“Critical Thinking”

     You cannot hold a pistol to the head of the Tao. -- C. S. Lewis

     A young woman I met recently said she intended to homeschool her as-yet-unconceived children. I was hardly going to try to argue her out of that intention, so I just murmured an affirmation. But she went on to say that her goal was to teach them to “think critically about everything.” The formulation piqued me, so I asked for a clarification.

     Her response? “They should question everything.”

     I was powerfully moved to ask “Exactly what do you mean by that?” However, among the things I’ve learned in my dotage was how upset others can become when I press that way. Most people believe their communication skills to be at least adequate, the actual evidence notwithstanding. They generally dislike the imputation that they’re not being clear. So in casual conversation, I try to restrain sharp inquiries, especially with new acquaintances.

     But she got me thinking. I suppose that’s a good thing, anyway. And you, Gentle Reader, are the ultimate victim beneficiary.

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     Just what does it mean to “think critically?” In this usage, “critically” doesn’t have the meaning of “to criticize.” So what does it mean? Is it possible the word was poorly suited to my interlocutor’s needs? If so, a lot of people have been disserved by it.

     What people generally appear to mean is thinking of the sort that “drills down:” i.e., that doesn’t accept flummery or fluff, but probes for core concepts and confirmation.

     There’s a limit to that, though. When questioning reaches the layer of fundamental premises – objective reality and the precepts that flow from it – it must stop. Questions such as “Why is there an objective reality?” or “Why does traditional Judeo-Christian morality work so well?” are unanswerable except by stating a religious premise: “Because God wills it.” And as I’ve said before this, Deus vult isn’t really an argument.

     C. S. Lewis made this point most tellingly in The Abolition of Man:

     The Chinese also speak of a great thing (the greatest thing) called the Tao. It is the reality beyond all predicates, the abyss that was before the Creator Himself. It is Nature, it is the Way, the Road. It is the Way in which the universe goes on, the Way in which things everlastingly merge, stilly and tranquilly, into space and time. It is also the Way which every man should tread in imitation of that cosmic and supercosmic progression, conforming all activities to that great exemplar. ‘In ritual’, say the Analects, ‘it is harmony with Nature that is prized.’ The ancient Jews likewise praise the Law as being ‘true’.
     This conception in all its forms, Platonic, Aristotelian, Stoic, Christian, and Oriental alike, I shall henceforth refer to for brevity simply as ‘the Tao’. Some of the accounts of it which I have quoted will seem, perhaps, to many of you merely quaint or even magical. But what is common to them all is something we cannot neglect. It is the doctrine of objective value, the belief that certain attitudes are really true, and others really false, to the kind of thing the universe is and the kind of things we are. Those who know the Tao can hold that to call children delightful or old men venerable is not simply to record a psychological fact about our own parental or filial emotions at the moment, but to recognize a quality which demands a certain response from us whether we make it or not.

     At that level we confront laws that no legislature can modify or repeal. It is the layer of the metaphysically given: that which unalterably exists whether we acknowledge it or not. So questioning can proceed no further; the critical thinker must accept that what is, is.

     In that regard, to think critically – i.e., to ask “Why?” and “How do you know?” about such propositions as are put to us – is the attitude of the natural scientist. He begins with the premise that there is an objective reality, and that we are embedded in it. He hopes to reach that bedrock layer, and add to our understanding of how it works. But he does not doubt that there is an objective reality. Neither does he insist on knowing why it exists.

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     A great cleavage lies between the Aristotelian – i.e., he who accepts objective reality – and the Berkelian – he who doesn’t. They cannot argue; their bases are incompatible. If he is to arrive at defensible and useful knowledge, the critical thinker must be an Aristotelian. Moreover, he cannot learn from a Berkelian. Indeed, he must avoid such people; extended interaction with them can produce psychosis.

     So although the exhortation to “question everything” sounds fearlessly rational, he who adopts it must accept as an operating rule that once his questioning reaches bedrock reality, it can proceed no further. What is, is! That can sound uncritical, yet it’s the critical premise that makes all other questioning possible.

     Should you encounter someone who refuses to accept the existence of objective reality, or who insists on knowing “why” it exists, smile and walk away. Don’t get trapped in his psychosis by trying to argue with him. It would be “uncritical.”