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George Stuart Fullerton - An Introduction to Philosophy

G >> George Stuart Fullerton >> An Introduction to Philosophy




Sometimes we are tempted to condemn the study of the classics as
unpractical, and to turn instead to the modern languages and to the
physical sciences. Now, it is, of course, a fair question to ask what
should and what should not be regarded as forming part of a liberal
education, and I shall make no effort to decide the question here. But
it should be borne well in mind that one cannot decide it by
determining what studies are practical in the sense of the word under
discussion.

If we keep strictly to this sense, the modern languages are to the
majority of Americans of little more practical value than are the Latin
and Greek. We scarcely need them except when we travel abroad, and
when we do that we find that the concierge and the waiter use English
with surprising fluency. As for the sciences, those who expect to earn
a living through a knowledge of them, seek, as a rule, that knowledge
in a technical or professional school, and the rest of us can enjoy the
fruit of their labors without sharing them. It is a popular fallacy
that because certain studies have a practical value to the world at
large, they must necessarily have a practical value to every one, and
can be recommended to the individual on that account. It is worth
while to sit down quietly and ask oneself how many of the bits of
information acquired during the course of a liberal education are
directly used in the carrying on of a given business or in the practice
of a given profession.

Nevertheless, we all believe that liberal education is a good thing for
the individual and for the race. One must not too much restrict the
meaning of the word "practical." A civilized state composed of men who
know nothing save what has a direct bearing upon their especial work in
life is an absurdity; it cannot exist. There must be a good deal of
general enlightenment and there must be a considerable number of
individuals who have enjoyed a high measure of enlightenment.

This becomes clear if we consider the part played in the life of the
state by the humblest tradesman. If he is to be successful, he must be
able to read, write, and keep his accounts, and make, let us say,
shoes. But when we have said this, we have summed him up as a workman,
but not as a man, and he is also a man. He may marry, and make a good
or a bad husband, and a good or a bad father. He stands in relations
to his neighborhood, to the school, and to the church; and he is not
without his influence. He may be temperate or intemperate, frugal or
extravagant, law-abiding or the reverse. He has his share, and no
small share, in the government of his city and of his state. His
influence is indeed far-reaching, and that it may be an influence for
good, he is in need of all the intellectual and moral enlightenment
that we can give him. It is of the utmost practical utility to the
state that he should know a vast number of things which have no direct
bearing upon the making and mending of shoes.

And if this is true in the case of the tradesman, it is scarcely
necessary to point out that the physician, the lawyer, the clergyman,
and the whole army of those whom we regard as the leaders of men and
the molders of public opinion have spheres of non-professional activity
of great importance to the state. They cannot be mere specialists if
they would. They must influence society for good or ill; and if they
are ignorant and unenlightened, their influence cannot be good.

When we consider the life of man in a broad way, we see how essential
it is that many men should be brought to have a share in what has been
gained by the long travail of the centuries past. It will not do to
ask at every step whether they can put to direct professional use every
bit of information gained. Literature and science, sweetness and
light, beauty and truth, these are the heritage of the modern world;
and unless these permeate its very being, society must undergo
degeneration. It is this conviction that has led to the high
appreciation accorded by intelligent men to courses of liberal study,
and among such courses those which we have recognized as philosophical
must take their place.

81. WHY PHILOSOPHICAL STUDIES ARE USEFUL.--But let us ask a little more
specifically what is to be gained by pursuing distinctively
philosophical studies. Why should those who go to college, or
intelligent persons who cannot go to college, care to interest
themselves in logic and ethics, psychology and metaphysics? Are not
these studies rather dry, in the first place, and rather profitless, in
the second?

As to the first point, I should stoutly maintain that if they are dry,
it is somebody's fault. The most sensational of novels would be dry if
couched in the language which some philosophers have seen fit to use in
expressing their thoughts. He who defines "existence" as "the still
and simple precipitate of the oscillation between beginning to be and
ceasing to be" has done his best to alienate our affections from the
subject of his predilection.

But it is not in the least necessary to talk in this way about matters
philosophical. He who is not a slave to tradition can use plain and
simple language. To be sure, there are some subjects, especially in
the field of metaphysics, into which the student cannot expect to see
very deeply at the outset of his studies. Men do not expect to
understand the more difficult problems of mathematics without making a
good deal of preparation; but, unhappily, they sometimes expect to have
the profoundest problems of metaphysics made luminous to them in one or
two popular lectures.

Philosophical studies are not dry, when men are properly taught, and
are in a position to understand what is said. They deal with the most
fascinating of problems. It is only necessary to pierce through the
husk of words which conceals the thoughts of the philosopher, and we
shall find the kernel palatable, indeed. Nor are such studies
profitless, to take up our second point. Let us see what we may gain
from them.

Let us begin with logic--the traditional logic commonly taught to
beginners. Is it worth while to study this? Surely it is. No one who
has not tried to introduce the average under-graduate to logic can
realize how blindly he uses his reasoning powers, how unconscious he is
of the full meaning of the sentences he employs, how easily he may be
entrapped by fallacious reasonings where he is not set on his guard by
some preposterous conclusion touching matters with which he is familiar.

And he is not merely unconscious of the lapses in his processes of
reasoning, and of his imperfect comprehension of the significance of
his statements; he is unconscious also of the mass of inherited and
acquired prejudices, often quite indefensible, which he unquestioningly
employs as premises.

He fairly represents the larger world beyond the walls of the college.
It is a world in which prejudices are assumed as premises, and loose
reasonings pass current and are unchallenged until they beget some
unpalatable conclusion. It is a world in which men take little pains
to think carefully and accurately unless they are dealing with
something touching which it is practically inconvenient to make a
mistake.

He who studies logic in the proper way is not filling his mind with
useless facts; he is simply turning the light upon his own thinking
mind, and realizing more clearly what he has always done rather blindly
and blunderingly. He may completely forget the

"Barbara, Celarent, Darii, Ferioque prioris,"

and he may be quite unable to give an account of the moods and figures
of the syllogism; but he cannot lose the critical habit if he once has
acquired it, and he cannot but be on his guard against himself as well
as against others.

There is a keen pleasure in gaining such insight. It gives a feeling
of freedom and power, and rids one of that horrid sense that, although
this or that bit of reasoning is certainly bad, it is impossible to
tell just what is the matter with it. And as for its practical
utility, if it is desirable to get rid of prejudice and confusion, and
to possess a clear and reasonable mind, then anything that makes for
this must be of value.

Of the desirability that all who can afford the luxury of a liberal
education should do some serious reading in ethics, it seems hardly
necessary to speak. The deficiencies of the ethics of the unreflective
have already been touched upon in Chapter XVIII.

But I cannot forbear dwelling upon it again. What thoughtful man is
not struck with the variety of ethical standards which obtain in the
same community? The clergyman who has a strong sense of responsibility
for the welfare of his flock is sometimes accused of not sufficiently
realizing the importance of a frank expression of the whole truth about
things; the man of science, whose duty it seems to be to peer into the
mysteries of the universe, and to tell what he sees or what he guesses,
is accused of an indifference to the effect which his utterances may
have upon the less enlightened who hear him speak; many criticise the
lawyer for a devotion to the interests of his client which is at times
in doubtful harmony with the interests of justice in the larger sense;
in the business world commercial integrity is exalted, and lapses from
the ethical code which do not assail this cardinal virtue are not
always regarded with equal seriousness.

It is as though men elected to worship at the shrine of a particular
saint, and were inclined to overlook the claims of others. For all
this there is, of course, a reason; such things are never to be looked
upon as mere accident. But this does not mean that these more or less
conflicting standards are all to be accepted as satisfactory and as
ultimate. It is inevitable that those who study ethics seriously, who
really reflect upon ethical problems, should sometimes criticise the
judgments of their fellow-men rather unfavorably.

Of such independent criticism many persons have a strong distrust. I
am reminded here of an eminent mathematician who maintained that the
study of ethics has a tendency to distort the student's judgments as to
what is right and what is wrong. He had observed that there is apt to
be some divergence of opinion between those who think seriously upon
morals and those who do not, and he gave the preference to the
unthinking majority.

Now, there is undoubtedly danger that the independent thinker may be
betrayed into eccentricities of opinion which are unjustifiable and are
even dangerous. But it seems a strange doctrine that it is, on the
whole, safer not to think, but rather to drift on the stream of public
opinion. In other fields we are not inclined to believe that the
ignorant man, who has given no especial attention to a subject, is the
one likely to be right. Why should it be so in morals?

That the youth who goes to college to seek a liberal education has a
need of ethical studies becomes very plain when we come to a
realization of the curious limitations of his ethical training as
picked up from his previous experience of the world. He has some very
definite notions as to right and wrong. He is as ready to maintain the
desirability of benevolence, justice, and veracity, as was Bishop
Butler, who wrote the famous "Analogy "; although, to be sure, he is
most inarticulate when called upon to explain what constitutes
benevolence, justice, or veracity. But the strangest thing is, that he
seems to place some of the most important decisions of his whole life
quite outside the realm of right and wrong.

He may admit that a man should not undertake to be a clergyman, unless
he possesses certain qualifications of mind and character which
evidently qualify him for that profession. But he does not see why he
has not the right to become a wearisome professor or an incompetent
physician, if he chooses to enter upon such a career. Is a man not
free to take up what profession he pleases? He must take the risk, of
course; but if he fails, he fails.

And when he is asked to consider from the point of view of ethics the
question of marriage and its responsibilities, he is at first inclined
to consider the whole subject as rather a matter for jest. Has a man
not the right to marry or remain single exactly as he pleases? And is
he not free to marry any one whom he can persuade to accept him? To be
sure, he should be a little careful about marrying quite out of his
class, and he should not be hopelessly careless about money matters.
Thus, a decision, which may affect his whole life as much as any other
that he can be called upon to make, which may practically make it or
mar it, is treated as though it were not a matter of grave concern, but
a private affair, entailing no serious consequences to any one and
calling for no reflection.

I wish it could be said that the world outside of the college regarded
these matters in another light. But the student faithfully represents
the opinions current in the community from which he comes. And he
represents, unhappily, the teachings of the stage and of the world of
current fiction. The influence of these is too often on the side of
inconsiderate passion, which stirs our sympathy and which lends itself
to dramatic effect. With the writers of romance the ethical
philosophers have an ancient quarrel.

It may be said: But the world gets along very well as it is, and
without brooding too much upon ethical problems. To this we may
answer: Does the world get along so very well, after all? Are there no
evils that foresight and some firmness of character might have
obviated? And when we concern ourselves with the educated classes, at
least, the weight of whose influence is enormous, is it too much to
maintain that they should do some reading and thinking in the field of
ethics? should strive to attain to clear vision and correct judgment on
the whole subject of man's duties?

Just at the present time, when psychological studies have so great a
vogue, one scarcely feels compelled to make any sort of an apology for
them. It is assumed on all hands that it is desirable to study
psychology, and courses of lectures are multiplied in all quarters.

Probably some of this interest has its root in the fallacy touched upon
earlier in this chapter. The science of psychology has revolutionized
educational theory. When those of us who have arrived at middle life
look back and survey the tedious and toilsome path along which we were
unwillingly driven in our schoolboy days, and then see how smooth and
pleasant it has been made since, we are impelled to honor all who have
contributed to this result. Moreover, it seems very clear that
teachers of all grades should have some acquaintance with the nature of
the minds that they are laboring to develop, and that they should not
be left to pick up their information for themselves--a task
sufficiently difficult to an unobservant person.

These considerations furnish a sufficient ground for extolling the
science of psychology, and for insisting that studies in it should form
some part of the education of a teacher. But why should the rest of us
care for such studies?

To this one may answer, in the first place, that nearly all of us have,
or ought to have, some responsibility for the education of children;
and, in the second, that we deal with the minds of others every day in
every walk in life, and it can certainly do no harm to have our
attention called to the way in which minds function. To be sure, some
men are by nature tactful, and instinctively conscious of how things
strike the minds of those about them. But even such persons may gain
helpful suggestions, and, at least, have the habit of attention to the
mental processes of others confirmed in them. How often we are
impressed at church, at the public lecture, and in private
conversations, with the fact that the speaker lives in blissful
unconsciousness of what can be understood by or can possibly interest
his hearers! For the confirmed bore, there is, perhaps, no cure; but
it seems as though something might be done for those who are afflicted
to a minor degree.

And this brings me to another consideration, which is that a proper
study of psychology ought to be of service in revealing to a man his
own nature. It should show him what he is, and this is surely a first
step toward becoming something better. It is wonderful how blind men
may be with regard to what passes in their own minds and with regard to
their own peculiarities. When they learn to reflect, they come to a
clearer consciousness of themselves--it is as though a lamp were
lighted within them. One may, it is true, study psychology without
attaining to any of the good results suggested above; but, for that
matter, there is no study which may not be pursued in a profitless way,
if the teacher be sufficiently unskilled and the pupil sufficiently
thoughtless.

82. METAPHYSICS AND PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION.--Perhaps it will be said:
For such philosophical studies as the above a good defense may perhaps
be made, but can one defend in the same way the plunge into the
obscurities of metaphysics? In this field no two men seem to be wholly
agreed, and if they were, what would it signify? Whether we call
ourselves monists or dualists, idealists or realists, Lockians or
Kantians, must we not live and deal with the things about us in much
the same way?

Those who have dipped into metaphysical studies deeply enough to see
what the problems discussed really are; who have been able to reach the
ideas concealed, too often, under a rather forbidding terminology; who
are not of the dogmatic turn of mind which insists upon unquestioned
authority and is repelled by the uncertainties which must confront
those who give themselves to reflective thought,--these will hardly
need to be persuaded that it is desirable to give some attention to the
question: What sort of a world, after all, is this world in which we
live? What is its meaning?

To many men the impulse to peer into these things is over-powering, and
the pleasure of feeling their insight deepen is extremely keen. What
deters us in most instances is not the conviction that such
investigations are not, or should not be, interesting, but rather the
difficulty of the approach. It is not easy to follow the path which
leads from the world of common thought into the world of philosophical
reflection. One becomes bewildered and discouraged at the outset.
Sometimes, after listening to the directions of guides who disagree
among themselves, we are tempted to believe that there can be no
certain path to the goal which we have before us.

But, whatever the difficulties and uncertainties of our task, a little
reflection must show that it is not one which has no significance for
human life.

Men can, it is true, eat and sleep and go through the routine of the
day, without giving thought to science or religion or philosophy, but
few will defend such an existence. As a matter of fact, those who have
attained to some measure of intellectual and moral development do
assume, consciously or unconsciously, some rather definite attitude
toward life, and this is not independent of their conviction as to what
the world is and means.

Metaphysical speculations run out into the philosophy of religion; and,
on the other hand, religious emotions and ideals have again and again
prompted men to metaphysical construction. A glance at history shows
that it is natural to man to embrace some attitude toward the system of
things, and to try to justify this by reasoning. Vigorous and
independent minds have given birth to theories, and these have been
adopted by others. The influence of such theories upon the evolution
of humanity has been enormous.

Ideas have ruled and still rule the world, some of them very abstract
ideas. It does not follow that one is uninfluenced by them, when one
has no knowledge of their source or of their original setting. They
become part of the intellectual heritage of us all, and we sometimes
suppose that we are responsible for them ourselves. Has not the fact
that an idealistic or a materialistic type of thought has been current
at a particular time influenced the outlook on life of many who have
themselves devoted little attention to philosophy? It would be
interesting to know how many, to whom Spencer is but a name, have felt
the influence of the agnosticism of which he was the apostle.

I say this without meaning to criticise here any of the types of
doctrine referred to. My thesis is only that philosophy and life go
hand in hand, and that the prying into the deeper mysteries of the
universe cannot be regarded as a matter of no practical moment. Its
importance ought to be admitted even by the man who has little hope
that he will himself be able to attain to a doctrine wholly
satisfactory and wholly unshakable.

For, if the study of the problems of metaphysics does nothing else for
a given individual, it, at least, enables him to comprehend and
criticise intelligently the doctrines which are presented for his
acceptance by others. It is a painful thing to feel quite helpless in
the face of plausible reasonings which may threaten to rob us of our
most cherished hopes, or may tend to persuade us of the vanity of what
we have been accustomed to regard as of highest worth. If we are quite
unskilled in the examination of such doctrines, we may be captured by
the loosest of arguments--witness the influence of Spencer's argument
for the "Unknowable," in the "First Principles"; and if we are ignorant
of the history of speculative thought, we may be carried away by old
and exploded notions which pose as modern and impressive only because
they have been given a modern dress.

We can, of course, refuse to listen to those who would talk with us.
But this savors of bigotry, and the world will certainly not grow
wiser, if men generally cultivate a blind adherence to the opinions in
which they happen to be brought up. A cautious conservatism is one
thing, and blind obstinacy is another. To the educated man (and it is
probable that others will have to depend on opinions taken at second
hand) a better way of avoiding error is open.

Finally, it will not do to overlook the broadening influence of such
studies as we are discussing. How dogmatically men are in the habit of
expressing themselves upon those obscure and difficult problems which
deal with matters that lie on the confines of human knowledge! Such an
assumption of knowledge cannot but make us uncomprehending and
unsympathetic.

There are many subjects upon which, if we hold an opinion at all, we
should hold it tentatively, waiting for more light, and retaining a
willingness to be enlightened. Many a bitter and fruitless quarrel
might be avoided, if more persons found it possible to maintain this
philosophical attitude of mind. Philosophy is, after all, reflection,
and the reflective man must realize that he is probably as liable to
error as are other men. He is not infallible, nor has the limit of
human knowledge been attained in his day and generation. He who
realizes this will not assume that his neighbor is always wrong, and he
will come to have that wide, conscientious tolerance, which is not
indifference, but which is at the farthest remove from the zeal of mere
bigotry.




CHAPTER XXIII

WHY WE SHOULD STUDY THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY

83. THE PROMINENCE GIVEN TO THE SUBJECT.--When one reflects upon the
number of lecture courses given every year at our universities and
colleges on the history of philosophy, one is struck by the fact that
philosophy is not treated as are most other subjects with which the
student is brought into contact.

If we study mathematics, or chemistry, or physics, or physiology, or
biology, the effort is made to lay before us in a convenient form the
latest results which have been attained in those sciences. Of their
history very little is said; and, indeed, as we have seen (section 6),
lectures on the history of the inductive sciences are apt to be
regarded as philosophical in their character and aims rather than as
merely scientific.

The interest in the history of philosophy is certainly not a
diminishing one. Text-books covering the whole field or a part of it
are multiplied; extensive studies are made and published covering the
work of individual philosophers; innumerable historical discussions
make their appearance in the pages of current philosophical journals.
No student is regarded as fairly acquainted with philosophy who knows
nothing of Plato and Aristotle, Descartes and Spinoza, Berkeley and
Hume, Kant and Hegel, and the rest. We should look upon him as having
a very restricted outlook if he had read only the works of the thinkers
of our own day; indeed, we should not expect him to have a proper
comprehension even of these, for their chapters must remain blind and
meaningless to one who has no knowledge of what preceded them and has
given birth to the doctrines there set forth.

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