Revisiting ‘The Story of Philosophy’

Reaching 60, I feel that death is becoming more and more real. I look at the books on the shelves in my room. For many years, Homer, Dante and Shakespeare, and a host of other venerable men of letters, who have shaped my thoughts and my dreams, have faithfully stood there like ancient sentinels. They stand at random, gathering dust and yellowed pages.

Not long ago, I took Graham Greene from the shelf to refresh my memory of his story about the Catholic priest who was lost, or who found his lost self, in the primitive jungles of South America, and I saw the neatly wrapped book, The Power and The Glory, hanging weightless, like a wilted flower, from my hand. I saw the ruins of termites crumple from the bottom edge of the book to the base of the shelf. What dark gust of wind could have passed through the haze of my vision? I felt that something in me must have perished. I had bought the book at National Bookstore many years back for my college report in American contemporary literature, and then I discovered that the lines I had dashed under the sentences and the notes I had scribbled on the margins had been swept away by an army of termites. The echo of the loud absurd laughter of the lovable whiskey priest began to fade from my ears, threatening never to come back.

I wonder what book on the shelf I should tell my son and my daughter to read. My son has been lost in his own world of video games and computers. He has not had time to stand and stare. One night, I caught him picking from the shelf The Golden Treasury edited by F.T. Palgrave and opening it before his eyes as he lay on his bed. I was glad because for almost an hour he did not put it down until he had to get up and fetch a glass of water from the fridge. Then he would come back to it again and again. My daughter, who boasts she is a lover of books, has been jealously guarding her own precious collection in her room: Chicken Soup for the Soul. The Little Prince, Positive Thinking... Since they learned to read and write, I have not caught them coming to devour those books in my room. Oh, I would have very much wanted them to read those books so I could have enjoyed some precious moments discussing with them what little gems of thought could brighten their paths and inspire them to go on...I wish that the computers could really replace the joy of reading a book in a quiet room.

I am glad the termites have spared many of the good books. Of those spared perhaps I should tell them to read The Story of Philosophy by Will Durant. Philosophy? It will, surely, scare them. I know. Their modern education has taught them that philosophy is cold and indifferent like stone. It’s all ideas and ideas about ideas. What the heck do my children care about the fine distinction between what seems and what is? What’s that? Surely, they will hug you for the box of chocolate you give them. A philosophy book is only for the nerds who think they are not nerds.

But not The Story of Philosophy by Will Durant. It was given to me by my elder brother who was pursuing classical philosophy at San Carlos Seminary. After reading it, he passed it on to me. Later, he would pass on to me many of his books: Chesterton, Sheed, Kung... Now he is a priest teaching people how to live and go to heaven. When I received this book on philosophy, I had not yet read an introductory. In college, I had taken the required subject Philosophy 2, logic, which I recall did not bring me to the acquaintance of Locke, Berkeley, Hume and Kant. My textbook-bound professor, whom I admired, perspired the whole semester demonstrating on the blackboard the rational, or whatever, connection of the letters he inscribed inside circles. If all A’s belong to B, and C is A, then C belongs to B. I did enjoy that initiation to philosophy. It taught to me how to draw a valid conclusion from a general principle to a particular case. It was the classical syllogism of Aristotle. It made me feel high-brow. I still recall the clusters of letters and the pack of dogs.

But after turning a few pages of the book, I soon became absorbed in it. The marvelous prose in which Durant presents the development of philosophy from the ancient times to the present captivated me. The book does not so much explicate abstract ideas as describe the epoch, the geography, and the social milieu which shaped the thoughts and visions of the great thinkers about the world. The exposition of the Ideal of Plato melts into a sea of metaphor and clear analogy. It portrays the philosopher as the passionate lover of wisdom through vignettes of anecdotes and little known incidents in his life.

I cannot forget Friederich Nietzsche. In his desire to pursue his vision that in the end mankind will be strong enough to make this world a better place to live in, he killed God as the creator of the world. It is related that when he was young, he was left orphaned by his father and was brought up by a deeply religious mother who molded his young mind in tenderness and compassion. He became very fond of music. But he was sickly. Once, while he was walking on a street in Turin, Italy, he fell on the pavement. Many believed that his mind lost its balance. While he lay dying, he saw his sister weeping, and he could not understand her tears.

Nor can I forget Voltaire, the evil destroyer of icons in France during the reign of Louis XIV. He is the archenemy of the Church. When he was born, his nurse remarked that he would not live long because he looked pale. But he grew up to be very intelligent. His wit was so sharp it provoked and humiliated those who refused to change their old habits of thinking about the world. The cardinals, who condemned his books, could not stop his malevolent tongue from spitting its venom. Before he died, a priest came to hear his confession. The priest would not give him his absolution unless he signed a profession of his faith in the Catholic doctrines. As a philosopher, he rebelled; instead, he wrote his own statement and signed it. "I die adoring God, loving my friends, not hating my enemies and detesting superstition."

The story of philosophy is mainly the story of men who tried to wrestle with the mystery of the world until they were lost in labyrinths of their thoughts. In their effort to know the principle of life, the ancient philosophers got lost in unseen realms. To define the Ultimate Truth, the modern philosopher find themselves facing a blank wall. How do they know that they now? One generation of philosophers, Durant observes, built its school of philosophy on the rock of reason which would be demolished by the next. Through the ages, the direction of philosophy has followed the swing of the pendulum from one extreme to another. Where did this world come from? How did it come to be? Why? Since the ancient times, the horizon has eluded the philosopher’s gaze.

Certainly, it will be good for my son and my daughter to know that the great thinkers of the world have tried to unravel with their human mind the mystery of the world and failed. It will be good for them to understand the limit of reason and draw wisdom from it. Perhaps, after reading the Story of the Philosophy, they can pick The Odyssey, Inferno and Four Great Tragedies.

I pat each of them, to disturb the dust.