A Critique of Rousseau’s Discourse on the Sciences and Arts
In 1750, the Academy of Dijon offered a prize for the best essay on the question “Has the restoration of the sciences and arts tended to purify morals?” Jean-Jacques Rousseau, maintaining the negative, won the contest with an entry that would eventually be recognized as his first major literary work. In the Discourse on the Sciences and Arts, Rousseau argued that gentrification, the process through which progress was commonly understood to be achieved, was responsible for the erosion of virtue, which he understood as “the strength and vigour of the soul” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 37). Rousseau claimed that a loss of virtue, in turn, would lead to mankind’s enslavement. In his opinion, the sciences and the arts collectively constituted the major drive behind the process of gentrification mentioned above. Whereas the slogan of the French revolution was to be “Freedom, equality, and fraternity”, that of Rousseau’s discourse is best summed up with his own words, in a call for a return to “…ignorance, innocence, and poverty…” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 62).
According to Rousseau, increase in knowledge, whether through scientific exploration or artistic expression, was responsible for an equivalent loss in man’s strength of character. Through an assessment of Rousseau’s discourse, and in particular through an examination of his understanding of the role of the military and that of formal education, I will show that this conclusion is ultimately flawed, and that increase in knowledge is likely to increase man’s strength of character. Above all, I wish to demonstrate that much of his discourse relies on assumptions that upon closer inspection seem unconvincing at best. Some passages, conveying Rousseau’s longing for a simpler past, display such naïveté one finds it hard to believe they could have been uttered by one of the founders of modern philosophy. Furthermore, Rousseau’s position is ironic, if not completely paradoxical. Indeed, were it not for his knowledge of letters, and thus for an understanding and appreciation of a form of art that is integral to the sort of civility which he allegedly repudiated, Rousseau would never have been able to launch the sort of critique that is found in this discourse. To explain the reasons of my disagreement with Rousseau, we turn to an analysis of the text.
A praise of Sparta’s ability to chase away “arts and the artists, the sciences and scientists” and a simultaneous criticism of Athens’ unwillingness to do the same, can be found within the first part of Rousseau’s discourse (Rousseau, 1964, p. 43). Shortly thereafter, Rousseau juxtaposes two periods of Roman history in an attempt to offer further evidence for this accusation. In this case, Rousseau stirs from the dead Fabricius, a “Roman commander and statesman whose incorruptibility and austerity were frequently regarded as models of the early Roman virtues” (Britannica, 2006), and makes him utter the following:
What disastrous splendour has succeeded Roman simplicity? What is this strange language?What are these effeminate customs? What is the meaning of these statues, these paintings, these buildings? Madmen, what have you done? Have you, the masters of nations, made yourselves slaves of the frivolous men you conquered? Are these rhetoricians who govern you? Is it to enrich architects, painters, sculptors, and comedians that you watered Greece and Asia with your blood? Are the spoils of Carthage the booty of a flute player? Romans, hasten to tear down these amphitheatres, break these marble statues, burn these paintings, chase out these slaves who subjugate you and whose fatal arts corrupt you (Rousseau, 1964, p. 45-46).
In addition to reiterating that Rousseau was not very fond of the “ingenious and learned” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 53-54), and of those who utilized arts and sciences for the progress of their societies, these two passages reveal another aspect of his thought, namely a fascination with bodily strength, or, as he calls it, “vigour” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 54-56). Indeed, as Sparta and Rome were notorious for their military prowess, in part, no doubt, because of the strength of their soldiers, we can deduce that Rousseau saw this as a necessary quality on which to build a virtuous society. He confirms this point quite explicitly when he states that “Even in the soldier, a little more strength and vigour would perhaps be more necessary than…bravery, which does not preserve him from death…” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 56).
Assuming but not conceding that military competence constitutes the basis of a virtuous society, and that a correlation exists between the strength of an army and the physical strength (i.e. vigour) of its soldiers, in order for Rousseau’s position to remain feasible, an increase in the knowledge of a people must lead to a decrease in the strength of its soldiers and therefore to that of its armies as well. To be sure, this is what Rousseau means when he states that “The Romans admitted that military virtue died out among them to the degree that they became connoisseurs of paintings, engravings, jewelled vessels, and began to cultivate the fine arts” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 55) and when he asserts that “Only a little sun or snow, or the lack of a few superfluities is necessary to dissolve and destroy the best of our armies in a few days” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 55).
Not accounting for hereditary characters, it seems reasonable to hold, as Rousseau does, that a man’s physical strength is related to the amount of physical activity he performs on a daily basis. It also seems reasonable to suggest, as Rousseau does, that the amount of physical activity a man performs on a daily basis is likely to be higher without the intervention of those externalities that enable man to spare his energies (i.e the sciences), and which may, in turn, lead man to expend his energies on activities that are not physically demanding (i.e. the arts). If both of these assumptions can be deemed true, then, for example, the invention of the wheel, a tool brought about by science which allowed man to transport materials with more ease, made man physically weaker. Rousseau’s suggestion that science has physically weakened man seems, in a way then, correct.
There is, however, an objection that can readily be made to counter this argument. Namely, that physical strength can be measured in numerous ways. So for instance, one’s strength may be, upon impact, more devastating than another’s due to the intensity of one’s brute force. However, one’s devastating strength may be rendered virtually useless due to another’s speed, the latter also being an indication of strength. The fact that physical strength is hardly solely equivalent to brute force introduces interesting questions, and throws a wrench in this part of Rousseau’s discourse. If physical strength, particularly within the context of war, which is, after all, the activity that a soldier is trained to engage in, is to be measured by brute force, it seems we cannot truly say that we could predict who among two soldiers of opposing armies would win. If the aim of theory is that of predicting phenomena, shouldn’t we refute Rousseau’s proposition and measure a soldier’s strength so as to predict, as much as possible, his ability of defeating his opponent? From such simple observations, we find fairly blatant inconsistencies in Rousseau’s notions.
Notwithstanding our initial objections, let us consider the matter further. Even assuming that a soldier’s physical strength, that is, his vigour, should be measured by brute force, Rousseau’s argument that increase in knowledge would decrease such strength still does not hold. Let us imagine, for instance, that two soldiers were up against one another in combat. The first is a soldier who has been unencumbered by the tools of modernity and is thus physically very strong. The second is a soldier who, despite possessing numerous tools that render his daily physical activities less strenuous, has been taught martial arts, and thus can maximize his overall strength, as well as that of his blows, to the fullest. Can Rousseau truly say, with certainty, that our first soldier would be able to defeat our second? The answer, clearly, is a resounding no. There is even room to suggest that our second soldier is much stronger than our first. We can see how in this case, by increasing one’s knowledge of combat through martial arts, one’s strength, and thus apparently one’s virtue, not only does not necessarily diminish, but may actually increase.
Let us recall that we have, thus far, only argued against Rousseau’s conclusions within the parameters he himself took for granted. That is, that military strength is a necessary precondition for a virtuous society. However, what evidence can Rousseau offer to substantiate his claim that this is so? He does, on two occasions, offer a glimpse of why he believes that strength, and military strength, are necessary. At the very beginning he maintains that “The needs of the body are the foundations of society…” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 36) and later on that “What view of hunger, thirst, fatigues, dangers, and death can men have if they are crushed by the smallest need and rebuffed by the least difficulty?” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 55). It appears, then, that he sees having and maintaining strength as the basis upon which to ensure the preservation of the species. This is not a controversial position, as besides being scientifically proven by models such as Maslow’s pyramid of needs, it follows logic as well.
Allegedly, there are two reasons why strength should be useful to achieve survival. In the first place, it would be useful to be able to survive in the event that all those tools we have come to rely on should at once disappear. The second reason is if we, whether as an entire people or personally, should come under attack from another. Rousseau makes it clear he sees the latter as the key reason of why military strength is essential. He cites numerous historical examples to prove this. For instance, when the Goths ravaged Greece, or when Charles VIII found himself as master of Tuscany and the Kingdom of Naples (Rousseau, 1964, p. 54). What he fails to consider, in my opinion, is that in both cases strength may be quite useless, and that in any case, a man’s intellect could replenish that which he lacked in strength. For his immediate survival, man may need to use his wit more than his strength, by knowing, for instance, how to build hunting weapons or how to start a fire. The same applies to when a society comes under attack by another. Strength alone, without the power of weapons that had been built with scientific knowledge, or without the ability of excogitating a plan of action through military strategy, may be utterly useless. We can see then, that Rousseau’s contention that knowledge is likely to decrease strength, the characteristic required for survival and thus the first precondition for virtue, is fallible and that strength, more often than not, must be complemented by knowledge if it is to be effective and build a virtuous society.
There is another problem with the arguments of Rousseau, namely in his methodology. Despite numerous examples of downfalls of societies, he offers no causation between the development of arts and sciences and these occurrences. All he appears to do is list examples of different historic epochs, without regard for context, circumstance, or other complicating factors that differentiate these cases from one another. For instance, the examples of Charles V and his successors and that of Cyrus and the Persian Empire are different in many ways. In the first place, the two are 2,000 years and 5,000 kilometers apart. Secondly, he does not provide a link of similarities between the two victors, namely England and Greece. Finally, he never considers what was the political situation in sixteenth century Europe and that in fifth century B.C. Middle East, when these two Empires capitulated. Therefore, what evidence do we have that his argument is substantiated by his examples? Furthermore, if we were to accept that his examples are appropriate, is the sample large enough to merit a pattern? His line of reasoning seems substantially weakened by his failure to adequately analyze his own examples and the faults these may contain (Rousseau, 1964, p. 51-52).
Furthermore, if virtue is understood as moral excellence and righteousness, one could suggest that the very institution of the military, because it is trained to engage in war, is completely immoral and thus runs counter to building a virtuous society. This is not an untenable argument. However, as this is an argument that clashes with Rousseau’s purely on a level of judgment, we shall leave it alone. We opt, instead, to close the argument on strength as a necessary precondition to virtue, and open another that was of interest to Rousseau, namely that of education. Rousseau makes the shift between these two aspects explicit when he states “If cultivating the sciences is harmful to warlike qualities, it is even more so to moral qualities. From our earliest years a foolish education adorns our mind and corrupts our judgment” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 56). Let us then consider his view on education and how it fails to support the thesis of the discourse.
Rousseau’s view on education can be seen in the crux of his thesis: knowledge is harmful. However, when he states that “…the sciences and arts owe their birth to our vices; we would be less doubtful of their advantages if they owed it to our virtues” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 48), in addition to showing his repudiation of knowledge, and thus of sciences and arts, Rousseau seems to admit, perhaps implicitly, that the desire for knowledge is borne out of human nature. Furthermore, throughout the discourse, Rousseau contends that man will be free only when he will be able to act as he sees fit. What other than this can Rousseau mean when he claims: “How pleasant it would be to live among us if exterior appearance were always a reflection of the heart’s disposition…”? (Rousseau, 1964, p. 37). In summary then, Rousseau’s discourse, and in particular its view on education can be seen to be underpinned by three principles. First, that knowledge is harmful. Second, that man’s desire for knowledge, and therefore his pursuit of it, is natural. Finally, that man can only be free when he is allowed to pursue that which is in his heart, namely his nature.
Rousseau’s statements that knowledge degrades man’s virtue and that human curiosity should be seen as a vice however, are at odds with his other positions, whether explicit or implicit, that human curiosity is a part of man’s nature and that man can strive for virtue only by returning to his natural state. A few questions seem to suffice to throw Rousseau’s notions into chaos. Is man’s desire to learn, for instance, about the nature of things, what Rousseau sees as a development of “vain curiosity” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 37), not merely one among many reflections of what he calls the heart’s disposition? Is man not acting according to his nature, and thus acting freely, even achieving a more virtuous character, when he pursues knowledge? How can what Rousseau sees to be the goal of an ideal education, namely the achievement of freedom from the burden of the sciences and arts, be feasible if it impedes freedom at the outset? If Rousseau is seeking a return to a primitive state where man is supposedly free to follow his heart, how can that be reconciled to the idea that some basic human desires, such as curiosity about the world around him, are vices that should be eliminated? The only way Rousseau’s assumptions can be merged with his conclusions would be for Rousseau to impose on mankind his moral values. Would this not be, simply, an exchange of a slavery he claims is imposed by civilization by one that is imposed by himself?
Rousseau’s view on education can also be discredited in another way. During the discourse, Rousseau appeals to Socrates, one of the greatest philosophers, in his eulogy of ignorance and tells us:
“Peoples, know once and for all that nature wanted to keep you from being harmed by knowledge just as a mother wrests a dangerous weapon from her child’s hands; that all the secrets she hides from you are so many evils from which she protects you…” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 47).
Besides the well known charge that Rousseau misquotes Socrates, omitting the latter’s reference to politicians, and substituting the terms artists for artisans, thereby redirecting the Socratic criticism to the particular targets central to [Rousseau’s] topic” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 8), Socrates’ words are clearly taken out of context. Socrates did not praise ignorance in its own right. Rather, he emphasized that as one’s knowledge increases, one’s awareness of his or her ignorance towards many other things becomes increasingly acute. This, in turn, necessitates that man should never cease his pursuit of knowledge (Rousseau, 1964, p. 44)
One last point seems sufficient to show that Rousseau’s arguments on education are rather weak. In a final passage, Rousseau states that:
“Those whom nature destined to be her disciples needed no teachers. Verulam, Descartes, Newton, these preceptors of the human race had none themselves; indeed, what guides would have led them as far as their vast genius carried them? Ordinary teachers would only have restricted their understanding by confining it within the narrow capacity of their own. (Part II, p. 62-63)
Without disputing Rousseau’s examples of what constitutes a great mind, or, as he calls them, “these preceptors of the human race”, he fails, in my opinion, to consider at least two important aspects. In the first place, Rousseau never considers the possibility that, although there may be some truth to the fact that people are born with great mental capabilities, these would have to be cultivated by others in. Who, other than teachers, be they formal tutors or family members, can engage in such cultivation? If this is true, then one can see what is the purpose of others, less great minds, to be involved in the education and the pursuit of knowledge. Secondly, Rousseau never mentions the role that sciences and arts have had in allowing these men to grow. Advancements in medicine, for instance, may be seen as responsible not only for the preservation of the species, as seen above, but also for preparing the ground upon which these great minds may flourish. This provides a good example of where science, and the learned men Rousseau scorns, may have served a purpose (Rousseau, 1964, p. 41).
According to Rousseau, increase in knowledge, whether through scientific exploration or artistic expression, was responsible for an equivalent loss in man’s strength of character. Through an assessment of Rousseau’s discourse, and in particular through an examination of his understanding of the role of the military and that of formal education, I will show that this conclusion is ultimately flawed, and that increase in knowledge is likely to increase man’s strength of character. Above all, I wish to demonstrate that much of his discourse relies on assumptions that upon closer inspection seem unconvincing at best. Some passages, conveying Rousseau’s longing for a simpler past, display such naïveté one finds it hard to believe they could have been uttered by one of the founders of modern philosophy. Furthermore, Rousseau’s position is ironic, if not completely paradoxical. Indeed, were it not for his knowledge of letters, and thus for an understanding and appreciation of a form of art that is integral to the sort of civility which he allegedly repudiated, Rousseau would never have been able to launch the sort of critique that is found in this discourse. To explain the reasons of my disagreement with Rousseau, we turn to an analysis of the text.
A praise of Sparta’s ability to chase away “arts and the artists, the sciences and scientists” and a simultaneous criticism of Athens’ unwillingness to do the same, can be found within the first part of Rousseau’s discourse (Rousseau, 1964, p. 43). Shortly thereafter, Rousseau juxtaposes two periods of Roman history in an attempt to offer further evidence for this accusation. In this case, Rousseau stirs from the dead Fabricius, a “Roman commander and statesman whose incorruptibility and austerity were frequently regarded as models of the early Roman virtues” (Britannica, 2006), and makes him utter the following:
What disastrous splendour has succeeded Roman simplicity? What is this strange language?What are these effeminate customs? What is the meaning of these statues, these paintings, these buildings? Madmen, what have you done? Have you, the masters of nations, made yourselves slaves of the frivolous men you conquered? Are these rhetoricians who govern you? Is it to enrich architects, painters, sculptors, and comedians that you watered Greece and Asia with your blood? Are the spoils of Carthage the booty of a flute player? Romans, hasten to tear down these amphitheatres, break these marble statues, burn these paintings, chase out these slaves who subjugate you and whose fatal arts corrupt you (Rousseau, 1964, p. 45-46).
In addition to reiterating that Rousseau was not very fond of the “ingenious and learned” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 53-54), and of those who utilized arts and sciences for the progress of their societies, these two passages reveal another aspect of his thought, namely a fascination with bodily strength, or, as he calls it, “vigour” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 54-56). Indeed, as Sparta and Rome were notorious for their military prowess, in part, no doubt, because of the strength of their soldiers, we can deduce that Rousseau saw this as a necessary quality on which to build a virtuous society. He confirms this point quite explicitly when he states that “Even in the soldier, a little more strength and vigour would perhaps be more necessary than…bravery, which does not preserve him from death…” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 56).
Assuming but not conceding that military competence constitutes the basis of a virtuous society, and that a correlation exists between the strength of an army and the physical strength (i.e. vigour) of its soldiers, in order for Rousseau’s position to remain feasible, an increase in the knowledge of a people must lead to a decrease in the strength of its soldiers and therefore to that of its armies as well. To be sure, this is what Rousseau means when he states that “The Romans admitted that military virtue died out among them to the degree that they became connoisseurs of paintings, engravings, jewelled vessels, and began to cultivate the fine arts” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 55) and when he asserts that “Only a little sun or snow, or the lack of a few superfluities is necessary to dissolve and destroy the best of our armies in a few days” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 55).
Not accounting for hereditary characters, it seems reasonable to hold, as Rousseau does, that a man’s physical strength is related to the amount of physical activity he performs on a daily basis. It also seems reasonable to suggest, as Rousseau does, that the amount of physical activity a man performs on a daily basis is likely to be higher without the intervention of those externalities that enable man to spare his energies (i.e the sciences), and which may, in turn, lead man to expend his energies on activities that are not physically demanding (i.e. the arts). If both of these assumptions can be deemed true, then, for example, the invention of the wheel, a tool brought about by science which allowed man to transport materials with more ease, made man physically weaker. Rousseau’s suggestion that science has physically weakened man seems, in a way then, correct.
There is, however, an objection that can readily be made to counter this argument. Namely, that physical strength can be measured in numerous ways. So for instance, one’s strength may be, upon impact, more devastating than another’s due to the intensity of one’s brute force. However, one’s devastating strength may be rendered virtually useless due to another’s speed, the latter also being an indication of strength. The fact that physical strength is hardly solely equivalent to brute force introduces interesting questions, and throws a wrench in this part of Rousseau’s discourse. If physical strength, particularly within the context of war, which is, after all, the activity that a soldier is trained to engage in, is to be measured by brute force, it seems we cannot truly say that we could predict who among two soldiers of opposing armies would win. If the aim of theory is that of predicting phenomena, shouldn’t we refute Rousseau’s proposition and measure a soldier’s strength so as to predict, as much as possible, his ability of defeating his opponent? From such simple observations, we find fairly blatant inconsistencies in Rousseau’s notions.
Notwithstanding our initial objections, let us consider the matter further. Even assuming that a soldier’s physical strength, that is, his vigour, should be measured by brute force, Rousseau’s argument that increase in knowledge would decrease such strength still does not hold. Let us imagine, for instance, that two soldiers were up against one another in combat. The first is a soldier who has been unencumbered by the tools of modernity and is thus physically very strong. The second is a soldier who, despite possessing numerous tools that render his daily physical activities less strenuous, has been taught martial arts, and thus can maximize his overall strength, as well as that of his blows, to the fullest. Can Rousseau truly say, with certainty, that our first soldier would be able to defeat our second? The answer, clearly, is a resounding no. There is even room to suggest that our second soldier is much stronger than our first. We can see how in this case, by increasing one’s knowledge of combat through martial arts, one’s strength, and thus apparently one’s virtue, not only does not necessarily diminish, but may actually increase.
Let us recall that we have, thus far, only argued against Rousseau’s conclusions within the parameters he himself took for granted. That is, that military strength is a necessary precondition for a virtuous society. However, what evidence can Rousseau offer to substantiate his claim that this is so? He does, on two occasions, offer a glimpse of why he believes that strength, and military strength, are necessary. At the very beginning he maintains that “The needs of the body are the foundations of society…” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 36) and later on that “What view of hunger, thirst, fatigues, dangers, and death can men have if they are crushed by the smallest need and rebuffed by the least difficulty?” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 55). It appears, then, that he sees having and maintaining strength as the basis upon which to ensure the preservation of the species. This is not a controversial position, as besides being scientifically proven by models such as Maslow’s pyramid of needs, it follows logic as well.
Allegedly, there are two reasons why strength should be useful to achieve survival. In the first place, it would be useful to be able to survive in the event that all those tools we have come to rely on should at once disappear. The second reason is if we, whether as an entire people or personally, should come under attack from another. Rousseau makes it clear he sees the latter as the key reason of why military strength is essential. He cites numerous historical examples to prove this. For instance, when the Goths ravaged Greece, or when Charles VIII found himself as master of Tuscany and the Kingdom of Naples (Rousseau, 1964, p. 54). What he fails to consider, in my opinion, is that in both cases strength may be quite useless, and that in any case, a man’s intellect could replenish that which he lacked in strength. For his immediate survival, man may need to use his wit more than his strength, by knowing, for instance, how to build hunting weapons or how to start a fire. The same applies to when a society comes under attack by another. Strength alone, without the power of weapons that had been built with scientific knowledge, or without the ability of excogitating a plan of action through military strategy, may be utterly useless. We can see then, that Rousseau’s contention that knowledge is likely to decrease strength, the characteristic required for survival and thus the first precondition for virtue, is fallible and that strength, more often than not, must be complemented by knowledge if it is to be effective and build a virtuous society.
There is another problem with the arguments of Rousseau, namely in his methodology. Despite numerous examples of downfalls of societies, he offers no causation between the development of arts and sciences and these occurrences. All he appears to do is list examples of different historic epochs, without regard for context, circumstance, or other complicating factors that differentiate these cases from one another. For instance, the examples of Charles V and his successors and that of Cyrus and the Persian Empire are different in many ways. In the first place, the two are 2,000 years and 5,000 kilometers apart. Secondly, he does not provide a link of similarities between the two victors, namely England and Greece. Finally, he never considers what was the political situation in sixteenth century Europe and that in fifth century B.C. Middle East, when these two Empires capitulated. Therefore, what evidence do we have that his argument is substantiated by his examples? Furthermore, if we were to accept that his examples are appropriate, is the sample large enough to merit a pattern? His line of reasoning seems substantially weakened by his failure to adequately analyze his own examples and the faults these may contain (Rousseau, 1964, p. 51-52).
Furthermore, if virtue is understood as moral excellence and righteousness, one could suggest that the very institution of the military, because it is trained to engage in war, is completely immoral and thus runs counter to building a virtuous society. This is not an untenable argument. However, as this is an argument that clashes with Rousseau’s purely on a level of judgment, we shall leave it alone. We opt, instead, to close the argument on strength as a necessary precondition to virtue, and open another that was of interest to Rousseau, namely that of education. Rousseau makes the shift between these two aspects explicit when he states “If cultivating the sciences is harmful to warlike qualities, it is even more so to moral qualities. From our earliest years a foolish education adorns our mind and corrupts our judgment” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 56). Let us then consider his view on education and how it fails to support the thesis of the discourse.
Rousseau’s view on education can be seen in the crux of his thesis: knowledge is harmful. However, when he states that “…the sciences and arts owe their birth to our vices; we would be less doubtful of their advantages if they owed it to our virtues” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 48), in addition to showing his repudiation of knowledge, and thus of sciences and arts, Rousseau seems to admit, perhaps implicitly, that the desire for knowledge is borne out of human nature. Furthermore, throughout the discourse, Rousseau contends that man will be free only when he will be able to act as he sees fit. What other than this can Rousseau mean when he claims: “How pleasant it would be to live among us if exterior appearance were always a reflection of the heart’s disposition…”? (Rousseau, 1964, p. 37). In summary then, Rousseau’s discourse, and in particular its view on education can be seen to be underpinned by three principles. First, that knowledge is harmful. Second, that man’s desire for knowledge, and therefore his pursuit of it, is natural. Finally, that man can only be free when he is allowed to pursue that which is in his heart, namely his nature.
Rousseau’s statements that knowledge degrades man’s virtue and that human curiosity should be seen as a vice however, are at odds with his other positions, whether explicit or implicit, that human curiosity is a part of man’s nature and that man can strive for virtue only by returning to his natural state. A few questions seem to suffice to throw Rousseau’s notions into chaos. Is man’s desire to learn, for instance, about the nature of things, what Rousseau sees as a development of “vain curiosity” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 37), not merely one among many reflections of what he calls the heart’s disposition? Is man not acting according to his nature, and thus acting freely, even achieving a more virtuous character, when he pursues knowledge? How can what Rousseau sees to be the goal of an ideal education, namely the achievement of freedom from the burden of the sciences and arts, be feasible if it impedes freedom at the outset? If Rousseau is seeking a return to a primitive state where man is supposedly free to follow his heart, how can that be reconciled to the idea that some basic human desires, such as curiosity about the world around him, are vices that should be eliminated? The only way Rousseau’s assumptions can be merged with his conclusions would be for Rousseau to impose on mankind his moral values. Would this not be, simply, an exchange of a slavery he claims is imposed by civilization by one that is imposed by himself?
Rousseau’s view on education can also be discredited in another way. During the discourse, Rousseau appeals to Socrates, one of the greatest philosophers, in his eulogy of ignorance and tells us:
“Peoples, know once and for all that nature wanted to keep you from being harmed by knowledge just as a mother wrests a dangerous weapon from her child’s hands; that all the secrets she hides from you are so many evils from which she protects you…” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 47).
Besides the well known charge that Rousseau misquotes Socrates, omitting the latter’s reference to politicians, and substituting the terms artists for artisans, thereby redirecting the Socratic criticism to the particular targets central to [Rousseau’s] topic” (Rousseau, 1964, p. 8), Socrates’ words are clearly taken out of context. Socrates did not praise ignorance in its own right. Rather, he emphasized that as one’s knowledge increases, one’s awareness of his or her ignorance towards many other things becomes increasingly acute. This, in turn, necessitates that man should never cease his pursuit of knowledge (Rousseau, 1964, p. 44)
One last point seems sufficient to show that Rousseau’s arguments on education are rather weak. In a final passage, Rousseau states that:
“Those whom nature destined to be her disciples needed no teachers. Verulam, Descartes, Newton, these preceptors of the human race had none themselves; indeed, what guides would have led them as far as their vast genius carried them? Ordinary teachers would only have restricted their understanding by confining it within the narrow capacity of their own. (Part II, p. 62-63)
Without disputing Rousseau’s examples of what constitutes a great mind, or, as he calls them, “these preceptors of the human race”, he fails, in my opinion, to consider at least two important aspects. In the first place, Rousseau never considers the possibility that, although there may be some truth to the fact that people are born with great mental capabilities, these would have to be cultivated by others in. Who, other than teachers, be they formal tutors or family members, can engage in such cultivation? If this is true, then one can see what is the purpose of others, less great minds, to be involved in the education and the pursuit of knowledge. Secondly, Rousseau never mentions the role that sciences and arts have had in allowing these men to grow. Advancements in medicine, for instance, may be seen as responsible not only for the preservation of the species, as seen above, but also for preparing the ground upon which these great minds may flourish. This provides a good example of where science, and the learned men Rousseau scorns, may have served a purpose (Rousseau, 1964, p. 41).
In the Discourse on the Sciences and Arts, Rousseau fails to prove that the sciences and the arts are responsible for man’s loss of virtue. In this essay, I have tried to demonstrate this by utilizing two of Rousseau’s main examples: that of the military and that of education. Using Rousseau’s own assumptions and conclusions, I have tried to demonstrate, furthermore, that the pursuit of knowledge is likely to increase a man’s virtue, as understood by Rousseau. Ultimately, it seems to me, it is not knowledge that enslaves men, but rather the utilization that men make of that which they discover. Depending on how this is done, sciences and arts can be tools for man’s emancipation and not enslavement. From a psychological standpoint, the position of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s Faust is an interesting one. Faust is punished not because of his desire for knowledge, but for his uncritical desire for knowledge. This means that it is not man’s curiosity that should be thwarted, which is what Rousseau maintains, but how this is done and to what end.
Bibliography
Britannica. (2006). Fabricius. Retrieved March 29, 2006, from Britannica Web site: http://www.britannica.com/eb/article-9033530
Rousseau, J-J. (1964). Discourse on the Sciences and Arts. In R. Masters (Ed.) The First and Second Discourses. (pp. 31-64). New York: St. Martin’s Press.
Russell, B. (2004). History of Western Philosophy. London and New York: Routledge.
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