hilosophy is, what it has in the past been believed to be, an earnest
search for truth. A philosophy that did not even profess to be this
would not be listened to at all. It would be regarded as too trivial
to merit serious attention. If we take the word "science" in the broad
sense to indicate a knowledge of the truth more exact and satisfactory
than that which obtains in common life, we may say that every
philosophy worthy of the name is, at least, an attempt at scientific
knowledge. Of course, this sense of the word "science" should not be
confused with that in which it has been used elsewhere in this volume.

87. HOW TO READ THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY.--He who takes up the history
of philosophy for the first time is apt to be impressed with the fact
that he is reading something that might not inaptly be called the
history of human error.

It begins with crude and, to the superficial spectator, seemingly
childish attempts in the field of physical science. There are clever
guesses at the nature of the physical world, but the boldest of
speculations are entered upon with no apparent recognition of the
difficulty of the task undertaken, and with no realization of the need
for caution. Somewhat later a different class of problems makes its
appearance--the problems which have to do with the mind and with the
nature of knowledge, reflective problems which scarcely seem to have
come fairly within the horizon of the earliest thinkers.

These problems even the beginner may be willing to recognize as
philosophical; but he may conscientiously harbor a doubt as to the
desirability of spending time upon the solutions which are offered.
System rises after system, and confronts him with what appear to be new
questions and new answers. It seems as though each philosopher were
constructing a world for himself independently, and commanding him to
accept it, without first convincing him of his right to assume this
tone of authority and to set up for an oracle. In all this conflict of
opinions where shall we seek for truth? Why should we accept one man
as a teacher rather than another? Is not the lesson to be gathered
from the whole procession of systems best summed up in the dictum of
Protagoras: "Man is the measure of all things"--each has his own truth,
and this need not be truth to another?

This, I say, is a first impression and a natural one. I hasten to add:
this should not be the last impression of those who read wi