An Introduction to Philosophy

by George Stuart Fullerton

But we must never forget that we have not in philosophy an authoritative body of truth which we have the right to impose upon all who enter that field. A multitude of distinctions have been made and are made; but the representatives of different schools of thought are not at one touching the value and significance of these distinctions. If we coin a word or a phrase to mark such, there is some danger that we fall into the habit of using such words or phrases, as we use the coins in our purse, without closely examining them, and with the ready assumption that they must pass current everywhere.

Thus, there is always a possibility that our technical expressions may be nothing less than crystallized error. Against this we should surely be on our guard.

Again. When we translate the language of common life into the dialect of the learned, there is danger that we may fall into the error of supposing that we are adding to our knowledge, even though we are doing nothing save to exchange one set of words for another. Thus, we all know very well that one mind can communicate with another. One does not have to be a scholar to be aware of this. If we choose to call this "intersubjective intercourse," we have given the thing a sounding name; but we know no more about it than we did before. The problem of the relation between minds, and the way in which they are to be conceived as influencing each other, remains just what it was. So, also, we recognize the everyday fact that we know both ourselves and what is not ourselves. Shall we call this knowledge of something not ourselves "self-transcendence"? We may do so if we wish, but we ought to realize that this bestowal of a title makes no whit clearer what is meant by knowledge.

Unhappily, men too often believe that, when they have come into the possession of a new word or phrase, they have gained a new thought. The danger is great in proportion to the breadth of the gulf which separates the new dialect from the old language of common life in which we are accustomed to estimate things. Many a philosopher would be bereft, indeed, were he robbed of his vocabulary and compelled to express his thoughts in ordinary speech. The theories which are implicit in certain recurring expressions would be forced to come out into the open, and stand criticism without disguise.

But can one write philosophical books without using words which are not in common use among the unphilosophic? I doubt it. Some such words it seems impossible to avoid. However, it does seem possible to bear in mind the dangers of a special philosophical terminology and to reduce such words to a minimum.

Finally, we may appeal to the humanity of the philosopher. The path to reflection is a sufficiently difficult one as it is; why should he roll rocks upon it and compel those who come after him to climb over them? If truths are no truer for being expressed in a repellent form, why should he trick them out in a fantastic garb? What we want is the naked truth, and we lose time and patience in freeing our mummy from the wrappings in which learned men have seen fit to encase it.

93. DO NOT HASTILY ACCEPT A DOCTRINE.—This brings me to the last of the maxims which I urge upon the attention of the reader. All that has been said so far may be regarded as leading up to it.

The difficulty that confronts us is this: On the one hand, we must recognize the uncertainty that reigns in this field of investigation. We must ever weigh probabilities and possibilities; we do not find ourselves in the presence of indubitable truths which all competent persons stand ready to admit. This seems to argue that we should learn to suspend judgment, and should be most wary in our acceptance of one philosophical doctrine and our rejection of another.

On the other hand, philosophy is not a mere matter of intellectual curiosity. It has an intimate connection with life. As a man thinks, so is he, to a great extent, at least. How, then, can one afford to remain critical and negative? To counsel this seems equivalent to advising that one abandon the helm and consent to float at the mercy of wind and tide.

The difficulty is a very real one. It presents itself insistently to those who have attained to that degree of intellectual development at which one begins to ask oneself questions and to reflect upon the worth and meaning of life. An unreflective adherence to tradition no longer satisfies such persons. They wish to know why they should believe in this or that doctrine, and why they should rule their lives in harmony with this or that maxim. Shall we advise them to lay hold without delay of a set of philosophical tenets, as we might advise a disabled man to aid himself with any staff that happens to come to hand? Or shall we urge them to close their eyes to the light, and to go back again to the old unreflective life?