An Introduction to Philosophy, George Stuart Fullerton [books to read in your 20s .TXT] 📗

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