Chapter 6 Idealism and Empire

Chapter 6 Idealism and Empire When the hysterical vision strikes The facade of an era it manifests Its insidious relations. 1 — Ern Malley OW far can philosophy diverge from common sense? This is a question, of course, for philosophy, and one that has pro- Hduced a range of divergent opinions.2 Some regard the deliverances of common sense as data that philosophy can explain, but not deny. Others dismiss common sense as so much Stone Age metaphysics, incorporating the confusions of the Cave Man in the street in much the same way that ordinary language includes antique science like ‘The sun rises in the east.’ Now, if departures from common sense are allowed, how far can you go? Surely there is a limit. David Armstrong’s first year lectures on Descartes included this joke: A philosophy lecturer noticed one of his students looking more and more worried as the course progressed. The student was absent for a while, then staggered in unkempt, dirty, obviously unslept. ‘Professor, Professor,’ he said, ‘You’ve got to help me. Do I really exist?’ The Professor looked around and said, ‘Who wants to know?’ 1 Ern Malley, Collected Poems (Sydney, 1993), p. 36. 2 K. Campbell, ‘Philosophy and common sense’, Philosophy 63 (1988): pp. 161–74; cf. P. James, ‘Questioning the evidence of commonsense’, Melbourne Journal of Politics 14 (1982/3): pp. 46–57; J. Kennett & M. Smith, ‘Philosophy and common sense: The case of weakness of will’, in M. Michael & J. O’Leary-Hawthorne, eds, Philosophy in Mind: The Place of Philosophy in the Study of Mind (Dordrecht, 1994), pp. 141–57. 112 Corrupting the Youth The point of Descartes’ dictum, ‘I think, therefore I am’ is that, if you really try, you can doubt the existence of everything outside your own mind at least in principle. But there is no denying the existence of yourself, at least if ‘yourself’ means only the thinking being that you directly experience. The most determined school of philosophy in pushing doubt to this theoretical limit is idealism. The best-known version of idealism is that of George Berkeley, the eighteenth-century Irish bishop who maintained that there were no physical objects outside the mind at all. Instead, he thought, God causes directly the play of (apparent) per- ceptions on our psyches. Hector Monro’s Sonneteer’s History of Phi- losophy, one of the shorter introductions to the subject, summarises Berkeley’s position as follows: ‘The scientific cosmos’, grumbled Berkeley, ‘Is, once you penetrate beneath the patter, Made up of something mystical called Matter. It’s not just that you see it through glass darkly, You cannot see the stuff at all. It’s starkly Devoid of scent and sound and colour, flatter And duller than a garden party’s chatter. We’re all bamboozled by the learned-clerkly Romantic balderdash. Reality Is surely what we touch and hear and see. If what our senses yield is in the mind, Then so’s Reality.’ At once maligned, Good Berkeley’s universe, because it’s mental Is labelled thin, ethereal, transcendental.3 Needless to say, it is not a widely held opinion. Indeed, it invites jokes about why anybody who holds it should be concerned to ex- press it: who does he think he is talking to? The significance of Berkeley lies actually more in his arguments than in his conclusions. The colonial poet Charles Harpur wrote: His logic puzzles so, it don’t convince. So wide his arguments, we half suspect them Of aberrations though we can’t detect them.4 3 D.H. Monro, The Sonneteer’s History of Philosophy (Melbourne, 1981), p. 20; also in Philosophy 55 (1980): pp. 363–75 (repr. with permission of Dugald and Gordon Monro); comments on the causes of such opinions in H. Caton, ‘Pascal’s syndrome: Positivism as a symptom of depression and mania’, Zygon 21 (1986): pp. 319–52. 4 Quoted in Between Two Worlds: ‘Loss of Faith’ and Late Nineteenth Century Australian Literature, ed. A. Clark, J. Fletcher & R. Marsden (Sydney, 1979), p. 18. 6. Idealism and Empire 113 This is quite wrong, as Berkeley has an exceptional ability to make gross mistakes clearly, and is therefore in regular use as target practice for philosophy undergraduates — as David Stove said, an undergradu- ate course without Berkeley is like a zoo without elephants.5 He is important not only for students: David Armstrong’s early works, in which he refined the rigorous style of argumentation that became his hallmark, are on Berkeley.6 The only sign of Berkeleian idealism being taken seriously in Aus- tralia was an event in 1936, when the Sydney Anglican Church wheeled out the Lord Archbishop of Armagh and Primate of All Ire- land, the Most Reverend C.F. D’Arcy, to give a talk at Sydney Uni- versity. The Archbishop said that Berkeley’s doctrine, although it had been attacked severely, had not, in his opinion, been overthrown. ‘The principles of his philosophy supplied a great spiritual need at the present time.’ 7 No doubt there was a spiritual need, especially with John Anderson firmly in the chair of philosophy, but Berkeleian idealism is a cure surely at once worse than the disease, and necessarily ineffective. The Primate’s suggestion that the point of idealism is to pervade the universe with a general tone of moral uplift, amenable to religion, is even more evident in the other variant of the theory, Absolute Ide- alism. This is a late Victorian construction with some resemblance to the wedding-cake architecture beloved of the period. It is possibly too alien a thought-world to understand at this distance, but the general idea is that, while the physical world may exist, its nature is es- sentially mental rather than (what we take to be) material. Everything is interconnected, and is a manifestation of the Absolute, which is something like God, but less crudely personal, and also less distant from oneself.8 Absolute Idealism in its heyday — around the 1890s — became the first and only philosophy to be accepted as orthodoxy in 5 D.M. Armstrong, Course submission for 1974. 6 D.M. Armstrong, Berkeley’s Theory of Vision (Melbourne, 1960); Berkeley’s Philosophical Writings, ed. with an introduction by D.M. Armstrong (New York, 1965); Berkeley, the Push and Australian painting in H. McQueen, Suburbs of the Sacred (Ringwood, 1988), pp. 29–31. 7 SMH 12/6/1936, p. 10; some parallels in Christian Science: R. Dessaix, A Mother’s Disgrace (Sydney, 1994), pp. 79–81. 8 J. Passmore, A Hundred Years of Philosophy (London, 1957), chs 3–4; S. Candlish, ‘The status of idealism in Bradley’s metaphysics’, Idealistic Studies 11 (1981): pp. 242–53; S. Candlish, ‘Idealism and Bradley’s logic’, Idealistic Studies 12 (1982): pp. 251–9; S. Candlish, ‘Bradley, F.H.’, in Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy, vol. 1 pp. 857–63; J. O’Leary-Hawthorne, ‘Anti- realism, before and after Moore’, History of Philosophy Quarterly 12 (1995): pp. 443–67. 114 Corrupting the Youth the whole learned world (Paris, Heidelberg, Edinburgh, Peking, Adelaide ...). Then it simply evaporated. John Anderson always re- garded idealism as the prime enemy, but by his time there were hardly any live idealists left to devour — in the philosophical world, at least, though as we saw in chapter 1, there were some in the New South Wales Parliament. The importance of idealism for Australia is that all of the first philosophers in Australian universities were adher- ents, including, for example, Australia’s only philosophical knights, Sir Francis Anderson at Sydney and Sir William Mitchell at Adelaide.9 In his memorable attack, ‘Idealism: A Victorian horror story’, David Stove writes, Nineteenth-century idealism, accordingly, provided an important hold- ing-station or decompression chamber, for that century’s vast flood of in- tellectual refugees from Christianity; or at any rate, for the more philoso- phically inclined among them. The situation of these people was truly pitiful. The burden of their biblical embarrassments had become intoler- able ... The problem was how to part with the absurdities of Christianity, while keeping cosmic consolation: no one dreamt of parting with the lat- ter as well (it should hardly be necessary to say), or at any rate no philoso- pher did.10 An idealist, he says, is one of a philosophical turn of mind, who can no longer stomach the raw barbarisms of popular religion, but ‘in whom, nevertheless, the religious determination to have the universe congenial is still sovereign.’ This was a period in which a wide variety of remedies were tried by the less philosophical, including the Wis- dom of the East, theosophy, spiritualism, and so on,11 as well as relig- 9 S. Grave, A History of Philosophy in Australia (St Lucia, 1984), ch. 2; J. Passmore, ‘Philosophy’, in The Pattern of Australian Culture, ed. A.L. McLeod (Melbourne, 1963), pp. 131–69; obituary of Mitchell in AJP 40 (1962): pp. 261–3; W.M. Davies, A Mind’s Own Place: The Life and Thought of Sir William Mitchell, (Lewiston, NY, 2003); account of Francis Anderson’s philosophy in G. Melleuish, Cultural Liberalism in Australia (Cambridge, 1995), pp. 87–95; W.M. O’Neil, ‘Francis Anderson’, in ADB, vol. 7 pp. 53– 5; obituary in AJPP 19 (1941): pp. 97–101; ‘Francis Anderson: Professor and citizen’, Hermes 27 (3) (Nov 1921); Francis Anderson’s papers in Sydney University Archives listed at www.usyd.edu.au/arms/archives/anderson.htm ; a late example of idealism in G. James, Philosophy: A Synopsis (Brisbane, 1957). 10 D.C. Stove, The Plato Cult and Other Philosophical Follies (Oxford, 1991), pp.

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