Rational Insanity & Mystical Rationality

Rational Insanity & Mystical Rationality

The late 19^th and early 20^th centuries were rife with groundbreaking philosophical, scientific, and psychological ideas (not to mention the astoundingly prolific authors and artists of the era…). Entirely new schools of thought were born, imaginative literary genres were formed, and new artistic ideas were being tested. Of that vast menagerie, we will be dealing exclusively with three of the era’s greatest (philosophical) minds. The American philosopher and psychologist William James was popularizing the relatively new theory of Pragmatism, while simultaneously conducting a rigorous study of religious experiences (and their validity in the world of objective knowledge). In the early 1900′s Bertrand Russell was busy wrestling with the seeming irrelevance of religious thought in a world where rationality could uncover truth, free from the sentimental baggage of a belief system. At the same time, G.K. Chesterton was using his literary dexterity to engage in countless bouts of verbal jousting, astute social criticism, and, in his spare time, he was busy writing several long-form works of uncharacteristic (for him) academic rigour.

All three of these men were involved in overlapping and inter-related circles of discourse. Chesterton and Russell engaged in friendly public arguments and were a part of the English intellectual elite. James, across the pond, was surrounded by his own group of academic friends (and friendly adversaries). Though in their writings none of them directly mention the others, the content and context provides ample material to compare, contrast, synthesize, and compartmentalize their divergent (and often convergent) philosophical impulses.

To kick things off, we will delve into Bertrand Russell’s essay, Mysticism & Logic, in which he discusses his unabashed abhorrence of subjectivity’s encroachment upon reason. Next, William James will provide a counterbalance to Russell’s pessimism by arguing for the use of individual temperament in forming a philosophical premise. Mr. Chesterton will then be used to tentatively back up James’ position (before undermining the very foundation that James’ opinions are built upon). Fortunate for William James, he will be given the last word as we work through some of the philosophical implications of The Varieties of Religious Experience.

I first came across Bertrand Russell’s writings while reading a book by the late David Foster Wallace about mathematical ephemera and the absurd – yet very real – idea of infinity. Russell, who was a man of many interests, poured his great (and “great” is a horrific understatement) intellect into an entire cornucopia of academic disciplines (history, logic, mathematics, philosophy, political theory, etc. ad nauseum). I was instantly captivated by his intuitive (he would hate the fact that I use that term) grasp of religion and its effects on scientific advancement and philosophical progress.

In his 1914 essay, “Mysticism & Logic” (contained within a collection of his essays titled Mysticism & Logic), Russell traced the “divorce between science and philosophy” back to Plato’s famous Cave Allegory. It was there, in the dark, shadowed cave, that philosophers began legislating the “good” – which turned out to be a blinding, intrusive sun. He continues, “The man of science, whatever his hopes may be, must lay them aside while he studies nature; and the philosopher, if he is to achieve truth must do the same”. Russell does not attempt to completely dispatch with “hopes” (if you wish, we can replace “hopes” with any of the following substitutions: opinions, temperaments, sentimental reasons). No, he merely wants them relegated to the realm of the postscript: they should “only legitimately appear when the truth has been ascertained”. They (those irrational hopes) are best discussed as philosophical and/or scientific afterthoughts.

He softens his approach a bit by offering this half-hearted concession: “They can and should appear as determining our feeling towards the truth, and our manner of ordering our lives in view of the truth, but not as themselves dictating what the truth is to be”. See? It sounds like he’s welcoming them into the intellectual realm, but in actuality he’s rendered them utterly powerless – especially in the face of cold, sterile rationale.

William James, the American psychologist, philosopher, and scientist, would urge us to read Mr. Russell’s words with caution. In James’ 1907 series of lectures on Pragmatism he argues that one’s individual temperament is the single most important component of a philosopher’s intellectual arsenal:

“The history of philosophy is to a great extent that of a certain clash of human temperaments…Of whatever temperament a professional philosopher is, he tries when philosophizing to sink the fact of his temperament. Temperament is no conventionally recognized reason, so he urges impersonal reasons only for his conclusions. Yet his temperament really gives him a stronger bias than any of his more strictly objective premises. It loads the evidence for him one way or the other, making for a more sentimental or a more hard-hearted view of the universe, just as this fact or that principle would. He trusts his temperament.”

Russell’s assertion of “an opposition between instinct and reason” is astute, but, in James’ view, ultimately misguided (or, at best, incomplete). James would agree that the relationship between the two can often be tumultuous, but he would never let it be presumed that reason automatically trumps temperament. Such a brash judgement would, inevitably, lead to “a certain insincerity in our philosophic discussions: the potentest of all our premises [i.e. one's temperament] is never mentioned.”

Russell describes reason as a “harmonizing, controlling force rather than a creative one,” but James would counter that Russell’s beloved “reason” and scientific loyalty to observed facts is not based in reality any more than the theologian’s systematic doctrines. This world of logical necessities, rational purity, and reasonable simplicity is, in James’ words, “far less an account of the actual world than a clear addition built upon it, a classic sanctuary in which the rationalist fancy may take refuge…It is no explanation for our concrete universe, it is another thing altogether, a substitute for it, a remedy, a way of escape.” A world built entirely upon Russell’s reasons and rationality is no less a fabrication than one built upon the mystic’s religious beliefs.

Russell contends that through scientific philosophy we may be able to come to a more objective, rational view of the world we inhabit. But, as James reminds us: “The actual universe is a thing wide open, but rationalism makes systems, and systems must be closed.”

At this juncture I would like to introduce a few relevant thoughts from the esteemed author and thinker, G.K. Chesterton. Although by no means an expert in the field of philosophical discourse, his insights into the conflict between pure rationality and truth are both pertinent and enlightening. Though his tone may be a tad ironic and amateurish in quality, his aptness for elucidation of high-minded rhetoric into concrete examples will prove most useful.

In his book, Orthodoxy, penned in 1908, Chesterton includes a chapter on “The Maniac.” This section describes the madman as an individual “who has lost everything except his reason.” Reason alone, devoid of temperament (or opinion, sentiment, etc.), serves only to limit one’s knowledge – not, contrary to Russell’s conviction, to expand it. Chesterton uses “poetry” as a sort of literary foil to counter the idea of pure reason. Poetry, in the context of his book, represents the inherent sanity of imagination and human insight:

“Poetry is sane because it floats easily in an infinite sea; reason seeks to cross the infinite sea, and so make it finite…The poet only asks to get his head into the heavens. It is the logician who seeks to get the heavens into his head. And it is his head that splits.”

In direct concurrence with James’ admonition to utilize our temperaments (when tackling philosophical questions), Chesterton re-emphasizes the unavoidable dead-end of Russell’s impersonal, calculating manner of thinking. And, consequently, your manner of thinking inexorably becomes your manner of living.

Chesterton comments that “a small circle is quite as infinite as a large circle; but, though it is quite as infinite, it is not so large.” Those people who hold only rationally-based facts to be true are confining themselves to a world much smaller than those who accept that the world may consist of more than meets the logician’s eye (no matter how keen and well-trained that eye may be). Therefore it would be impossible for their view of the universe to be as complete (and profound) as the view held by the open-minded, pragmatic observer (note: Chesterton would disagree with the “pragmatic” label, and we’ll cover that in a moment).

So, Chesterton has described, albeit without the employment of technical jargon and with much sensationalistic flair, the condition of the purely rational man: insanity. If rationality is what drives men mad, what is it that keeps them sane? Chesterton succinctly replies: “Mysticism keeps men sane.”  One cannot fully experience life detached from one’s own temperament. Your opinions and feelings necessarily and positively contribute to a more whole and accurate understanding of the machinations of the universe. But, Mr. Chesterton doesn’t stop there.

He continues in his chapter “The Suicide of Thought” by decrying the use of pragmatic thought as a means of determining truth, and, most importantly, belief in an Absolute. Here is where he errs and diverges from James’ approach: “The pragmatist tells a man to think what he must think and never mind the Absolute…The pragmatist, who professes to be specially human, makes nonsense of the human sense of actual fact.”

Contrarily, James describes pragmatism as a means to prove that an Absolute must exist. In the closing chapter of Pragmatism, James claims that if universal conceptions have use, then “the meaning will be true if the use squares well with life’s other uses. Well, the use of the Absolute is proved by the whole course of men’s religious history.”  Chesterton’s position on pragmatism fails to take into account the psychological realm that James uses to prove religion’s (or mysticism’s) absolute validity.

In his collection of lectures delivered in 1901-2, entitled The Varieties of Religious Experience, James draws a comparison between the mystic/religious experience and the ability of one’s subconscious to manifest itself in our lives. Starting with this scientific approach, he suggests that what is felt during such an experience, due to its “objective appearances” in the individual’s life, is “a sense of something, not merely apparently, but literally true.” The mystical/religious experience actually affects the individual’s reality. It isn’t something far-fetched, or a sign of mental illness. These irrational (to Russell, at least) experiences are potentially useful in a very rational way: “Religion, in her fullest exercise of function, is not a mere illumination of facts already elsewhere given, not a mere passion, like love, which views things in a rosier light. It is indeed that, as we have seen abundantly. But it is something more, namely, a postulator of new facts as well.”

To further complete his claim, James observes: “That which produces effects within another reality must be termed a reality itself, so I feel as if we had no philosophic excuse for calling the unseen or mystical world unreal…God is real since he produces real effects.”

Now comes an interesting lack of commentary from Mr. James: nowhere does he mention whether or not this “real” God is someone/thing that humanity should…worship, serve, submit to, or in any way interact with.

This silence allows us to re-open a door that Bertrand Russell first explored in his 1903 essay, “A Free Man’s Worship” (also found within the essay collection, Mysticism & Logic). Here, Russell prompts us to “resign ourselves to the outward rule of Fate and to recognize that the non-human world is unworthy of worship.”  Oddly, he never asks for us to recognize that the non-human world is non-existent. Instead, he refers to it as man-made and artificial. He calls (preaches?) for complete renunciation of “the tyranny of the non-human power,” and asks, “Shall we worship Force?…Shall our God exist and be evil, or shall he be recognized as the creation of our own consciousnesses?”

The rhetoric that Russell is using to dissuade us of our religious convictions (or, as he would prefer it stated, our religious bondage) is uncharacteristically subjective, deeply temperamental, and eerily reminiscent of Mr. Chesterton’s arguments for exactly the opposite. But this comparison doesn’t hold up for long – in the Preface for the Mysticism & Logic essay collection, Russell writes (14 years later): “The position advocated in ‘A Free Man’s Worship’ is not quite identical with that which I hold now: I feel less convinced than I did of the objectivity of good and evil.”  No longer is he willing to treat God as a potential evil – no, now God is truly non-existent.

In conclusion, I do not endeavour to persuade you to side with the results of either Mr. James or Mr. Russell. Instead, I would like to judge which of the two was most effective in his employment of philosophical inquiry. Was it James’ rationally temperamental approach that was more optimally suited for delving into the murky depths of religious thought? Or was it Russell’s razor-sharp logician’s wits that were savvy enough to penetrate the mysteries of belief and mysticism?

Bertrand Russell was a lifelong skeptic and unwavering atheist. His convictions allowed him to bravely march down many fruitful paths, leading to brilliant discoveries in mathematics, analytic philosophy, logical constructions, as well as being a world-class historian. Now, I am by no means an expert on Bertrand Russell, nor am I even worthy of the title “amateur philosopher,” but, throughout all I’ve read of Russell’s intellectual feats, there seems to be a hollowness, an overabundance of arrogance, and a bitter lack of humanity in his voice. Maybe I’ve misread him completely (though I fear I have not…).

On the other side, though, is William James, whose writings ring with desperate sincerity. His conclusions often come across as pleas for someone to contradict him – because feedback was his lifeblood. His voice is fraught with vulnerable, childlike hopefulness that what he’s written (or lectured on, or argued) will encourage more discourse, more knowledge, more flairs of temperamental dialogue. His mind could function perfectly within the confines of objective academia, but his passion and spirit sought out the utterly subjective whims of G.K. Chesterton’s poetic idylls.

And that willingness to be open – open to failure, open to criticism, open to irrational opinions, even open to faith. These attributes should count as paramount among those invaluable characteristics of the discerning, truth-seeking philosopher. These are the traits that should mark the individual who is optimally suited for the (gentle & rational) dissection of any religion and/or belief-system (especially within an academic context).