them over down to the minutest details, down to the very phraseology
of the sentences, before penning a single word, but that when he came
to writing he could turn out an astounding amount of work in a given
time. Unless a person have a remarkable memory, however, he will forget
most of what he has thought by the time he comes to writing it. Comte’s
method might nevertheless be profitably applied to short sections of
compositions. And where conciseness or perspicuity are desired, it will
often be found useful to think out an entire sentence before writing a
word of it.
Perhaps the best way of ensuring efficiency in writing is by the card
system. This consists in writing on a separate card every valuable idea
that occurs to you, immediately after it occurs. When you finally come
to writing you can arrange these cards in any order desired, throwing
out the ideas you no longer consider important, and adding those which
are necessary to complete or round out the work.
IX
THINGS WORTH THINKING ABOUT
The man who cannot wonder, who does not habitually wonder, is but a
pair of spectacles behind which there is no eye.—CARLYLE.
Up to now I have treated exclusively of _how_ to think, but have made
no mention of _what_ to think. I have treated of the best methods of
dealing with different subjects and questions; I have not considered
what subjects or problems are most worth dealing with.
Of course the important thing is that you do think. It is not
absolutely essential that the results of your thinking are results
which can be directly made use of. Thinking is an end in itself. Most
men imagine that “thinking for the sake of thinking” may appeal to
philosophers, but means nothing to them, as they like to think only
when by so doing they can forward some practical end. These people do
themselves an injustice.
Perhaps you, O reader, are among them. If so, let me appeal to your
personal experience. Have you ever tried to solve a toy puzzle, tried
to take the two wire hooks apart without bending them? Or have you
ever stopped to tackle a problem on the family page of your evening
or Sunday newspaper? “A grocer buys fifteen dozen eggs, he sells—”
you know what I mean. You admit that you have. Exactly. You have been
thinking for the mere sake of thinking.
If you protest that you didn’t care about the thinking, that you took
no pleasure in the thinking, which was merely incidental, but that
what really urged you on and gave you pleasure was the solution of
the puzzle, you are again deceiving yourself. The thinking was not
incidental. Thinking and problem solving are identical. The fact is
that you set yourself to solving a problem, to removing a mental
hindrance, for the mere sake of getting the answer, with absolutely no
thought of what you were going to do with the answer when you got it.
But if you can derive so much pleasure from thinking which you cannot
put to use, how much greater should be your pleasure when your
conclusions can be utilized? For when you think of something useful,
you have not only the present pleasure of solving your problem, but
the ulterior pleasure of applying your solution to action, or to the
solution of some further problem. And while I again admit that thinking
is an end in itself, this does not prevent it from being at the same
time a means to some further end. After all is said there is really no
reason why we should be prejudiced against problems or subjects that
are useful.
The mere decision that we should think of useful questions is
insufficient. Very few questions are without _some_ use. Even the
solution of the family page puzzle might some day be useful in solving
a similar problem arising in your own business; and even if this never
came to pass you might spring the puzzle on your friends, and make
yourself socially more interesting. Thought given to a question in a
debating book now before me, “Resolved, that Ferocious Wild Beasts are
more to be dreaded than Venomous Reptiles,” might result in knowledge
which would come handy in selecting equipment if one decided to journey
to the wilderness of South America. But there are millions of problems
of as much use as these; and it is not within the power of one lone
mortal, of years three score and ten, to compass even a corner of them.
Our question is not—what problems are of use?, but—of _how much_ use
are certain problems?, or stated in another way,—what is the _relative_
utility of problems?
Any adequate consideration of this question would involve the selection
of some criterion for utility, and the testing of individual problems
by that criterion. But to treat such a question with anything like
justice is beyond the scope of this book; it would require almost
a volume in itself. It is almost the same as the problem, What
knowledge is of most worth?, and the most masterly treatise on that
question which has ever been written can be found in Herbert Spencer’s
epoch-making little work, _Education_. I sincerely hope that the reader
study this. But I hope even more earnestly that before he does so he
first think the problem out independently, for it is one of the most
important he can put before himself.
But our present question—that of the relative importance of
problems—is slightly different from that of the relative importance
of knowledge. The first deals with thought and the second with
information, or the materials of thought; the first with a process of
getting knowledge and the second with knowledge itself.
I believe for example that a knowledge of his own body and of the
laws of health is the most valuable a man can have, but there are few
problems concerning the body which I would include in the first rank.
There are several reasons for this. In the first place, while it may
be true that such questions _taken as a whole_ are more important than
any other class of questions, taken separately they are relatively
minor; there are no one or two questions of all-encompassing importance
to which all the others are subsidiary. Moreover, such questions,
while they undoubtedly require thought for their solution, depend to a
relatively great extent on observation and experiment. No sane medical
student would sit down and follow out a lengthy course of reasoning
as to where the heart is; he would merely observe or dissect, or
consult the book of a man who had dissected, and save mental fatigue.
Not least of all, questions of physiology require extensive, highly
technical and detailed information—information which requires years of
special study to acquire—before any thinking that is at all safe can be
put upon them. So in estimating the relative value of problems, there
are other considerations besides the value of knowledge.
But it is not my purpose here to discuss the general principles upon
which the selection of worth-while questions should be made. That
task I leave to the reader. I have chosen rather the concrete path of
suggesting a list of questions which I consider of great import. I
believe that no matter how much thought the reader gives to any one of
them he will not be losing his time.
I have elsewhere pointed out that the more knowledge a man has the
more problems he will have. It is equally true that unless a man has
some knowledge on a subject he will not be able to appreciate or even
understand some of its most important problems. It is only when we
begin to think of subjects that we discover problems and realize their
significance. In stating most of the following problems, therefore, I
have often thought it necessary to add a few sentences in explanation,
and have sometimes stated a question in a variety of forms in order to
more clearly convey the thought.
* * * * *
_Are specific characteristics, acquired during the lifetime of an
individual, inherited by his offspring?_ I have referred so often to
this problem and its importance that further explanation is hardly
necessary. “Characteristics” of course refer to intellectual and moral
as well as physical characteristics.
_What is the influence of the individual mind on society and of social
environment on the individual?_
_Does the form of government determine the character of a people, or
does the character of a people determine their form of government?_
Or do government and character react on each other, and how? The same
question may be asked of all other social institutions. Does the
religion of a people determine their character, or does the character
of a people determine their religion? This whole problem is somewhat
similar to that immediately preceding, regarding the interaction of the
individual and the social mind.
_Is society for the benefit of the individual or is the individual for
the benefit of society?_
_Should the jurisdiction of the government be extended or curtailed?_
Or should it be extended in some directions and curtailed in others?
Does the answer to this problem depend on the answer to the previous
one? Another form of the same problem is: What is the proper sphere of
government?
_Should the government grant monopolies?_ Patents, for example?
_What would be the most practicable plan for abolishing or minimizing
war?_ Those who do not wish to beg the previous question may first
ask whether it is always desirable to prevent war, whether war is
always an evil. What is the effect of war on the physical future of
the race? on national and individual character? on government? on
national liberty? on personal liberty? What are the ethics of war?
for aggression? for territorial conquest? for “national honor”? for
defense of a weaker nation? for defense against invasion? What is the
effect of preparedness? of universal preparedness? of preparedness of
an individual nation? In each case what are the principles on which the
extent of preparedness should be determined? What are the fundamental
causes of war? How can they be removed? Is it possible to remove all of
them?
_Which is the rightful owner of land, the community or the individual?_
To state the problem in another form: Should private land ownership be
abolished?
_Who should be entitled to vote?_ This of course is a question similar
to woman suffrage, but it is much broader. It deals not only with the
qualification of sex, but of age. Should any one under twenty-one have
the vote? The validity of property and educational qualifications
should also be considered.
_How should the relations of the sexes be regulated?_ Put in slightly
narrower and perhaps less objectionable form: What would be just laws
governing marriage and divorce?
_What is the effect of attempted State interference with the law of
supply and demand?_ Does the unrestricted working out of this law
forward ultimate justice? Just what is the validity and the meaning
of the expression “The _law_ of supply and demand”? The question
could be taken up in connection with minimum wage laws, railroad rate
regulations, “extra crew” laws, etc.
_Which is the best policy: free trade, revenue tariff, or protective
tariff?_ Or under what conditions is each best? With what classes of
commodities?
_What would be an equitable and sound currency system?_ This question
is somewhat technical, and would have to be considered in the form of a
number of subsidiary problems. Ought money to have an intrinsic value?
What is the effect of “fiat” paper currency on money of intrinsic
value and on prices? The effect of credit? The effect of fluctuations
in the supply of gold? Ought there be a double standard or a multiple
standard? etc.
_Should conduct be judged by the pleasure or happiness it yields?_
Stated in another form, almost a different problem: Is utility a good
moral guide?
_Should conduct be judged by its tendency to produce individual
well-being, or should it be judged by its tendency to produce the
well-being of all humanity, or of all sentient beings?_ This problem
cannot be lightly dismissed in favor of universal well-being.
This becomes apparent when we attempt to give an undogmatic and
non-question-begging answer to the query: Why should a man act for the
benefit of others?
No science is more provocative of thought than ethics. The question of
whether acts should be declared good or bad as they tend to produce
pleasure or happiness, either individual or in humanity as a whole, or
whether “virtue” or “morality” is an end in itself, is one of the most
subtle and elusive we can attempt to solve; no matter which answer we
give we are brought into logical and psychological dilemmas from which
it seems impossible to escape. This is also true of the problem of
whether our knowledge of what constitutes right and wrong comes from
experience or from intuition.
The broadest form of the ethical problem, which includes the two
preceding italicized problems, is:
_What is the proper criterion for determining right and wrong conduct?_
Or even less dogmatic: Can there be a criterion for determining right
and wrong conduct, and what is it?
Somewhat allied with the ethical problem is that problem of problems:
how to live? By this is meant how to put the most into life and get
the most out of it; what vocation to follow; what hobbies, amusements,
avocations to take up; how to plan time by months, by weeks, by days,
by hours. How much time and energy do certain activities deserve? How
much can we afford to give them? Restated: what activities are of most
worth?
Of course every one does think of problems connected with the art of
living. But he thinks of them as little unconnected questions. Barely
indeed does any one go about the solution of the general problem of
living in an orderly, systematic manner. To insist upon the broad
practical bearings of the problem would be unnecessary, absurd. By
its very nature it is the most “practical” question we can ask. Any
particular solution or treatment may be impractical, but this does not
affect the question itself.
_What are the respective influences of environment (education,
experience, etc.) and innate tendencies in determining character?_
Which is the greater determinant?
_Does pleasure depend upon the satisfaction of instinctive desires, or
do desires for certain activities depend upon the pleasure accompanying
the previous performance of such activities?_ Does an activity or the
possession of an object give us pleasure because we have previously
desired it, or do we desire an activity or an object because we have
previously obtained pleasure from it? Or do pleasure and desire
interact, and just how? The solution of this psychological problem is
of tremendous importance in ethics.
_Does the mind depend entirely on the brain?_ That is, are all
thoughts, emotions, feelings, due to material changes in the brain? The
answer we give to this problem may determine our answer to the question
of immortality.
_What knowledge is of most worth?_ I have so fully discussed the
importance of this question and the method of proceeding with its
solution that further explanation is needless.
One sphere of thought where the thinker is compelled to be original;
where it is practically impossible for him to fall into beaten tracks,
is invention. But there is useless as well as useful invention. A
man’s ambition may range all the way from inventing a machine to
harness directly the limitless power of the sun, down to devising a
tenacious tip for shoelaces. But he should be careful about inventing
something already patented. He should be even more careful to avoid
inventing something for which there is no demand. One of Edison’s first
patents was for a machine to register quickly the votes of legislative
assemblies. And it worked. But the legislative assemblies didn’t want
it, because they didn’t want their votes quickly registered. That
would have ended good old filibuster methods. Another invention of
great uselessness which has been several times attempted is a machine
to write words just like the human hand writes them. There are really
so many useful things which do not exist and for which there is a
demand, that it seems quite a pity nine out of ten patents in the
files at Washington are for things inutile. If the would-be inventor
cannot himself think of something really needed, almost any big patent
attorney house will send him an entire book of suggestions on “What to
Invent.”
Invention usually requires highly technical knowledge, not to speak of
facilities for experiment and a well-supplied purse. But nothing gives
more solid satisfaction to its creator than a successful appliance.
While the conscientious philosopher is constantly harassed by doubts as
to whether, after all, he has discovered truth; the inventor need not
worry. His machine either works or it does not work, and he _knows_ the
truth of his thought thereby. On the other hand the philosopher will
always have _some_ thoughts. Be they true or not they may at least be
interesting and worth recording, whereas the inventor may toil on for
years and years with absolutely nothing to show for his exertion at the
end. . . .
There are a number of problems that are not of great “practical”
importance, but whose theoretic value is so transcendent as to compel
attention. Among these are certain problems in psychology, but more
especially in metaphysics, philosophy and even religion, insofar as
religion can be said to have problems.
_Is there a God and is it possible for man to learn anything of His
nature?_ Some readers may object to the first part of this question.
But I state it because I am anxious to avoid dogmatism.
_Is the soul immortal?_ What do we mean by the soul? Does science
disprove the life after death?
_What is the test of truth?_ How shall we know truth when we have it?
What after all is “truth”?
_Are our wills free, or are our actions predetermined?_ Some may object
to this way of stating the question. Much confusion exists as to the
meaning of the problem. A different way of stating it would lead to
different treatment. What is the “will”? What do we mean by “free”?
What do we mean by “predetermined”?
_The problem of existence._ How did the universe come into being? This
is the last problem in which interest can be stimulated from without.
No matter in how many different ways he phrases it, a writer cannot
convey this sense of mystery to another. It must arise from within.
Most of the time we accept, we take for granted, the universe and the
existent order of things, and it requires the greatest effort to keep
alive our mystification and doubt for even short periods.
* * * * *
The list of questions foregoing is of course merely suggestive. It is
impossible to select, say twenty-five questions, and pronounce them the
twenty-five most important that can be asked. I fully realize there are
questions of greater importance than some I have propounded. But I have
not gone so far as to advise that every one of these should be thought
over. The list has been given merely for thought stimulation, and to
indicate what is meant by “worth while” questions.
Unfortunately I have not been able to explain why most of these are so
important. To have done so would have required too much time for each
individual problem. It would have drawn us too far out of our subject.
The reader must find out or sense the importance for himself.
Practically all of the problems given in the list come under one of
the sciences, especially if we count metaphysics or philosophy as a
science, which it is in so far as it is organized knowledge. This may
seem somewhat narrow. Now I admit there are important problems which
are not included in any science. But there are very few. As soon as
deep thought is given to a problem its treatment becomes systematic.
It either falls into one of the sciences or a new science evolves
about it. John Stuart Mill once started a journal in which he promised
himself to put one thought a day, but he did not permit himself to
record there any thought on a problem falling within one of the special
sciences. None of the thoughts he put in the journal is of any great
value. It came to an abrupt end in about two months.
It may be objected that though the questions selected are most
important _in themselves_, there are other things more worth thinking
about, because of the mental discipline they yield. Now putting aside
the fact that questions important in themselves should be dealt with
ultimately—that mental discipline would be useless unless applied to
important problems—I must voice my suspicion that the most useful
questions are also the best for training the mind. It may be true
that punching the bag will help a prizefighter in boxing. But other
things equal, a man who has spent one week in actual boxing is better
prepared to enter the prize ring than one who has devoted a month to
bag punching. The best practice for boxing is boxing. The best practice
for solving important questions is solving important questions.
Nor do I admit the contention is valid that one problem rather than
another should be thought of because it is “deeper.” We cannot
truthfully say that psychology is a “deeper” science than ethics,
or that metaphysics is deeper than psychology, or vice versa. Most
subjects and most problems are just as deep as we care to make them.
Their depth depends entirely on how deep we go into them. This applies
especially to the so-called philosophical sciences. We may give them
shallow treatment or we may give them profound treatment. But we
shall usually find that the deepest questions are the most important
questions. For the most important questions have generally attracted
the greatest minds; consequently they have been given the deepest
treatment; and when a man reads the attempted solutions of these great
minds his thoughts tend toward this deeper plane. Of course certain
problems, especially in mathematics, can be dealt with by only one
method. In this case we may properly speak of some problems being
objectively deeper or at least more difficult than others.
Some objections may be offered to several of the questions in my list,
on the ground that they are invalid. Such problems as the immortality
of the soul and the problem of existence may be declared inscrutable,
unsolvable. Such a problem as “Is society for the benefit of the
individual or is the individual for the benefit of society?” may be
said to imply that society is something which has been voluntarily
formed like the State. It may be declared that this is not the case; it
may be objected that this question is meaningless. All these objections
may be justified. But their truth cannot be determined until we
actually attempt a solution. The determination of the validity of a
problem is part of the problem.
* * * * *
We come now to the question of what is most worth reading. The simplest
answer is that that is most worth reading which is most worth thinking
about, and therefore we should read those books which deal with such
problems as I have indicated. But this counsel needs to be supplemented.
A conservative estimate places the number of books in the world at
4,500,000. (This estimate was made before the war broke out, and the
war-books by now have doubtless brought the number to 5,000,000.) This
does not mean books as collections of printed sheets of paper bound
together—books as physical objects—for if it did the number would be
immensely greater. It means 4,500,000 (or more) separate and distinct
treatises. If you were to read one book every two weeks, you would read
about twenty-five a year, and if you read for fifty years you would
cover 1,250. One book in every three thousand six hundred! (3,600!)
From this it is apparent that even the most omnivorous reader, even
the reader who can cover a book swiftly by efficient skipping, will at
least have to ask himself before beginning a volume, “Is this a book
in a thousand? Can I afford to read this at the cost of missing nine
hundred and ninety-nine others?” And most men who ask this question
will have to substitute the number five thousand, or even ten thousand.
Nine-tenths of our reading is on mere chance recommendation, passing
whim or by sheer accident. We catch sight of a book on a library table.
Having nothing better to do we pick it up; we start perusing it. Every
book read in this way means a sinful waste of time. To be sure, a book
read in this chance manner _might_ (accidentally) be very good—even
better than some you would have planned for; but this will happen
seldom, and is never a justification of the practice. By going a round
about way to a place a man might stumble across a lost pocketbook, but
this would not justify taking round about ways.