Intelligence makes opportunities and employs them to good purpose.
Folly stumbles and is very conspicuous when it stumbles upon gold. At
the same time, we must remember that wisdom is not the only factor
making for success. A beautiful woman or even a handsome man with no
brains may have the thorns removed from the roses of life just because
of her or his physical attractiveness.
A matter of luck, obviously. But so is it a matter of luck that one
should be more intelligent than one’s neighbors. Wisdom can be improved
upon--but so can beauty. Both are controllable only to a limited
extent. Perhaps the advantages of clear thinking are not so obvious
as those of a clear complexion, however. There seems to be a greater
demand for the latter.
If thinking is somewhat painful, so, I believe, is receiving a
permanent wave or an application of beauty clay. But it is only
necessary to have the fee to be seized upon by the beautifiers. While
the educational institutions in America are usually hospitable enough,
while they even attempt to seize upon the students who are sufficiently
unresisting and permanently to “wave” their minds, the results are
often unsatisfactory. In education the passive attitude is hopeless.
The problem of learning how to think is, then, first of all one for the
learner himself to solve. Perhaps this little book may be read by some
high school and college pupils who are dissatisfied with the narrowness
of their teachers, disappointed that they cannot come into contact with
more stimulating minds. Ah, but narrow-mindedness and stupidity have
lessons to teach, too. Sometimes it is better not to be influenced
unduly by the wise: there is a certain tendency to swallow their
conclusions whole. Many people accept Emerson’s theory of compensations
at face value because it is Emerson’s, who would grin cynically at the
same idea propounded by Dr. Frank Crane.
All our heroes should be honored distinctly this side of idolatry, if
we are to think for ourselves. Of course we adapt them to ourselves in
any case. “Every philosopher has his own Kant,” Henri Bergson is said
to have remarked once, when Kant’s authority was invoked against some
teaching of his own. We know how Jesus is made to argue for both sides
of every question. He turned water into wine at the wedding feast in
Cana, we are told. Yet Sheldon’s clerical hero walking “In His Steps”
thought it incumbent upon him to destroy the saloons.
It is not the truth which makes one free, but the self-discovered
truth. Yes, it might be replied, but the important things have already
been found out. We know how the strainers after novel truths are
reduced to paradoxes which they display with pride in their mere
contrariness.
Here there are two replies to be made. In the first place, the truth
which one laboriously digs out for himself may be either old or new.
Or it may be both: the ancient idea, as it is discovered by one who
lives in the modern world, fits properly into his own environment. It
is no longer Plato’s thought or Aristotle’s, but the new thinker’s. If
it is true that there is nothing new under the sun, it is also true
that there is nothing old. I am not what I was yesterday. Neither is
the street which runs beside my house. Certainly there can be no exact
replica of Plato or of any Platonic idea in the United States and in
the twentieth century.
I would not seem to say that the truth is any more true because it
contradicts old ideas. We are justified in pouncing upon every paradox
to discover how many fallacies the glitter may hide. The paradoxical
writers are chiefly valuable because they do make us examine their
thoughts carefully. It does us little good to have the conventional
ideas repeated, even when they happen to be true. We are not easily
tempted to analyze them unless we are naturally of a skeptical
disposition. But when the ancient idols are rudely brushed aside, we
are aroused by the noise of the crash. We rush up, perhaps to punish
the delinquents, perhaps to examine the gods on our own account.
Some, of course, feel that falling upon the iconoclasts is answer
enough. There have always been people able to answer ideas only with
blows. But the men and women who have it in them to think are likely to
pick up the shattered pieces of the idol, to determine for themselves
if it is worth the trouble of cementing together. If it has once been
truly broken, of course it can never be the same again. Perhaps the
bits of metal must be melted down to be cast into a new form.
Just at present there is a great deal of argument, mostly excited,
about the question: Is war a necessary evil? This is not an “academic”
matter. Upon our answer depends our attitude to the League of Nations,
disarmament conferences, military training in the colleges, and various
other matters. As usual, most people feel qualified to say “Yes”
or “No” and to defend their opinions hotly. To answer the question
intelligently, a great deal of specialized knowledge is necessary. Is
there any fighting instinct in men? Do racial jealousies depend merely
upon misunderstanding and ignorance--or is there some deeper basis?
Does war assist in the advancement of culture and civilization? Do wars
promote manliness or do they weaken the race by killing off the brave
and the healthy, leaving the cowards and the defective individuals to
beget the next generation?
Graham Wallas says we fight better than our ancestors knew how, for
we have better weapons. Yet we are not wiser than they, since we can
only let accident and inertia prevent a war from breaking out. We have
no positive means of controlling it, of being sure that international
peace will be kept.
But we know that many wars have by no means been accidental. For
example, Bismarck carefully planned the Franco-Prussian War, making
the French appear to be the aggressors. Certainly most of the diplomats
of Europe expected the Great War to break out, and comparatively few
of them made any attempt to avert it. As for the masses of the people,
they cherished blind hatreds. They did not, of course, understand
international politics.
Why did the United States join the Allies? Here is a question which
our historians have not been able to answer satisfactorily. As a
matter of fact, the question as stated is ambiguous. It calls either
for causes or for reasons. Perhaps one of the important causes was the
clever propaganda spread by the Allies, based to a great extent upon
deliberate falsehoods. One reason frequently given during the war was
that Germany was led by the godless philosophy of Nietzsche. This is
utter nonsense, although it is still repeated occasionally by clergymen
and Y. M. C. A. secretaries.
In 1812, when the young republic was faced with the same problem of
aggression at the hands of both combatants, the United States declared
war against Great Britain, not against France. But there was no
definite alliance with the side which had also acted guiltily. Why did
things turn out differently in the Great War?
The questions which I leave unanswered my readers may, if they will,
take for exercises. After all, we citizens of the United States are
supposed to be able to answer difficult political questions. Often we
must decide between two candidates for Congress, both of whom we know
to be unfit to hold such an office, on the ground of their attitude
for or against the World Court or tariff reduction or some other
complicated matter.
The elementary textbooks of economics show that the “full dinner pail”
argument in favor of high import taxes is absolutely fallacious. Yet
this is relied upon by practically all Republican campaign speakers.
Again I am not trying to prove anything--except that stupidity is
widespread. Certainly it would be presumptuous and foolish for me to
try to settle the tariff question in a single paragraph.
Sometimes, indeed, it seems that Hume was right when he said that
“reason has no original influence,” that it “is, and ought only to be,
the slave of the passions, and can never pretend to any other office
than to serve and obey them.” Of course there is room for discussion
about the “ought only to be,” in any case. The passions make people
do ridiculous things: if the condition is hopeless, as Hume suggests,
we need not approve it. (Not that our approval or disapproval would
matter, if it were so.)
But the attitude of this little book is not so pessimistic. I prefer to
consider reason something more than the art of inventing poor excuses
for worse conduct. At least in some few individuals and at some rare
times, intelligence is supreme. The implications of such a statement
are many. I do not think that it contradicts determinism, the doctrine
necessary to the scientific study of psychology that the condition of
the mind is fixed by anterior and exterior circumstances. But if we
admit that the rule of intelligence is ever possible, we are justified
in trying to learn how to think--not merely how to argue.
Wallas says that thought “may start ... without an immediate stimulus
of an ‘instinctive’ impulse from the lower brain.” To discuss the
matter adequately, we should need first of all to consider the various
definitions of instinct. Yet it seems that there is always some sort
of stimulus from without. Thought does not arise spontaneously. First
there is a more or less unpleasant feeling of incompleteness. In other
words, there is a difficulty, a lack of adjustment to one’s environment.
Thus, while we are wearing our gloves and see them on our hands, we
do not wonder where they are. But if they are lacking and we remember
having started out from home with them, we think at once: Where are my
gloves? If we have entered the Order of Jesus and successfully subdued
our reason according to the regular system of discipline, we never
think: Is there a God? But one who has entered a monastery without
fully subduing his ability to think for himself is likely enough to
wonder when his sexual impulses trouble him: Is the immortality we are
promised sure? Is there indeed a God?
But what shall we say of a monk who is fully convinced that he will
enjoy everlasting bliss if he keeps his oath of chastity and is at the
same time unable to refrain from fornication? Surely he is ruled by
his instincts, not by his reason. Even where religion triumphs, the
victory seems to be won by the emotions, not by the intelligence. Often
we find a mystical union with God--or with Jesus or Mary, to make the
picture of heterosexual relations more definite--standing definitely in
the place of the ordinary manifestations of sex.
At best, we cannot rate reason very highly in any description of
things as they are. Wallas, defending the originality and the power of
thought, yet says that some of the most important steps in the process
are unconscious or half-conscious. This means that they are largely
uncontrolled, so far as the will is concerned. The Freudian doctrine
tells us that complex formations actually develop as a result of
emotional suppressions. This much we know, that the ideas lying below
the level of consciousness are not arranged in any logical system which
the conscious mind can accept. Our dreams and reveries offer proof
enough of this.
Flashes of insight, brilliant guesses which we attribute to intuition,
demand careful verification. It sometimes happens that a man leaps
out of bed in the middle of the night with the feeling that he has
made a wonderful discovery. In the morning, he may not remember what
it was all about. In this case he is certain that he has missed
something extraordinary by reason of his failure to have a pad and
pencil at hand. If he has taken notes, however, he is very likely to be
disappointed in them. Either they are valuable but yet require much
laborious amplification or they are palpably worthless.
Robert Graves explains poetic inspiration thus: “When conflicting
issues disturb his mind, which in its conscious state is unable to
reconcile them logically, the poet acquires the art of self-hypnotism,
as practiced by the witch-doctors, his ancestors in poetry.... On being
interrupted, the poet experiences the disagreeable sensations of a
sleepwalker disturbed and later finds it impossible to remember how the
early versions of a poem ran.”
The important thing for us to consider here is that the poet, even if
he considers his work inspired, nevertheless makes corrections in it.
Sometimes the defects are small, sometimes they are so great that the
whole work is worthless. Any interested reader may see what Robert
Graves did with the later drafts--those he could remember, that is--of
“Cynics and Romantics.” These he gives in his book _On English Poetry_
in the chapter called “Surface Faults, an Illustration.”
The four stages in thinking, according to Graham Wallas, are
preparation, incubation, illumination, and verification. The two stages
referred to by Graves are illumination (or “self-hypnotism”) and
verification or correction.
Perhaps _education_ would be a fair synonym for _preparation_. For one
thing, “the ‘educated’ man can ‘put his mind on’ a certain subject
and ‘turn his mind off’ in a way which is impossible to an uneducated
man,” as Wallas tells us. In other words, he possesses volitional
control. But if education, between inverted commas, means attendance
at a university or at least a good school of secondary grade, the
statement is only half true. Some self-educated men do lack the ability
to concentrate upon an intellectual problem. Others do not. The main
difficulty is to know when to stop thinking about a difficulty. When is
it truly solved?
When we have found an algebraic X, we can test it, usually without any
trouble. But sometimes the solutions which flash upon us are not so
easily tried. For example, I may discover some important new principles
of government. Yet, not being a professional politician, I have no way
of introducing even a slight innovation. Shall I test my discovery
by its conformity to the laws of political science? But there is no
such science, in any strict use of the word. Well, I may write a book
explaining my discovery. Thus I should be following the course of
Plato, when he came to the conclusion that the philosophers should rule
the state.
Putting one’s ideas into a writing which is published often brings
about its verification by others. Einstein worked out his theory of
relativity and tested it as well as he could. Yet his own tests are not
considered nearly so important as those made by certain astronomers and
physicists soon after his theory was made public.
Illumination is the only one of Wallas’s four stages which cannot
easily be controlled. Yet many poets and thinkers have been able to
use alcoholic beverages and even narcotic drugs to good advantage. If
the ideas won’t come, sometimes there is nothing to do but wait.
But illumination may fail because the incubation is defective. “We can
often get more result in the same time,” says Wallas, “by beginning
several problems in succession, and voluntarily leaving them unfinished
while we turn to others, than by finishing our work on each problem at
one sitting.” The associations come up, as it seems, of themselves,
although voluntary effort fails. If waiting is necessary, perhaps
another difficulty may meanwhile be attacked.
Or some exercise, like walking, which involves no exceedingly complex
mental demands of its own, may arouse the fugitive ideas. Idleness as
well has its uses in the incubation of thought. There is such a state
as that of being too busy to think. But performing some simple task
all day, for instance, operating a sewing machine, need not prevent
constructive thinking. The ordinary workingman of today, doing over and
over again the same piece of work, is in this respect better off than
the medieval laborer who made the whole pair of shoes or the whole cart
by himself. If it is in him to think, his thoughts can incubate during
his working hours. Moreover, he has a great deal of leisure in which to
verify his conclusions or to gather material for thought.
He can read books and magazines and newspapers after he is through
with his work. Yet the man who reads much does not necessarily think
efficiently. He must leave time for his thoughts to develop and he must
acquire the art of reading critically: else his reading probably does
him more harm than good.
SOME COMMON FORMS OF STUPIDITY
There is, says H. G. Wells, an “empty gulf in quality between the
superb and richly fruitful scientific investigations that are going on,
and the general thought of other educated sections of the community.”
Graham Wallas points specifically to the lack of perfection in
politics, jurisprudence, and economics, as well as to deficiencies in
the coördination of biology, physics, politics, and sociology.
That which is truly scientific is precise. Some of the attempts to make
the social sciences exact have failed because of undue simplifications.
Human behavior is a very complex matter, and it cannot accurately be
set forth with any short formula--or with any long formula that is at
present available.
The science of psychology, although it is now worthy of the name, is
yet loosely established. We must remember that all the sciences are
subject to revision. Einstein appears pretty much to have upset the
laws of Newton, which have been looked upon with almost religious
reverence for tens of decades. When we wish to find the truth, we do
not hesitate to attack the errors to which the names of old authorities
are attached. Moreover, the man who has the scientific spirit in him
recognizes that the truth he discovers is very likely relative, that it
may be overturned by another truth-seeker.
Darwin was a great man. Yet the scientists of today, who accept his
theory of organic evolution, do not hesitate to criticize his account
of the machinery bringing about evolution--that is, natural selection.
So it happens that the ignorant can declare Darwinism discredited, with
the implication that organic evolution is denied.
Truth which is relative, which is constantly in a state of flux, is
hard for the lazy-minded to accept. But scientific truth (which is,
of course, erroneous to an indeterminable extent, which probably will
never be entirely accurate) is yet infinitely more truthful than any
fixed dogmas like those of the theologians. So long as scientific
method remains in use and there are eager workers in the field, we can
be certain that the truth of the scientists will approach closer and
closer to absolute truth.
The warfare of science with theology is not yet ended. Where once the
battleground was in the fields of physics and astronomy, now it is in
the fields of biology and psychology. When the soul finally goes, what
will be left for the ministers? Probably a thin residue of ethical
teachings.
At present the clergy are all more or less afraid of the new biological
and psychological doctrines. Either they deny them or they attempt
to adjust their opinions to them, but they cannot help suspecting
attacks upon their vested interests. Worse still, perhaps, would be the
uncovering of their own ignorance--an ignorance of great profundity, in
some instances.
A great many agnostics dislike to see Christianity attacked because
they believe that religion keeps the masses out of mischief. No matter
how thoroughly the doctrine of “Whatever is, is right” has been
spread, however, there have always been criminals and rebels. There
is no evidence available showing that unbelievers are more ready than
Christians or Jews or Mohammedans to murder and rob and forge checks.
To set up two standards of truth--one for the “upper” or the more
intelligent classes, one for those who are regarded as inferior--is
stupid and dangerous. Absolute truth is supposed to be important
according to the religious teachings as well as the principles of
science. When the members of a congregation suspect the minister’s
agnosticism, their own faith is likely to be troubled. When there is a
slave morality as well as a separate morality for masters, it must be
based upon something more tangible than rewards and punishments after
death. It has usually been maintained with the whip.
But in our civilized communities it seems to be necessary to maintain
masters and servants without too frequently bloodying backs. I do not
wish to set forth the Marxian doctrine that there is a great gulf
between the capitalists and the proletarians. Yet it is obvious that
some people have power and unlimited luxuries while others go hungry
on occasion. It is not mere perversity or stupid ignorance, then--as
James Harvey Robinson and others of his school sometimes appear to
imply--which causes all sorts of obstacles to be laid in the way of
the frank teaching of the social sciences. It is the fear that valuable
privileges will be lost.
It does not seem to me that there is any likelihood in the near future
of a Bolshevistic revolution in the United States. Those who possess
intelligence and the qualities of leadership feel that they cannot
be the gainers by any such overthrow. But a feeling that something
is being suppressed, that a censorship of ideas exists, if it once
gains ground, may cause certain individuals to join the revolutionary
movement.
The present capitalistic system, although it is in many ways palpably
defective, yet has the merit of working. It is certain that the sudden
change to a socialistic, syndicalistic, or anarchistic state would,
at least for several generations, bring about famine and a general
breakdown in various complex organizations which we consider essential
for our civilization and culture. Perhaps we may gradually pass into
socialism. A number of paternalistic tendencies (which I, personally,
regret) suggest that we are on the way. The importance or lack of
importance of the Socialistic Party makes no difference. Just now,
when the Unitarian Church is diminishing in importance, all the old
doctrines of the Unitarians are being taken over by the religious
leaders who call themselves modernists.
But if we are in a transition stage, it is well that we should
know what we are doing. Our fears for vested interests and special
privileges must not hold us back. All attempts (conscious or
unconscious) to make ignorance into a Chinese wall are bound to be
futile. That sort of wall is undermined with dynamite before it is
erected.
At present, indeed, the free study of sociology seems to mean no more
than the liberty to exhibit that reason which justifies the actions
brought about by passion. That is, very little intelligence has been
brought to bear on the problem of the relations between men. Those who
argue have opinions which seem to arise out of their own temperaments,
not out of any objective study of the problem. Thus they would justify
Hume’s view of reason.
James Harvey Robinson (_The Mind in the Making_) says: “I mean by
social science our feeble efforts to study man, his natural equipment
and impulses, and his relations to his fellows in the light of his
origin and the history of the race.... Human affairs are in themselves
far more intricate and perplexing than molecules and the chromosomes.
But this is only the more reason for bringing to bear on human
affairs that critical type of thought and calculation for which the
remunerative thought about molecules and chromosomes has prepared the
way.” He goes on to say in the next paragraph that exact scientific
results, like those formulated in mechanics, are “of course” out of the
question.
But we have seen that there is no absoluteness about the laws of
mechanics. The accepted doctrines of chemistry have been and still
are being overthrown to a considerable extent. It may be that two or
three centuries from now the laws of sociology will be as exact as
those of physics. That is to say, they will be respected until further
investigation makes it plain that they must be revised.