“One would never know it to read them,” said Belore dryly. “Professor,” continued Brannot, “we stand at a crossroads in the field of philosophy. We can continue to rehash the old unanswered and unanswerable questions, and philosophy will then remain what it has always been: a parlor game of mental gymnastics, played by ivory-tower intellectuals. Or, on the other hand, we can try to apply both old and new philosophical concepts to our daily lives and make them work for us.”
“I was laboring under the obviously erroneous impression that we've already put philosophical concepts to work for us in the past,” said Belore. “The Ten Commandments come to mind, but I'll wager that there must have been one or two others during the past ten thousand years.” “I grant you that,” said Brannot, “but it only supports my argument: that philosophy can and should deal with reality. Take, for example, Bishop Berkeley's proof of God, which is the one human argument for deity not as yet disproven. I ask you, not as one professor to another, but as one human being to another: Who really gives a damn if there is some mystical Unseen Observer or not? Or take the hallowed Descartes, who thought and therefore was. I have no doubts as to my own existence: I've got ulcers, aches, pains, and worries to prove to my satisfaction that I'm here. But Descartes carried it one step further, inferring the existence of the entire universe from the singular fact thathe existed. More power to him. But I can infer the existence of a large block of granite sitting in front of this building from my own existence, or I can not infer it; and in either case, it has no effect whatsoever on the truth of the inference. “On the other hand,” he continued, “if I were to say, ‘I hunger, therefore I am,’ it would have a little more relevance, because my next step would be how to assuage my various hungers, and this would lead me not only into practical proposals but ethical considerations as well. What I am trying to say, Professor, is that philosophy mustdo something. It can't just lie there as a logical toy for academic dilettantes.'’
“Needless to say, I disagree,” said Belore. “What you are describing is simply not philosophy. Practical
politicians determine our public ethics and behavior whether we like it or not, and half a hundred sciences tend to our hungers and comforts. Philosophy, true philosophy, is concerned with the soul, and I use the word in a nonreligious sense. Or, if you prefer a more palatable definition, it is concerned with that section of the mind—and notice that I didn't say thehuman mind—that is not the concern of the psychiatrist or biologist. Its purpose is to give an overview of the Universe and of Life and of Being, all spelled with capital letters. Its purpose is no more to answer questions than to ask them, no more to solve problems than to give new insights into them. I repeat: Pragmatism is a philosophy, but it is not the only philosophy, nor even among the most important.” “Then why do the vast majority of our philosophers seem to disagree with you?” asked Hillyar. “Because they've been conditioned by men like you,” said Belore bluntly. “Besides, this isn't a field like politics, where the majority rules. The fact that most of them agree with you means nothing except that more of them are wrong than might reasonably be expected to be wrong under other circumstances.” “I perceive,” said Brannot, “that neither of us is about to convince the other of the correctness of our viewpoint.”
“I suppose not, more's the pity,” said Belore. “Gentlemen, I think we might as well cut this short before tempers begin rising. You may send more dissertations to me, and I shall comment on the correctness of the arguments, since I have said I would do so. However, I think we would all be happier if I had nothing further to do with them, or with you.”
And with that she arose and walked from the building, alternately feeling younger and older than her years.
“Well!” said Hillyar after a few minutes’ silence. “What do you make of that?” “She was a brilliant woman in her day,” said Brannot slowly. “It's rather disconcerting to see her so out of touch with reality. Philosophy would forever be an art rather than a science if she had her way.” “What gall!” said Hillyar. “As if we had no knowledge at all of Plato and Kant and Aquinas. What does she want us to do—insist that every doctoral candidate spend half a lifetime contemplating the lint in his navel?”
“Let's not be too harsh in our judgment of her,” said Brannot loftily. “Remember—that frail, wrinkled shell of a body once housed a truly superb mind.” And with that, he picked up the next thesis, which presented some telling arguments justifying the economic subjugation of the natives of Broward III, and was soon lost in rapturous fascination at the intricate chain of reasoning put forth.
20: THE ARCHITECTS
...Unquestionably the greatest of the Commonwealth's architects was Ebar Mallow (6700-6755 G.E.), who for reasons unknown seems to have vanished from the ranks of the profession after the completion of the unfortunate Bureau of Alien Affairs project. Nonetheless, that single edifice assures him a place in the vanguard of the history of human architecture... —Man: Twelve Millennia of Achievement ...The ill-conceived Bureau still stands today, and is in many
respects quite the most remarkable building ever erected by any race.
Much of the credit for its design, if not its ultimate fate, must go to Ebar Mallow, perhaps the most brilliant architect to come on the scene since the creation of Caliban. Even now, the Bureau still functions as it was designed to do; the pity of it, of course, is that... —Origin and History of the Sentient Races, Vol. 9 “What the hell isthat ?” asked Mallow, gesturing toward the huge structure that was being moved into his office.
“That, my bookish friend, is a chair,” said Verlor, walking into the office as the workmen left. “A chair forwhat ?” demanded Mallow, trying to picture the type of creature that could fit comfortably into the thing and failing dismally.
“The ambassador from Castor V,” said Verlor. “I didn't even know Castor had any intelligent life,” said Mallow. “According to our psychologists, they crossed over from nonthinking beast to thinking beast about three thousand years ago. According to the Castorites, they've been an intelligent species for longer than Man has been around.”
“Surely he's not coming here to debate the issue,” said Mallow disgustedly. “I'll be happy to grant his species intelligence since the Big Bang if it'll make him happy. Especially if he can fill that chair.” “He's got other reasons for seeing you,” said Verlor. “As I understand it, he wants to talk about the Bureau.”
“Not a chance,” snapped Mallow. “I spent seven years getting those plans approved by the Floating Kingdom, and I'm not about to make any last-minute changes because of some elephantine bigwig from Castor!”
“Calm down,” said Verlor. “We don't even know what he wants.” “It doesn't matter,” said Mallow. “No changes!” “Look,” said Verlor. “We've all got orders. Yours are to design and build the Bureau. Mine are to see that our guest is treated with every courtesy. This is no small-time bureaucrat; he's the Castorian ambassador to the Commonwealth.”