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The Foundations of the
Philosophy of Education, by Mortimer J. Adler,
Ph.D. (Continued)
If my principles are wrong, of course, it is
quite different. But, if I am right in saying that
education should assist in the betterment of men by
a process which involves the formation of good
habits, the perfection of their basic capacities by
virtues, then, it seems to me, whatever education
is can be known quite adequately at any given time,
and will remain the same for all time, so long as
there are men who are men. When there are no longer
men, something changes; but, so long as there are
men with natures and powers that can be perfected
in a certain way, these are the principles of
education.
The proof is completely indicated, but the
demonstration is far from being completed. I can
show its incompleteness easily by now enumerating
some of the propositions which are involved in the
proof of the original major premise -- propositions
which are either demonstrable and must be proved or
which are self-evident but require their evident
truth to be explicated. I say "some" because the
enumeration is far from exhaustive; but it will do
to indicate how much remains to be proved before
this demonstration can be completed. (1) Corporeal
substances exist; (2) Corporeal substances are
constituted as compositions of matter and form; (3)
Corporeal substances differ essentially or
accidentally, according as they are individuals of
different species (having diverse specific natures)
or as they are numerically distinct individuals
having the same specific nature; (4) the essential
distinction of substance is an absolute distinction
in kind, without intermediates; (5) the distinction
between living and non-living substances is an
essential distinction; (6) living substances have
vital powers which are essentially distinct from
all other living things; (8) the essential
distinction between man and brute as species in the
genus animal is that man is rational and brute is
irrational; (9) only man can know intellectually
and only man has free will; (10) man has all the
vital powers possessed by other living things
(plants and brutes), and in addition has powers not
possessed by them, i.e., intellect or reason, and
will; (11) the vital powers of animals can be
developed by the modification of instinctive
determinations, but only human power resulting from
its rational and free exercise; (13) all men are of
the same species, i.e., they have essentially the
same nature, and differ inter se only in
accidental respects, i.e., in such traits as
complexion, weight, height, etc., or in the degree
to which they possess characteristically human
abilities, abilities common, in some degree, to
all; (14) all men have the same vital powers, for
the vital powers any living thing possesses are
determined by its specific nature; (15) a vital
power is a determinate potency and as such is a
nature having a tendency toward a certain definite
actualization; (16) the good is convertible with
being; (17) the good of any imperfect thing
(anything composite of potency and actuality, or
matter and form) consists in the actualization of
its potencies; (18) in the case of human powers,
the actualization of potency is good only if it
conforms to the natural tendency of that power to
its own perfection.
In conclusion, I wish to admit, in all fairness
to Dr. Schilpp, that although he has not disproved
my major premise, in whole or part, neither have I
proved it. Here are the propositions I have not
proved, all of which can be proved, but not without
much more analysis:
- 1. That there are real species in the world,
real essential distinctions.
-
- 2. That man is a species of animal,
essentially distinct from brutes by virtue of an
essential difference, his rationality.
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- 3. That a specific nature entails specific
powers, essentially the same in all members of
the species.
-
- 4. That each power has a natural tendency
toward a development which is its proper
perfection or completion.
-
- 5. That the good of anything is its
perfection or completion in the respects which
it is in potentiality. (On this, we appear to
agree.)
I have not proved any of these five
propositions, all of which are indispensable to my
major premise; nor has Dr. Schilpp disproved any of
them; nor do any scientific facts whatsoever
constitute such disproof.
I would like to stress that though I do not like
to use syllogisms normally -- syllogisms are at the
tail end of an argument, by the way; the question
is whether the premises are true -- I would like
you to look at these syllogisms carefully. What I
did by writing these syllogisms was to show how
hard it would be to prove -- really prove -- the
premises, all the way back to the simplest
conclusions that I have stated. You would have to
do the whole of philosophy and nothing short of it.
I think you would have to do more philosophy than
has yet been done. I do not know how to do it.
Let me, in conclusion, repeat the definition of
education which I gave in the beginning, asserting
then that it could be demonstrated. It was:
Education is the process by which those powers
(abilities, capacities) of men that are susceptible
to habituation, are perfected by good habits,
through means artistically contrived, and employed
by any man to help another or himself achieve the
end in view (i.e., good habits). In so far as this
definition implies that education should be the
same for all men (i.e., should aim at the same
ends), its truth is proved by establishment of the
proposition that the ends of education are absolute
and universal. To do that, as we have seen,
requires the whole of theoretic philosophy, and
this is presupposed by the philosophy of education.
The definition also requires us to understand what
the several ends are and how they are related to
one another, for it is not sufficient to know
simply that they are absolute and universal. Such
understanding would involve the complete analysis
of the virtues, in themselves, in relation to
happiness, to other goods, and to each other. At
this point, the whole of ethics is presupposed. And
if we examine the definition one step further we
see that it calls upon us to understand the means
in general, and the social organization and
employment of these means, in the process of
education-by-another whereby the community cares
for its members. At this point, a great deal of
political philosophy is presupposed. Hence by
examining the definition of education, which has
been central to the whole analysis, we learn two
sorts of things: first, the reasons why the
philosophy of education presupposes almost all of
theoretical philosophy, and most of practical
philosophy; and second, that a complete
understanding of the definition, through
demonstration of its truth and demonstrative
analysis of its parts, would be equivalent to
solving the first five of the seven problems which
I enumerated earlier as constituting the whole of
the philosophy of education. All that would remain,
then, would be two problems concerning educational
policy, neither of which is philosophical in the
strict sense, but merely an application of
philosophy to the discussion of problems which
concern educational practitioners.
Now let me turn, penultimately, to the
contribution of empirical science to the three
basic questions with which I have dealt. I would
like to say, first of all, that science cannot
answer any of the normative questions involved, and
second, that science is principally relevant in
regard to the nature of man. Then I will explain
how this has become a mixed question of science and
philosophy and how one must face that mixed
question.
In talking about the bearing of science on the
three problems, the scientist, as well as the
philosopher, must accept the definition of
education given, or give some reason why he does
not, and offer an alternative that will stand up.
Since I think this cannot be done, I shall proceed
within the framework of the definition, and deal
with the three problems that follow from the
definition, in the reverse order. I will deal first
with the problem of the nature of learning; second,
with the problem about the virtues; and third, with
the problem about the nature of man.
Insofar as learning is a rational process,
involving the exercise of free will and the acts of
the intellect, no empirical investigation of it is
possible. A full explication of this proposition is
difficult, but I am convinced that the one thing
that exists in the order of nature that cannot be
investigated is reason. No psychological or
experimental investigation of reasoning, of the act
of the intellect, can be made. Acts of the senses,
observation, memory, yes; but not the mind. The
rational is not capable of empirical
observation.
However, this rational process of learning is
affected by infrarational factors such as emotion,
desire, the senses, memory, and imagination. To the
extent that such things as emotional or sensitive
factors enter into the process, empirical inquiry
can give us some additional control over the
process.
Here is just one example. I think psychiatry, at
its best, can do a great deal in the practical
order of education. I think psychoanalysis or any
of the forms of psychotherapy -- to use the most
neutral term -- is of great use in removing
emotional impediments, and if there are impediments
to learning, I would like to have them removed
before I start to teach. But it is of no use
positively. To illustrate, I spent a good part of
my youth with this business of the art of reading.
I was continually finding people who thought that
the improvement of reading had something to do with
eye movements. They studied illumination, length of
the line, optimum space; but these are only
auxiliary. Even with the most perfect optical
apparatus, the rational process of reading has to
be taught, for reading is a process of the mind,
not of the eye.
This simple example makes a point all the way
down the line. Empirical psychology can remove
impediments, but it only deals with external
conditions. The whole of educational psychology has
nothing more to contribute from the laboratory. It
is useful, but the whole of its utility is limited
to that. And when its utility is achieved, the real
process must begin, which attacks the problem at
the level of reason.
Let me state the kind of proposition in the
philosophy of education that derives from the basic
philosophical insights of learning that have
nothing to do with scientific discovery. Very
briefly, a distinction is commonly made between the
two kinds of learning, aided and unaided, or
learning by discovery and learning by instruction.
Men can learn things without teaching, thank God!
If they couldn't, they would learn nothing. It is
obvious, I think, that all original learning is
done without a teacher. Anything learned initially
must be learned by discovery; only after discovery
can there be teaching. This distinction between
learning by instruction and by discovery is too
sharply made. It should really be between learning
by aided discovery and by unaided discovery.
Whether the teacher is present or not, the actual
process of learning is always by discovery. The
primary activity of learning is in the mind of the
learner, not in that of the teacher. The teacher is
auxiliary and not indispensable. The most
"indispensable" teacher's usefulness is strictly a
matter of helping the process along, making it a
little easier, or perhaps a little less painful:
That is all.
The teacher is a dispensable secondary cause. In
this, the teacher is like the farmer or the healer.
The physician aids the body to produce health; and
the soil, the sun, and the seeds produce plants,
not the farmer. The farmer merely works with
nature; the physician cooperates with nature; and
this applies to the teacher as well. The important
thing is for the teacher to work in co-operation
with the natural process of learning. Such is the
whole art and skill of teaching. This may explain
why it is so difficult for a physician or teacher
to work well except with an individual patient or
pupil. Actually, no good teaching really can be
done except with one teacher and one student in a
room at a time, any more than good healing can be
achieved by a doctor's taking fifteen pulses at
once. These words are hard, but the truth should be
observed.
The equating of schooling and education is one
of the most grievous misunderstandings in our
society. I cannot use sharp enough words to rebut
the notion that education takes place in school. It
is a fallacy with enormous consequences. I try
always to use the word schooling when I mean what
happens in school, and education when I mean what
happens after school. Very little that happens in
school can be regarded as achieving the ends of
education. What are the ends of education? The
achievement of the intellectual and the moral
virtues. Are these achieved in a school? Hardly
ever! They could not be. Why not? Because the
greatest obstacle to becoming educated is youth.
The young cannot be educated. They are, we say,
immature, and what we mean by "immature" indicates
why we should not expect too much from a mind that
is immature. Anyone should know that a young person
is not wise and cannot be wise. He cannot have any
great depth of understanding, or much insight or
grasp of ideas in the theoretical order, or take a
firm hold of the virtues in the practical, moral
order.
What is meant by saying that a college graduate
is an educated man? The use of the term "educated
man" for a B.A. is preposterous. All of us should
understand what schooling is; and when we
understand what schooling is, we understand that it
is the first, least substantial, most preparatory
phase of the total educational process, a process
that has meaning only if it goes on for a lifetime.
If we look at the educational process, which means
slowly becoming wise, achieving real depth of
understanding, we see that this is so. The moment
of graduation signifies nothing, except perhaps
that the graduate has the ability to make money or
hold a job.
I think the best colleges, or the world's best
students, cannot do more (up to the level of the
bachelor's degree) than just two things; and I
think these achievements are constant for all
schools and societies, because of the nature of man
and growth and immaturity. First, a school can
train the young in the liberal arts, and by liberal
arts I mean the arts of learning. I do not mean
that schools make people learned. No one can make
people learned. They can be taught how to learn.
They can be given the appliances for learning, they
can be taught how to read and write and speak and
listen and observe and calculate and measure. A
person with these skills may be able to learn
something in the course of a lifetime. Second, a
school can open the doors to learning. It can open
the doors to learning by giving the student a good
boot out of the school and saying "Now please don't
act as if you were learned. Here is the threshold,
here is the panorama. Go on and do something with
yourself." Any college that graduates a student
with the assumption that he now knows something is
criminally negligent. It must turn out a student
with a deep feeling of dissatisfaction, a knowledge
of how little he knows. If he doesn't get it then,
we can hope that five years after he graduates he
will have it. His college should at least have
opened the door, given him the skills, shown him
the fields of learning, given him some rudimentary,
superficial acquaintance with them, and hoped that
with the moral responsibility of his adult years he
would do something about educating himself.
The second problem with which I am concerned is
that of the moral and intellectual virtues as the
proximate ends of education. This being strictly a
moral problem, a word will suffice. What the
virtues are and how they are formed are questions
to which science can contribute nothing whatsoever.
Science can contribute nothing to any normative, or
moral question.
Finally, I come to the first problem, the nature
of man. The question is whether man is rational and
free and essentially distinct from brutes. The
difference is of a maximum importance. I cannot
think of any question, other than the existence of
God, which has as far-reaching, practical, moral,
political, economic, and religious consequences as
the question about man to which I am now going to
address myself.
I say man differs, that man is the only rational
animal, the only animal with free will. Some will
say man differs from the other animals only in
degrees of the same powers: more intelligence, more
cupidity, more knowledge, more something or other.
One or the other may have a little less or a little
more, but the difference is only in degree. But I
say that men are men, and brutes are brutes. As a
consequence religion, ethics, politics, and law are
only proper to man, for man alone is rational, man
alone is free. I say that distinguishes him from
the brute, for whom the opposite set of
consequences is true.
In this situation there is only one thing left
for me to do. I shall resort to the reductio ad
absurdum form of argument. Without proving my
premises, I will show you that Dr. Schilpp cannot
deny them without also giving up many things he
holds dear and truly believes. He holds, I am sure,
that cannibalism is wrong, that slavery is unjust.
But, unless he is a vegetarian, he does not think
that it is wrong to eat animals, or unjust to use
animals entirely as means for our human ends. Now
the only rational ground which he can give for
these fundamental moral beliefs is that man is
specifically distinct, essentially different in
kind, from every type of brute animal, for if that
were not so there would be no reason why power
politics is wrong, no reason why some men should
not enslave others and use them entirely as
instruments, exploit them, etc. Democracy, we are
told, affirms one thing above all else -- the
dignity of each individual man, and this dignity
means his worth as an end to be served, that he
should never be reduced to a mere means to be
exploited. Therefore, I say to you, and to Dr.
Schilpp, that he faces this dilemma: either he must
say that he does not think such things as slavery
and totalitarianism are wrong on objective grounds,
that he has only an emotional preference for
democracy, but no proof that it is right; or he
must admit my major premise and all that it
involves -- namely that every man has the some
specific nature, through which he differs
essentially from all other animals, which sameness
and difference permit us to argue validly that all
men are entitled to the same treatment, a treatment
different from that we give animals.
It can be seen at once that, if men are like
animals, the question of why we do not train men as
we train animals, and why we do not educate animals
as we educate men must arise. I would like to know
why, if there is no difference between them, we
should not treat the two groups the same
educationally?
On this question, science -- or more
specifically, Darwin and his followers, the
biologists in general -- appears to have something
to say. I want to make it perfectly clear that if
the Darwinian hypothesis of man's origin from a
common ancestor of the anthropoid apes, by
modification through the generations and the
extinction of intermediate varieties, is correct,
then man cannot be essentially different from the
brute, but differs from the brute and the higher
mammals only in degree. I am absolutely sure of
this, and every bit of Darwin supports me. In the
Descent of Man this is the whole mode of
Darwin's argument. If his hypothesis is correct
then man is not essentially distinct, and either
one of two things is the case: either the animals,
too, are rational and free, and we differ in the
degree of our rationality and the degree of our
freedom, or neither of us are. And whichever horn
of that dilemma we take, the educational
consequences are that we must treat men and animals
the same way -- differing only in degree.
My own position is that the Darwinian hypothesis
about man's origin is completely wrong, as wrong as
it can be. The error has two sources. The error in
Darwin is a good error; the error in contemporary
science is a very bad error indeed. I say this
without any apologies to anybody. I can think of no
more disgraceful episode in the history of science
than the thinking of contemporary biologists on
this problem, thinking which reflects no
understanding of scientific method, thinking which
reflects the worst begging of the question that can
possibly be imagined.
First, I will show why Darwin's error was a good
error, an honest one, and one that makes no
fundamental mistake in method. Darwin was fortunate
in that when he faced this question in the late
sixties (in the Descent of Man; the
Origin of Species came some eight or nine
years earlier and man was not mentioned), he did
not have any paleontological evidence to speak of.
The geological record had not yet been explored for
the so-called missing links. The fossil remains
which later filled the museums, the Heidelberg and
the Java men, the Piltdown and Neanderthal men,
were not present when Darwin argued his case.
Unless you understand a phrase I used a moment
ago, you do not understand the theory of the origin
of species. The essential point is the extinction
of intermediate varieties. There is no origin of
species if no varieties become extinct. If, for
example, coming down from an ancestral group, in a
spreading population with genetic variations
generation after generation, all the varieties
survived, there would be a greater range of
varieties and no new species. New species
originate, Darwin makes perfectly clear -- and no
one has ever changed this point -- by the
extinction of intermediate varieties. The varieties
that are left, separated in many cases by
geographical and physiological obstacles to
interbreeding, become more and more dissimilar. At
some point the biologist finds it convenient to
call these varieties species and to group all the
species descended from the original ancestral form
into a genus or generic group.
Continued
on Page Four
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