It is our duty to those we call hypocrites to closely examine their beliefs, and thereby to perhaps discover the utter sincerity with which they hold them. This applies most pertinently to the deeply religious of the past, who (we say) professed "crawling humility" and yet (somehow, we sneer) gained control over the whole world. There is nothing hypocritical about this-- in fact, the former certainly opens the door to the latter. By properly claiming that they deserved nothing, the Christians opened the way to achieving everything; by not always examining whether they had been slighted, those Christians opened themselves to immeasurable (because unmeasured!) gains.
A modern example of the same phenomenon of genuine humility is the truly great scientist. He becomes great through his attention and devotion to a single small idea-- whose consequence is to completely overturn our understanding of the world. It is the quiet devotion that achieves this, though, not the bombastic bragging over the enormous consequences. "There were possible answers to Huxley; there was no answer possible to Darwin." One specific example of this kind of humility is H.G. Wells. His literary output is utterly fantastic-- but he comes to it from careful and sincere examination of the state of humanity around him. Proof that he is no huckster: the softening of his futuristic vision from that of Morlock and Eloi to that of competent, knowledgeable citizens.
In another instance, he has abandoned his view that reproduction will become a matter of managed breeding of superior men. He has come to view such a program as technically infeasible. It is, instead, morally infeasible more than that-- good men will never allow themselves to be treated in this way. The problem that he does not perceive, ultimately, is that he views health as a problem to be scientifically or medically managed-- hence, health care. This is the opposite of the truth. True health is that state in which we can afford to be bold, daring, striving, ambitious, and reckless. The healthy man eats to fill his appetite and takes pleasure in doing so; exercises primarily to enjoy exertion and the outdoors; marries for love! The other results-- stronger, well-operating bodies and offspring-- take care of themselves.
Wells's devotion to a scientific approach leaves him with other blind spots as well. His view of man starts with the material, when any simple examination shows you must start with the spiritual. His vision of Utopia is built first on its citizens' shunning the concept of original sin-- but a simple examination shows this to be the most self-evident concept we have! "He would have found... that a permanent possibility of selfishness arises from the mere fact of having a self[.]" Every venture into Utopia suffers from the same defect, of course-- that of assuming the big problems have gone away, and organizing society to deal with the small. "They first assume that no man will want more than his share, and then are very ingenious in explaining whether his share will be devlibered by motor-car or balloon." But this Utopia is impossible because man's devotion to his ideals-- to the point of fighting for them-- is his defining characterisitic.
The scientific devotion leads to the shunning of metaphysics, and so to ridiculing a belief in or fixation on ideals and universals. But such an attitude implicitly rejects the possibility of knowledge in the first place. You cannot say we have left our silly theories behind and have moved to more solid and reasonable foundation of knowledge unless there is a direct relationship between the old and the new; unless there is an ideal state of knowledge that both participate in, the new in greater measure than the old; unless there be a commonality through which we make the valid comparison. Noticing a difference necessarily comes after noticing a similarity-- otherwise, why make the comparison at all? "When we say the hare moves faster, we say that the toroise moves. And when we say of a thing that it moves, we say, without need of other words, that there are things that do not move. And even in the act of saying that things change, we say that there is something unchangeable." Put another way: yes, surely North and South are relative concepts, but the very idea of direction requires that there be a fixed North Pole. We say that one object is dimmer or brighter than another-- but we are only able to do so coherently because we have a fixed idea of absolute light against which we compare them.
And so Wells's sociological speculations suffer from the defect of his metaphysical incoherence. In one book, he examines (like Shaw) the Nietschzian idea of the Superman. If the Superman is truly beyond the comprehension of men, they will react to him with simple indifference. [Is our reaction to, for instance, the weather any different?] It is only if a valid comparison to common men can be recognized that they will react to the Superman with awe or devotion. And that comparison will always be made according to the same standards. Jack's Giant may have viewed himself as a kind of Superman, but the only question for Jack was whether the Giant was good. The fundamental measure, and hence the central characteristic, of man is moralness-- a spiritual quality.
And in other ways, hypothesizing a devotion to a proposed Superman misidentifies the essence of man. We value courage, but courage is not a quality possessed by a Superman. Rather, courage is a quality shown by the small man in challenging the Superman.
And, "If the Superman is better than we, of course we need not fight him; but in that case, why not call him the Saint?"
This fixation on the Superman who is beyond human is only a modern development. Our ancient heroes were, instead, simply more human-- and that in their superior display of the central characteristics of humanity. Achilles is heroic because his deeds on the battlefield emerge from his love of his fallen friend. We cheer even the peasant who challenges Robin Hood when he grows too full of himself. The hope of humanity is in the dignity and self-possession of the underdog. It will be ever thus. Utopia will have to wait.
------------------------
Wow. This chapter is a tour de force.
Irony alert: Chesterton writes of the passing of the great scientific period-- in 1905. The new advances in relativity and quantum dynamics were right on the doorstep. It is interesting, though, that Einstein seemed to possess the same qualities that Chesterton admired in the great scientists: devotion to a simple idea, and the careful working out of the consequences.
On the other hand, we currently seem to be in a lull in the advance of fundamental science. And yet, we do see self-aggrandizement on the part of those who wield scientific authority. Look at the grand (and ever-changing, and ever-magnifying) predictions made by climate science in the popular press. And the response of many is to tune them out, or to fight back. Einstein didn't make political hay out of relativity.
What a wake-up call in Chesterton's diagnosis of the "health care" problem, even in his own time! The mistake is-- still!-- in thinking that health is an ever-present problem needing daily management. It is not. Prudence demands planning and insuring against catastrophe. Between emergencies, health is a condition to be celebrated, or a state to be simply maintained.
In his discussion of Utopia, Chesterton hits on the fundamental flaw in the liberal project: imagining that humanity's problems might be ultimately "solved", but only through a fundamental change in the essential character of man. It imagines that man's vices-- greed, ambition, selfishness-- might be expunged, while simultaneously mischaracterizing man's virtues-- especially an individual's sense of self-worth-- as dangerous problems to be tamped down. Ultimately, the thought that man can be manipulated stems from a rejection that there even is such a thing as human nature-- which either stems from or leads to the thought that there are no fundamental natures in anything at all. Then, the problems that the meddler is trying to solve are problems only in the sense that they violate the observer's personal sense of justice-- and the meddling instinct stems from the egoistic assumption that that personal sense is sacrosanct.
No comments:
Post a Comment