Prolegomena: A Justification of Thought

When one intends to reflect on things, it seems appropriate to begin by a reflection on reflecting. One can ask many legitimate questions about how reflecting is possible, and one can debate the merit of particular reflections, but the question that comes first—especially in a pragmatic society like ours—is why? Why bother thinking?

Plenty could be said about the pleasant side of thinking (defining thinking here in the restricted sense of mental activity directed to the end of understanding), but this is no convincing argument for those who find thought unpleasant. There is, of course, the emperor-has-no-clothes argument, which frequently (it seems to me) is implicit in the outlook of profound thinkers; anyone who doesn’t want to think is silly, and, being silly, has no business questioning the thinkers. But if the non-thinkers thought about it, they might equally say: anyone who wants to think is silly and, being silly, has no business questioning my desire to avoid thinking. I don’t even know why I put this hypothetically, as it is a strong sentiment among “practical” folk.

For such people then, we could enumerate practical benefits from thinking. As a general thing, however, practical benefits can always be questioned. First of all, there is always difficulty establishing an actual correlation between… well, between any two things, if we are being honest… but between anything immaterial and anything material. Let me say that Marx’s communist ideas caused the creation of Soviet Russia; a good communist would disagree and tell me the motivation was economic. One must first establish that it is possible for ideas to influence events; then you have another battle on your hand to establish a particular influence between any given idea and another given event.
The second difficulty with proving a practical benefit is that of proving it to be a benefit. What is classified as a benefit depends on one’s ethical system… or lack thereof. But practical difficulties aside, practical benefits are not a valid reason for doing anything, unless one has a purely pragmatic ethic, and purely pragmatic ethics can offer no justification for their own existence. (I could offer a justification for this sentence, but it would take too long, so please just grant the dogmatic observation.) Suffice it to say now, that it is neither easy nor sufficient to prove that there are any practical benefits to thinking (as defined: mental activity directed towards understanding).
If thinking, then, is not universally pleasant nor demonstrably practical, why engage in it?
To answer the question I must broaden it. Why engage in anything? What motivation can or should we bring to our lives? If that motivation justifies thought, then thought is justified. If not, I am certainly wasting my time thinking about it.

Self preservation is sometimes considered the most basic of all human motivations. Accepting this as the fundamental ought would again reduce me to the necessity of proving that thought has practical benefits. But it is not necessary to do so much, for to conceive of self preservation as the ultimate motivation is to put the cart before the horse. It is to say that the reason for living is to keep on living. Self preservation is not an end in itself; it is not a primary motive but a means. The very fact that “self” must be prefixed to preservation points this out, for the self that is to be preserved is a self full of desires and goals.

Then perhaps it is those desires and goals—the things that motivate humans to self preservation—that constitute our primary motivation for living. Goals and desires are as diverse as are the people holding them; but each of them resolves into pleasure. Even pride and power can be resolved into pleasure, for they would not be sought if pleasure was not expected from them. Likewise every conceivable motivation either is pleasure or is something from which pleasure is expected (or, if there is no hope of actual pleasure, less unpleasantness than would otherwise occur). This pleasure may take forms that to me personally are unappealing, or downright unpleasant; but to the person engaged in it, his chosen pleasure is still the goal, though he may be deluded in the means or perverted in the choice. Pleasure, then, is in fact the motive that humans do bring to life.

But at the very outset I noted that the argument for thought that insists that thought is pleasant, or that it is at least pleasant in its long term consequences, is sufficient only to those who already agree. To be sure, the rest of them aren’t thinking about it and are certainly not reading anything titled prolegomena. But let me be thorough. If pleasure is a motive that can be, and in fact is, the basis of human life, yet it does not follow that it should be so. We are still in search of an ought.

The mention of ought brings me naturally to duty. Now duty is often contrasted with pleasure, but the contrast is futile. For the only reason anyone ever did their duty was from an expectation of pleasure, or at least, of less pain than would have followed from not doing so. One must remember that pleasure as a motive is not always instantaneous. Pleasure may be anticipated at a great distance—even beyond life. Even those who are least preoccupied with this life, most concerned with duty, are seeking pleasure with all their might. For he that comes to God must inevitably believe, not only that he exists, but also that he rewards those who diligently seek him. And this, be it noted, is a faith that pleases God.
So then, the motive to duty is pleasure believed to be of a more lasting kind. And that resolves the question into a finer point. Grant for a moment that pleasure is an acceptable, as it is certainly a reasonable, motive: how is a finite human to perceive wherein the greatest pleasure lies? How, in fact and not to lose sight of my main point, am I to establish that it is really and in the long run pleasant, not just to those so inclined, but to everyone, to think?

In fact it is quite impossible for anyone who is not omniscient to foresee what will bring the greatest pleasure. Thus the failure of so many utopias. It is not necessary to go so big—thus the failure of so many lives. Omniscience only could give me safe guidance.

Omniscience, however, is not a faculty I possesses—a lack in which I am joined by all humans. And so we are in the awkward position, as persons seeking pleasure, of being without certainty as to how the most pleasure is to be had. The best we can do, unaided, is try different things and repeat the ones that seem to give most pleasure. But obviously the farther distant the reward the less practical the plan becomes. Besides, certain experiences make it impossible to approach the next experience in a neutral way. Is it preferable to be addicted to coffee or not? That depends on whether or not you are addicted to coffee.

So then, since we are not omniscient, I must find an omniscience to whom I can appeal, else the question, why bother thinking? will remain insoluble. Not any omniscient source will do (though, to be fair, a multiplicity of sources is not the problem); the source must be trustworthy. In other words, not only must the source have the answers, it must also be one that we can trust to accurately give the answers—that is to say, it must be good. That in turn means that it must be personal.

One other thing may be predicated of the source, and that is omnipotence. For omniscience as regards the future implies, either actual control of events, or else full knowledge of the intentions of the one actually in control. Supposing our source to be in the latter case, such full knowledge could only be attained in the same way that we could obtain it from any secondary source, by the medium of trust; that is to say, a reliance on goodness. So then, these are characteristics of the ultimate source which only could be our hope for guidance: a source at once omniscient, omnipotent, and good, or more briefly stated, God.

Therefore it can be confidently said that if there is to be any guidance forthcoming, any indication as to what courses men ought to pursue in order to achieve pleasure—and, while we are at it, a decision whether pleasure ought to be pursued at all—these can only come from God. (My line of argument, strictly speaking, does not prove that there may not be an omniscient but not omnipotent intermediary. It only establishes the need for God to be the source in the final instance. But it is hardly necessary to prove more.)

There are two categories of guidance: precise instructions for every circumstance, or general principles requiring application.

Precise instructions have the obvious benefit of being quite clear. Even omniscience, however, might conceivably find it dull to be constantly at every person’s ear, advising concerning an individualized best course of action. Conceivably, too, we would find it dull; there would be no puzzles, and scarce any surprises. At any rate, whatever the reason, we have not got the benefit of perpetual individualized guidance. (A statement which perhaps calls for a lengthy footnote on Pentecostalism, or even mysticism in general, for the writing of which, however, I have no time at this moment. Suffice it to say that such guidance is not usually claimed to be the automatic possession of every human, so that general instructions are usually admitted to be necessary at least to teach us how to obtain it.)
If there is to be no detailed road map, the only alternative is a navigational handbook. General principles may take the place of case instructions. But for such a thing to be possible, general principles must exist. Life and society must be so constructed that just as 2+2=4 everywhere and under every circumstance, equally in no case—none whatsoever!—will adultery (for instance) yield ultimate pleasure. Also, if more than one person is to be benefited, those puzzling balances must be held—the balance between self and others, individual and community, the one and the many—and only omniscience could assure us that in the long run, what is best for others is best for ourselves.
On both counts, that such a construction could result from happenstance would be quite incredible, so that it becomes at least reasonable to suppose that the God who could give us general principles of behavior would be the one who established those principles according to an orderly pattern and with justice relative to each individual, in a manner reflective no doubt of his own character. Then this omniscient God, having first created the world with a precise order, could give us a handbook, not a complete script but a brief guide, complete with everything essential to life and godliness.
Before we come to discuss the existence of such a guide, another point must be noted, for it addresses a problem earlier perceived: granted that pleasure is the underlying motivation for all human actions, does it follow that it ought to be so? Will there be any moral obligations—and could there be any penalties—attaching to this guidance?

The answer must be yes. Such guidance would come with the force of an ought. A God who condescends to inform us of that which is in our own best interests deserves to be obeyed—and then too, it is in our own best interests to obey. So that on both sides, reasons and results walk hand in hand.
It is not part of my intention to discuss here competing claims for moral standards revealed by God. In fact there are not many books that actually claim such a revelation—perhaps only one, though adherents may acclaim others as such—and there are none that compare in thoroughness or in compelling testimony—both internal and external—to the Bible. Therefore for this essay I will just take the Bible for granted.

Two lines can then be pursued for the answer to our question as to the reason for thinking (that is, engaging in mental activity directed to the end of understanding). One would be definite commands toward thought given in the Bible; the other springs naturally from the discussion above—since what we have been given in the Bible is general principles, not precise instructions, thought is required in order to correctly apply them.

In fact there are too many direct and indirect encouragements to thought to examine them all here, but two may be mentioned as instances.

First is Paul’s statement, in 2 Corinthians 10:5, that he takes every thought captive to Christ. As elsewhere he urges us to imitate him (Philippians 3:17), the statement of fact has the force of a command. Now it takes a good deal of thought in order to take thoughts captive. Indeed, I’m not sure but that I shouldn’t digress here on the value of writing for really capturing thoughts—not just in the sense of recording them for the future, but of forcing them to follow in a logical sequence and working them out to a satisfactory conclusion. Be that as it may, the command is not just toward desultory thinking, but toward serious meditation with a goal—that of harnessing our thoughts to the one who is the Truth. Moreover the context is one in which imaginations and anything that exalts itself against the knowledge of God are being demolished. Any field of thought, then, that can be used by non-Christians for anti-Christian purposes (and what field of thought is exempt from this perversion?) should be invaded and captured.

Second, Peter urges us in 1 Peter 3:14 to be always ready to give an answer to every man that asks of us a reason for the hope that is in us. No doubt it would be possible to memorize verses and repeat them mindlessly when questioned, but if we are adequately to address the multiplicity of questions that could be asked of us, we must not merely parrot the truth, but understand it and be capable of applying it in a variety of circumstances, for which thought is required. Such thought must go beyond things that seem immediately practical and relevant to us, for we must be prepared to answer the objections of those that have other priorities and interests. And we are told “always” to be ready—in any context, whenever doubt is expressed of the actuality of our hope, we ought to have an answer.

Thought, then—reflection with the goal of understanding—is not an option meant for those who are studiously inclined. It is not a pleasure to be indulged in at will or forgone if “real life” feels too absorbing. It is not to be allowed freely to roam our enemies’ camp and set up strongholds there. Thought, brought into captivity to our Lord, is to be wielded in defense of our faith and in justification of the hope that is in us.