To properly introduce this entry, I insist that the true value of philosophical thinking consists not in being right, as opposed to wrong, but in developing new patterns of thinking, which can be used not only for further “abstract” thinking, but, most importantly, for infinitely useful specific applications. No advances in modern technology, for instance, could ever have been possible without prior advances in thinking about seemingly useless and demonstrably non-existent subjects, even if those “advancers” themselves have been proven wrong on all counts. I am developing this thought in several entries throughout this book.
Philosophers have been subjected to constant ridicule. "There is no statement so absurd that no philosopher will make it," says Cicero, in De Divinatione, and Hobbes echoes him in Leviathan, v., commenting on “the privilege of absurdity, to which no living creature is subject, but men, and of men, those most that profess philosophy.” Apparently, such critics use philosophy as a bad word, and do not consider themselves in that category.
By far the most succinct way of stating the underlying problem here belongs to Nietzsche: “You know that no philosopher so far has been proved right.” (Jenseits 25). Nietzsche’s so far is a not-so-subtle indication that with him appearing on the world-historical stage, the situation may finally change.
How come, we might ask, the philosopher, that is the epitome of wisdom incarnate, has been in the wrong throughout the ages, and if not he, then who has ever been right, if at all?
So that we ourselves do not ride into the swamp of absurdity on our impetuous warhorse of ridicule, let us not perpetrate that grave logical folly of taking a specific claim, and generalizing it! Indeed, the charge of intellectual ineptitude ascribed to philosophers is akin to the inspired sophistry of Zeno the Eleatic, who is famous for proving beyond reasonable doubt that Achilles would never overtake the tortoise, except that it lacks Zeno’s syllogistic depth and far-reaching scientific implications.
The truth of Nietzsche’s elegant statement above is consistent with my own reflection that the value of the great philosophers has always been in asking good questions, but not in answering them. Every attempt on their part to come up with a general theory of some sort, the so-called positive contribution, has resulted in failure. This is exactly what Nietzsche is saying here, and any attempt to overstate this limited “failure” of all general philosophical theories or to expand its true boundaries would be an even greater absurdity than the most absurd among these theories.
In order to avoid the accusation of absurdity, many philosophers have preferred to make their contribution epigrammatic. Montaigne, Pascal, La Bruyère, Lichtenberg left us nothing, except scattered pearls of their cautious wisdom (collecting them all in one place does not make them less scattered). Dèscartes attempted to immunize himself with the caveat of idiosyncrasy. And so on, and so forth.
But there is a precious intrinsic worth in the philosophers’ general theories, be that of Plato or Spinoza, of Kant or Hegel. Whether oblivious of their ‘general theory’ folly, or quite consciously accepting the ridicule of their contemporaries and of the future generations, in which case they deserve the highest credit for the courage to be wrong, these general theorists have created, to a far larger extent than their aphoristic-only brethren, each, a vast philosophical kingdom with open borders, where all intruders are welcome, to come and partake of its macrocosmic wealth.
Bearing this in mind, there is a reassuring dependability for the defender of the wisdom of being wrong in such seemingly disparaging observations, as Pascal’s paradoxical “To ridicule philosophy is to be a real philosopher,” (Pensées, vii) and Montaigne’s “A philosopher is one who doubts” (Essais, ii, written in 1580, that is long before Dèscartes!!!). The relativity of right and wrong is clearly established here, and Devil’s advocacy here is elevated to a philosophical principle, beyond right and wrong.
It is in this light that the following marvelous passage from Dèscartes’ Method ought to be read:
“…Of Philosophy I will say nothing, except that when I saw that it had been cultivated, for many ages, by the most distinguished men, and that yet, there is not a single matter within its sphere, which is not still in dispute, and nothing, therefore, that is above doubt, I did not presume to anticipate that my success would be greater in it than that of others; and furthermore when I considered the number of conflicting opinions touching a single matter that may be upheld by learned men, while there can be only one true, I reckoned as well-nigh false all that was only probable.” (Method, Book I)
The above passage raises an interesting array of subjects. In my criticism of Hobbes (see the entry Reason and Passion), who is taking for granted the infallibility of mathematics, as opposed to the fallaciousness of most philosophical (dogmatic) premises, I stated that the former may be called infallible only insofar as it is all fiction, while the latter’s truthfulness or falsity must be dismissed as a valid criterion, as long as philosophy recognizes its proper place and its significant limitations, and no general theory lays claim to an absolute wisdom.
Another important point is that, while Dèscartes can be justified in making this comment, this is true only to a point. Generally speaking, he is wrong in proposing that ‘when I considered the number of conflicting opinions touching a single matter that may be upheld by learned men, there can be but one true.’
The example of Euclid-Lobachevsky ostensibly irreconcilable, but in fact wonderfully symbiotic difference of two conflicting truths is only one specific case where Dèscartes can be forcefully disproved. But, generally speaking, if we change our view of philosophy and science, from seeing them as true by virtue of fact to seeing them as true by virtue of fiction, then his idea loses much of its luster of smartness, but nevertheless retains its value in the different, general sense which I already had a chance to speak about.
Philosophers have been subjected to constant ridicule. "There is no statement so absurd that no philosopher will make it," says Cicero, in De Divinatione, and Hobbes echoes him in Leviathan, v., commenting on “the privilege of absurdity, to which no living creature is subject, but men, and of men, those most that profess philosophy.” Apparently, such critics use philosophy as a bad word, and do not consider themselves in that category.
By far the most succinct way of stating the underlying problem here belongs to Nietzsche: “You know that no philosopher so far has been proved right.” (Jenseits 25). Nietzsche’s so far is a not-so-subtle indication that with him appearing on the world-historical stage, the situation may finally change.
How come, we might ask, the philosopher, that is the epitome of wisdom incarnate, has been in the wrong throughout the ages, and if not he, then who has ever been right, if at all?
So that we ourselves do not ride into the swamp of absurdity on our impetuous warhorse of ridicule, let us not perpetrate that grave logical folly of taking a specific claim, and generalizing it! Indeed, the charge of intellectual ineptitude ascribed to philosophers is akin to the inspired sophistry of Zeno the Eleatic, who is famous for proving beyond reasonable doubt that Achilles would never overtake the tortoise, except that it lacks Zeno’s syllogistic depth and far-reaching scientific implications.
The truth of Nietzsche’s elegant statement above is consistent with my own reflection that the value of the great philosophers has always been in asking good questions, but not in answering them. Every attempt on their part to come up with a general theory of some sort, the so-called positive contribution, has resulted in failure. This is exactly what Nietzsche is saying here, and any attempt to overstate this limited “failure” of all general philosophical theories or to expand its true boundaries would be an even greater absurdity than the most absurd among these theories.
In order to avoid the accusation of absurdity, many philosophers have preferred to make their contribution epigrammatic. Montaigne, Pascal, La Bruyère, Lichtenberg left us nothing, except scattered pearls of their cautious wisdom (collecting them all in one place does not make them less scattered). Dèscartes attempted to immunize himself with the caveat of idiosyncrasy. And so on, and so forth.
But there is a precious intrinsic worth in the philosophers’ general theories, be that of Plato or Spinoza, of Kant or Hegel. Whether oblivious of their ‘general theory’ folly, or quite consciously accepting the ridicule of their contemporaries and of the future generations, in which case they deserve the highest credit for the courage to be wrong, these general theorists have created, to a far larger extent than their aphoristic-only brethren, each, a vast philosophical kingdom with open borders, where all intruders are welcome, to come and partake of its macrocosmic wealth.
Bearing this in mind, there is a reassuring dependability for the defender of the wisdom of being wrong in such seemingly disparaging observations, as Pascal’s paradoxical “To ridicule philosophy is to be a real philosopher,” (Pensées, vii) and Montaigne’s “A philosopher is one who doubts” (Essais, ii, written in 1580, that is long before Dèscartes!!!). The relativity of right and wrong is clearly established here, and Devil’s advocacy here is elevated to a philosophical principle, beyond right and wrong.
It is in this light that the following marvelous passage from Dèscartes’ Method ought to be read:
“…Of Philosophy I will say nothing, except that when I saw that it had been cultivated, for many ages, by the most distinguished men, and that yet, there is not a single matter within its sphere, which is not still in dispute, and nothing, therefore, that is above doubt, I did not presume to anticipate that my success would be greater in it than that of others; and furthermore when I considered the number of conflicting opinions touching a single matter that may be upheld by learned men, while there can be only one true, I reckoned as well-nigh false all that was only probable.” (Method, Book I)
The above passage raises an interesting array of subjects. In my criticism of Hobbes (see the entry Reason and Passion), who is taking for granted the infallibility of mathematics, as opposed to the fallaciousness of most philosophical (dogmatic) premises, I stated that the former may be called infallible only insofar as it is all fiction, while the latter’s truthfulness or falsity must be dismissed as a valid criterion, as long as philosophy recognizes its proper place and its significant limitations, and no general theory lays claim to an absolute wisdom.
Another important point is that, while Dèscartes can be justified in making this comment, this is true only to a point. Generally speaking, he is wrong in proposing that ‘when I considered the number of conflicting opinions touching a single matter that may be upheld by learned men, there can be but one true.’
The example of Euclid-Lobachevsky ostensibly irreconcilable, but in fact wonderfully symbiotic difference of two conflicting truths is only one specific case where Dèscartes can be forcefully disproved. But, generally speaking, if we change our view of philosophy and science, from seeing them as true by virtue of fact to seeing them as true by virtue of fiction, then his idea loses much of its luster of smartness, but nevertheless retains its value in the different, general sense which I already had a chance to speak about.
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