Those who invent new systems

We have just examined the state of mind of those scholars who defer entirely to the authority of certain authors. There are others, however, who take the opposite approach. These people never respect established writers, no matter how highly regarded they may be among the learned. If they once admired them, they have long since changed their minds; instead, they set themselves up as authorities. They want to be known as the inventors of some new theory, so as to gain a reputation in the world; and they believe that by saying something that has never been said before, they will surely find admirers.

Such people usually have a very active imagination; the fibers of their brains are structured in such a way that they retain impressions for a long time. Consequently, once they have conceived a system that seems plausible, it becomes almost impossible to convince them of its flaws. They eagerly hold onto every detail that can in any way confirm their theory, while barely noticing any objections raised against it — or else they dismiss those objections with trivial distinctions. They take secret pleasure in contemplating their own work and the esteem they hope it will bring. They focus only on the appearance of truth that their plausible opinions present; they keep this image fixed before their eyes, but never turn to look at the other sides of their ideas, which would reveal their falsehood.

To develop a truly sound system requires great qualities: it is not enough to be quick‑witted or perceptive; one also needs a certain breadth and scope of mind, capable of considering a vast number of things all at once. People of limited intellect, no matter how sharp or subtle they may be, have too narrow a perspective to see everything necessary for establishing a coherent theory. They stop at small difficulties that discourage them, or at fleeting glimpses of insight that dazzle and confuse them; they lack the wide view needed to grasp the whole of a large subject at a single glance.

But no matter how broad or penetrating a person’s mind may be, it is useless if it is not free from passion and prejudice. Prejudice occupies part of the mind and poisons the rest. Passions jumble ideas in countless ways, making us see in things almost exactly what we want to find. Even the love of truth itself can sometimes mislead us when it becomes too intense; yet the desire to appear learned is what most effectively prevents us from acquiring real knowledge.

Genuine thinkers capable of creating valid new systems are therefore extremely rare. However, it is not at all uncommon to find people who construct their own theories according to their fancy. Among those who study widely, very few reason from clear, shared principles; there is always something irregular in their ideas, which is a sure sign that they hold some private, unstated system of their own. It is true that not all their writings reveal this; when writing for the public, they pay closer attention to what they say, and this extra care is often enough to correct their errors. Yet from time to time, books appear that confirm exactly what we have said — for there are even those who proudly announce right at the beginning that they have invented an entirely new system.

The number of such self‑proclaimed innovators grows even larger from the ranks of those who were once obsessed with some particular author. Often, after finding nothing solid or true in the works they have read, they first become deeply disillusioned and contemptuous of all books, then seize upon some plausible‑sounding idea of their own, embrace it wholeheartedly, and defend it with the same stubbornness we have already described. But when their initial enthusiasm fades, or when they decide to present their idea publicly and are forced to examine it more carefully and critically, they discover its flaws and abandon it — only to adopt a new attitude: they resolve never to believe any other theory, and to condemn absolutely anyone who claims to have discovered some truth.

The final error of scholars

Thus, the final and most dangerous error into which many scholars fall is the belief that nothing can be known with certainty. They have read countless books, ancient and modern, without finding any lasting truth; they have entertained many attractive ideas, only to find them false when examined more closely. From this experience, they conclude that all people are just like them — and that if those who claim to have discovered truths were to reflect more deeply, they too would realize their mistakes. This judgment is enough for them, without looking further into any specific argument; for if they admitted that others might have found something true, it would imply that those others are more capable than they are — and this they find impossible to accept.

They therefore regard anyone who asserts something as certain as being merely stubborn. They refuse to speak of knowledge as consisting of evident truths that no reasonable person could doubt, and instead treat all doctrines as nothing more than opinions that are worth knowing only in a general sense.

Yet such people ought to consider that, although they have read many books, they have not read every book ever written — nor have they read even those they have read with the full attention required to understand them properly. And while they have had many promising ideas that later proved false, they have not had every possible idea that could ever be conceived. It is entirely possible, therefore, that others may have reasoned more correctly than they have. And there is no need to assume that these others are necessarily more intelligent — if that offends them — for it may simply be that they were more fortunate. No one is wronged when we say that we clearly understand what they do not; for we also acknowledge that many generations before us failed to grasp the same truths, not for lack of ability, but because they did not happen to approach the subject in the right way from the start.

Let them not be offended, then, if we see things clearly and speak accordingly. If their minds are still capable of focused attention after all their past confusion, let them listen carefully to what is said and judge for themselves — that is their right. But if they refuse to examine anything, they should remain silent. Let them also reflect on the response they so often give to almost every question: “We do not know that; no one knows how that works.” This is actually a very thoughtless reply, because to make it, they must implicitly believe that they already know everything that is known — or everything that can be known. If they did not assume this, their answer would be even more unreasonable. And why do they find it so difficult simply to say, “I do not know” — especially since they already admit in other situations that they themselves know nothing? Why must they conclude that all humanity is ignorant simply because they feel inwardly convinced of their own ignorance?

There are therefore three types of people who devote themselves to study:

1. Those who become stubbornly attached to some particular author, or to some useless or false field of learning.
2. Those who become obsessed with their own imaginings and theories.
3. And finally, those who usually come from the first two groups — people who imagine they already understand everything that can be known, and who, because they feel certain of nothing, generalize to the conclusion that nothing can ever be known with certainty, and treat every claim as nothing more than a matter of opinion.

It is easy to see that all the faults of these three types stem from the nature of the imagination, which we have explained in previous chapters. All their errors arise from prejudices that cloud their minds and prevent them from seeing anything beyond their fixed obsessions. One might say that their prejudices act like the advisers of kings: just as such officials try to ensure that only those who serve their interests or pose no threat to their influence are allowed to speak to their ruler, so too the prejudices of these scholars prevent their minds from seeing ideas in their pure, unaltered form. Instead, they distort and disguise those ideas, clothe them in their own biases, and present them only in a masked shape — making it extremely difficult for the mind to recognize its own mistakes and correct itself.