theory of reality and of the good life, in that organic interdependence
of the two which our very effort to put things together presupposes
as its object.

What, then, are to be the relations between anthropology and
philosophy? On the one hand, the question whether anthropology can
help philosophy need not concern us here. That is for the philosopher
to determine. On the other hand, philosophy can help anthropology in
two ways: in its critical capacity, by helping it to guard its own
claim, and develop freely without interference from outsiders; and
in its synthetic capacity, perhaps, by suggesting the rule that, of
two types of explanation, for instance, the physical and the biological,
the more abstract is likely to be farther away from the whole truth,
whereas, contrariwise, the more you take in, the better your chance
of really understanding.

It remains to speak about policy. I use this term to mean any and all
practical exploitation of the results of science. Sometimes, indeed,
it is hard to say where science ends and policy begins, as we saw in
the case of those gentlemen who would doctor their history, because
practically it pays to have a good conceit of ourselves, and believe
that our side always wins its battles. Anthropology, however, would
borrow something besides the evolutionary principle from biology,
namely, its disinterestedness. It is not hard to be candid about bees
and ants; unless, indeed, one is making a parable of them. But as
anthropologists we must try, what is so much harder, to be candid about
ourselves. Let us look at ourselves as if we were so many bees and
ants, not forgetting, of course, to make use of the inside information
that in the case of the insects we so conspicuously lack.