by Chōkōdō Shujin

Apr 24, 2024

∙ Paid

Chōkōdō Shujin argues that you must moderate your doubts, lest you fall into the trap of decadence and dilettantism.

It appears that it is not easy to accurately determine the meaning of skepticism. In some cases, suspicion itself is deified, and a sort of religion arises from this. In a word, everything must be questioned; there is no custom or tradition that is above questioning. In other cases, it is the work of the skeptic to rid himself of all doubts, and any suspicion is ruthlessly denigrated as immoral precisely because it is seen as a form of doubt. Here, nothing is allowed to be questioned. This is a sort of fundamentalist mentality, and the height of naivety. Skepticism could be seen as a virtue of the intellect. In the former case, the suspicion itself becomes a disqualification. In the latter case, it is also indecisive to try to put all doubt out of one’s mind.

In any case, what is certain is that skepticism is a particularly human thing. God has no doubts, and animals have no doubts either. Skepticism is unique to man, who is neither angel nor demon. If man is said to be superior to animals in terms of intelligence, this can be characterized by a preoccupation with skepticism. In fact, is there any intelligent person who is not at least vaguely skeptical? And does not the independent man look like an angel in some cases, and a demon in others?

The freedom of the human intellect is, for the time being, in doubt. I do not know of any free man who is not skeptical. All those who were called free thinkers had skeptical minds, and that meant they were free men. However philosophers define the concept of freedom, actual human freedom lies in moderation. This moderation, which was the most important virtue in classical humanism, has become rare in modern thought. For skepticism to be a virtue of intellect, it must be tempered. In general, the moderation of the thinker is a problem. Montaigne’s greatest wisdom was to be moderate in his doubts. In fact, a doubt that does not know moderation is not a true doubt. Excessive suspicion is not purely skepticism, but has become a kind of philosophical theory, or has turned suspicion into a myth or religion. All of these are no longer skepticism, but a kind of insubstantiality.

Skepticism, as a virtue of the intellect, purifies the human spirit, just as weeping neutralizes our emotions physiologically. However, the act of skepticism itself is more akin to laughter than to weeping. If laughter is a human expression that is not found in animals, it is natural that there is a similarity between skepticism and laughter. Laughter can also neutralize our emotions. The expression of a skeptic is not only austere. Skepticism that does not have the liveliness inherent in the intellect is not true skepticism.

The true skeptic were not the sophists, but Socrates. Socrates demonstrated that skepticism is nothing but an endless quest. He also showed that a true tragedian is a true comedian. “Remember that every supposedly virtuous man has a terrible, lawless desire hidden within him, as you will see if you observe the dreams you have during the night when your reason sleeps,” the critic Hideo Kobayashi wrote in a 1959 piece on Plato’s Republic. “It is interesting to note that ‘The Dialogue,’ also known as ‘The State’ or ‘The Republic,’ is subtitled ‘On Justice,’ but the light of justice is only glimpsed, and only injustice is thoroughly discussed.” Kobayashi offers a summary of the teachings of Socrates outlined therein. When individuals come together and form a group, they inevitably become a behemoth. Try as we may to tame this force, it eventually becomes so vast that it is impossible to know precisely what it wants, and we can only attempt to find out how to appease it, or how to provoke it, and as we do so, various opinions and theories are formed. This is knowledge. The measure of knowledge is undoubtedly held by the behemoth, so that right and wrong are determined by the degree to which we serve and submit to the power of this behemoth. “Never have giant beasts been so fattened as they are today, and never have people been so much in the way of acclimating themselves to them,” Kobayashi writes of modern society. From most obscure group to the greatest nation, factions are unable to concede to each other, fighting and proclaiming their own virtue and purity. But the measure of truth nonetheless remains in the hands of the behemoth. “Why should we sanctify the great beast just because we have come up with the word society?” Kobayashi rightfully implores.

The masses typically fall into two extremes, in which they question nothing, or they question everything. Neither extreme, however, is aware of this behemoth, and as a result, it is not questioned. But is there any traditional philosophy that has a lasting life that does not contain some element of skepticism? The only great exception is Hegel. Hegel’s philosophy, as history has shown, has the characteristic of creating enthusiastic followers for a time, but soon becomes completely neglected. In this fact, perhaps, lies the secret of Hegel’s philosophy.

Kobayashi writes that Socrates was well aware that the behemoth could not be defeated by any means. This awareness may even be said to have led to his death. By the masses, all opinions that align with the desires of the behemoth are seen as good, and those that are not are seen as evil, but the movements of the behemoth’s desires themselves are, as Socrates stated, merely “inevitable” movements that have nothing to do with right or wrong. Socrates could not forgive the sophists who confused the movement of externalities with the movement of the spirit, who believed in necessity as justice, and who played the role of educators and leaders. The metaphor of the behemoth is brought up when the issue of education is discussed, but Socrates does not believe in “the beautiful name of educating the masses,” or leading them at all. “What could be easier than to teach justice, since the inevitable movement of the desires of the beast is impregnable, and the collective speech and action of the people is of the same nature as the natural course of events? The work of an educator of this kind is bound to succeed. He has no fear that his pretext will be discovered, for his opinion is the opinion of the people.”

Logicians say that the basis of logic is direct observation. One cannot prove things infinitely; every argument presupposes something that cannot be proven in itself, something that is directly certain, and then starts from that and makes inferences. However, is there any proof that what is directly at the root of logic is always certain? If it is always certain, then why would one need logic at all, instead of remaining in that state of direct observation? It seems to me that there is not only the direct observation of what is certain, but also the direct observation of what is not certain. It is foolish to always doubt direct observation, but it is also foolish to always believe in direct observation. And contrary to what is commonly said, while sensory intuition is, in its own kind, a vision of things that are certain, the characteristics of intellectual intuitions are rather to be found in the intuitions of things that are uncertain. The direct observation of what is certain does not itself require the proof of logic, whereas the direct observation of what is not certain is what requires logic and what drives logic. Skepticism does not arise from logic, but from skepticism comes logic. There is pride in intelligence and self-respect in seeking logic. The logician, in other words, is a formalist, and is but one kind of independent thinker.

Kobayashi writes that if Socrates had known the word “propaganda,” he would have believed that the confusion between education and propaganda is inevitable among the sophists. Of course, Socrates was convinced that if there is any true education in the world, it could only be self-education. “If he were alive today, he would not miss the rhetoric of modern sophists, who preach, for example, that materialism, if improved with the words ‘dialectical’ or something like that, would become humanism. The sophists’ habit of relying on rhetoric without determining facts, he would say, has not changed since the ancient days of Athens.”

What is uncertain is the basis of what is certain. Philosophers continue to theorize and write as long as their skepticism remains alive within them. They work for the sake of uncertainty. But precisely speaking, one does not work for what is certain, but rather from what is uncertain. This is why life is, and must be, not just a movement but a creation, not mere existence, but formative action. And since one works from uncertain realities, it can be said that the basis of every formative action is akin to betting.

Today’s modern sophists will claim that ideology is neither empty words nor idle rhetoric, that it has at its base the imperatives of history, but they would not deceive the piercing eye of Socrates. Kobayashi does not mince words when he addresses this. “You must not lie, for at the base of it are your own hidden subservience and despicable guts. You continue to be self-deceived, and your ideology can only assume the mask of righteousness while there is a hostile group of ideologues in front of you.” When all are forced to live together with the same ideology, they are bound to be in conflict with each other over even the most trivial of matters. Only then, Kobayashi asserts, will they realize that they have been at war with each other. “You will realize that the term historical society is a far more vague metaphor than the term behemoth.”

I do not know of a more decisive sign of cultivation than moderation in one’s doubts. But there are many educated people in the world who have lost the ability to be skeptical, or who, once they become doubtful, are no longer able to think in any way. All of these are the decadence of culture in the decline of dilettantism. It is wrong to think that doubt stops at one place. Skepticism is that which breaks the habitual nature of the mind. When the mind becomes habitual, it means that nature flows into the mind. Skepticism, as something that breaks the automatism of the mind, is already manifesting the victory of the intellect over nature. The uncertain is the source and the certain is the object. Everything that is certain is something that has been formed and is a result, and the principle as a beginning is something that is uncertain. Skepticism is an attachment to the source, and independence is an attachment to the aim. This is why it is always the case that the practitioner is insensitive while the theorist is skeptical, and the consequentialist is insensitive while the motivationalist is skeptical.

“Society is one great beast, that does not make it sociology,” Kobayashi writes, adding that we should not not underestimate Plato by saying such a thing. In modern sociology, which has increasingly come to resemble statistics, it is difficult to avoid the tendency to submit to the demands of statistics, and substitute the individual with the unit of man, as this is convenient for calculation. “Does this tendency tell us something new about humanity,” Kobayashi asks, “or does it sow seeds of self-conceit for the sophists to come? One should be suspicious.”

The power and powerlessness of skepticism in relation to independence is the power and powerlessness of intellect in relation to passion. Dependency can only be intelligent if it is a bet. Passions are always purely positive, and many of the passions are based on sentiments. Many skeptics are not as skeptical as they appear, and many independents are not as independent as they appear.

Socrates’ audiences were not ignorant. They were intelligent and experienced politicians, businessmen, thinkers, and military officers. He noticed that their opinions and ideas were inextricably tied to their individual temperaments, shaped by their respective professions, corresponded closely to social institutions, and were, for precisely that reason, untenable. Socrates did not attempt to persuade them, and neither did he insult them. He only saw that they were not who they thought they were. Indeed, they were compelled to think from the outside, although they themselves never believed this because they did not want to. “They are people who have lost themselves in the power of the great beast,” Kobayashi writes. “There is nothing stronger than a man who has lost his self.”

What, then, is the self of the Socrates who believes that this is so? “If we infer from Plato’s depiction, it is the spirit of fighting against the very thing that makes us think at all costs.” Perhaps that is the mark of a true human being, according to Plato. Socrates is a unique figure, but this is unrelated to such notions as individualism. His confessions, too, are truly unique, but have little to do with literary romanticism. “He neither asserts himself nor tries to instruct others, but speaks with surprising frankness and openness to all people. Then those who thought they were ignorant grasp the edge of wisdom, and those who thought they were wise begin to doubt themselves. In short, everyone with whom he speaks becomes more or less insecure.” When Socrates is questioned why this is so, he replies, “The reason I cause doubts in people’s hearts is because my heart is various, and because my mind is full of doubts.”

Men sometimes become suspicious because of the false pride of others, but even more often they become suspicious because of their own false pride. And this shows, on the other hand, that in man the political desire, the desire for domination over others, is universal, and that in him the educational desire is also universal. Politics may require independence. However, it is questionable whether independence is necessary in the same way for education. But it is certain that educational desires that do not include political desires are rare. One becomes an insolent person out of defeatism, and one becomes an insensitive person out of despair. Hopelessness and skepticism are not the same. Only when intelligence is involved can despair turn into skepticism, but this is not as easy as one might imagine. It is difficult to stop at pure skepticism. As soon as one begins to doubt, the passions are waiting to seize him. Therefore, true skepticism is not of youth; rather, it is a sign of spiritual maturity. The doubts of youth are constantly accompanied by the passions and turn into sentimentality.

Kobayashi next writes of Socrates’ stance on democratic government. He summarizes it thusly: “Needless to say, the greatest possessions of this polity are equality and freedom, but the man best suited to this polity must be a man who is equally free to release the various desires he has within him, and who is therefore also able to perform the various types of human character alone, vigorous and sensitive. Teachers flatter their pupils, old men adapt to young men, husbands protect their wives, wives respect their husbands, and so on. Even in politics, the greatest fear for a ruler is to gain the reputation of the oppressor, so the ruler will be respected as if he were the ruled, and conversely, in the name of freedom, the ruler will be respected. The ruled person who rebels and acts like the ruler will be the most popular.”

Politics is not, Kobayashi says, founded on relations of ideals or theory. Rather, it is founded on relations of power. If political power is equally distributed, it is obvious that the masses are powerful because of their vast numbers, but the masses are powerless without someone to lead them. Once they come to admire a particular leader, they will invariably elevate him to the status of hero. “The lust for power lies dormant in everyone’s heart,” Kobayashi writes. “Nothing is more in danger of falling into the tyrant’s politics than a democratic system.” But what is it that compels a leader to become such a tyrant? As Socrates defines it, “A leader is a man who has sold himself and bought justice.” And being considered a tyrant is not an undesirable prospect for most. No one becomes a tyrant, but is instead forced to become one. “How can a righteous leader know that within him lurks the desire to devour mankind?” writes Kobayashi.

No man can make another believe in himself as much as he can make himself believe in others. The religious person who leads others to faith is not necessarily a man without doubts. Rather, the power he exudes to others is due in part to the skepticism that still lives within him. At the very least, a religious man who does not do so cannot properly be called a thinker. There are times when an opinion expressed by a man who doubts himself is believed by others as if it were something he does not doubt. In such a case, he would finally come to believe the opinion himself. The root of faith lies in others. This is also true in the case of religion, where religious people say that the root of their faith lies in God.

The true skeptic pursues logic. But the indecisive person either makes no argument at all or makes only a formal argument. The disciplinarian is very often a defeatist, a defeatist of the intellect. He is not as strong as he appears to be; he is so weak that he feels the need to be strong against others and against himself. From this, totalitarian ideology arises.

“Plato, who experienced the hell of politics first hand, would not scorn the interest in politics favored by modern intellectuals, but would reiterate again and again that an interest in politics is not the same as an interest in words,” writes Kobayashi. “Politics is the art of taming the behemoth. It cannot be anything more than that. An ideal country is nothing more than a fantasy. Only the clear observation that the behemoth has not a shred of spirit can teach us how to tame it effectively. If we make even a slight concession on this point, we will end up being devoured.”