Somebody out on the internet wrote that they were going to read and review the intellectual autobiography of Mortimer Adler called ‘Philosopher at Large’ (pub 1977). What I knew of him was not very much, the ‘How to Read a Book’ which I haven’t got round to yet and the Great Books put out by Encyclopedia Britannica of which I have a few bought second hand which show no sign of having ever had daylight penetrate their inward parts. I have exposed them to UV radiation but the format of double columns marching endlessly is not a genial read.
So far I have read a couple of chapters and my general impression is that of someone on the spectrum, high functioning Aspergers. The writing is flat, affectless, no descriptions of scenes, people, family only in general terms, friends as foils and interlocutors and always Adler studying all the time. In a big library reading room with books ranged round from A to Z he thinks it is a good idea to work his way around following the alphabet. Taxonomy, Logic guide his construction of the world. He seemed to have no idea about how his assailing his professors with questions, interjections, following up lectures with written objections and and responses to the answers given might be excessive. Another indication of the autistic type is extreme physical awkwardness and lack of interest in such activity. Proficiency in swimming was a requirement for a degree which was denied to him because he refused to go to swimming classes. He would write long philosophical letters to girls that he met. Indeed his record keeping has a touch of graphomania. Whoever has his posthumous papers requires extensive shelving.
His talk on Aristotle’s account of happiness ( available on you tube) is good and now that he is dead after a long and strenuous life we may ask - was he happy? I don’t know. Acclaim is not sufficient. Was there any joy? Now read on: maybe, I haven’t got to C yet.
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