MORTIMER
J. ADLER ON GOD AND THE PROFESSORS
Conference on Science,
Philosophy and Religion
By
Mortimer Adler
THE FOUNDING MEMBERS OF THIS
CONFERENCE are, for the most part, professors in American colleges and
universities. They are eminent representatives of the various academic
disciplines, among which are the three mentioned as most relevant to this
Conference—science, philosophy, and religion. The presence of historians and
humanistic scholars is justified by the modern extension of science to include
the so called social sciences, with which all research about human affairs and
culture can be affiliated. Most of these professors belong to one or more of
the several learned societies which meet annually for the reading and
discussion of papers that purport to make contributions to truth, or at least
to what is academically recognized as learning.
Hence, the reason for this
Conference, for this additional meeting at which more papers are being read and
discussed, must be some need for the professors to get together in a different
way and for a different purpose. If the public wonders why we are gathering
here this September, we must justify this Conference as trying to do something
which is not, and perhaps cannot be, accomplished in the ordinary processes of
our academic life—in classrooms, faculty
meetings, or the sessions of learned societies.
Some explanations have already
been given. We have come together because we all share, for different reasons
and in varying degrees, an uneasiness about something
we call the present situation. Whether or not we are ready to say that God’s in
his heaven, we cry with one voice that all’s not right with the world. I wish I
could credit my colleagues with one further agreement, namely, that the present
crisis is only superficially a conflict between democracy and totalitarianism
in the political arena, or between individualism and collectivism in the
economic sphere. If that were the full nature of the crisis, why should we
waste time talking about science, philosophy and religion?
The fact that we have chosen to
consider three major components of human culture should indicate that we all have
a vague sense of cultural disorder as the root of our troubles, as the source
of a threatening doom. Far from being prime movers, Hitler and Mussolini, or,
if you wish, the Stalins and Chamberlains, are but
paranoiac puppets, dancing for a moment on the crest of the wave—the wave that
is the historic motion of modern culture to its own destruction. A culture is
not killed by political conflicts, even when they attain the shattering
violence of modern warfare; nor by economic revolutions, even when they involve
the dislocations of modern mass uprisings.
A culture dies of diseases which
are themselves cultural. It may be born sick, as
modern culture was, or it may decay through insufficient vitality to overcome
the disruptive forces present in every culture; but, in any case, cultural
disorder is a cause and not an effect of the political and economic
disturbances which beset the world to day.
The health of a culture, like
the health of the body, consists in the harmonious functioning of its parts.
Science, philosophy and religion are certainly major parts of European culture;
their distinction from one another as quite separate parts is certainly the
most characteristic cultural achievement of modern times. But if they have not
been properly distinguished, they cannot be properly related; and unless they
are properly related, properly ordered to one another, cultural disorder, such
as that of modern times, inevitably results.
This Conference, one might suppose,
has been called to consider the illness of our culture; more than that, to seek
and effect remedies. One of the troubles is that scientists, philosophers, and
theologians, or teachers of religion, have long failed to communicate with one
another.
The structure of a modern
university, with its departmental separations, and its total lack of order
among specialized disciplines, represents perfectly the disunity and chaos of
modern culture. Since nothing can be expected of the professors locked up in
their departmental cells, since reforming our institutions of higher learning
(to make them truly universities) seems to be impossible, since the ordinary
processes of academic life manifest the very defects which must be remedied,
the professors have been assembled under the special auspices of this
Conference with the hope that lines of communication can be established. That
done, one might even hope for communication to lead to mutual understanding,
and thence to agreement about the truths which could unify our culture.
If what I have said is not the
purpose of this Conference, I can see no justification for it whatsoever. The
fact that all the professors gathered mention the Present Crisis, without
trying to agree about its nature and causes; the fact that they manifest some
concern about Democracy, without trying to define it and understand its roots;
the fact that, in a baffling variety of senses, they refer to Science,
Philosophy and Religion, without trying to solve the intricate problem of the
relationship of these disciplines,—all this amounts to nothing.
An undertaking of this sort is
not needed to make professors think or talk this way. Nor is it needed to give
them an opportunity to write and read papers which do credit to their
specialized scholarly achievements. Unless this be a Conference in more than
name only, unless it be a concerted effort to reach a common understanding of
our cultural failure and a common program for its reform, this gathering will
be as vacuous and futile as many another solemn conclave of professors,
advertised by high-sounding and promising titles.
But if I have stated the only
purpose which might justify this Conference, then I must also say that it
cannot possibly succeed. I do not bother to say that a conference, however
good, cannot succeed in reforming modern culture, or even in correcting one of
the main causes of its disorder, namely, modern education. That goes without
saying. To expect such results would be to ask too much from even the best of
all possible conferences. I mean, much more directly, that one cannot expect
the professors to understand what is wrong with modern culture and modern
education, for the simple reason that that would require them to understand
what is wrong with their own mentality.
If such a miracle could be hoped
for, I would not be without hope for a peaceful deliverance from our manifold
confusions. Since professors come to a conference of this sort with the
intention of speaking their minds but not of changing them, with a willingness to
listen but not to learn, with the kind of tolerance which delights in a variety
of opinions and abominates the unanimity of agreement, it is preposterous to
suppose that this Conference can even begin to realize the only ends which
justify the enterprise.
Instead of a conference about
science, philosophy and religion in relation to democracy, what is needed is a
conference about the professors of science, philosophy and religion, especially
American professors whose intellectual attitudes express a false conception of
democracy. The defects of modern culture are the defects of its intellectual
leaders, its teachers and savants. The disorder of modern culture is a disorder
in their minds, a disorder which manifests itself in the universities they have
built, in the educational system they have devised, in the teaching they do,
and which, through that teaching, perpetuates itself
and spreads out in ever widening circles from generation to generation. It is a
little naive, therefore, to suppose that the professors can be called upon to
solve the problem of the relationship of science, philosophy and religion in
our education and in our culture—as naive as it would be to invite the
professors to participate in a conference about what is wrong with the professors.
We do not even have to wait
until this Conference is over to discover its futility and the reasons
therefore. The glorious, Quixotic failure of President
Hutchins to accomplish any of the essential reforms which American education so
badly needs, demonstrates the point for us. In fact, if he could have
succeeded, this Conference would not be necessary now. The fact that he did not
succeed may make this Conference necessary, in the sense that fundamental
rectification’s of modern culture are imperative; but if we understand why, in
the nature of the situation, Hutchins could not succeed, we also see why a
conference of professors about the defects of the modern mentality must be
self-defeating.
What did Mr. Hutchins propose?
He proposed, in the first place, that man is a rational animal, essentially
distinct from the brutes, and hence, that education should cultivate the moral
and the intellectual virtues. He proposed, in the second place, that science,
philosophy and theology are distinct bodies of knowledge, radically different
as to methods of knowing as well as with respect to objects known. But he went
further. He said that theoretic philosophy delves more deeply into the nature
of things than all the empirical sciences; that, as theoretic knowledge,
philosophy is superior to the sciences by reason of the questions it can
answer. He said that practical philosophy, dealing with ethical and political
problems, is superior to applied science, because the latter at best gives us
control over the physical means to be used, whereas practical philosophy
determines the ends to be sought, and the ordering of all means thereto.
Hence the structure of a
university should not be a miscellaneous collection of departments from
astronomy to zoology, with all treated as equally important theoretically and
practically, but a hierarchy of studies, ordered educationally, according to
their intrinsic merits. Because of the fact that our secular universities
harbor a diversity of religious faiths, Mr. Hutchins placed metaphysics at the
summit instead of theology. For man the highest knowledge, and the most
indispensable to his well-being, is the knowledge of God; and since the
ultimate conclusions of metaphysics comprise a natural theology, metaphysics is
the supreme subject-matter in the domain of natural knowledge.
But Mr. Hutchins would have to
admit (and he indicated his willingness to do so) that if there is a better
knowledge of God, and man’s relation to God, than metaphysics offers, then such
knowledge is superior to philosophy, both theoretically and practically, just
as philosophy is superior to science. Traditional Judaism and Christianity do,
of course, claim that there is such knowledge, the sacred theology that rests
on faith in God’s revelation of Himself. It is properly distinguished from both
science and philosophy as a supernatural knowledge, which man cannot have
without God’s direct aid.
Why did Mr. Hutchins fail?
Anyone who has ever attended a faculty meeting knows the answer. It can be
discovered by any one who will read the reviews of The Higher Learning in
America, written by the professors, or what is worse, the professional
educators. He failed not because his analysis was patiently demonstrated to be
in error; not because someone proved that philosophy does not exist or is
inferior to science; or that religion is superstition, and sacred theology a
rationalization of some make-believe. He failed because he was asking the
professors to change their minds and to agree about something. He failed as
much with the professors of philosophy as with the professors of science; he
failed even more with those teachers of religion who regard themselves as
liberal.
What Hutchins proposed ran
counter to every prejudice that constitutes the modern frame of mind, and its
temper. The professors being in the vast majority, and ultimately controlling,
as they should, educational policy, it was naïve of Mr. Hutchins to suppose
that he could reform education by appealing to truths the professors ignored or
denied. Worse than naive, he had the effrontery to assume that if the
professors were ignorant of certain truths or had neglected the implications of
others, they would submit themselves to teaching on these points. Since the
professors cannot conceive themselves as being taught, certainly not by anyone
without a Ph.D. in their field, the man who tries to argue with the plain
intention of winning agreement must really be trying to impose his doctrine.
The simplest way to deal with a fellow like Hutchins is to call him a fascist.
Now I want to make one thing
absolutely clear. I am not begging the question in this issue between Mr.
Hutchins and his opponents, by proceeding as if I have proved the former right
and the latter wrong. I know I have not proved the truth of any of the theses
mentioned, nor have I proved the falsity of their contraries. With the time at
my disposal that would be impossible to do under any circumstances; and even
with much more time I would not try with this audience.
With a few notable exceptions,
the members of this Conference represent the American academic mind. It is that
fact itself which makes it unnecessary, as well as unwise, for me to make any
effort in the way of reasoning. I know too well, from much experience, the
opinions of this audience, and of all the professors they represent—about the
nature and relationship of science, philosophy and religion.
I also know, because I have
tried so many times to present an analysis with the fullest of supporting arguments,
precisely what reactions such procedure calls forth. Fortunately, there is no
need to verify this once again, because on this occasion I am concerned only to
show the futility of a conference of professors about science, philosophy and
religion.
That can be shown very simply.
Either the prevailing opinions of the professors are right or they are wrong.
Let us suppose, for the moment, that they are right, that what is now generally
taught in American schools about the relation of science, philosophy and
religion, is the true account. If it is true, there is nothing wrong with
modern culture, for modern culture, in all its practices and institutions,
embodies these opinions. On this alternative, therefore, it is difficult to see
why there should be any conference about science, philosophy and religion.
If, however, on the other
alternative, the prevailing professorial opinions on these matters are wrong,
and if, in addition, modern culture suffers grave disorders precisely because
it embodies these opinions, then there is some point
to a conference which would seek to correct the prevalent errors. But then it
is point less to ask the professors to consider the problem. They have already
considered it and told us their answers in all their teaching and all their
educational decisions. The same majority point of view will dominate this
Conference, as in the Hutchins controversy.
Of course, the minority view
will get a hearing, with all that indifference about the truth which hides
behind the mask of tolerance, but it is a foregone conclusion that no body’s
mind will be changed; in fact, everyone knows that is not the aim of a
conference, anyway. Hence, when all is said and done, the relative weights of
majority and minority opinion will be registered once more. The Conference will
have exhibited the characteristic mentality of our culture, and those who are
deeply concerned about changing that mentality will be confirmed in their
pessimism that nothing, simply nothing, can be done to reform our education or
to reorient our culture.
Now I am well aware that my
colleagues do not think there is any such clear-cut division between a majority
and a minority view of science, philosophy and religion.
For one thing, they do not like
to acknowledge the existence of clear-cut issues, with truth on one side, and
error on the other; if there were such issues, then anyone who under-took to
think about them might be obliged to risk his academic reputation by coming to
a definite conclusion.
For another thing, the
professors do not like to feel that they share even a common majority opinion
with each other. The sacred individuality of each professor can be preserved
only by differing. When one is in substantial sympathy with what a colleague
has to say, he still safeguards his freedom of opinion by saying the same thing
some other way. Most professors seem to feel that agreement, even if freely
reached, violates their personal integrity.
Nevertheless, I charge the
professors—and here I am peaking of the vast majority—with being in substantial
agreement on one side of the crucial issues this Conference faces. I say that
most of them are positivists. I know that there are enough varieties of
positivism to permit the professors to retain their individuality, but I insist
that behind the multiplicity of technical jargons there is a single doctrine.
The essential point of that doctrine is simply the affirmation of science, and
the denial of philosophy and religion.
Again I am aware that the
professors will smile at my simplicity. Whoever heard anyone, except a few
violent extremists, flatly denying philosophy and religion; as a matter of
fact, such dogmatic denials are made only by a small circle of “philosophers”
who blatantly advertise themselves as positivists. The very presence at this
Conference of scientists, philosophers and theologians shows that the
representatives of the several disciplines respect each other; the fact that
they are willing to listen to each other’s papers shows the spirit of
cooperation which prevails among them. One even begins to wonder about the
sanity of those who talk about the disorder and disunity of modern culture. The
real problem of this Conference must be the perils of Democracy; it certainly
cannot be the issue about positivism.
Despite such blandishments, I
repeat my charge. The professors, by and large, are positivists. And,
furthermore, I say that the most serious threat to Democracy is the positivism
of the professors, which dominates every aspect of modern education and is the
central corruption of modern culture. Democracy has much more to fear from the
mentality of its teachers than from the nihilism of Hitler. It is the same
nihilism in both cases, but Hitler’s is more honest and consistent, less
blurred by subtleties and queasy qualifications, and hence less dangerous. I
shall return to this point after I have supported my charge.
Within brief scope, the easiest
way to force the professors into the open is by making the issues sharp and
clear. Let me do this first with respect to philosophy, and then with respect
to religion.
With respect to philosophy, the
following propositions must be affirmed. He who denies any one of them denies
philosophy.
(I) Philosophy is public
knowledge, not private opinion, in the same sense that science is knowledge,
not opinion.
(2) Philosophical knowledge
answers questions which science cannot answer, now or ever, because its method
is not adapted to answering such questions.
(3) Because their methods are thus
distinct, each being adapted to a different object of inquiry, philosophical
and scientific knowledge are logically independent of
one another,
which means that the truth and
falsity of philosophical principles or conclusions does not depend upon the changing
content of scientific knowledge.
(4) Philosophy is superior to
science, both theoretically and practically: theoretically, because it is
knowledge of the being of things whereas science studies only their phenomenal
manifestations; practically, because philosophy establishes moral conclusions,
whereas scientific knowledge yields only technological applications; this last
point means that science can give us only a control over operable means, but it
cannot make a single judgment about good and bad, right and wrong, in terms of
the ends of human life.
(5) There can be no conflict
between scientific and philosophic truths, although philosophers may correct
the errors of scientists who try to answer questions beyond their professional
competence, just as scientists can correct the errors of philosophers guilty of
a similar transgression.
(6) There are no systems of
philosophy, each of which may be considered true in its own way by criteria of
internal consistency, each differing from the others, as so many systems of
geometry, in terms of different origins in diverse, but equally arbitrary,
postulates or definitions.
(7) The first principles of all
philosophical knowledge are metaphysical, and metaphysics is valid knowledge of
both sensible and supra-sensible being.
(8) Metaphysics is able to
demonstrate the existence of supra-sensible being, for it can demonstrate the
existence of God, by appealing to the evidence of the senses and the principles
of reason, and without any reliance upon articles of religious faith.
These eight propositions are not
offered as an exhaustive account of the nature of philosophy, its distinction
from, and relation to, science. I have chosen them simply because they will
serve like intellectual litmus paper to bring out the acid of positivism.
Let the professors who claim to
respect philosophy —and this goes as much for the professors of philosophy as
for the others—decide whether they affirm every one of these propositions.
Those who say that philosophy is just another kind of knowledge but not
superior to science might just as well call philosophy opinion and deny its
existence. Those who suppose that philosophical principles or conclusions are
dependent on the findings of science; those who suppose that real technical competence
is necessary in order to solve scientific problems, whereas none is needed for
philosophical problems; those who think that philosophy comprises a variety of
logically constructed systems, among which you can take your choice according
to your preference among postulates; those who say philosophy is all right, but
metaphysics is nonsense, and there is no rational knowledge of God—all these
deny philosophy. They are positivists.
If the professors were clear of
mind and forth right of speech, they would come right out and say that they
regard philosophy as opinion, not knowledge But
professors are unaccustomed to simple affirmations and denials. They give
true-false tests, but never take them. They will, therefore, avoid the test I
have presented by saying that it is all a matter of how you use words, or that
it all depends on your point of view, or something equally evasive. Yet, by
their evasions shall you know them, for those who affirm philosophy to be
knowledge neither hesitate nor quibble on any of these
points.
With respect to religion, the
following propositions must be affirmed. He who denies any one of them denies
religion, in any sense which makes it distinct in character from science and
philosophy.
(I) Religion involve knowledge
of God and of man’s destiny, knowledge which is not naturally acquired in the
sense in which both science and philosophy are natural knowledge.
(2) Religious faith, on which
sacred theology rests, is itself a supernatural act of the human intellect, and
is thus a Divine gift.
(3) Because God is its cause,
faith is more certain than knowledge resulting from the purely natural action
of the human faculties.
(4) What is known by faith about
God’s nature and man’s destiny is knowledge which exceeds the power of the
human intellect to attain without God’s revelation of Himself and His
Providence.
(5) Sacred theology is
independent of philosophy, in that its principles are truths of faith, whereas philosophical
principles are truths of reason, but this does not mean that theology can be
speculatively developed without reason serving faith.
(6) There can be no conflict
between philosophical and theological truths, although theologians may correct
the errors of philosophers who try to answer questions beyond the competence of
natural reason, just as philosophers can correct the errors of theologians who
violate the autonomy of reason.
(7) Sacred theology is superior
to philosophy, both theoretically and practically: theoretically, because it is
more perfect knowledge of God and His creatures; practically, be cause moral
philosophy is insufficient to direct man to God as his last end.
(8) Just as there are no systems
of philosophy, but only philosophical knowledge less or more adequately
possessed by different men, so there is only one true religion, less or more
adequately embodied in the existing diversity of creeds.
These eight propositions, like
those concerning philosophy, are far from exhaustive. They are intended simply
as a device to bring professorial positivism—or shall I call it
“negativism?”—out into the open. Those who claim to respect the distinct place
of religion in modern culture, but refuse to grant that religion rests upon
supernatural knowledge, or that it is superior to both
philosophy and science, either know not what they say or are guilty of profound
hypocrisy. For unless religion involves supernatural knowledge, it has no
separate status whatsoever; and if it rests upon supernatural knowledge, it
must be accorded the supreme place in the cultural hierarchy.
Religion cannot be regarded as
just another aspect of culture, one among many human occupations, of
indifferent importance along with science and art, history and philosophy.
Religion is either the supreme human discipline, because it is God’s discipline
of man, and as such dominates our culture, or it has no place at all. The mere
toleration of religion, which implies indifference to or denial of its claims,
produces a secularized culture as much as militant atheism or Nazi nihilism.
Philosophers who think that all
the significant questions men ask are either answerable by reason or not at
all, are naturalists in a sense analogous to the positivism of scientists who
think that science alone is valid knowledge, and that science is enough for the
conduct of life. If the professors are positivists, they are certainly
naturalists. They dishonor themselves as well as religion by tolerating it
when, all equivocations overcome, they really think that faith is superstition,
just as they really think philosophy is opinion. The kind of positivism and
naturalism which is revealed in all their works and all their teaching, is at the root of modern secularized culture.
Now let me guard against
misunderstanding once more. The various propositions I have enumerated I do not
regard as matters of opinion. I think their truth can be proved. But I have not
done so. I have done absolutely nothing to show that positivism and naturalism
are false doctrines. My only aim was to show that the professors are, whether
right or
wrong, positivists and naturalists.
My only hope was that the professors might examine their conscience in the
light of clearly defined issues, and acknowledge plainly what they really
think. I know, of course, that that is too much to hope for. But since actions
speak louder than words, no one who understands the issues will be deceived by
what the professors have to say, how ever much they fool themselves. The
professorial reaction to the proposals of Mr. Hutchins, the professorial
conduct of this very Conference, give the lie to professorial speech, the
polite discourse, the insulting tolerance, which conceals the dismissal of
philosophy as opinion and religion as superstition behind expressions of
specious respect.
The central problem of mediaeval
culture was the relation of faith and reason, religion and philosophy,
supernatural and natural knowledge. The so-called mediaeval synthesis, the
cultural harmony and unity of the mediaeval world, depended on the solution of
that problem. It was not solved by conferences, although in the middle ages
something much better than conferences of this sort took place: patient,
honest, forthright, hard thinking discussion.
Centuries of earnest
disputation, despised by modern professors as logic-chopping and wordy
dialectic, prepared the way, because in every case the disputants were seeking
to agree about the truth, not to maintain their individuality by holding to a
difference of opinion. When, after such preparation, the time was ripe, two men
solved the problem by sheer intellectual mastery of every relevant truth: Moses
Maimonides solved it for the Jewish community, and St. Thomas Aquinas for the Christian world.
That later Jews and Christians did not sustain the solution, or even repudiated
it, was part of the cultural tragedy which the modern era went through at its
birth.
The central problem of modern
culture is more complicated, and much more difficult, than the mediaeval,
because in our times science has become a distinct and important enterprise,
both theoretically and practically. The modern synthesis, the harmony and unity
of modern culture, will be achieved only when all the goodness of science can
be praised without sacrificing any of the goodness in philosophy and religion,
only when the truths of philosophy and religion can be integrally retained
without losing any of the genuine advances in knowledge or production that
science has contributed.
The modern synthesis must
necessarily include the mediaeval solution, but it can do so only by carrying
the mediaeval principles to a higher level of comprehension. In order that
every cultural good shall be preserved to the fullness of its own unique value,
each must be recognized precisely for what it is, and according to its
distinctive character it must be ordered to the others. Since in the world of
values, there is no order without hierarchy, science, philosophy and religion
can never be harmonized so long as they are all asked to lie down together, but
only when each is called upon to perform its proper function, whether that be to serve or to rule.
The time is obviously not yet
ripe for a modern solution. There are not enough scientists who understand the
truths of philosophy and religion, nor enough philosophers and men of faith who
are at home in the domain of science. Much work by representatives of all three
disciplines is required to prepare the way for the modern analogue of Maimonides or Aquinas, perhaps even centuries of patient
discussion and incisive disputation.
This Conference might have been
an occasion for such work. That it was called at all indicates a vague
realization of the task to be undertaken. But if I am right about the
professorial mind—and I look to the actual proceedings of this Conference for
confirmation—there will be no discussion of fundamental issues, nor even a
formulation of them. The members of this Conference are not cooperatively
seeking to agree about the truth, through the painful ordeal of intellectual
debate. Each is content to express his own opinions, and to indulge everyone
else in the opportunity for similar self-expression.
The various propositions I have
enumerated are either true or false. Each, therefore, can be regarded as constituting
a problem, a two-sided issue at least. Should it not be the business of this
Conference to take up such problems in a definite order, and to direct all its
intellectual energies to their solution If a group of men do not come together
because they have common problems, and ultimately seek to reach common answers,
there is no more community among them than there is in a modern university, or
in modern culture itself.
As I have already said, the
failure of this Conference to do the only work which justifies its existence,
perfectly symbolizes the absence of cultural community in the modern world;
worse than that, it justifies the most extreme pessimism about an impending
catastrophe, for until the professors and their culture are liquidated, the resolution
of modern problems—a resolution which history demands shall be made—will not
even begin. The
The failure of this Conference
is due not only to the fact that the professors are, for the most part,
positivists; but even more so to their avoidance of what is demanded for
fruitful intellectual procedure. Unlike the mediaeval man of learning, the
modern professor will not subject himself to the rigors of public disputation.
He emasculates discussion by treating it as an exchange of opinions, in which
no one gains or loses because everyone keeps his own. He is indocile in the
sense that, beyond the field of science, he cannot be instructed, because he
acknowledges no ignorance.
Hence anyone who would try to
instruct him about philosophical or religious truths would be regarded as
authoritarian, as trying to impose a doctrine. He is scandalized by the very
notion of a commonly shared truth for all men. Even though such truth can be
attained only by the free activity of each mind, the fact that no mind is free
to reject the truth seems like an infringement upon his sacred liberties. What
he means by truth in science and by agreement among scientists
permits him to talk as if he were a truth-seeker and willing to agree; but that
is because the contingent and tentative character of scientific knowledge so
perfectly fits the egoism, the individualism, the libertinism, of the modern
mind.
The greater necessity and
finality of truth in philosophy and religion oblige a mind in ways it will not
suffer. On fundamental questions, which means all the
questions beyond the scope of science, he wishes to keep a thoroughly open mind
forever; he wishes neither to be convinced of anything nor to convince anyone.
Hence he would not participate in a conference which required everyone to agree
upon the fundamental questions to be answered, and measured its success by the
degree to which such answers were commonly achieved as a result of the most
patient discussion.
I have so far pointed out the
significance of this Conference for the state of our culture, and the doom it
forebodes. In conclusion, I wish to indicate briefly the bearing of my analysis
upon the crisis of Democracy. Let me say at once that I hold Democracy to be
the greatest political good, the most perfect form of political community; and
I hold this not as a matter of fine feeling or local opinion, but because I
think it is a conclusion which can be demonstrated in terms of the truths of
moral and political philosophy. Now, what can positivists say about such a
demonstration? Obviously, they must repudiate it. Outside the sphere of science
nothing can be demonstrated, and the proposition that Democracy is the best
political order certainly lies outside the sphere of science. What is neither
self-evident nor demonstrable must be an opinion, which attracts or repels us
emotionally. Anyone who denies that philosophy is knowledge denies, of course,
the self-evidence of moral principles and the validity of moral demonstrations.
Hence the professors can be for
Democracy only because they like it, not be cause they
know it is right. They talk a great deal about natural rights and the dignity
of man, but this is loose and irresponsible talk, in which they lightly indulge
because they do not mind contradicting themselves. There are no natural rights
if there is no natural moral law, which is binding upon all men every where in
the same way. Man has no dignity if he is not a rational animal, essentially
distinct from the brutes by reason of the spiritual dimension of his being.
This should be enough to make clear that positivists are forced to deny the
rights and dignity of man, or hold such views only as prejudice, rationally no
better than Hitler’s prejudices to the contrary. But to reinforce the point
that the professors have no grounds for any of their fine feelings, let me add
that the same facts which warrant man’s dignity as an end to be served by the
state also imply that man has an immortal soul, and a destiny beyond the
temporal order. In short, one cannot have reasons for affirming Democracy and
at the same time deny the truths of philosophy and religion.
Of course, the sort of democracy
to which the professors are sentimentally attached cannot be demonstrably
approved, for theirs is an essentially false conception. The social order they
would like to preserve is the anarchic individualism, the corrupt liberalism,
which is the most vicious caricature of Democracy. Objecting to any
inequalities in value, objecting to any infringement of absolute individual
liberty by loyalties and obligations to superior goods, they want a democracy
without hierarchy and without authority.
In short, they want chaos, not
order, a society in which everyone will be as free as if he lived alone, a
community in which common bonds will not bind the individual at all. Even when
they speak enthusiastically about this false ideal, the professors seldom claim
that they have rational grounds for its defense. The very fact that they so frequently
refer to democracy, not as a government or as a political order, but as a way
of life, reveals them as exponents of a false religion. This religion of
democracy is no better than the religion of fascism. One is the idolatry of
individual liberty as the other is the worship of collective might.
One of the greatest achievements
of the modern world is the discovery of the moral and political reasons for the
democratic ideal, as well as actual experimentation in the field of democratic
processes. But though it be in this sense a child of
modern times, Democracy will not be fully achieved until modern culture is
radically reformed. Science contributes nothing whatsoever to the understanding
of Democracy. Without the truths of philosophy and religion, Democracy has no
rational foundation. In
For all these reasons I say we
have more to fear from our professors than from Hitler. It is they who have
made American education what it is, both in content and method: in content, an
indoctrination of positivism and naturalism; in method, an exhibition of
anarchic individualism masquerading as the democratic manner. Whether Hitler
wins or not, the culture which is formed by such education cannot support what
democracy we have against interior decay.
If I dared to raise my voice as
did the prophets in ancient