nctive beliefs do not clash, but form a harmonious system.
There can never be any reason for rejecting one instinctive belief
except that it clashes with others; thus, if they are found to
harmonize, the whole system becomes worthy of acceptance.

It is of course _possible_ that all or any of our beliefs may be
mistaken, and therefore all ought to be held with at least some slight
element of doubt. But we cannot have _reason_ to reject a belief except
on the ground of some other belief. Hence, by organizing our instinctive
beliefs and their consequences, by considering which among them is most
possible, if necessary, to modify or abandon, we can arrive, on the
basis of accepting as our sole data what we instinctively believe, at an
orderly systematic organization of our knowledge, in which, though the
_possibility_ of error remains, its likelihood is diminished by the
interrelation of the parts and by the critical scrutiny which has
preceded acquiescence.

This function, at least, philosophy can perform. Most philosophers,
rightly or wrongly, believe that philosophy can do much more than
this--that it can give us knowledge, not otherwise attainable,
concerning the universe as a whole, and concerning the nature of
ultimate reality. Whether this be the case or not, the more modest
function we have spoken of can certainly be performed by philosophy, and
certainly suffices, for those who have once begun to doubt the adequacy
of common sense, to justify the arduous and difficult labours that
philosophical problems involve.

CHAPTER III. THE NATURE OF MATTER

In the preceding chapter we agreed, though without being able to
find demonstrative reasons, that it is rational to believe that our
sense-data--for example, those which we regard as associated with my
table--are really signs of the existence of something independent of us
and our perceptions. That is to say, over and above the sensations of
colour, hardness, noise, and so on, which make up the appearance of
the table to me, I assume that there is something else, of which these
things are appearances. The colour ceases to exist if I shut my eyes,
the sensation of hardness ceases to exist if I remove my arm from
contact with the table, the sound ceases to exist if I cease to rap the
table with my knuckles. But I do not believe that when all these things
cease the table ceases. On the contrary, I believe that it is because
the table exists continuously that all the