The Wonder of the poet;1 the Wonder of the

Philosopher

by Marie 1. George

It is a commonplace to say that wonder is the beginning of philosophy.

We find this stated by Plato in the Theaetetus, as well as by Aristotle in
a well known passage of the Metaphysics. Wonder is also plainly
involved in poetry, and indeed many thinkers have tried to relate the
two in terms of their common grounding in wonder. Aristotle himself
affirms that even the lover of myths is in a sense a lover of Wisdom,"
U •••

and Josef Pieper remarks that:

To perceive all that is unusual and exceptional, all that is

wonderful, in the midst of the ordinary things of everyday
life, is the beginning of philosophy .... The philosopher and
the poet preserve a deep and strong sense of wonder. . . .
Indeed it might almost be said that to 'be a stranger in the
world' is their occupational disease .... Wonder, however, does
not make a man 'able' -it means, after all, to be profoundly
moved and 'shaken.' And those who undertake to live under
the sign and constellation 'wonder' must certainly be pre-
pared to find themselves lost, at times, in the ordinary worka-
day world. 2

Further reflection on this feeling (or 'passion') of wonder reveals that

it itself is a puzzling or wonderful thing. To raise just two of many
possible questions one might ask: (1) Is the wonder of the poet the same
as the wonder of the philosopher, or are they only similar? (2) If it turns
out that they are only similar, a further question arises as to how the
two are related: is poetical wonder a prelude to philosophical wonder,
an impediment to it, or only incidentally related to it? These two
questions will be the subjects of our present inquiry.
Let us start by calling to mind certain fundamental insights concern-
ing wonder. As Aristotle points out:

191
192 RELIGIONS AND THE VIRTUE OF RELIGION

It is owing to wonder that men both now begin and at first

began to philosophize; they wondered originally at the obvi-
ous difficulties, then advanced little by little and stated
difficulties about the greater matters, e.g., about the phenom-
ena of the moon and those of the sun and of the stars, an.d
about the genesis of the universe. And a man who is puzzled
and wonders thinks himself ignorant (whence even the lover
of myth is in a sense a lover of Wisdom, for the myth is
composed ofwonders).3

It is principally this last sentence which will occupy us: "A lover of
myths is in a sense a lover of Wisdom, for the myth is composed of
wonders." Certain translations4 say that it is the lover of wisdom who
is a lover of myths, but the basic idea of either reading is that it is not
a coincidence that the two loves are found together in the same person.
Whether this is in fact the case, and if so, why so are the questions we
intend to examine here.
A good way of approaching the matter is through St. Albert the
Great's intriguing comments on the passage from Aristotle cited above:

The one who doubts and wonders seems to be ignorant; for

wonder is a movement of the ignorant person who is proceed-
ing to investigate in order that he might know the cause of
that about which he wonders. A sign of which is the fact that
the 'lover of myths himself' in this way is a philosopher,
because his storyjtale (fabula) is constructed by him from
wonders. I call a lover of myths a poet loving to make up
stories (fingit fabulas) . ... So, as Aristotle shows, in that part
of logic which is poetry the poet makes up stories so that one
is stimulated to wondering, and that wonder further stimu-
lates one to inquiring, and this is what philosophy consists
of. As is the case when Plato recounts the story of Phaethon
and Pyrrh and Deucalion in which story he intends nothing
other than stimulating one to wondering about the causes of
the two jets of water and fire which come from the wandering
stars moving out of orbit, so that through wonder the cause
might be sought and the truth known; and therefore poetry
gives the mode of philosophizing as even do the other logical
sciences. But the other parts oflogic give the mode of proving
a proposition through either perfect or imperfect argumenta-
tion, which is not the case of poetry which rather gives the
mode of wondering through which the inquirer is stimulated. 6

At first sight this passage leaves one with the general impression that
St. Albert is making poetry into a kind of weaker and introductory form
of philosophy: its purpose would then be to start us wondering about
 PoETRY, PHILOSOPHY, WONDER 193
questions the answers to which will be found by continuing on with
studies more properly philosophical.
Now there appears to be some basis for such a point of view, if one
looks to the history of knowledge. For the fact is that human beings,
when confronted by the wonders of the heavens and the mysteries of
nature, did first fabricate myths in an endeavor to give an explanation
of these phenomena, thus providing themselves with a coherent view of
the world. Only quite a while later did certain individuals renounce
such fictive accounts, attempting instead to arrive at explanations
which admitted of some sort of verification. One of the first of these true
philosophers, of course, was Thales. Because poetry or myth preceded
philosophy, there is an tendency to seek it as a kind of introduction to
philosophy.6
Before we proceed to examine this matter more closely, a few clarifi-
cations regarding myths are in order. Aristotle says that "the lover of
myths is a lover of wisdom." The word he uses, mythos, has a number
of related meanings. It has the general meaning of story or tale, and it
also has a more specific meaning, namely, a story or tale which is fictive
rather than historical. In our day the word is generally used with yet a
more specific meaning, referring to a fictive account having supernatu-
ral dimensions. Determining exactly in which sense Aristotle is using
the word is of little importance for our present discussion. What is
important is not to lose sight of our purpose due to the ambiguity of the
word. The question we are interested in is whether the wonder gener-
ated by fictional stories is of the same kind as the wonder which spurs
the philosopher. However, since Albert's remarks seem to bear on myth
in its narrowest sense, we will start by examining this kind of fictional
story first, and then will go on to examine the other kinds as well.
It is somewhat difficult for us to envisage how love of myths relates
to philosophical wonder, because myths do not have the same signifi-
cance in our lives which they had in the lives ofthe peoples with whom
they originated. We recognize, more of less from the outside, the power
they had in forming in a people an outlook on life which was religious
and moral. In a similar way, we recognize a difference between genuine
myths and the degraded forms which are no more than anthropomorphic
projections of the pettiest human behavior onto divinities. Although our
understanding of myth is somewhat limited, we can nevertheless see
that a strong case against viewing myths as a spur to philosophical
wonder lies in the very fact of their universality and enduringness;
history shows us no general movement of peoples imbued in myths
towards philosophy, Indeed, those with the best myths seem most
inclined to keep them, whereas it was the Greeks, with their rather
decadent and less imaginative myths, who discovered philosophy.
Thales and his few rational-minded contemporaries stand out in the
history of knowledge as marking a turning point in mentality: no longer
was a non-verifiable explanation to be accepted as true on the basis of
its imaginative appeal; henceforth explanations would have to pass the
194 RELIGIONS AND THE VIRTUE OF RELIGION
test of experience. To be willing to accept a myth as an explanation is
to lack a philosophical spirit of inquiry.
We might next ask whether the modern day lover of myth, i.e.,
someone who enjoys reading mythology as literature, is thereby stimu-
lated to pursuing philosophical inquiry. Consider for a moment the
myth recounted by Plato which St. Albert refers to, namely that of
Deucalion. Deucalion was the youthful son of Helios who one day takes
his father's fiery chariot without permission, and unable to control it,
scorches the earth. According to Plato this myth symbolizes a periodic
cosmic occurrence which is only remembered by the most ancient
civilizations. 7 The question is, does such a myth inspire any desire to
know the real causes of the supposed conflagrations on earth'? The
answer is plainly no, not necessarily. In general, one's interest in a myth
is to enjoy an imaginative story which is pleasing and satisfying in itself.
The criticisms that one might level against a myth would be: that it was
dull; or that it lacked internal coherence or verisimilitude; or that it
contradicted other stories in the same tradition. It is highly unlikely
that it would be criticized for not generating an urge to pursue philo-
sophical or scientific speculation on the subject treated.
There are other kinds of stories which resemble myths insofar as
they bear on questions concerning natural phenomena. In them also is
found the same lack of any spur to continue on to do philosophy. Stories
such as "How the Leopard got its Spots" or the popular tale explaining
thunder, are satisfying in themselves, and generate no serious interest
in learning the causes of these phenomena. Indeed, if a philosophical
or scientific explanation were offered in the place of the fictional one,
the listener would certainly show surprise, and most likely disappoint-
ment as well.
On the other hand, literary forms similar to myths as to the use of
symbolism, namely, fables and parables, provoke a deeper wonder. In
the first instance, the prick of wonder simply lies in the desire to discover
what the work is meant to represent; e.g., what is meant by 'sour grapes'
or by 'killing the goose that laid the golden egg.' The element of wonder
in many such stories tends to vanish once the moral is seized. This is
the case of fables which make a relatively simple point of a non-contro-
versial nature. For instance, "The Tortoise and the Hare" makes the
simple point that perseverance pays. However, some fables an.d par-
ables are apt to provoke further wondering about reality. For instance,
Plato presents teachings in the form of myths so as to oblige his readers
to dig for truths which they might otherwise overlook as unimportant.
Such myths provide a springboard to philosophical reflection and dis-
cussion; interest in further inquiry does not cease once the repre-
sentation's meaning has been figured out.
We have seen, then, that myth in the narrow sense, in spite of
preceding philosophy in its development, is not an introduction to
wondering about philosophical questions, whereas there are other
myth-like forms of literature which sometimes do provoke continued
 PoETRY, PHILOSOPHY, WONDER 195
reflection. Our task now is to proceed to examine whether or not the
other various forms of fictional tale provoke wonder of a basically
philosophical sort.
Lighter works of literature such as fantasy, serial science fiction,
fairy tales, humor, detective stories, and westerns generally do not
contain matter for philosophical reflection. However, the more serious
forms of literature, such as tragedy, generally do. It is quite plain that
central to works like "Antigone," "Oedipus Rex" or in our day "A Man for
All Seasons," "Ghandi,"or "Mission" is a kind of serious questioning: is
natural law or civil law to be respected when the two conflict? is
non-violence the best response to violence? and so on. Here the poet
does create wonder about some issue, and furthermore gives an answer
which is meant to be taken seriously. 8 Some forms of literature, then,
do create wonder about some of the same issues which philosophy deals
with.
Wonder pertaining to genuine questions about reality, and especially
about human existence, is not the only kind of wonder present in
literature. We must proceed to bring out what the other kinds of wonder
found therein are, if our analysis is to be complete.
The source of wonder which most naturally comes to mind upon
reading Aristotle's statement that the myth is "composed of wonders" is
things which are marvelous and fantastical: winged horses, Sirens,
frogs turning into princes, hobbits, and so forth.
Yet a third kind of wonder arises from a work's plot. Plot is not as
readily named as a source of wonder as are fantastical things. However,
that it is such is by no means obscure. The construction of a plot involves
events which lead to some conflict or crisis (humorous or serious), which
crisis is finally resolved in one way or another. As the plot builds up to
its climax our wonder is aroused as to how things are going to turn out:
couple falls in love; couple's parents are violently opposed to their union
.... Lear divides his kingdom amongst his daughters before his death;
he disinherits his hitherto favorite daughter Cordelia because she will
not flatter him as her sisters had. Such sequences of events arouse our
wonder: how are they going to get out of that one? is Lear going to get
his come-uppance? what will happen to poor Cordelia? Plot, then, is
plainly a third source of wonder in literature.
A fourth source is metaphor. Metaphor is a source of wonder inas-
much as things which seem to be totally unrelated are revealed as
having some hitherto unnoticed point of similarity. The wonder at-
tached to metaphor and its relation to philosophical wonder are ex-
tremely interesting questions. However, they constitute too vast an
area of investigation to be taken up here. Instead, we will go on to
compare the first three kinds of wonder we have named with the wonder
which motivates the philosopher.
Characteristic of the kind of wonder attached to the fantastical is
that it does not lead people to seek solutions, but simply to bask in the
wonder itself. People (and this is especially noticeable in children) want
196 RELIGIONS ANn THE VIRTUE OF RELIGION

to read the same story over and over again, not because they forget what
happens, but because they delight in the impossible things which occur
(for example, the elephant who got its trunk by the alligator pulling its
nose). While philosophical wonder too is fIrst an awareness that one is
ignorant, that something eludes one's comprehension, it does not stop
there, but goads people to seek solutions, and thus to seek a state where
wonder no longer remains. As Aristotle puts it in the Metaphysics: 9 "We
must end in a state contrary and ... better [to wonder], as is the case
when men learn the cause; for there is nothing which would surprise
the geometer so much as if the diagonal turned out to be commensura-
ble."
This same difference: leaving one in the state of wonder as opposed
setting one on a path leading to the elimination of wonder, distinguishes
not only the fantastical wonder of poetry from philosophical wonder, but
would even seem to distinguish the wonder which arises on account of
serious questions which the poet raises from philosophical wonder. For
the poet who raises serious questions leaves one still wondering about
the answer at the end of the work, because he does not establish his case
by means of arguments and factual evidence. Rather he simply states
answers via the solution he offers to the conflict or problematical
situation which he has invented, making these answers seem like the
correct ones or the wrong ones by the way he presents them. Someone
might object that the poet does sometimes put arguments in the mouths
of his characters. However, it is generally recognized that works where
the poet has proceeded this way, rather than by representation, are
inferior works, and indeed come across as watered-down philosophy.lO
This is not to deny that serious works of literature often do provoke
philosophical discussions afterwards. However, these discussions do
not generally bear on abstract arguments (which the better poets avoid
introducing), but rather aim at seeking a justifIcation for (or a refutation
of) the Roint of view presented by the poet without any abstract justifi-
cation. 1 Thus, although the author of a serious work might not intend
to leave the audience in the state of wonder, this is in fact what he does,
inasmuch as the wonder generated can only be extinguished by resolv-
ing the matter into its proper causes; a representation is inadequate for
setting doubts about a question to rest.
'fuming now to the wonder aroused by a good plot, one can see that
it very much resembles the wonder of a philosopher in the face of a
dialectical problem. In both cases a problem situation is created, and
the way out of it is not clear. Thus the paradoxes of Plato's Socrates and
good mystery stories provoke a similar kind of perplexity.12 And while
the differences between the reader of the most recent article on the
fact-value distinction and the viewer of the latest soap opera episode
may be what most strike us, are they not at least comparable as to the
eagerness each has for knowing how things will finally work out?
This similitude between fIctional plots and dialectical problems is
found in the very language we use in reference to both. We speak both
 PoETRY, PHIWSOPHY, WONDER 197
of the solution or resolution of plots and of philosophical problems. Also,
'denouement,' a term we apply to drama, is basically the same word as
'untying' which is said of the famous dialectical 'knot' spoken of in
Aristotle's Metaphysics. Then there is also the word 'argument' which
refers to both a synopsis of a work of literature and to a philosophical
discussion. Moreover, unlike the wonder which fantasy generates, the
wonder generated by plot shares in common with the philosophical the
fact that the one wondering does not want to stay in the state of wonder,
but wants to know the outcome-and this knowledge puts an end to the
wondering. Philosophy and the plots in literature, then, both involve a
problem and an argument of sorts for some conclusion.
The wonder aroused by a fictional dilemma, and that aroused by a
philosophical dilemma, are not, however, identical, inasmuch as true
philosophical wonder involves not only a desire to know, but also a fear
of error. The philosopher has a profound fear of falling into error about
those things he so deeply desires to understand. The element of such
fear is absent in the case of a fictional dilemma, for we know that the
outcome will eventually be revealed, and that a mistaken guess about
it will cause no harm to ourselves. The poets themselves do not feel the
constraint of this fear. Certainly the writer of fantasy does not. Nor
does the poet who raises serious questions seem to. He does not
generally agonize for years because he is uncertain as to how his work
should end as far as the overall point of view he wants to convey. The
poet generally thinks that he knows the answers. The problem for him,
rather, is how to make up characters and events to convey those
answers. I3 In the case of philosophical wonder, on the other hand, the
element of fear is so strong that it prevents the philosopher from readily
accepting any solution which may be mingled with falsehood, even when
the cost of getting to the truth may be sustained effort over many years.
Now that we have shown that three of the forms of wonder present
in literature are different from philosophical wonder, we will go on to
address the question of whether any of these forms of poetical wonder
dispose us or indispose us to philosophical wonder.
We have already pointed out that the wonder attached to serious
problems raised in literature does often lead to philosophical investiga-
tions of the same problems. However, as we saw earlier, while the
wonder present in literature may arise from the same questions as those
of philosophy, the wonder involved in both cases is not the same, as is
clear from the fact that each is satisfied by different kinds of answers.
The wonder the poet arouses, is satisfied by a likely representation;
whereas the wonder which leads to philosophy is satisfied by the
discovery of proper causes. It is because literature treats questions
which human beings almost inevitably wonder about, intimately con-
nected as they are with their personal existence, and, moreover, because
it does so in a moving manner, that the questions it raises do not readily
leave the listener's mind; the result ofthis is apt to be interest in seeking
more satisfactory responses to these questions than the poet can pro-
198 RELIGIONS AND THE VIRTUE OF RELIGION

vide. However, while literature might lead to the philosophy in this way,
it is also possible that it will be taken as a substitute for it. For literature
does lend itself to being pursued as a kind of 'poor man's philosophy' for
the very reason that it treats fundamental questions concerning human
existence in a way which is more concrete and less demanding of logical
rigor, and therefore more accessible. Thus literary men of the caliber of
C. S. Lewis may pursue philosophical studies, only to come back to
literature as being a realm of more human dimension,14 whereas Plato,
who started out as a poet, ended up burning his poetry after turning to
philosophy, for he recognized that the mode of poetry and the mode of
philosophy were different, and somewhat opposed.
Poetical wonder of this kind, then, is not necessarily a stepping stone
to philosophical wonder, anymore than it is necessarily an impediment
to it. Newman gives us an indication of the final view to be adopted on
this matter when he points out that people who have been given an
exclusively literary education become incapacitated for doing philoso-
phy.I5 For they become habituated exclusively to the literary manner
of answering questions via a representation with all the necessary
appeal to the emotions this involves, and are thus rendered inept for
appreciating any other kind of discourse. 16 However, on the conditions
that literary studies be duly balanced with others so as to prevent such
habituation, and that the student be brought to see that the solid
substantiation of answers is not to be found in literature itself, literature
can be quite successfully used for the purpose of stimulating the first
reflections of a young person on certain questions central to human
existence. 17
Let us turn now to considering how the wonder attached to the
marvelous in poetry relates to philosophical wonder. We saw earlier
how wonder about fictional marvels and philosophical wonder differ
greatly in that characteristic of the former is the desire to remain in the
state of wonder, whereas characteristic of the latter is the desire to go
beyond wonder. These two kinds of wonder nonetheless share a common
aspect, namely gratuitousness. Wonder about fictional marvels is not
directed to any utilitarian end, but is pursued simply for enjoyment.
Philosophical wonder entails a desire for knowledge for its own sake.
Of the two, philosophical wonder is more gratuitous insomuch as poeti-
cal wonder is not absolutely pursued for its own sake, but is ordered to
the further goal of relaxation. Neither of the two, however, are for the
sake of immediately practical goals such as putting bread on the table
or making a better microchip.
The fantastical elements of literature and the wonder they arouse
are conducive to philosophical wonder, inasmuch as they introduce
people who are not used to looking at the world in any other than a
utilitarian light to new worlds where everyday practical concerns do not
enter in. Since fantasy is naturally pleasing to the young, it is apt to
impress upon them the idea that there are things of no practical value
 FoETRY,PHlLOSOPHY,VVONDER 199
which have worth. 1s From this point of view, the lover of the fantastical
is disposed to becoming a lover of wisdom.
Yet notwithstanding its possible pedagogical value, the desire to
experience wonder of this sort must be checked when actively pursuing
philosophy, for the simple reason that the philosopher who is preoccu-
pied by the strangeness itself of phenomena simply will not philoso-
phize. A person who is going to wonder in a philosophical manner has
to be able to transfer the focus of his attention from wonders which are
sensorial to wonders which are intellectual. A philosopher rightly stares
in wonder at a two-headed snake, but is making a mistake in devoting
much time to seeking out other like oddities. Philosophy is a search for
knowledge of causes, going beyond sense knowledge of particulars. In
this line the biologist Ernst Mayr remarks:

... I would be the last who would want to minimize the joy
and the excitement of the discovery of previously unknown
facts or phenomena.... To give just an example ... 'when one
day on one of the islands in the Solomons the natives brought
a new species and genus of Rails into our camp, I was so elated
and excited that I was unable for the rest of the day to skin
a bird.' The discovery of scientific novelties can be very
exciting. and yet to consider the discovery of an isolated new
fact as the whole story of the joys of research would be most
misleading .... I can assure you that the discovery of a new
law or a new concept gives an infinitely greater joy than the
discovery of an isolated new fact. 19

Although Mayr is speaking as a biologist, it is not too hard to see that

the point he is making applies to philosophy as well. This is one of the
points Josef Pieper was making in the passage cited earlier. Both the
philosopher and the poet wonder at sensible wonders such as the
heavens replete with brilliant and beautiful stars, comets, planets, but
it is only the philosopher who finds sources of wonder in everyday things.
Although his wonder is aroused by the sensational, the outlandish and
the fantastical, nonetheless, he does not require the spectacular for his
interest to be pricked. It is the person who has exclusively cultivated a
taste for the fantastical and bizarre who is jaded to problems hidden in
the ordinary things right in front of him.
The wonder attached to plot, on the other hand, is conducive to
philosophical wonder because it leads one beyond the level of sense,
beyond the level of the 'sensational.' The poet fabricates a dilemma and
brings it to its 'logical' conclusion, and this provides a model for philo-
sophical wondering, which also demands both the development of a
problem and a solution in terms of the elements contained in the
development. This is why the person whose ability to wonder about
these more accessible kinds of 'problems' has been impaired, is rarely
capable of taking interest in problems of a philosophical nature. Those
200 RELIGIONS AND THE VIRTUE OF RELIGION
liable to suffer such impairment are those who are raised on a steady
diet of television programs which require no mental effort to follow,
either because they are based on a logic which seems to affirm that a
sequence of events is sufficiently justified by the fact that one event
follows another in time, or because they rely entirely on purely sensory
effects. Thus, literature is rightly said to teach the "mode of wondering
for philosophy."2O Of course this must be understood with the qualifica-
tion that it provides the generic mode for philosophical wonder, not the
specific mode, for the element of fear of error necessary to philosophical
wonder is lacking in it.
We conclude then that the several forms of poetical wonder are not
the same as philosophical wonder. And we now see in what way it is not
a coincidence that the poetical and philosophical are found in the same
person. In the case of the poetical wonder attached to plot, presence of
philosophical wonder is not coincidental for the two are generically the
same. As to the wonder attached to literature's fantastic elements, we
must say that it is pretty much incidental that philosophical wonder be
found in the same person, for while the two share in common the element
of gratuitousness, there are differences between them which render
them somewhat incompatible. Finally, in the case of the poetical wonder
found in the questioning present in the more serious forms of literature,
it is not entirely a coincidence that philosophical wonder should also be
present in the same person, for although the poet answers these ques-
tions in a non-philosophical mode, they are presented in such a way as
to impress their importance upon our appetite, thus stimulating more
profound questioning. 21

St. John's University

Jamaica, New York

• • •
Notes

1. We are using the word 'poet' as a short-hand for a writer of any form of
literature. Instead of using the word 'poetry' in a corresponding manner, we will
use the word in common usage in our day, namely 'literature.' For our purposes
'literature' includes works such as movies and fictional television programs.
2. Josef Pieper, Leisure the Basis ofCuiture (New York: The New American
Library, 1963), 100.
3. Aristotle, Metaphysics, trans. W. D. Ross in The Basic Works of Aristotle,
ed. Richard McKeon (New York: Random House, 1968) I, 2 (982b12). Hereafter
cited as Meta.
4. Based on variants of the Greek text: i.e., on whether the article is in front
of "philomythos" or in front of "philosophos."
5. St. Albert the Great, Metaphysica, XVI, 1, 236. Translation my own.
Hereafter cited as Albert, Meta.
 PoETRY, PHILOSOPHY, WONDER 201
6. There may be some kind of necessity that human civilization develop
myths before philosophy, but this is not to say that familiarity with myths
necessarily provides an impetus towards the study of philosophy.
7. Plato, TImaeus, trans. Benjamin Jowett in The Collected Dialogues of
Plato (New York: Pantheon Books, 1966), 22c, d.
8. One might wonder whether the more serious forms of literature are more
properly literature. However, we must not let this interesting question side-
track us from our main purpose.
9. Aristotle, Metaphysics, 983a15. Cf. Albert, Meta., p. 27.
10. When a serious work answers the beg questions through characters and
events which are moving we are satisfied, but when it answers them in a cerebral
way we are not; whence our criticism of 'message' movies.
11. For example, in "Mission" one is left with the impression that the Jesuits
should not have left the mission, and this impression comes from the horrible
consequences which are dramatically depicted. Afterwards one might still
question whether they did in fact do the wrong thing, and engage in a discussion
so as to determine whether there is any rational justification which can be given
for this conclusion or for the contrary conclusion.
12. For example, the classic problem of defining: one cannot learn what a
thing is, say a triangle, for either one already knows what it is, in which case
there is no need to learn it, or one does not yet know what it is, in which case
even if one hit upon the definition or 'whatness' of triangle, one could not know
that it belongs to triangle ....
13. This is not to say that an author always knows in advance exactly what
he wants to convey as he writes the story. Whether he knows it in advance or
not, the point is that it will generally be something non-controversial to him.
14. See, for example, Lewis' letter to his father, 14 August 1925 in Letters
(London: Collins, Fount Paperbacks, 1988),212-13.
15. Cf., John Henry Newman, Nature of University (London and Toronto:
E. P Dutton & Co., 1928), 155-56.
16. Cf., Aristotle, Metaphysics, II, 3 (995a): The way one listens depends on
one's customs; because we think suitable the language to which we are accus-
tomed, and anything beyond this seems not to be on the same level, but
somewhat strange and unintelligible on account of its unfamiliarity.... Thus
some people will not accept the statements of a speaker unless he speaks
mathematically; others will not unless he makes use of illustrations; others
expect him to have a poet adduced as witness" (my own translation).
17. In practice one often finds literature better able to engage the students
in discussion of matters of a philosophical nature.
18. This is true of literature in general, and not only of fantasy.
19. Ernst Mayr in The Joys of Research, ed. Walter Shropshire (Washington,
D. C.: Smithsonian Institution, 1981), 153.
20. As Albert states in the passage cited in the beginning of the paper.
21. We should note that just as there are fables which provoke no further
reflection because the points they make are simple and non-controversial, so too
there are more extended works of literature where these same things hold true.
These works are capable of profoundly moving us yet inspire no further philo-
202 RELIGIONS AND THE VIRTUE OF RELIGION
sophic reflection on our part. For instance, Shakespeare's "King Lear" moves
us greatly by the dramatic way it depicts the consequences of vanity. However,
after seeing this play, the average spectator does not come back home with the
intention of reading philosophical works on the nature of vanity.