Rob Wheeler waxes parabolically on the subject of  inherited wisdom versus critical rationalism.

As every schoolboy knows(!), the celebrated sage of Greek antiquity, Diogenes of Sinope, was an ascetic belonging to the Cynic school. Living the simplest of lives in a barrel, he relied on the most minimal of material possessions to sustain him. However, despite his contempt for worldly fame and Reality TV shows, his fame spread widely throughout the ancient world and over the years he became a major celebrity, despite of himself, with many invitations to appear on Daytime TV (which he always turned down).

Eventually he was visited personally by the Emperor Alexander who offered Diogenese anything his heart desired and (as every schoolboy knows) his request to the emperor was simply “Please would you step a little further to the right so that I can catch the sun”. This kind of talk served to endear Diogenese to the public even more and as a result of his growing fame he started to attract many students. They would come and sit outside his barrel hour after hour awaiting wise philosophical discourse whenever the philosopher felt the urge to give utterance.

At first Diogenese tried to ignore the students but when the authorities began to complain that they were causing congestion in the agora he realised that something had to be done. He approached the emperor who immediately purchased a large office block in the centre of Athens known as the Trumpus Tower which he gave to Diogenese as an HQ for his growing consultancy business. The building was renamed Diogenese’s Barrel which was somewhat ironical as it was twenty stories high.

One day, while Diogenese was sitting in his penthouse office, there was a knock on the door and a prospective post-graduate student entered. Not pausing to exchange the customary greetings the student immediately launched into an obsequious torrent of praise:

“Diogenese”, he said, “you are the greatest philosopher who has ever lived. I have read every word you have written: aphorisms, articles, books and screenplays. I have watched every TV interview you have ever given. I have downloaded every podcast of every lecture you have delivered. I have attended seminars on every subject you teach and have spent my life-savings attending courses on your wisdom. I agree with everything you teach and I take every opportunity to inform others your ideas and to refute your opponents puny arguments.”

Diogenese looked glum.

The student continued, “I want to enroll in your study-centre as a residential student so I can meet with you daily and learn at first-hand all your theories, emulate all your attitudes and absorb all your values”.

Diogenese looked miserable.

“However”, continued the student, “I have to warn you that after a few years studying under you I will begin to find mistakes in your teachings. I will identify prejudices, fallacies and sophistries here and there. I will pick trivial arguments with you just in order to show up some small error you have committed.”

A smile began to flicker across the face of the philosopher.

“Later, the student said,” I will take the opportunity to publicly criticise your ideas and pour scorn on everything you teach. I will distance myself from your ideas and express embarrassment that I ever took your facile and fallacious ideas seriously. Eventually, I will deny that I ever learnt anything from you, or even knew you, and I will deride the absurd suggestion that I could ever have been your student.”

Diogenese was smiling broadly now.

“Finally there will come a time”, said the student, “when I will forget that you ever taught me. I will set up as a sage myself and those few ideas of yours that I continue to cherish I will claim as my own and forget that they originated from you. It will then be as if you had never existed.”

At this Diogenese could contain himself no longer. He leapt to his feet with glee. “Yes, Yes!, he exclaimed,” of course I will be your teacher for you truly know what it is to be a student!”

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It was amongst the pre-socratic schools of philosophy that the idea of progress in knowledge through critical discussion was first invented. The idea that one might criticise the master outright and thereby modify and improve his ideas was utterly radical at the time. Up until then we find dogmatic schools of thought in the form of religions and philosophical sects whose function is solely to impart a pure doctrine to the next generation unchanged from its formulation by the original master.

All thought in such schools consists of assertion, dogma and condemnation of error?–?never in dialogue, argument, change and improvement. The only reasons given for a doctrine are its derivation from orthodox tradition. The authority of the master and his legitimate heirs is paramount and it is vital never to admit new ideas from any other source.

Of course, in practice new ideas are introduced all the time, but it is never admitted that they are new. The heretic claims his doctrine is a return to the original, pure, orthodoxy or to a more accurate interpretation. The result is normally schism. A new school is formed with its own new dogmas–although the novelty is always denied.

There can never be a history of the development of ideas in this context as all ideas are ascribed to the master. All we can do is reconstruct a history of schism and a history of defence of true doctrine against heretics. There cannot be critical, rational discussion within a school like this – only arguments against dissenters, heretics and competing schools.

The principal heirs in the modern world to this classical tradition of critical reason are science and scholarship: the process of questioning and testing received opinion and modifying knowledge by discovering error. Science, has a genuine history of development and embodies real progress. Regrettably, however, the dogmatic schools, and the turn of mind they represent, are also still with us. Today they come in the form of orthodox religious sects and denominations; various New Age cults; pseudo-science theories; hermetic magic, occult and theosophical traditions; and so called ‘Complementary and Alternative Medicines’. In all of these systems believers look back to the authoritative source of their knowledge and consequently can never acquire new knowledge. True, there is a kind of infantile comfort to be had in believing that your beliefs come from a trusted source but the trade-off is that your knowledge can never grow.

This piece is based on an original idea I filched from a cartoon by the Australian cartoonist, Michael Leunig and, of course, Karl Popper’s philosophy of critical rationalism.

Rob Wheeler is a member of East Kent Humanists and runs a pub philosophy discussion group <www.stoa.org.uk> in Kent. He is a teacher of IT and currently completing an MA in web design.

Diogenes and the student: a parable, 8.3 out of 10 based on 6 ratings