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Spring 2000
Volume 99, Number 2
Newsletter on Teaching
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Why Teach Plato, et al.?
William Evans
St. Peter's College
In a recent book, Martha Nussbaum argues for the central
place of philosophy in a liberal arts curriculum on the grounds that it promotes critical
thinking. She construes critical thinking as the ability to analyze, evaluate, and
construct arguments, which enables one to question and justify ones own beliefs and
those of others, and thus to think for oneself and make ones beliefs ones own.
Her paradigm is Socratic examination. Such examination is indispensable to cultivate our
humanity. She links the content of philosophy courses with her goal because the goal is
not likely to be well met without teaching Plato et al.1
Nussbaums view of the goal of teaching philosophy
is widespread among philosophers. In this paper I offer a redescription of this goal, for
two reasons: to preserve the connection between the content of the course (what Plato et
al. said) and its goal, and to embed critical thinking skills in a broader, more
inclusive goal.
I want to begin with an example of course content in philosophy. Philosophers,
notoriously, doubt many things. Doubt, or skepticism, looms large in philosophers as
diverse as Socrates, Descartes, Hume, Nietzsche, and James. There may be no model of doubt
that fits all of them, for what single model would fit Socratess doubts about what
the Oracle of Delphi said about him or about his fellow Athenians claims to wisdom
about human virtue, Descartess hyperbolical doubts, and Humes doubts about the
power of the human mind to answer ultimate questions? Yet doubt, in some guise, is
something that we should want students to learn. They should learn when to doubt and when
not to doubt; good and bad reasons for doubt; the difference between denying a thesis and
merely criticizing an argument; the difference between Socratic doubt and Cartesian doubt.
Amidst this variety there is a common thread students should grasp: doubt admits of
extremesdoubting virtually everything, thus criticizing without understanding, and
doubting virtually nothing, thus becoming credulous (or perhaps bored). Neither extreme
appreciates the appropriate occasions for doubt. In short, I submit that doubt is an
example of one of the intellectual virtues that students ought to learn.
The intellectual virtues comprise at least the following: determining relevance in a
philosophical discussion; distinguishing between different sorts of questions, and the
different sorts of answers called for; assenting to or dissenting from ideas in graduated,
not absolute, terms; fairness in evaluating the arguments of others; the ability, or
willingness, to submit to criticism and refutation; curiosity, or the desire to learn,
including the ability to admit that one does not know, which is akin to humility;
intellectual courage, the willingness to examine unpopular ideas and persevere in the face
of opposition (until one has been shown to be wrong); and intellectual honesty, including
the ability to admit that one is wrong. 2 These virtues should be construed as forming a unity, if not in
the strong sense of unity suggested by Socrates in the Protagoras, then at least in
a weaker sense one can glean from Aristotles ethics: you cant have one without
having all the others. For example, if you lack intellectual honesty, then it is unlikely
that you will submit to deserved refutation or criticism, or admit that you are wrong or
simply do not knowor if you do, you will be like Thrasymachus in Book I of the Republic,
merely acting, and thus dishonest. (Thrasymachus, at least, seems to have known he was
insincere in his pretense.) The intellectual virtues are also intimately connected with
moral virtue. Intellectual honesty, for example, is not to be distinguished in kind from
moral honesty, and learning to submit to criticism and refutation involves respecting
another person as an equal in dialogue. These intellectual virtues, then, are what I claim
is the proper goal of teaching philosophy.
There is, however, a problem with seeing this as our goal: we have no expertise in the
intellectual virtues because there are no such experts. We rightly claim expertise of
various sorts because we have studied the classical and contemporary texts, and the
interpretations and criticisms that make teaching philosophy a matter of expertise. We can
assign exam questions and paper topics, about which there are right and wrong, and better
and worse, answers. But intellectual virtue is not a matter of expertise. For example,
learning the appropriate occasions for doubt is not simply a matter of learning the
arguments of philosophers and their interpreters, including teachers of philosophy
courses. Are we, who have the expertise to teach Socratic doubt, Cartesian doubt, and so
on, also experts on the virtue of doubt? It is at least doubtful that we are, if the
virtue is not learned merely in learning the arguments and methods of philosophers.
If not, then there is a difference between course content, the topics and methods on
which we have expertise, and the goal of the course, intellectual virtue, on which we lack
expertise. Yet despite this difference, content and goal are inseparable. Consider, again,
the virtue of doubt. This virtue is learned partly in learning what philosophers said;
indeed, it can only be learned in learning about the doubts of philosophers (and other
people). For there is no learning of the virtue of doubt that is not learning about
somebodys doubts about something. Doubt does not float free of its occasions,
topics, and doubters. To see the point, we should examine how one acquires intellectual
virtue, and I propose that we use Aristotles argument that moral virtue is not a techne,
a skill or craft or art, about which one acquires expertise, though it is like one.
For Aristotle, moral virtue is like the arts because it is acquired in a similar way,
by producing the same "product" that we must "produce" once we have
learned the virtue: we become just by doing just actions, courageous by doing courageous
actions, etc. It is also like the arts, and like health, because it is ruined by excess
and deficiency. But it is unlike the arts because the "product" of moral virtue,
an action, is unlike the products of the arts, and the moral agent and the artist differ
in expertise. The good of an art lies in the product, produced by the expert. For moral
virtue, the good does not lie in the action; instead the agent must decide on virtuous
actions for their own sake and for the sake of what is fine, from a firm and unchanging
character, and the knowing or expertise counts for nothing. 3
Analogously, intellectual virtue cannot be learned in the abstract, apart from its
occasions. Generosity, as a state of character, is one goal of ethical education, but
while it is different from generous actions, it is inseparable from them, because it
cannot be learned otherwise. So for intellectual virtue: as a goal it is different from
particular "products," such as a students doubting Euthyphros claims
to expertise about piety, but is inseparable from them, because it cannot be learned
otherwise. One learns the virtue of doubt by doubting, and by doubting particular claims
of particular people.
Further, this Aristotelian-style account allows us to identify the "good" of
intellectual virtue. The "good" does not lie in any action, but in a state of
character that decides on certain actions and does them in the right way, at the right
time, with respect to the right people, for the right ends, and so on. One has to learn to
decide to do something, e.g., to doubt some argument for its lack of evidence, for the
right reason and not for some ulterior purpose, such as pleasing the teacher, impressing
ones fellow students, or getting a good grade. Students ought to learn not merely to
appear honest, or even to be honest, but to prize the truth. 4 Neither does the "good" lie in
applying the right rule to the occasion, for reasons Aristotle gives for the paucity of
rules for ethical behavior: questions about what is fine, what is just, what is good, have
no fixed and invariable answers, and on particular occasions the answer lies with
perception.5
If there is no set algorithm for teaching the intellectual virtues, how are we to go
about inculcating these virtues in our students, which inculcation, I have argued, should
be our goal in teaching philosophy? My answer is this: since the intellectual virtues are
learned from especially outstanding examples and since some of best material on the
virtues (and some of the worst vices) is to be found in the writings of
philosopherswritings that we have studied and so are in a position to teachwe
are well placed to pursue the goal of having our students learn the intellectual virtues.
To illustrate, on determining relevance in a discussion, Hume tells the reader in his Dialogues
that he is discussing natural religion, not revealed religion, so that what may be
relevant to the latter may not be relevant to the former. On distinguishing between
different sorts of questions and the appropriate answers, Socrates asks Euthyphro what
piety is; Euthyphro replies that it is prosecuting wrongdoers, and Socrates tells him that
is not the sort of answer he wanted. Aristotle distinguishes between the exactness
appropriate to answers in demonstrative sciences like mathematics and that appropriate to
persuasive arguments in ethics and rhetoric. On understanding assent and dissent in
graduated, not absolute terms, Hume argues that assent and dissent depend on evidence, and
less than conclusive evidence requires less than conclusive assent and dissent, to the
point where a hypothesis may be a mere conjecture or guess. Various virtues, such as the
ability to submit to criticism, intellectual honesty and the ability to recognize that one
does not know, and intellectual courage and the ability to persevere in the face of
opposition, are perhaps best exemplified in Socratic dialogues (even ifor perhaps
becauseSocratess interlocutors often failed to exhibit them).
Teaching the virtues by dispensing with philosophers, then, would be like teaching
scientific method, as Israel Scheffler argues, without "the specific material of
science in the concrete." Such method (which notoriously cannot be reduced to a list
of rules) is not "an airy abstract entity that can be skimmed off the concrete body
of thought and practice." 6 For us the concrete body of thought and practice of philosophy is
indispensable. We should teach what Plato et al. saideven when students later
forget much of thatfor the sake of the virtues.
Rather than describe the goal of teaching a course on Greek philosophy, or on ethics,
or even on critical thinking as students learning critical thinking, it is best to
redescribe the goal as their learning the intellectual virtues. For we should see the good
of critical thinking as promoting the virtues. 7 We should want students to learn to think criticallyto
analyze, evaluate and construct arguments, clarify concepts, be sensitive to context and
to the vagaries of natural languagenot for its own sake, but for the sake of the
virtues: intellectual honesty and courage; the ability to admit that one is wrong and that
one does not know; fairness in examining the arguments of others and recognizing another
as an equal in dialogue; and so on. In Aristotles terms, these virtues constitute
the highest good of the mind or the intellect, for the sake of which we learn to deal
critically with arguments in the first place.8
Notes
1. Martha Nussbaum, Cultivating Humanity: A Classical Defense of Reform in Liberal
Education (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1997).
2. For similar understanding of the particular intellectual virtues, see Michael
Oakeshott, "Learning and Teaching," in The Voice of Liberal Learning: Michael
Oakeshott on Education, ed. Timothy Fuller (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989);
Iris Murdoch, The Sovereignty of Good (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1970);
Israel Scheffler, "Moral Education and the Democratic Ideal," in his Reason
and Teaching (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Co., 1989); Linda Trinkaus Zagzebski, Virtues
of the Mind: An Inquiry into the Nature of Virtue and the Ethical Foundations of Knowledge
(New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996); James Montmarquet, Epistemic Virtue and
Doxastic Responsibility (Lanham, Md.: Rowman and Littlefield, 1993).
3. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, ii, 4, 1105a27b5.
4. See Rosalind Hursthouse, "Normative Virtue Ethics," in How Should One
Live: Essays on the Virtues, ed. Roger Crisp (New York: Oxford University Press,
1996), p. 27.
5. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, ii, 2, 110415; ii, 9, 1109b 2023;
and iv, 5, 1126b 24. See also John McDowell, "Virtue and Reason," in How
Should One Live, ed. Crisp (note 3); and David Roochnik, "Teaching Virtue: The
Contrasting Arguments (Dissoi Logoi) of Antiquity," Journal of Education
179 (1997): 113.
6. Scheffler, "Moral Education and the Democratic Ideal," (note 5), p. 143.
7. Nussbaum seems to share this view: critical thinking, the paradigm of which is
Socratic examination, is "essential to full humanity," and the Stoics
ideal of the world citizen "is intrinsically valuable: for it recognizes in people
what is fundamental about them, most worthy of reverence and acknowledgment, namely their
aspirations to justice and goodness and their capacities for reasoning in this
connection" (note 1) p. 40, p. 60.
8. Oakeshott, in "Learning and Teaching" (note 5), offers a useful way of
distinguishing the content and goal of a course. We instruct students in a lot of
complex information, the ideas and arguments of philosophers, but we impart to
students what he calls judgment, comprising the intellectual virtues. Judgment, he says,
"cannot be learned separately; it is never explicitly learned and it is known
only in practice; but it may be learned in everything that is learned, in the carpentry
shop as well as in the Latin or chemistry lesson. . . . It cannot be taught
separately; it can have no place of its own in a timetable or a curriculum." It is
imparted "unobtrusively in the manner in which information is conveyed, in a tone of
voice, in the gesture which accompanies instruction, in asides and oblique utterances, and
by example. . . . In imitating the example, [the pupil] acquires not merely the model for
the particular occasion, but the disposition to see everything as an occasion" (pp.
6162).
We should see intellectual virtue, then, as
Oakeshott describes judgment: "the shadow of lost knowledge." It is what remains
when the information that was learnedPlatos theory of recollection,
Kants categorical imperative, Nietzsches eternal recurrencehas been
forgotten.
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