object of thought remaining the same, and that this transition is subject to some rules which all minds are alike bound by. As these are facts which we must already know before we can have any clear conception of reasoning at all, it cannot be supposed to be any longer of much interest to inquire into their truth or falsity.
On the other hand, it is easy to believe that those rules of reasoning which are deduced from the very idea of the process are the ones which are the most essential; and, indeed, that so long as the process conforms to these it will not lead to false conclusions from true premises. Interestingly, the importance of what may be deduced from the assumptions involved in the logical question turns out to be greater than might be supposed. The reasons for this are difficult to exhibit here. The only one which I shall mention is, that conceptions which are really products of logical reflection, without being readily seen to be so, mingle with our ordinary thoughts, and are frequently the causes of great confusion. This is the case, for example, with the conception of quality. A quality as such is never an object of observation. We can see that a thing is blue or green, but the quality of being blue and the quality of being green are not things which we see; they are products of logical reflection. The truth is, that common-sense, or thought as it first emerges above the level of the narrowly practical, is deeply imbued with that bad logical quality to which the epithet metaphysical is commonly applied; and nothing can clear it up but a severe course of logic.
We generally know when we wish to ask a question and when we wish to pronounce a judgment, for there is a dissimilarity between the sensation of doubting and that of believing.
But this is not all which distinguishes doubt from belief. There is a practical difference. Our beliefs guide our desires and shape our actions. The Assassins, or followers of the Old Man of the Mountain, used to rush into death at his least command, because they believed that obedience to him would insure everlasting felicity. Had they doubted this, they would not have acted as they did. So it is with every belief, according to its degree.
The feeling of believing is a more or less sure indication of there being established in our nature some habit which will determine our actions. Doubt never has such an effect.
Nor must we overlook a third point of difference. Doubt is an uneasy and dissatisfied state from which we struggle to free ourselves and pass into the state of belief; while the latter is a calm and satisfactory state which we do not wish to avoid, or to change to a belief in anything else. On the contrary, we cling tenaciously, not merely to believing, but to believing just what we do believe.
Thus, both doubt and belief have positive effects upon us, though very different ones. Belief does not make us act at once, but puts us into such a condition that we shall behave in a certain way when the occasion arises. Doubt has not the least effect of this sort, but stimulates us to action until it is destroyed. This reminds us of the irritation of a nerve and the reflex action produced thereby; while for the analogue of belief in the nervous system, we must look to what are called nervous associations — for example, to that habit of the nerves in consequence of which the smell of a peach will make the mouth water.
From Doubt To Belief
The irritation of doubt is the only immediate motive for the struggle to attain belief. It is best for us that our beliefs guide our actions so as to satisfy our desires, and this inclines us reject any belief which does not seem to insure this result. But this creates a doubt in the place of that belief. With the doubt, therefore, the struggle begins, and with the cessation of doubt it ends. I shall term this struggle inquiry, though it must be admitted that this is sometimes not a very apt designation.
Hence the sole object of inquiry is the settlement of opinion. We may fancy that this is not enough for us, and that we seek, not merely an opinion, but a true opinion. But put this fancy to the test, and it proves groundless; for as soon as a firm belief is reached we are entirely satisfied, whether the belief be true or false. And it is clear that nothing out of the sphere of our knowledge can be our object, for nothing which does not affect the mind can be the motive for a mental effort. The most that can be maintained is, that we seek for a belief that we shall think to be true. But we think each one of our beliefs to be true, and, indeed, it is mere tautology to say so.
That the settlement of opinion is the sole end of inquiry is a very important proposition. It sweeps away, at once, various vague and erroneous conceptions of proof. A few of these may be noticed here:
1. Some philosophers have imagined that to start an inquiry it was only necessary to utter a question or set it down upon paper, and have even recommended us to begin our studies with questioning everything! But the mere putting of a proposition into the interrogative form does not stimulate the mind to any struggle after belief. There must be a real and living doubt, and without this all discussion is idle.
2. It is a very common idea that a demonstration must rest on some ultimate and absolutely indubitable propositions. These, according to
one school, are first principles of a general nature; according to another, are first sensations. But, in point of fact, an inquiry, to have that completely satisfactory result called demonstration, has only to start with propositions perfectly free from all actual doubt. If the premises are not in fact doubted at all, they cannot be more satisfactory than they are.
3. Some people seem to love to argue a point after all the world is fully convinced of it. But no further advance can be made. When doubt ceases, mental action on the subject comes to an end; and, if it did go on, it would be without a purpose.
The journey from doubt to belief, that is, the fixation of belief, is pursued chiefly through four methods:
1. the method of tenacity
2. the method of authority
3. the method of reason
4. the method of science
The Method of Tenacity
If the settlement of opinion is the sole object of inquiry, and if belief is of the nature of a habit, why should we not attain the desired end by taking any answer which we may fancy? Then we might constantly reiterate this answer to ourselves, dwell on all which may be conducive to it, and learn to turn with contempt and hatred from anything which might disturb it.
This method of fixing belief may be called the method of tenacity. This simple and direct method is really pursued by many people. I remember once being entreated not to read a certain newspaper lest it might change my opinion upon free trade. "You are not," my friend said, "a special student of economics. You might, therefore, easily be
deceived by fallacious arguments upon the subject. You might, if you read this paper, be led to believe in protection. But you admit that free trade is the true doctrine; and you do not wish to believe what is not true." I have often known this system to be deliberately adopted.
Still oftener, the instinctive dislike of an undecided state of mind, exaggerated into a vague dread of doubt, makes people cling spasmodically to the views they already take. They feel that, if they only hold to their belief without wavering, it will be entirely satisfactory. Nor can it be denied that a steady and immovable faith yields great peace of mind. It may, indeed, give rise to inconveniences, as if a man should resolutely continue to believe that fire would not burn him. The person who adopts this method will not admit that its inconveniences are greater than its advantages. In many cases it may very well be that the pleasure they derive from this calm faith overbalances any inconveniences resulting from its deceptive character.
A similar consideration seems to have weight with many persons in religious topics, for we frequently hear it said, "Oh, I could not believe so-and-so, because I should be wretched if I did." Thus, if it be true that death is annihilation, then the man who believes that he will certainly go straight to heaven when he dies, provided he have fulfilled certain simple observances in this life, has a cheap pleasure which will not be followed by the least disappointment.
When an ostrich buries its head in the sand as danger approaches, it very likely takes the happiest course. It hides the danger, and then calmly says there is no danger; and, if it feels perfectly sure there is none, why should it raise its head to see? A person may go through life, systematically keeping out of view all that might cause a change in their opinions, and if they only succeed I do not see what can be said against them doing so. It would be an egotistical impertinence to object that their procedure is irrational, for that only amounts to saying that their method of settling belief is not ours. They do not propose to themselves to be rational, and, indeed, will often talk with scorn of man's weak and illusive reason. So let them think as they please.
But this method of fixing belief will be unable to hold its ground in practice. The social impulse is against it. The person who adopts it will find that other people think differently, and it will be apt to occur to them, in some saner moment, that these other opinions are quite as good as their own. This will shake their confidence in their belief. This conception, that another person's thought or sentiment may be equivalent to one's own, is a distinctly new step, and a highly important one. It arises from an
impulse too strong in man to be suppressed, without danger of destroying the human species. Unless we make ourselves hermits, we shall necessarily influence each other's opinions; so that the problem becomes how to fix belief, not in the individual merely, but in the community.
The Method of Authority
Let the will of the state act, then, instead of that of the individual. Let an institution be created which shall have for its object to keep correct doctrines before the attention of the people, to reiterate them perpetually, and to teach them to the young; having at the same time power to prevent contrary doctrines from being taught, advocated, or expressed. Let all possible causes of a change of mind be removed from men's apprehensions. Let them be kept ignorant, lest they should learn of some reason to think otherwise than they do. Let their passions be enlisted, so that they may regard private and unusual opinions with hatred and horror.
Then, let all men who reject the established belief be terrified into silence. Let the people turn out and tar-and-feather such men, or let inquisitions be made into the manner of thinking of suspected persons, and, when they are found guilty of forbidden beliefs, let them be subjected to some signal punishment. When complete agreement could not otherwise be reached, a general massacre of all who have not thought in a certain way has proved a very effective means of settling opinion in a country. If the power to do this be wanting, let a list of opinions be drawn up, to which no man of the least independence of thought can assent, and let the faithful be required to accept all these propositions, in order to segregate them as radically as possible from the influence of the rest of the world.
This method has, from the earliest times, been one of the chief means of upholding correct theological and political doctrines, and of preserving their universal character. In Rome, especially, it has been practiced from the days of King Numa Pompilius to those of Pope Pius IX. This is the most perfect example in history; but wherever there is a priesthood - and no religion has been without one - this method has been more or less made use of. Wherever there is an aristocracy, or a guild, or any association of a class of men whose interests depend or are supposed to depend on certain propositions, there will be inevitably found some traces of this natural product of social feeling.
Cruelties always accompany this system; and when it is consistently carried out, they become atrocities of the most horrible kind in the eyes of any rational person. Nor should this occasion surprise, for the officer of a society does not feel justified in surrendering the interests of that society for the sake of mercy, as he or she might their own private interests. It is natural, therefore, that sympathy and fellowship should thus produce a most ruthless power.
In judging this method of fixing belief, which may be called the method of authority, we must, in the first place, allow its immeasura-
ble mental and moral superiority to the method of tenacity. Its success is proportionately greater; and, in fact, it has over and over again worked the most majestic results. The mere structures of stone which it has caused to be put together - in Thailand, for example, in Egypt, and in Europe -have many of them a sublimity hardly more than rivaled by the greatest works of Nature. And, except for the geological epochs, there are no periods of time so vast as those which are measured by some of these organized faiths. If we scrutinize the matter closely, we shall find that there has not been one of their creeds which has remained always the same; yet the change is so slow as to be imperceptible during one person's life, so that individual belief remains sensibly fixed.
For the mass of mankind, then, there is perhaps no better method than this. If it is their highest impulse to be intellectual slaves, then slaves they ought to remain. But no institution can undertake to regulate opinions upon every
subject. Only the most important ones can be attended to, and on the rest men's minds must be left to the action of natural causes. This imperfection will not be a source of weakness so long as men are in such a state of culture that one opinion does not influence another — that is, so long as they cannot put two and two together.
The Method of Reason
But even in the most priest-ridden states some individuals will be found who are raised above that condition. These people possess a wider sort of social feeling; they see that people in other countries and in other ages have held to very different doctrines from those which they themselves have been brought up to believe; and they cannot help seeing that it is the mere accident of their having been taught as they have, and of their having been surrounded with the manners and associations they have, that has caused them to believe as they do and not far differently. And their candor cannot resist the reflection that there is no reason to rate their own views at a higher value than those of other nations and other centuries; and this gives rise to doubts in their minds.
They will further perceive that such doubts as these must exist in their minds with reference to every belief determined by the caprice either of themselves or of others. The willful adherence to a belief, and the arbitrary forcing of it upon others, must, therefore, both be given up, and a new method of settling opinions must be adopted, which shall not only produce an impulse to believe, but shall also decide what proposition it is which is to be believed. Let the action of natural preferences be unimpeded, then, and under their influence let people, conversing together and regarding matters in different lights, gradually develop beliefs in harmony with natural causes. This method resembles that by which conceptions of art have been brought to maturity. The most perfect example of it is to be found in the history of metaphysical philosophy.
Systems of this sort have not usually rested upon any
observed facts, at least not in any great degree. They have been chiefly adopted because their fundamental propositions seemed "agreeable to reason." This is an apt expression; it does not mean that which agrees with experience, but that which we find ourselves inclined to believe. Plato, for example, finds it agreeable to reason that the distances of the celestial spheres from one another should be proportional to the different lengths of strings which produce harmonious chords. Many philosophers have been led to their main conclusions by considera tions like this; but this is the lowest and least developed form which the method takes. It is clear that another person might find Kepler's theory that the celestial spheres are proportional to the inscribed and circumscribed spheres of the different regular solids more agreeable to their reason. But the shock of opinions will soon lead people to rest on preferences of a far more universal nature. Take, for example, the doctrine that man only acts selfishly — that is, from the consideration that acting in one way will afford him more pleasure than acting in another. This rests on no fact in the world, but it has had a wide acceptance as being the only reasonable theory.
This method is far more intellectual and respectable from the point of view of reason than either of the others which we have noticed. But its failure has been the most manifest. It makes of inquiry something similar to the development of taste; but taste, unfortunately, is always more or less a matter of fashion, and accordingly metaphysicians have never come to any fixed agreement, instead the pendulum has swung backward and forward between a more material and a more spiritual philosophy, from the earliest times to the latest.
We might hope this a priori method would deliver our opinions from their accidental and capricious element. But while the development of these beliefs is a process which eliminates the effect of some casual circumstances, it only magnifies that of others. Sentiments in their development will be very greatly determined by accidental causes such as those from opinions of earlier authority figures, as we see in appeals to the ancient philosophers, and from local history and culture. Thus, this method does not differ in a very essential way from that of authority.
Now, there are some people, among whom I must suppose that my reader is to be found, who, when they see that any belief of theirs is determined by circumstances extraneous to the facts, will experience a real doubt of it, so that it ceases to be a belief. In this circumstance, the appeal to reason will not satisfy their doubt.
The Method of Science
To satisfy our doubts, therefore, it is necessary that a method should be found by which our beliefs may be caused by nothing human, but by some external permanency — by something upon which our thinking has no effect. The method must be such that the ultimate conclusion of every man shall be the same. Such is the method of science. Its fundamental hypothesis is this: There are real things, whose characters are entirely independent of our opinions about them; those realities affect our senses according to regular laws, and, though our sensations are as different as our relations to the objects, yet, by taking advantage of the laws of perception, we can ascertain by reasoning how things really are. Any person, if they have sufficient experience and reason enough about it, will be led to the one true conclusion.
Some mystics imagine that they have such a method in a private inspiration from on high. But that is only a form of the method of tenacity, in which the conception of truth as something public is not yet developed. Our external permanency would not be external, in our sense, if it was restricted in its influence to one individual. It must be something which affects, or might affect, every person.
The new conception here involved is that of reality. It may be asked how I know that there are any realities. If this hypothesis is the sole support of my method of inquiry, my method of inquiry must not be used to support my hypothesis. The reply is this:
1. If investigation cannot be regarded as proving that there are real things, it at least does not lead to a contrary conclusion; the method and the conception on which it is based remain ever in harmony. No doubts of the method, therefore, necessarily arise from its practice, as is the case with all the other methods.
2. The feeling which gives rise to any method of fixing belief is a dissatisfaction at two incompatible propositions. But here already is a vague concession that there is some one thing to which a proposition should conform. Nobody, therefore, can really doubt that there are realities, or if they did, doubt would not be a source of dissatisfaction. The hypothesis, therefore, is one which every mind admits. So that the social impulse does not cause me to doubt it.
3. Everybody uses the scientific method about a great many things, and only ceases to use it when they do not know how to apply it.
4. Experience of the method has not led me to doubt it, but, on the contrary, scientific investigation has had the most wonderful triumphs in the way of settling opinion.
These afford the explanation of my not doubting the method or the hypothesis which it supposes; and not having any doubt, nor believing that anybody else whom I could influence has, it would be the merestbabble for me to say more about it. If there be anybody with a living doubt upon the subject, let him consider it.
Comparison of the Methods
This scientific method is the only one of the four methods which presents any distinction of a right and a wrong way. If I adopt the method of tenacity and shut myself out from all influences, whatever I think necessary to do this is necessary according to that method. Same with the method of authority: the state may try to put down heresy by means which, from a scientific point of view, seem very ill-calculated, but the only test on that method is what the state thinks, so it cannot pursue the method wrongly. Same with the a priori method: the very essence of it is to think as one is inclined to think. All metaphysicians will be sure to do that, however they may be inclined to judge each other to be perversely wrong. One may be sure that whatever scientific investigation has put out of doubt will presently receive a priori demonstration on the part of the metaphysicians.
But with the scientific method the case is different. I may start with known and observed facts to proceed to the unknown; and yet the rules which I follow in doing so may not be such as investigation would approve. The test of whether I am truly following the method is not an immediate appeal to my feelings and purposes, but, on the contrary, itself involves the application of the method. Hence it is that bad reasoning as well as good reasoning is possible; and this fact is the foundation of the practical side of logic.
It is not to be supposed that the first three methods of settling opinion present no advantage whatever over the scientific method. On the contrary, each has some peculiar convenience of its own. The a priori method is distinguished for its comfortable conclusions. It is the nature of the process to adopt whatever belief we are inclined to, and there are certain flatteries to the vanity of man which we all believe by nature, until we are awakened from our pleasing dream by some rough facts.
The method of authority will always govern the mass of mankind; and those who wield the various forms of organized force in the state will never be convinced that dangerous reasoning ought not to be suppressed in some way. If liberty of speech is to be
untrammeled from the grosser forms of constraint, then uniformity of opinion will be secured by a moral terrorism to which the respectability of society will give its thorough approval. Following the method of authority is the path of peace. Certain non-conformities are permitted; certain others (considered unsafe) are forbidden. These are different in different countries and in different ages; but, wherever you are, let it be known that you seriously hold a tabooed belief, and you may be perfectly sure of being treated with a cruelty less brutal but more refined than hunting you like a wolf.
Thus, the greatest intellectual benefactors of mankind have never dared, and dare not now, to utter the whole of their thought; and thus a shade of prima facie doubt is cast upon every proposition which is considered essential to the security of society. Singularly enough, the persecution does not all come from without; but a person torments themselves and is oftentimes most distressed at finding themselves believing propositions which they have been brought up to regard with aversion. The peaceful and sympathetic man will, therefore, find it hard to resist the temptation to submit his opinions to authority.
But most of all I admire the method of tenacity for its strength, simplicity, and directness. Persons who pursue it are distinguished for their decision of character, which becomes very easy with such a mental rule. They do not waste time in trying to make up their minds what they want, but, fastening like lightning upon whatever alternative comes first, they hold to it to the end, whatever happens, without an instant's irresolution. This is one of the splendid qualities which generally accompany brilliant, unlasting success. It is impossible not to envy the man who can dismiss reason, although we know how it must turn out at last.
Such are the advantages which the other methods of settling opinion have over scientific investigation. A person should consider well of them; and then they should consider that, after all, they wish their opinions to coincide with the fact, and that there is no reason why the results of these three methods should do so. To bring about this effect is the prerogative of the method of science. Upon such considerations they have to make a choice — a choice which is far more than the adoption of any intellectual opinion. It is one of the ruling decisions of their life, to which, when once made, they are bound to adhere. The force of habit will sometimes cause a person to hold on to old beliefs, after they are in a condition to see that they have no sound basis. But reflection upon the state of the case will overcome these habits, and they ought to allow reflection its full weight. People sometimes shrink from doing this, having an idea that beliefs which they cannot help feeling rest on nothing are nonetheless wholesome.
Above all, let it be considered that integrity of belief is more wholesome than any particular belief, and that to avoid looking into the support of any belief from a fear that it may turn out rotten is quite as immoral as it is disadvantageous. The person who confesses that there is such a thing as truth, which is distinguished from falsehood simply by this, that if acted on it will carry us to the point we aim at and not astray, and then, though convinced of this, dares not know the truth and seeks to avoid it, is in a sorry state of mind indeed.
[In the following paragraph I preserve Peirce's original language; this seems to contain a touching allusion to his second wife, his relationship with whom was a source of scandal prior to their marriage, and likely a major reason he was denied an academic post (along with his difficult personality)]:
Yes, the other methods do have their merits: a clear logical con science does cost something — just as any virtue, just as all that we cherish, costs us dear. But we should not desire it to be otherwise. The genius of a man's logical method should be loved and reverenced as his bride, whom he has chosen from all the world. He need not regard the others with contempt; on the contrary, he may honor them deeply, and in doing so he only honors her the more. But she is the one that he has chosen, and he knows that he was right in making that choice. And having made it, he will work and fight for her, and will not complain that there are blows to take, hoping that there may be as many and as hard to give, and will strive to be the worthy knight and champion of her from the blaze of whose splendors he draws his inspiration and his courage.