That the author is right in maintaining that it is not easy to draw a
clear line between philosophy and psychology, and to declare the latter
wholly independent, I think we must concede. An independent science
should be sure of the things with which it is dealing. Where these are
vague and indefinite, and are the subject of constant dispute, it
cannot march forward with assurance. One is rather forced to go back
and examine the data themselves. The beaten track of the special
science has not been satisfactorily constructed.
We are forced to admit that the science of psychology has not yet
emerged from the state in which a critical examination of its
foundations is necessary, and that the construction of the beaten path
is still in progress. This I shall try to make clear by illustrations.
The psychologist studies the mind, and his ultimate appeal must be to
introspection, to a direct observation of mental phenomena, and of
their relations to external things. Now, if the observation of mental
phenomena were a simple and an easy thing; if the mere fact that we are
conscious of sensations and ideas implied that we are _clearly_
conscious of them and are in a position to describe them with accuracy,
psychology would be a much more satisfactory science than it is.
But we are not thus conscious of our mental life. We can and do use
our mental states without being able to describe them accurately. In a
sense, we are conscious of what is there, but our consciousness is
rather dim and vague, and in our attempts to give an account of it we
are in no little danger of giving a false account.
Thus, the psychologist assumes that we perceive both physical phenomena
and mental--the external world and the mind. He takes it for granted
that we perceive mental phenomena to be related to physical. He is
hardly in a position to make this assumption, and then to set it aside
as a thing he need not further consider. Does he not tell us, as a
result of his investigations, that we can know the external world only
as it is reflected in our sensations, and thus seem to shut the mind up
within the circle of mental phenomena merely, cutting off absolutely a
direct knowledge of what is extra-mental? If we can know only mental
phenomena, the representatives of things, at first hand, how can we
tell that they are representatives? and what becomes of the assumption
that we _perceive_ that mind is related to an external world?
It may be said, this problem the psychologist may leave to the
metaphysician. Certainly, it is one of those problems that the
metaphysician discusses; it has been treated in Chapter IV. But my
contention is, that he who has given no thought to the matter may
easily fall into error as to the very nature of mental phenomena.
For example, when we approach or recede from a physical object we have
a series of experiences which are recognized as sensational. When we
imagine a tree or a house we are also experiencing a mental phenomenon.
All these experiences _seem_ plainly to have extension in some sense of
the word. We appear to perceive plainly part out of part. In so far,
these mental things seem to resemble the physical things which we
contrast with what is mental. Shall we say that, because these things
are mental and not physical, their apparent extension is a delusion?
Shall we say that they really have no parts? Such considerations have
impelled psychologists of eminence to maintain, in flat contradiction
to what seems to be the unequivocal testimony of direct introspection,
that the total content of consciousness at any moment must be looked
upon as an indivisible, part-less unit.
We cannot, then, depend merely on direct introspection. It is too
uncertain in its deliverances. If we would make clear to ourselves
what mental phenomena really are, and how they | differ from physical
phenomena, we must fall back upon the reflective analysis of our
experience which occupies the metaphysician (section 34). Until we
have done this, we are in great danger of error. We are actually
uncertain of our materials.
Again. The psychologist speaks of the relation of mind and body. Some
psychologists incline to be parallelists, some are warm advocates of
interactionism. Now, any theory of the relation of mind to body must
depend on observation ultimately. If we had not direct experience of a
relation between the physical and the mental somewhere, no hypothesis
on the subject would ever have emerged.
But our experiences are not perfectly clear and unequivocal to us.
Their significance does not seem to be easily grasped. To comprehend
it one is forced to that reflective examination of experience which is
characteristic of the philosopher (Chapter IX).
Here it may again be said: Leave the matter to the meta-physician and
go on with your psychological work. I answer: The psychologist is not
in the same position as the botanist or the zoologist. He is studying
mind in its relation to body. It cannot but be unsatisfactory to him
to leave that relation wholly vague; and, as a matter of fact, he
usually takes up with one theory or another. We have seen (section 36)
that he may easily adopt a theory that leads him to overlook the great
difference between physical phenomena and mental phenomena, and to
treat them as though they were the same. This one may do in spite of
all that introspection has to say about the gulf that separates them.
Psychology is, then, very properly classed among the philosophical
sciences. The psychologist is not sufficiently sure of his materials
to be able to dispense with reflective thought, in many parts of his
field. Some day there may come to be a consensus of opinion touching
fundamental facts, and the science may become more independent. A
beaten track may be attained; but that has not yet been done.
70. THE DOUBLE AFFILIATION OF PSYCHOLOGY.--In spite of what has been
said above, we must not forget that psychology is a _relatively_
independent science. One may be a useful psychologist without knowing
much about philosophy.
As in logic it is possible to write a text-book not greatly different
in spirit and method from text-books concerned with the sciences not
classed as philosophical, so it is possible to make a useful study of
mental phenomena without entering upon metaphysical analyses. In
science, as in common life, we can _use_ concepts without subjecting
them to careful analysis.
Thus, our common experience reveals that mind and body are connected.
We may, for a specific purpose, leave the _nature_ of this connection
vague, and may pay careful attention to the physiological conditions of
mental phenomena, studying in detail the senses and the nervous system.
We may, further, endeavor to render our knowledge of mental phenomena
more full and accurate by experimentation. In doing this we may be
compelled to make use of elaborate apparatus. Of such mechanical aids
to investigation our psychological laboratories are full.
It is to such work as this that we owe what is called the
"physiological" and the "experimental" psychology. One can carry on
such investigations without being a metaphysician. But one can
scarcely carry them on without having a good knowledge of certain
sciences not commonly supposed to be closely related to psychology at
all. Thus, one should be trained in chemistry and physics and
physiology, and should have a working knowledge of laboratory methods.
Moreover, it is desirable to have a sufficient knowledge of mathematics
to enable one to handle experimental data.
The consideration of such facts as these sometimes leads men to raise
the question: Should psychology affiliate with philosophy or with the
physical sciences? The issue is an illegitimate one. Psychology is
one of the philosophical sciences, and cannot dispense with reflection;
but that is no reason why it should not acknowledge a close relation to
certain physical sciences as well. Parts of the field can be isolated,
and one may work as one works in the natural sciences generally; but if
one does nothing more, one's concepts remain unanalyzed, and, as we
have seen in the previous section, there is some danger of actual
misconception.
[1] "Psychology," Preface.
CHAPTER XVIII
ETHICS AND AESTHETICS
71. COMMON SENSE ETHICS.--We may, if we choose, study the actions of
men merely with a view to ascertaining what they are and describing
them accurately. Something like this is done by the anthropologist,
who gives us an account of the manners and customs of the various races
of mankind; he tells us _what is_; he may not regard it as within his
province at all to inform us regarding _what ought to be_.
But men do not merely act; they judge their actions in the light of
some norm or standard, and they distinguish between them as right and
wrong. The systematic study of actions as right and wrong yields us
the science of ethics.
Like psychology, ethics is a special science. It is concerned with a
somewhat limited field of investigation, and is not to be confounded
with other sciences. It has a definite aim distinct from theirs. And,
also like psychology, ethics is classed as one of the philosophical
sciences, and its relation to philosophy is supposed to be closer than
that of such sciences as physics and mathematics. It is fair to ask
why this is so. Why cannot ethics proceed on the basis of certain
assumptions independently, and leave to some other discipline the whole
question of an inquiry into the nature and validity of those
assumptions?
About half a century ago Dr. William Whewell, one of the most learned
of English scholars, wrote a work entitled "The Elements of Morality,"
in which he attempted to treat the science of ethics as it is generally
admitted that one may treat the science of geometry. The book was
rather widely read a generation since, but we meet with few references
to it in our time.
"Morality and the philosophy of morality," argues the author, "differ
in the same manner and in the same degree as geometry and the
philosophy of geometry. Of these two subjects, geometry consists of a
series of positive and definite propositions, deduced one from another,
in succession, by rigorous reasoning, and all resting upon certain
definitions and self-evident axioms. The philosophy of geometry is
quite a different subject; it includes such inquiries as these: Whence
is the cogency of geometrical proof? What is the evidence of the
axioms and definitions? What are the faculties by which we become
aware of their truth? and the like. The two kinds of speculation have
been pursued, for the most part, by two different classes of
persons,--the geometers and the metaphysicians; for it has been far
more the occupation of metaphysicians than of geometers to discuss such
questions as I have stated, the nature of geometrical proofs,
geometrical axioms, the geometrical faculty, and the like. And if we
construct a complete system of geometry, it will be almost exactly the
same, whatever be the views which we take on these metaphysical
questions." [1]
Such a system Dr. Whewell wishes to construct in the field of ethics.
His aim is to give us a view of morality in which moral propositions
are "deduced from axioms, by successive steps of reasoning, so far as
to form a connected system of moral truth." Such a "sure and connected
knowledge of the duties of man" would, he thinks, be of the greatest
importance.
In accordance with this purpose, Dr. Whewell assumes that humanity,
justice, truth, purity, order, earnestness, and moral purpose are
fundamental principles of human action; and he thinks that all who
admit as much as this will be able to go on with him in his development
of a system of moral rules to govern the life of man.
It would hardly be worth while for me to speak at length of a way of
treating ethics so little likely to be urged upon the attention of the
reader who busies himself with the books which are appearing in our own
day, were it not that we have here an admirable illustration of the
attempt to teach ethics as though it were such a science as geometry.
The shortcomings of the method become very evident to one who reads the
work attentively.
Thus, we are forced to ask ourselves, have we really a collection of
ultimate moral principles which are analogous to the axioms of
geometry? For example, to take but a single instance, Dr. Whewell
formulates the Principle of Truth as follows: "We must conform to the
universal understanding among men which the use of language
implies";[2] and he remarks later; "The rules: _Lie not_, Perform your
promise, are of universal validity; and the conceptions of _lie_ and of
_promise_ are so simple and distinct that, in general, the rules may be
directly and easily applied." [3]
Now, we are struck by the fact that this affirmation of the universal
validity of the principle of truth is made in a chapter on "Cases of
Conscience," in a chapter concerned with what seem to be conflicts
between duties; and this chapter is followed by one which treats of
"Cases of Necessity," _i.e._ cases in which a man is to be regarded as
justified in violating common rules when there seems to be urgent
reason for so doing. We are told that the moralist cannot say: Lie
not, except in great emergencies; but must say: Lie not at all. But we
are also told that he must grant that there are cases of necessity in
which transgressions of moral rules are excusable; and this looks very
much as if he said: Go on and do the thing while I close my eyes.
This hardly seems to give us a "sure and connected knowledge of the
duties of man" deduced from axiomatic principles. On what authority
shall we suspend for the time being this axiomatic principle or that?
Is there some deeper principle which lends to each of them its
authority, and which may, for cause, withdraw it? There is no hint of
such in the treatment of ethics which we are considering, and we seem
to have on our hands, not so much a science, as a collection of
practical rules, of the scope of which we are more or less in the dark.
The interesting thing to notice is that this view of ethics is very
closely akin to that adapted unconsciously by the majority of the
persons we meet who have not interested themselves much in ethics as a
science.
By the time that we have reached years of discretion we are all in
possession of a considerable number of moral maxims. We consider it
wrong to steal, to lie, to injure our neighbor. Such maxims lie in our
minds side by side, and we do not commonly think of criticising them.
But now and then we face a situation in which one maxim seems to urge
one course of action and another maxim a contrary one. Shall we tell
the truth and the whole truth, when so doing will bring grave
misfortune upon an innocent person? And now and then we are brought to
the realization that all men do not admit the validity of all our
maxims. Judgments differ as to what is right and what is wrong. Who
shall be the arbiter? Not infrequently a rough decision is arrived at
in the assumption that we have only to interrogate "conscience"--in the
assumption, in other words, that we carry a watch which can be counted
upon to give the correct time, even if the timepieces of our neighbors
are not to be depended upon.
The common sense ethics cannot be regarded as very systematic and
consistent, or as very profound. It is a collection of working rules,
of practical maxims; and, although it is impossible to overestimate its
value as a guide to life, its deficiencies, when it is looked at
critically, become evident, I think, even to thoughtful persons who are
not scientific at all.
Many writers on ethics have simply tried to turn this collection of
working rules into a science, somewhat as Dr. Whewell has done. This
is the peculiar weakness of those who have been called the
"intuitionalists"--though I must warn the reader against assuming that
this term has but the one meaning, and that all those to whom it has
been applied should be placed in the same class. Here it is used to
indicate those who maintain that we are directly aware of the validity
of certain moral principles, must accept them as ultimate, and need
only concern ourselves with the problem of their application.
72. ETHICS AND PHILOSOPHY.--When John Locke maintained that there are
no "innate practical principles," or innate moral maxims, he pointed in
evidence to the "enormities practiced without remorse" in different
ages and by different peoples. The list he draws up is a curious and
an interesting one.[4]
In our day it has pretty generally come to be recognized by thoughtful
men that a man's judgments as to right and wrong reflect the phase of
civilization, or the lack of it, which he represents, and that their
significance cannot be understood when we consider them apart from
their historic setting. This means that no man's conscience is set up
as an ultimate standard, but that every man's conscience is regarded as
furnishing material which the science of ethics must take into account.
May we, broadening the basis upon which we are to build, and studying
the manners, customs, and moral judgments of all sorts and conditions
of men, develop an empirical science of ethics which will be
independent of philosophy?
It does not seem that we can do this. We are concerned with
psychological phenomena, and their nature and significance are by no
means beyond dispute. For example, there is the feeling of moral
obligation, of which ethics has so much to say. What is this feeling,
and what is its authority? Is it a thing to be explained? Can it
impel a man, let us say, a bigot, to do wrong? And what can we mean by
credit and discredit, by responsibility and free choice, and other
concepts of the sort? All this must remain very vague to one who has
not submitted his ethical concepts to reflective analysis of the sort
that we have a right to call philosophical.
Furthermore, it does not seem possible to decide what a man should or
should not do, without taking into consideration the circumstances in
which he is placed. The same act may be regarded as benevolent or the
reverse according to its context. If we will but grant the validity of
the premises from which the medieval churchman reasoned, we may well
ask whether, in laying hands violently upon those who dared to form
independent judgments in matters of religion, he was not
conscientiously doing his best for his fellow-man. He tried by all
means to save some, and to what he regarded as a most dangerous malady
he applied a drastic remedy. By what standard shall we judge him?
There can be no doubt that our doctrine of the whole duty of man must
be conditioned by our view of the nature of the world in which man
lives and of man's place in the world. Has ethics nothing to do with
religion? If we do not believe in God, and if we think that man's life
ends with the death of the body, it is quite possible that we shall set
for him an ethical standard which we should have to modify if we
adopted other beliefs. The relation of ethics to religion is a problem
that the student of ethics can scarcely set aside. It seems, then,
that the study of ethics necessarily carries us back to world problems
which cannot be approached except by the path of philosophical
reflection. We shall see in Chapter XX that the theistic problem
certainly belongs to this class.
It is worthy of our consideration that the vast majority of writers on
ethics have felt strongly that their science runs out into metaphysics.
We can scarcely afford to treat their testimony lightly. Certainly it
is not possible for one who has no knowledge of philosophy to
understand the significance of the ethical systems which have appeared
in the past. The history of ethics may be looked upon as a part of the
history of philosophy. Only on the basis of some general view as to
nature and man have men decided what man ought to do. As we have seen
above, this appears sufficiently reasonable.
73. AESTHETICS.--Of aesthetics, or the science of the beautiful, I
shall say little. There is somewhat the same reason for including it
among the philosophical sciences that there is for including ethics.
Those who have paid little attention to science or to philosophy are
apt to dogmatize about what is and what is not beautiful just as they
dogmatize about what is and what is not right. They say
unhesitatingly; This object is beautiful, and that one is ugly. It is
as if they said: This one is round, and that one square.
Often it quite escapes their attention that what they now regard as
beautiful struck them as unattractive a short time before; and will,
perhaps, when the ceaseless change of the fashions has driven it out of
vogue, seem strange and unattractive once more. Nor do they reflect
upon the fact that others, who seem to have as good a right to an
opinion as they, do not agree with them in their judgments; nor upon
the further fact that the standard of beauty is a thing that has varied
from age to age, differs widely in different countries, and presents
minor variations in different classes even in the same community.
The dogmatic utterances of those who are keenly susceptible to the
aesthetic aspects of things but are not given to reflection stand in
striking contrast to the epitome of the popular wisdom expressed in the
skeptical adage that there is no disputing about tastes.
We cannot interpret this adage broadly and take it literally, for then
we should have to admit that men's judgments as to the beautiful cannot
constitute the material of a science at all, and that there can be no
such thing as progress in the fine arts. The notion of progress
implies a standard, and an approximation to an ideal. Few would dare
to deny that there has been progress in such arts as painting and
music; and when one has admitted so much as this, one has virtually
admitted that a science of aesthetics is, at least, possible.
The science studies the facts of the aesthetic life as ethics studies
the facts of the moral life. It can take no man's taste as furnishing
a standard: it must take every man's taste as a fact of significance.
It is driven to reflective analysis--to such questions as, what is
beauty? and what is meant by aesthetic progress? It deals with elusive
psychological facts the significance of which is not easily grasped.
It is a philosophical science, and is by no means in a position to
follow a beaten path, dispensing with a reflective analysis of its
materials.
[1] Preface.
[2] section 269.
[3] section 376.
[4] "Essay concerning Human Understanding," Book I, Chapter III.
CHAPTER XIX
METAPHYSICS
74. WHAT IS METAPHYSICS?--The reader has probably already remarked that
in some of the preceding chapters the adjectives "metaphysical" and
"philosophical" have been used as if they were interchangeable, in
certain connections, at least. This is justified by common usage; and
in the present chapter I shall be expected by no one, I think, to prove
that metaphysics is a philosophical discipline. My task will rather be
to show how far the words "metaphysics" and "philosophy" have a
different meaning.
In Chapters III to XI, I have given a general view of the problems
which present themselves to reflective thought, and I have indicated
that they are not problems which can conveniently be distributed among
the several special sciences. Is there an external world? What is it?
What are space and time? What is the mind? How are mind and body
related? How do we know that there are other minds than ours? etc.
These have been presented as _philosophical_ problems; and when we turn
back to the history of speculative thought we find that they are just
the problems with which the men whom we agree to call philosophers have
chiefly occupied themselves.
But when we turn to our treatises on _metaphysics_, we also find that
these are the problems there discussed. Such treatises differ much
among themselves, and the problems are not presented in the same form
or in the same order; but one who can look beneath the surface will
find that the authors are busied with much the same thing--with some or
all of the problems above mentioned.
How, then, does metaphysics differ from philosophy? The difference
becomes clear to us when we realize that the word philosophy has a
broader and looser signification, and that metaphysics is, so to speak,
the core, the citadel, of philosophy.
We have seen (Chapter II) that the world and the mind, as they seem to
be presented in the experience of the plain man, do not stand forth
with such clearness and distinctness that he is able to answer
intelligently the questions we wish to ask him regarding their nature.
It is not merely that his information is limited; it is vague and
indefinite as well. And we have seen, too, that, however the special
sciences may increase and systematize his information, they do not
clear away such vagueness. The man still uses such concepts as "inner"
and "outer," "reality," "the mind," "space," and "time," with no very
definite notion of what they mean.
Now, the attempt to clear away this vagueness by the systematic
analysis of such concepts--in other words, the attempt to make a
thorough analysis of our experience--is metaphysics. The metaphysician
strives to limit his task as well as he may, and to avoid unnecessary
excursions into the fields occupied by the special sciences, even those
which lie nearest to his own, such as psychology and ethics. There is
a sense in which he may be said to be working in the field of a special
science, though he is using as the material for his investigations
concepts which are employed in many sciences; but it is clear that his
discipline is not a special science in the same sense in which geometry
and physics are special sciences.
Nevertheless, the special sciences stand, as we have already seen in
the case of several of them, very near to his own. If he broadens his
view, and deliberately determines to take a survey of the field of
human knowledge as illuminated by the analyses that he has made, he
becomes something more than a _metaphysician_; he becomes a
_philosopher_.
This does not in the least mean that he becomes a storehouse of
miscellaneous information, and an authority on all the sciences.
Sometimes the philosophers have attempted to describe the world of
matter and of mind as though they possessed some mysterious power of
knowing things that absolved them from the duty of traveling the weary
road of observation and experiment that has ended in the sciences as we
have them. When they have done this, they have mistaken the
significance of their calling. A philosopher has no more right than
another man to create information out of nothing.
But it is possible, even for one who is not acquainted with the whole
body of facts presented in a science, to take careful note of the
assumptions upon which that science rests, to analyze the concepts of
which it makes use, to mark the methods which it employs, and to gain a
fair idea of its scope and of its relation to other sciences. Such a
reflection upon our scientific knowledge is philosophical reflection,
and it may result in a classification of the sciences, and in a general
view of human knowledge as a whole. Such a view may be illuminating in
the extreme; it can only be harmful when its significance is
misunderstood.
But, it may be argued, why may not the man of science do all this for
himself? Why should he leave it to the philosopher, who is presumably
less intimately acquainted with the sciences than he is?
To this I answer: The work should, of course, be done by the man who
will do it best. All our subdivision of labor should be dictated by
convenience. But I add, that experience has shown that the workers in
the special sciences have not as a rule been very successful when they
have tried to philosophize.
Science is an imperious mistress; she demands one's utmost efforts; and
when a man turns to philosophical reflection merely "by the way," and
in the scraps of time at his disposal after the day's work is done, his
philosophical work is apt to be rather superficial. Moreover, it does
not follow that, because a man is a good mathematician or chemist or
physicist, he is gifted with the power of reflective analysis. Then,
too, such men are apt to be imperfectly acquainted with what has been
done in the past; and those who are familiar with the history of
philosophy often have occasion to remark that what is laid before them,
in ignorance of the fact that it is neither new nor original, is a
doctrine which has already made its appearance in many forms and has
been discussed at prodigious length in the centuries gone by.
In certain sciences it seems possible to ignore the past, to a great
extent, at least. What is worth keeping has been kept, and there is a
solid foundation on which to build for the future. But with reflective
thought it is not so. There is no accepted body of doctrine which we
have the right to regard as unassailable. We should take it as a safe
maxim that the reflections of men long dead _may_ be profounder and
more worthy of our study than those urged upon our attention by the men
of our day.
And this leads me to make a remark upon the titles given to works on
metaphysics. It seems somewhat misleading to label them: "Outlines of
Metaphysics" or "Elements of Metaphysics." Such titles suggest that we
are dealing with a body of doctrine which has met with general
acceptance, and may be compared with that found in handbooks on the
special sciences. But we should realize that, when we are concerned
with the profounder investigations into the nature of our experience,
we tread upon uncertain ground and many differences of opinion obtain.
We should, if possible, avoid a false semblance of authority.
75. EPISTEMOLOGY.--We hear a great deal at the present day of
Epistemology, or the Theory of Knowledge. I have not classed it as a
distinct philosophical science, for reasons which will appear below.
We have seen in Chapter XVI that it is possible to treat of logic in a
simple way without growing very metaphysical; but we have also seen
that when we go deeply into questions touching the nature of evidence
and what is meant by truth and falsity, we are carried back to
philosophical reflection at once.
We may, for convenience, group together these deeper questions
regarding the nature of knowledge and its scope, and call the subject
of our study "Epistemology."
But it should be remarked, in the first place, that, when we work in
this field, we are exercising a reflective analysis of precisely the
type employed in making the metaphysical analyses contained in the
earlier chapters of this book. We are treating our experience as it is
not treated in common thought and in science.
And it should be remarked, in the second place, that the investigation
of our knowledge inevitably runs together with an investigation into
the nature of things known, of the mind and the world. Suppose that I
give the titles of the chapters in Part III of Mr. Hobhouse's able work
on "The Theory of Knowledge." They are as follows: Validity; the
Validity of Knowledge; the Conception of External Reality; Substance;
the Conception of Self; Reality as a System; Knowledge and Reality; the
Grounds of Knowledge and Belief.
Are not these topics metaphysical? Let us ask ourselves how it would
affect our views of the validity and of the limits of our knowledge, if
we were converted to the metaphysical doctrines of John Locke, or of
Bishop Berkeley, or of David Hume, or of Thomas Reid, or of Immanuel
Kant.
We may, then, regard epistemology as a part of logic--the metaphysical
part--or as a part of metaphysics; it does not much matter which we
call it, since we mean the same thing. But its relation to metaphysics
is such that it does not seem worth while to call it a separate
discipline.
Before leaving this subject there is one more point upon which I should
touch, if only to obviate a possible misunderstanding.
We find in Professor Cornelius's clear little book, "An Introduction to
Philosophy" (Leipzig, 1903; it has unhappily not yet been translated
into English), that metaphysics is repudiated altogether, and
epistemology is set in its place. But this rejection of metaphysics
does not necessarily imply the denial of the value of such an analysis
of our experience as I have in this work called metaphysical.
Metaphysics is taken to mean, not an analysis of experience, but a
groping behind the veil of phenomena for some reality not given in
experience. In other words, what Professor Cornelius condemns is what
many of the rest of us also condemn under another name. What he calls
metaphysics, we call bad metaphysics; and what he calls epistemology,
we call metaphysics. The dispute is really a dispute touching the
proper name to apply to reflective analysis of a certain kind.
As it is the fashion in certain quarters to abuse metaphysics, I set
the reader on his guard. Some kinds of metaphysics certainly ought to
be repudiated under whatever name they may be presented to us.
CHAPTER XX
THE PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION
76. RELIGION AND REFLECTION.--A man may be through and through ethical
in his thought and feeling, and yet know nothing of the science of
ethics. He may be possessed of the finest aesthetic taste, and yet may
know nothing of the science of aesthetics. It is one thing to be good,
and another to know clearly what goodness means; it is one thing to
love the beautiful, and another to know how to define it.
Just so a man may be thoroughly religious, and may, nevertheless, have
reflected very little upon his religious belief and the foundations
upon which it rests. This does not mean that his belief is without
foundation. It may have a firm basis or it may not. But whatever the
case may be, he is not in a position to say much about it. He _feels_
that he is right, but he cannot prove it. The man is, I think we must
admit, rather blind as to the full significance of his position, and he
is, in consequence, rather helpless.
Such a man is menaced by certain dangers. We have seen in the chapter
on ethics that men are by no means at one in their judgments as to the
rightness or wrongness of given actions. And it requires a very little
reflection to teach us that men are not at one in their religious
notions. God and His nature, the relation of God to man, what the
religious life should be, these things are the subject of much dispute;
and some men hold opinions regarded by others as not merely erroneous
but highly pernicious in their influence.
Shall a man simply assume that the opinions which he happens to hold
are correct, and that all who differ with him are in error? He has not
framed his opinions quite independently for himself. We are all
influenced by what we have inherited from the past, and what we inherit
may be partly erroneous, even if we be right in the main. Moreover, we
are all liable to prejudices, and he who has no means of distinguishing
such from sober truths may admit into his creed many errors. The
lesson of history is very instructive upon this point. The fact is
that a man's religious notions reflect the position which he occupies
in the development of civilization very much as do his ethical notions.
Again. Even supposing that a man has enlightened notions and is living
a religious life that the most instructed must approve; if he has never
reflected, and has never tried to make clear to himself just what he
really does believe and upon what grounds he believes it, how will it
be with him when his position is attacked by another? Men are, as I
have said, not at one in these matters, and there are few or none of
the doctrines put forward as religions that have not been attacked
again and again.
Now, those who depend only upon an instinctive feeling may be placed in
the very painful position of seeing no answer to the objections brought
against them. What is said may seem plausible; it may even seem true,
and is it right for a man to oppose what appears to be the truth? One
may be shocked and pained, and may feel that he who makes the assault
_cannot_ be right, and yet may be forced to admit that a relentless
logic, or what presents itself as such, has every appearance of
establishing the repellent truth that robs one of one's dearest
possession. The situation is an unendurable one; it is that of the man
who guards a treasure and recognizes that there is no lock on the door.
Surely, if there is error mixed with truth in our religious beliefs, it
is desirable that we should have some way of distinguishing between the
truth and the error. And if our beliefs really have a foundation, it
is desirable that we should know what that foundation is, and should
not be at the mercy of every passer-by who takes the notion to throw a
stone at us. But these desirable ends, it seems clear, cannot be
attained without reflection.
77. THE PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION.--The reflection that busies itself with
these things results in what is called the philosophy of religion. To
show that the name is an appropriate one and that we are concerned with
a philosophical discipline, I shall take up for a moment the idea of
God, which most men will admit has a very important place in our
conception of religion.
Does God exist? We may feel very sure that He does, and yet be forced
to admit that the evidence of His existence is not so clear and
undeniable as to compel the assent of every one. We do not try to
prove the existence of the men we meet and who talk to us. No one
thinks of denying their existence; it is taken for granted. Even the
metaphysician, when he takes up and discusses the question whether we
can prove the existence of any mind beyond our own, does not seriously
doubt whether there are other minds or not. It is not so much what we
know, as how we know it, that interests him.
But with the existence of God it is different. That men do not think
that an examination of the evidence can be dispensed with is evident
from the books that are written and lectures that are delivered year
after year. There seem to be honest differences of opinion, and we
feel compelled to offer men proofs--to show that belief is reasonable.
How shall we determine whether this world in which we live is such a
world that we may take it as a revelation of God? And of what sort of
a Being are we speaking when we use the word "God"? The question is
not an idle one, for men's conceptions have differed widely. There is
the savage, with a conception that strikes the modern civilized man as
altogether inadequate; there is the thoughtful man of our day, who has
inherited the reflections of those who have lived in the ages gone by.
And there is the philosopher, or, perhaps, I should rather say, there
are the philosophers. Have they not conceived of God as a group of
abstract notions, or as a something that may best be described as the
Unknowable, or as the Substance which is the identity of thought and
extension, or as the external world itself? All have not sinned in
this way, but some have, and they are not men whom we can ignore.
If we turn from all such notions and, in harmony with the faith of the
great body of religious men in the ages past, some of whom were
philosophers but most of whom were not, cling close to the notion that
God is a mind or spirit, and must be conceived according to the
analogy, at least, of the human mind, the mind we most directly
know--if we do this, we are still confronted by problems to which the
thoughtful man cannot refuse attention.
What do we mean by a mind? This is a question to which one can
scarcely give an intelligent answer unless one has exercised one's
faculty of philosophic reflection. And upon what sort of evidence does
one depend in establishing the existence of minds other than one's own?
This has been discussed at length in Chapter X, and the problem is
certainly a metaphysical one. And if we believe that the Divine Mind
is not subject to the limitations which confine the human, how shall we
conceive it? The question is an important one. Some of the
philosophers and theologians who have tried to free the Divine Mind
from such limitations have taken away every positive mark by which we
recognize a mind to be such, and have left us a naked "Absolute" which
is no better than a labeled vacuum.
Moreover, we cannot refuse to consider the question of God's relation
to the world. This seems to lead back to the broader question: How are
we to conceive of any mind as related to the world? What is the
relation between mind and matter? If any subject of inquiry may
properly be called metaphysical, surely this may be.
We see, then, that there is little wonder that the thoughtful
consideration of the facts and doctrines of religion has taken its
place among the philosophical sciences. Aesthetics has been called
applied psychology; and I think it is scarcely too much to say that we
are here concerned with applied metaphysics, with the attempt to obtain
a clear understanding of the significance of the facts of religion in
the light of those ultimate analyses which reveal to us the real nature
of the world of matter and of minds.
CHAPTER XXI
PHILOSOPHY AND THE OTHER SCIENCES
78. THE PHILOSOPHICAL AND NON-PHILOSOPHICAL SCIENCES.--We have seen in
the preceding chapters that certain of the sciences can scarcely be
cultivated successfully in complete separation from philosophy. It has
also been indicated in various places that the relation of other
sciences to philosophy is not so close.
Thus, the sciences of arithmetic, algebra, and geometry may be
successfully prosecuted by a man who has reflected little upon the
nature of numbers and who has never asked himself seriously what he
means by space. The assumptions which he is justified in making, and
the kind of operations which he has the right to perform, do not seem,
as a rule, to be in doubt.
So it is also in the sciences of chemistry and physics. There is
nothing to prevent the chemist or the physicist from being a
philosopher, but he is not compelled to be one. He may push forward
the investigations proper to his profession regardless of the type of
philosophy which it pleases him to adopt. Whether he be a realist or
an idealist, a dualist or a monist, he should, as chemist or physicist,
treat the same sort of facts in the same sort of a way. His path
appears to be laid out for him, and he can do work the value of which
is undisputed by traveling quietly along it, and without stopping to
consider consciously what kind of a path it is. There are many who
work in this way, and they succeed in making important contributions to
human knowledge.
Such sciences as these I call the non-philosophical sciences to
distinguish them from the group of sciences I have been discussing at
length. What marks them out is, that the facts with which the
investigator has to deal are known by him with sufficient clearness to
leave him usually in little doubt as to the use which he can make of
them. His knowledge is clear enough for the purpose in hand, and his
work is justified by its results. What is the relation of such
sciences as these to philosophy?
79. THE STUDY OF SCIENTIFIC PRINCIPLES AND METHODS.--It is one thing to
have the instinct of the investigator and to be able to feel one's way
along the road that leads to new knowledge of a given kind, and it is
another thing to have the reflective turn of mind that makes one
clearly conscious of just what one has been doing and how one has been
doing it. Men reasoned before there was a science of logic, and the
sciences made their appearance before what may be called the logic of
the sciences had its birth.
"It may be truly asserted," writes Professor Jevons,[1] "that the rapid
progress of the physical sciences during the last three centuries has
not been accompanied by a corresponding advance in the theory of
reasoning. Physicists speak familiarly of Scientific Method, but they
could not readily describe what they mean by that expression.
Profoundly engaged in the study of particular classes of natural
phenomena, they are usually too much engrossed in the immense and ever
accumulating details of their special sciences to generalize upon the
methods of reasoning which they unconsciously employ. Yet few will
deny that these methods of reasoning ought to be studied, especially by those who endeavor to introduce scientific order into less successful and methodical branches of knowledge." |
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