Chapter XV. The Value of Philosophy

by Bertrand Russell

　　Having now come to the end of our brief and very incomplete review of theproblems of philosophy, it will be well to consider, in conclusion, whatis the value of philosophy and why it ought to be studied. It is the morenecessary to consider this question, in view of the fact that many men,under the influence of science or of practical affairs, are inclined todoubt whether philosophy is anything better than innocent but uselesstrifling, hair-splitting distinctions, and controversies on mattersconcerning which knowledge is impossible.

　　This view of philosophy appears to result, partly from a wrong conceptionof the ends of life, partly from a wrong conception of the kind of goodswhich philosophy strives to achieve. Physical science, through the mediumof inventions, is useful to innumerable people who are wholly ignorant ofit; thus the study of physical science is to be recommended, not only, orprimarily, because of the effect on the student, but rather because of theeffect on mankind in general. Thus utility does not belong to philosophy.If the study of philosophy has any value at all for others than studentsof philosophy, it must be only indirectly, through its effects upon thelives of those who study it. It is in these effects, therefore, ifanywhere, that the value of philosophy must be primarily sought.

　　But further, if we are not to fail in our endeavour to determine the valueof philosophy, we must first free our minds from the prejudices of whatare wrongly called 'practical' men. The 'practical' man, as this word isoften used, is one who recognizes only material needs, who realizes thatmen must have food for the body, but is oblivious of the necessity ofproviding food for the mind. If all men were well off, if poverty anddisease had been reduced to their lowest possible point, there would stillremain much to be done to produce a valuable society; and even in theexisting world the goods of the mind are at least as important as thegoods of the body. It is exclusively among the goods of the mind that thevalue of philosophy is to be found; and only those who are not indifferentto these goods can be persuaded that the study of philosophy is not awaste of time.

　　Philosophy, like all other studies, aims primarily at knowledge. Theknowledge it aims at is the kind of knowledge which gives unity and systemto the body of the sciences, and the kind which results from a criticalexamination of the grounds of our convictions, prejudices, and beliefs.But it cannot be maintained that philosophy has had any very great measureof success in its attempts to provide definite answers to its questions.If you ask a mathematician, a mineralogist, a historian, or any other manof learning, what definite body of truths has been ascertained by hisscience, his answer will last as long as you are willing to listen. But ifyou put the same question to a philosopher, he will, if he is candid, haveto confess that his study has not achieved positive results such as havebeen achieved by other sciences. It is true that this is partly accountedfor by the fact that, as soon as definite knowledge concerning any subjectbecomes possible, this subject ceases to be called philosophy, and becomesa separate science. The whole study of the heavens, which now belongs toastronomy, was once included in philosophy; Newton's great work was called'the mathematical principles of natural philosophy'. Similarly, the studyof the human mind, which was a part of philosophy, has now been separatedfrom philosophy and has become the science of psychology. Thus, to a greatextent, the uncertainty of philosophy is more apparent than real: thosequestions which are already capable of definite answers are placed in thesciences, while those only to which, at present, no definite answer can begiven, remain to form the residue which is called philosophy.

　　This is, however, only a part of the truth concerning the uncertainty ofphilosophy. There are many questions—and among them those that areof the profoundest interest to our spiritual life—which, so far aswe can see, must remain insoluble to the human intellect unless its powersbecome of quite a different order from what they are now. Has the universeany unity of plan or purpose, or is it a fortuitous concourse of atoms? Isconsciousness a permanent part of the universe, giving hope of indefinitegrowth in wisdom, or is it a transitory accident on a small planet onwhich life must ultimately become impossible? Are good and evil ofimportance to the universe or only to man? Such questions are asked byphilosophy, and variously answered by various philosophers. But it wouldseem that, whether answers be otherwise discoverable or not, the answerssuggested by philosophy are none of them demonstrably true. Yet, howeverslight may be the hope of discovering an answer, it is part of thebusiness of philosophy to continue the consideration of such questions, tomake us aware of their importance, to examine all the approaches to them,and to keep alive that speculative interest in the universe which is aptto be killed by confining ourselves to definitely ascertainable knowledge.

　　Many philosophers, it is true, have held that philosophy could establishthe truth of certain answers to such fundamental questions. They havesupposed that what is of most importance in religious beliefs could beproved by strict demonstration to be true. In order to judge of suchattempts, it is necessary to take a survey of human knowledge, and to forman opinion as to its methods and its limitations. On such a subject itwould be unwise to pronounce dogmatically; but if the investigations ofour previous chapters have not led us astray, we shall be compelled torenounce the hope of finding philosophical proofs of religious beliefs. Wecannot, therefore, include as part of the value of philosophy any definiteset of answers to such questions. Hence, once more, the value ofphilosophy must not depend upon any supposed body of definitelyascertainable knowledge to be acquired by those who study it.

　　The value of philosophy is, in fact, to be sought largely in its veryuncertainty. The man who has no tincture of philosophy goes through lifeimprisoned in the prejudices derived from common sense, from the habitualbeliefs of his age or his nation, and from convictions which have grown upin his mind without the co-operation or consent of his deliberate reason.To such a man the world tends to become definite, finite, obvious; commonobjects rouse no questions, and unfamiliar possibilities arecontemptuously rejected. As soon as we begin to philosophize, on thecontrary, we find, as we saw in our opening chapters, that even the mosteveryday things lead to problems to which only very incomplete answers canbe given. Philosophy, though unable to tell us with certainty what is thetrue answer to the doubts which it raises, is able to suggest manypossibilities which enlarge our thoughts and free them from the tyranny ofcustom. Thus, while diminishing our feeling of certainty as to what thingsare, it greatly increases our knowledge as to what they may be; it removesthe somewhat arrogant dogmatism of those who have never travelled into theregion of liberating doubt, and it keeps alive our sense of wonder byshowing familiar things in an unfamiliar aspect.

　　Apart from its utility in showing unsuspected possibilities, philosophyhas a value—perhaps its chief value—through the greatness ofthe objects which it contemplates, and the freedom from narrow andpersonal aims resulting from this contemplation. The life of theinstinctive man is shut up within the circle of his private interests:family and friends may be included, but the outer world is not regardedexcept as it may help or hinder what comes within the circle ofinstinctive wishes. In such a life there is something feverish andconfined, in comparison with which the philosophic life is calm and free.The private world of instinctive interests is a small one, set in themidst of a great and powerful world which must, sooner or later, lay ourprivate world in ruins. Unless we can so enlarge our interests as toinclude the whole outer world, we remain like a garrison in a beleaguredfortress, knowing that the enemy prevents escape and that ultimatesurrender is inevitable. In such a life there is no peace, but a constantstrife between the insistence of desire and the powerlessness of will. Inone way or another, if our life is to be great and free, we must escapethis prison and this strife.

　　One way of escape is by philosophic contemplation. Philosophiccontemplation does not, in its widest survey, divide the universe into twohostile camps—friends and foes, helpful and hostile, good and bad—itviews the whole impartially. Philosophic contemplation, when it isunalloyed, does not aim at proving that the rest of the universe is akinto man. All acquisition of knowledge is an enlargement of the Self, butthis enlargement is best attained when it is not directly sought. It isobtained when the desire for knowledge is alone operative, by a studywhich does not wish in advance that its objects should have this or thatcharacter, but adapts the Self to the characters which it finds in itsobjects. This enlargement of Self is not obtained when, taking the Self asit is, we try to show that the world is so similar to this Self thatknowledge of it is possible without any admission of what seems alien. Thedesire to prove this is a form of self-assertion and, like allself-assertion, it is an obstacle to the growth of Self which it desires,and of which the Self knows that it is capable. Self-assertion, inphilosophic speculation as elsewhere, views the world as a means to itsown ends; thus it makes the world of less account than Self, and the Selfsets bounds to the greatness of its goods. In contemplation, on thecontrary, we start from the not-Self, and through its greatness theboundaries of Self are enlarged; through the infinity of the universe themind which contemplates it achieves some share in infinity.

　　For this reason greatness of soul is not fostered by those philosophieswhich assimilate the universe to Man. Knowledge is a form of union of Selfand not-Self; like all union, it is impaired by dominion, and therefore byany attempt to force the universe into conformity with what we find inourselves. There is a widespread philosophical tendency towards the viewwhich tells us that Man is the measure of all things, that truth isman-made, that space and time and the world of universals are propertiesof the mind, and that, if there be anything not created by the mind, it isunknowable and of no account for us. This view, if our previousdiscussions were correct, is untrue; but in addition to being untrue, ithas the effect of robbing philosophic contemplation of all that gives itvalue, since it fetters contemplation to Self. What it calls knowledge isnot a union with the not-Self, but a set of prejudices, habits, anddesires, making an impenetrable veil between us and the world beyond. Theman who finds pleasure in such a theory of knowledge is like the man whonever leaves the domestic circle for fear his word might not be law.

　　The true philosophic contemplation, on the contrary, finds itssatisfaction in every enlargement of the not-Self, in everything thatmagnifies the objects contemplated, and thereby the subject contemplating.Everything, in contemplation, that is personal or private, everything thatdepends upon habit, self-interest, or desire, distorts the object, andhence impairs the union which the intellect seeks. By thus making abarrier between subject and object, such personal and private thingsbecome a prison to the intellect. The free intellect will see as God mightsee, without a here and now, without hopes and fears,without the trammels of customary beliefs and traditional prejudices,calmly, dispassionately, in the sole and exclusive desire of knowledge—knowledgeas impersonal, as purely contemplative, as it is possible for man toattain. Hence also the free intellect will value more the abstract anduniversal knowledge into which the accidents of private history do notenter, than the knowledge brought by the senses, and dependent, as suchknowledge must be, upon an exclusive and personal point of view and a bodywhose sense-organs distort as much as they reveal.

　　The mind which has become accustomed to the freedom and impartiality ofphilosophic contemplation will preserve something of the same freedom andimpartiality in the world of action and emotion. It will view its purposesand desires as parts of the whole, with the absence of insistence thatresults from seeing them as infinitesimal fragments in a world of whichall the rest is unaffected by any one man's deeds. The impartiality which,in contemplation, is the unalloyed desire for truth, is the very samequality of mind which, in action, is justice, and in emotion is thatuniversal love which can be given to all, and not only to those who arejudged useful or admirable. Thus contemplation enlarges not only theobjects of our thoughts, but also the objects of our actions and ouraffections: it makes us citizens of the universe, not only of one walledcity at war with all the rest. In this citizenship of the universeconsists man's true freedom, and his liberation from the thraldom ofnarrow hopes and fears.

　　Thus, to sum up our discussion of the value of philosophy; Philosophy isto be studied, not for the sake of any definite answers to its questions,since no definite answers can, as a rule, be known to be true, but ratherfor the sake of the questions themselves; because these questions enlargeour conception of what is possible, enrich our intellectual imaginationand diminish the dogmatic assurance which closes the mind againstspeculation; but above all because, through the greatness of the universewhich philosophy contemplates, the mind also is rendered great, andbecomes capable of that union with the universe which constitutes itshighest good.