By Curt Collier
In my youth, I was heavily infatuated with philosophy and the humanities. My high school was pretty small (101 students in my grade) and our library wasn’t well stocked. I also didn’t have mentors who could direct my passions. Still, there were books by Emerson, Thoreau, Schweitzer, and even Pirsig’s newly published “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,” which focused on the history of philosophy, made it to our shelves. These books were enough to get me hooked, and in 1979 I selected philosophy as my major at Texas A&M University.
Texas A&M wasn’t a liberal arts college like the University of Texas or Rice University but still had a pretty good Philosophy Department, fueled in part by Texas oil money. The amount of reading each semester was mind-blowing, as each of my classes demanded seven or more books, all more inscrutable than the next. About midway through my first semester, I felt like I had made a horrible mistake. I didn’t understand a single thing I was reading! I’d spend hours re-rereading the same few pages trying to make sense of the dense ideas before me.
‘You’re not supposed to understand!’
My philosophy adviser was a gentle, friendly Hobbit-like man (and yep, read that book in high school, too) who exuded a passion for ideas using a flamboyant storyteller style. Dr. Stadelmann taught philosophy at A&M from 1967 to 2020 (53 years), but despite his legendary skills as an educator, I didn’t think I could succeed. During an office visit I said sheepishly that I had chosen the wrong major because I didn’t understand what I was reading. Dr. Stadelmann laughed and, with a twinkle in his shining eyes, said, “You’re not supposed to understand!” Stadelmann explained that philosophy was a several-thousand-year-old tradition of philosophers arguing with other philosophers using ideas and arguments that were equally as old and arcane. He challenged me to understand what I could and continue to build on that knowledge until I was fully able to participate in the conversation.
That was some pretty good advice, and it allowed me to wade into other fields of study, from science to psychology, with confidence. I learned from Dr. Stadelmann that it’s ok to be unfamiliar with a subject but it was not acceptable to give up. Knowledge comes with blessings, but it also takes commitment and, like mathematics, that commitment takes the rest of your life.
I chose science to understand the world
While I still have a deep passion for philosophy (and what fun it is to be surrounded by Dr. Chuman’s library, which is a repository of some of the best philosophy books ever written), ultimately I chose the methods of science to truly understand the world and to provide meaning to that experience. That’s not often what people hear. Thanks to Daniel Rosenblum, who recently reminded me of the works of mathematician-turned-philosopher Jacob Bronowski, who’s book “Science and Human Values” had such an impact on me years ago.
Bronowski contends that the purpose of science is not to overpower nature, nor is it simply the accumulation of facts. Rather, science is the “organization of knowledge” so that we can work hand in hand with nature. It is the exploration of the laws of nature in order that we may work with them for mutual advantage. Bronowski writes that “Science finds order and meaning in our experience.”
The arts, too, address deep questions
Can we, you might ask, find the same insights in the arts and humanities as we might in science? The answer, according to Bronowski, is “yes, indeed!” Poetry, music, and art search for metaphors to comprehend and convey the deep questions of our existence. It is not the metaphor that is the truth, but the universal feelings that the metaphor points to, feelings that lay beyond the form on the page, which the artist hopes to bring to light.
This universal truth is what science searches for also, simply using a different approach than the artist or poet. But the scientist also looks for methods that can be universally understood. Artists may use imagery that is lost on others, but science seeks to find one universal image or model to explain human existence that can be explored by all across cultures and time. It’s a way of engaging collectively in the art.
Both art and science search for the universal feelings rooted in empirical experience, and often they highly complement one another. As an ethicist, however, I also search for that common ground beyond metaphor upon which we can build systems of justice and reciprocity. I need a common ground that allows for debate, experimentation, and analysis to assess the efficacy of our ethical beliefs. Art can help me feel what another is trying to convey, but science helps me to better respond to those feelings.
To discuss this further, come to our Soup Symposium
Starting February 25, and for five weeks following, I’m going to host Soup Symposium, a kind of lunch-n-learn starting at 12:30 pm for about an hour or so. You bring your appetite for ideas (and soup), and I’ll supply the reading material for discussion. Together we will explore the content of this article. As I said, I’ll supply the soup and bread, and together let’s explore this world of ideas. The symposium, in person at the meetinghouse, is free for members, and $5 per session for non-members, payable at the door. The topics:
Feb. 25: “Science of Human Values” by Jacob Bronowski and the Human Search for Meaning
March 3: “To Infinity and Beyond,” by Neil deGrasse Tyson and Why Science Sometimes Fails to Inspire
March 10: “The Invention of Nature” by Andrea Wulf and Thinking Like a Scientist
March 17: Spring Arts Festival, Exhibit of Sci-Art by Curt Collier (exhibit only; no soup, but snacks)
March 24: “Existential Physics” by Sabine Hossenfelder and The Limits to Science
March 31: “The Joy of Science,” by Jim Al-Khalili and How Our Minds Shape Reality
Curt Collier is leader of the Ethical Culture Society of Bergen County.