In general, important civilizations start with a rigid and superstitious system, gradually relaxed, and leading, at a certain stage, to a period of brilliant genius, while the good of the old tradition remains and the inherent evil in its dissolution has not yet developed. But as the evil unfolds, it leads to anarchy, thence, inevitably, to a new tyranny, producing a new synthesis secured by a new system of dogma. The doctrine of liberalism is an attempt to escape from this endless oscillation. The essence of liberalism is an attempt to secure a social order not based on irrational dogma, and insuring stability without involving more restraints than are necessary for the preservation of the community. Whether this attempt can succeed only the future can determine.
Bertrand Russell, A History of Western of Western Philosophy (xxiii)
As Russell draws his introduction to A History of Western Philosophy (HWP) to a close, his underlying intention becomes clear—in short, he seeks to be one of those who will be, by the judgment of those from some future time, one who successfully defended liberalism against the dual threats of “irrational dogma” and superstition on the one hand and “anarchy” on the other. If done well, philosophy will foster “a way of life” (24) that is able to escape from the “endless oscillation” between dogma and anarchy, but even the best of philosophers can pave the way to either dogma or anarchy. Descartes, for instance, set forth a philosophical approach that challenged the authority of Aristotle, an authority that had approached the status of a dogma by the late Middle Ages—he was, after all, simply referred to as the Philosopher—and turned instead to the authority of one’s own thoughts. It is for this reason that “Modern philosophy,” Russell argues, “begins with Descartes, whose fundamental certainty is the existence of himself and his thoughts, from which the external world is to be inferred” (xxi). Yet Descartes’ very challenge to the dogmatism deriving from Aristotle led in turn to the subjectivism of modern philosophy, whereby “everything is only an emanation of the ego,” and with this “subjectivism in philosophy, anarchism in politics goes hand in hand” (ibid.). It was in this context that liberalism emerged, but liberalism is not assured of continuing. As Russell well knew, given that he wrote A History of Western Philosophy during WWII (1940-3), the threats to liberalism were very real, and hence as he wrote this book there was a very real sense of urgency to Russell’s project. In short, Russell’s history of philosophy is a philosophical defense of liberalism.
As Russell works through Book One: Ancient Philosophy, he makes roughly three general claims regarding the trajectory of philosophy during this period. In the first, Russell claims that the Orphic sect provided a means of transition from religion to philosophy in that the “mystical element” of their thinking, or the “intoxication that they sought …[an] ‘enthusiasm’, of union with the god…entered into Greek philosophy with Pythagoras.” From Pythagoras, Russell argues, the “Orphic elements entered into the philosophy of Plato” (19), and in particular the mystical element “issued in mathematical knowledge” (33). Although Russell will roundly criticize Plato’s political thinking, accusing him of being an “advocate of totalitarianism” (105), and find in his “doctrine of ideas…a number of obvious errors” (126), Plato nonetheless “marks a very important advance in philosophy, since it is the first theory to emphasize the problem of universals, which, in varying forms, has persisted to the present day” (ibid.). If anything, as Russell adds, Plato was too closely aligned to Pythagoras and as a result he “assimilated other knowledge too much to mathematics” (159); that is, Plato is too absolutist and unable to address “continuous change” in and adequate manner.
The second claim tracks Aristotle’s achievements, Aristotle being, in Russell’s opinion, a philosopher that “came at the end of the creative period in Greek thought,” and where, “after his death it was two thousand years before the world produced any philosopher who could be regarded as approximately his equal” (159). Despite such lavish praise, Aristotle forestalled the advent of experimental science by adhering to a teleological view of nature. Both Plato and Aristotle, therefore, had “vices which proved infinitely harmful” (73) in that Plato’s “rejection of the world of sense” and Aristotle’s “belief in purpose as the fundamental concept in science” blocked the path to the type of scientific inquiry that could maintain the delicate balance that enables us to avoid the dangerous oscillations between superstitious dogmatism and anarchy. In fact, as Russell sees it Plato’s and Aristotle’s philosophies were “infinitely harmful” precisely because they did not prevent this oscillation and instead led philosophy into a period where “there was a decay of vigour, and a gradual recrudescence of popular superstition” (73).
This then leads us to Russell’s third claim, which extends his argument that after Russell we have a period of decay that leads both to superstition and anarchical individualism and subjectivism. As Russell puts it, “Except to a limited extent during the Roman period in Stoicism, the outlook of those who thought and felt seriously [in the period after Aristotle] became increasingly subjective and individualistic, until, at last, Christianity evolved a gospel of individual salvation which inspired missionary zeal and created the Church” (230). Russell has the Cynics, Sceptics, and the Epicureans in his sights at his point but he does give a qualified nod of assent towards the Stoics. Although Russell takes issue with “a certain coldness in the Stoic conception of virtue” (255), with the tendency of the Stoics to discount and condemn not only the “bad passions,” such as anger (see Seneca), “but all passions” (ibid.), Russell finds that there are “two respects in which their teaching bore fruit in other fields. One of these is theory of knowledge; the other is the doctrine of natural law and natural rights” (269). In particular, Russell finds the Stoic distinction between “those things which can be known with certainty on the basis of perception,” such as the appearance of a pomegranate to one’s senses, “and those which, on this basis, are only probable,” such as the pomegranate one sees being in fact “a pomegranate made of wax” (ibid.). For Russell the theory of knowledge that works with this distinction is both “sane and scientific” (ibid.). The theory of natural right and natural law follows for the Stoics from their view that each of us is “a citizen of the universe,” (263) or each of us is equal before the laws of this universe that we are each predisposed, thanks to our rational nature, to live in accordance with. The Stoics thus paved the way, Russell argues, to the political theories of the 16th-18th centuries and especially to those that claim that “all human beings are equal” (270); namely, we are all, or all ought to be, equal before the law.
Despite the merits of Stoic thought, the general trend in philosophy after Aristotle was clear. The path to science, and to the liberalism that may be supported by a scientific mindset, was never developed, despite moves in that direction, and what happens instead is that “subjectivism invaded men’s feelings a well as their doctrines. Science was no longer cultivated, and only virtue was thought important” (297). The road to Christianity had been laid, Russell argues, and it is to the philosophy that emerges in this context that becomes the subject of Book Two.
*HPS is short for History of Philosophy Series (see the post that introduced this series). This is the first in the series.