The Divine Lamp

The revolution of ideas brought about by Locke and his followers does not,  properly speaking, consist in any great restoration of philosophy, but in having drawn forth this science from the secluded enclosure of the schools, and thrown it open to the general public.

In this I recognize, not so much a personal merit of this author, as a need universally felt in the age in which he lived, and which, were it even for this alone, will be forever memorable.

For my own part, nothing could delight me more than the prospect of seeing all men share in the knowledge of the highest truths-a knowledge which is so powerfully calculated to elevate the mind and ennoble the heart.

On the contrary, it fills me with pain and sadness to think that truths so excellent in themselves and so congenial to the human intelligence should be, as it were, monopolised by a small circle of individuals, as though none but themselves had a right to possess them.  Is there not something odious and hurtful to human feelings, in a science which, under the pretence of being scholasitc, envelopes iteslf in mystery; which seems to hate the light of day; which wears all the appearance of a sect, with a language, or rather jargon, of its own, and forbidden to the rest of men, and which assumes an ambitious, or at least a strange and exclusive, tone, as if it had some great secret to conceal, or some dark ends to accomplish?  Why should this science, which boasts of being the mother of all the arts, keep itself allof from, and sullenly refuse to hold friendly intercourse with, the human family?  Has it, then, like some beast of a new species, impenetrable lairs, where to abide in solitude, from fear lest its interests should suffer by being mixed up with those of the world at large?  Or has heaven bestowed the gift of reason on a few individuals only?  And shall, therefore, the great bulk of mankind for ever have to be led, like a flock of sheep, by the command or the rod of those favored ones?  Must men be for everlasing debarred from judging in a body or pronouncing on matters on which their own dignity and happiness depends?

These thoughts, which are so easily awakened in candid minds, makes one feel the liveliest gratitude for those who labor with the intent of placing the very highest truths within reach of the greatest number, and who on this account seek to unfold and present these truths in language best suited to the general comprehension.  For if this were well and successfully done, the masses would be able o enjoy in some way the lovable aspect of those truths, and would rise to that better condition which was heretofore attainable only by the more subtle-minded, more inquisitive, or more fortunate few.  Moreover (and this would be a great blessing), the masses, by bringing their collective judgment to bear on the interminable disputations of the learned, might perhaps speak out with such an overwhelming weight of authority as would effectually recall these disputants to more profitable occupations and sounder ways of thinking; and this especially when they saw them-instead of working for the true benefit of the individual and of society-wasting their time in catching at worthless sort of celebrity which consists merely in vain and momentary triumphs over opinions adverse to their own.

But while a good instinct of our nature irresistibly prompts us to applaud intentions so humane, and to wish them God speed, when we ask oursleves the question whether they will ever be fully realized, can our answer be in the affirmative?  I should be afraid to say so.  But to expect that the generality of men could in a short time be taught to philosophize, and to philosophize on the most arduous subjects, on which the learned themselves-a very limited class comparatively-have never as yet been able to agree, nay, have frequently accused one another of not even understanding the question in debate, seems so great a stretch of philosopical credulity as to make the notion appear almost Utopian.  If it has been found so extremely difficult to generalise eves so modest an institution as that of elementary schools, where little more is imparted than reading, writing, and cyphering (and the institution is not quite general as yet), how can we hope that philosophy can be not only presented to the masses in a language adapted to their capacity, but understood by them, and understood aright?  And, what is very much more, can we believe that the masses will attain to so high a degree of philosophical proficiency as would qualify them to sit as a vast assmebly of judges on the respective merits of divergent philosophical views?  In any case, if so flattering a notion as I am here referring to can be entertained at all, its fulfilment must  certainly be remanded to a future so distant from our time, and so indefinite, that the most sagacious mind would be unable to fix it with anything like approximation.  And even such a future as this- the thought of which will nevertheless be dear to all lovers of the human race-I would hesitate to hint at, were it not from fear lest I might thus be placing arbitrary limits to human perfectibility and to the workings of Divine Providence.

But let us return to Locke and his school.

It was but natural that, in sudenly offering the boon of philosophy to the masses, not yet prepared to receive it, and in presenting it in the vernacular, one should give it a character somewhat in unison with the modes of reasoning proper to the masses themselves.

This is why the philosophy of Locke (1) exhibits everywhere evidences of an incomplete observation, and especially in regard to those fact which require for their detection a most vigilant attention to what passes within us, and sometimes an attention involving several orders of reflection-a task for which the great majority of men are utterly unfit; (2) it exhibits a pitable want of discernment in distinguishing those facts which are characteristic or constitutive of different species, from such as are only accidental varieties within the same species.  As a general rule, the writers of this school are very industrious in collecting together facts similar in kind and in multiplying examples of them, but are extremely negligent in indicating their several species; (3) it hardly ever sees where lies the real knot of the question, and hence is very prone to despise the labors of former philosophers; thus giving up the precious legacy of truths bequeathed to us by past ages.  When speaking of the great thinkers, who did their best to find a proper solution of the most thorny questions, it peremptorily sets them down as dreamers; for it does not understand either the reason of their efforts or the necessity of the expedients to which they had recourse in order to overcome the difficulties seen by them.  Accordingly, it dismisses their theories with a few words uttered with a show of dignity, perhaps even with a smile, congratulating itslef on being exempt from such bad taste in philosophy.

Hence the defect of this school, especially in its earlier stage, consisted in over-confidence, or in pretending to explain the facts of the soul by means of insufficient reasons, much more than in the opposite extreme.  But when, latter on, it adherents were made aware of certain difficulties which had not been seen at the beginning, they put forth all their ingenuity in the attempt to solve them, and then they never seemed to be satisfied with any solution.

In consequence of this defect, the philosophy of Locke was held in low esteem by some great men of his time; but having obtained the popular favor, and the support of a sect which was just then gaining the ascendant by proclaiming itself the friend of the people, it succeeded in effecting a brief but almost universal triumph in public opinion.

At the period in which it appeared there were circumstances most favorable to it.  Scholasticism had become, so to speak, rotten to the core; and Descartes had already given its death-blow by substituting in its stead some profound thoughts, but too few for filling the place of that complete philosophical system of which the world stood in need.  It was natural, therefore, that as the masses were growing more familiar with the cultivation of letters, and rising in social importance, their opinion should come to preponderate, not only in questions touching their material interests, but also in matters relating to philosophy.

Of the defects which I ascribe  to the school of Locke, some little specimen will be seen in the question which I am about to treat.  Fro, having to make good my contention that human reason has only one Form, which I call the Form of Truth, it will be my duty to demonstrate that on this principle alone can we avoid the two great stumbling-blocks which have so far proved fatal to the diverse theories broached in modern times.  And, first of all, I shall have to speak of those systems which do not assume what is necessary for explaining the origin of ideas; then of those which assume a great deal more than is necessary; and, lastly, I shall have to prove that the theory which assigns one only form to human reason, by steering a middle course between those two extremes, keeps equally clear of both, and that of all the complete explanations of the facts of which I speak, it is the simplest, and that which makes the fewest suppositions.

As, however, what I am here pledging myself to do is, not to give a theory on everything which takes place in the human soul, but only to explain the origin of ideas, I must, before proceeding further, describe as concisely and as clearly as I can the intimate nature of this fact, that so the reader may see the true state of the question, as well as the knot which renders its solution a matter of no ordinary difficulty. (Excerpted from Antonio Rosmini’s THE ORIGIN OF IDEAS.  The work is in the public domain)