Saturday, November 06, 2004
Martin Elginbrod
For some reason I can't get this rhyme out of my head:
Here lies Martin Elginbrod,
Hae mercy on my soul Lord God,
as I would do were I Lord God,
and ye were Martin Elginbrod!
It's a bit of puzzle: it's one whopper of a counterfactual to speculate what Martin would do if he were God and God were Martin!
Here lies Martin Elginbrod,
Hae mercy on my soul Lord God,
as I would do were I Lord God,
and ye were Martin Elginbrod!
It's a bit of puzzle: it's one whopper of a counterfactual to speculate what Martin would do if he were God and God were Martin!
Hume's Philosophy of Good-Breeding
I've been intending for a while to write about Hume's too-often-neglected philosophical account of good manners. So here it goes.
The key to Hume's account is sympathy, which produces our sentiment of morals in all the artificial virtues (Treatise 3.3.1.10). Artificial virteus are virteus only because they have a tendency to social good (they are 'artificial' virtues precisely in that they are invented for this purpose, or, at least, come to be generally approved for this reason). Hume gives a number of examples of these artificial virtues: (property-)justice, allegiance, modesty, chastity, 'laws of nations', and good manners.
So how does sympathy create the virtue of good breeding? Consider the case of someone arrogant. Through sympathy we enter into how the arrogant man feels about himself. These feelings present a view of ourselves that is "mortifying and disagreeable" (Treatise 3.3.2.6) - in short, humiliating. Needless to say, we don't like this at all. And since everyone feels this way about arrogant or proud people, everyone disapproves of arrogance or pride (ironically, because we are to some extent proud ourselves and don't like feeling humiliated). On Hume's account, this suffices to make pride a vice. To restrain this vice, we begin to develop general maxims for behavior. Enter the rules of good breeding.
Hume makes an analogy between the rules of good breeding and his account of the laws of nature (by which he means general maxims about just property-transference):
Laws of Nature
negative function: to prevent opposition of self-interest
positive function: to secure property in society
Rules of Good-Breeding
negative function: to prevent opposition of pride
positive function: to render conversation agreeable & inoffensive
So etiquette serves a function analogous to property law: it reduces conflicts between people and makes their lives easier.
Now, Hume regards the distaste for pride that grounds etiquette as a prejudice, and so we find that Hume's account of good manners draws almost directly from the discussion of prejudice as a form of unphilosophical probability in Treatise 1.3.13. And if we turn back to that section, what do we discover? Hume uses the rules of manners as an example in his discussion of unphilosophical probability:
For why do we blame all gross and injurious language, unless it be, because we esteem it contrary to good breeding and humanity? And why is it contrary, unless it be more shocking than any delicate satire? The rules of good breeding condemn whatever is openly disobliging, and gives a sensible pain and confusion to those, with whom we converse. After this is once established, abusive language is universally blam'd, and gives less pain upon account of its coarseness and incivility, which render the person despicable, that employs it. It becomes less disagreeable, merely because originally it is more so; and 'tis more disagreeable, because it affords an inference by general and common rules, that are palpable and undeniable. (Treatise 1.3.13.14)
So when someone acts toward us with scurrility, e.g., insulting us horribly, this shows up against the background of the rules of good-breeding, and are condemned because of these rules, which have been developed to keep pride in check. These rules also, interestingly, mollify the insulted: because they exist, the person insulted can regard the insulter as 'despicable' - "no good breeding in that one" - and this means that the insulter's opinion (as expressed in the insult) is really much less important than it might have otherwise seemed. What is happening in this case, according to Hume, is that our reasoned judgment has joined forces with our prejudice against self-applause. This prejudice would operate even contrary to reason, but, of course, not all prejudices are contrary to reason all the time.
This gives us something of a picture of how the rules of etiquette build up. We develop our (somewhat, and Hume thinks necessarily, inconsistent) prejudice against self-applause. But prejudices on their own can be very irregular and inconstant, as well as undiscriminating. Prejudices lead us into contradictions. To resolve these contradictions we reject or refine the first crude principles encapsulated in our prejudice. And so it goes. Of this sort of pattern, Hume says:
Mean while the sceptics may here have the pleasure of observing a new and signal contradiction in our reason, and of seeing all philosophy ready to be subverted by a principle of human nature, and again sav'd by a new direction of the very same principle. The following of general rules is a very unphilosophical species of probability; and yet 'tis only by following them that we can correct this, and all other unphilosophical probabilities. (1.3.13.11)
This is not a minor point; for all philosophy and science is built on general rules! But as noted above, not all such general rules are equal: some are more regular than others, in the sense that they lead us into fewer contradictions. The more regular they are the more they are considered 'rational'; the less regular are, the less 'rational' they are considered to be. In reality, they are the same sorts of things; it's just that, as a matter of practice, we find some more useful than others because they fit our experience more easily. The rules of etiquette, despite their origin in the prejudice against self-applause, are clearly considered by Hume to be refined enough to be considered 'judgment', i.e., rational. Our rejection of pride is a hastily and rashly formed general rule; but refinements on this general rule improve it for the purposes of society. It always remains a prejudice - Hume likes to argue that it really can't be a vice for someone of genuine merit to value himself highly - but genuinely serious forms of pride are common enough that we don't make any exceptions for them. And just as the rules of etiquette allow us to insult people if we do so in an oblique and subtle way (we call these 'witticisms'), so they allow people to disclose their superiority, if they do so in a sufficiently oblique and subtle way:
Nothing is more disagreeable than a man's over-weaning conceit of himself: Every one almost has a strong propensity to this vice: No one can well distinguish in himself betwixt the vice and virtue, or be certain, that his esteem of his own merit is well-founded: For these reasons, all direct expressions of this passion are condemn'd; nor do we make any exception to this rule in favour of men of sense and merit. They are not allow'd to do themselves justice openly, in words, no more than other people; and even if they show a reserve and secret doubt in doing themselves justice in their own thoughts, they will be more applauded. That impertinent, and almost universal propensity of men, to over-value themselves, has given us such a prejudice against self-applause, that we are apt to condemn it, by a general rule, wherever we meet with it; and `tis with some difficulty we give a privilege to men of sense, even in their most secret thoughts. At least, it must be own'd, that some disguise in this particular is absolutely requisite; and that if we harbour pride in our breasts, we must carry a fair outside, and have the appearance of modesty and mutual deference in all our conduct and behaviour. We must, on every occasion, be ready to prefer others to ourselves; to treat them with a kind of deference, even tho' they be our equals; to seem always the lowest and least in the company, where we are not very much distinguish'd above them: And if we observe these rules in our conduct, men will have more indulgence for our secret sentiments, when we discover them in an oblique manner. (Treatise 3.3.2.10)
This is all the Treatise account. The Enquiry account is shorter but much the same; he even draws the same analogy between rules of good-breeding and rules of justice. He calls these rules of good-breeding a "lesser morality" and, in another place, "the companionable virtues."
One other place in which Hume discusses the philosophical underpinnings of good manners is the essay "Of the Rise and Progress of the Arts and Sciences." There he argues that republics and monarchies create different sorts of cultural climates, because advancement depends on different things in each. In republics advancement depends on usefulness; thus, Hume claims, republics are more conducive to the sciences. In monarchies, however, advancement depends more on being agreeable; thus they are more conducive to "the polite arts". It is in this context that Hume gives his misguided defense of gallantry. The basic point of the argument is right - that gallantry is an improvement over the previous condition. However, in arguing for this conclusion, Hume overshoots the mark by arguing that gallantry is virtuous and sits well with wisdom and justice. And I think in some sense he must. The rules of good-breeding may be a lesser morality, but on Hume's account they must be considered a morality; gallantry must be considered a virtue.
It is here, I think, that we start seeing the problems with Hume's philosophical account of good-breeding. It is, for one, an elaborate form of hypocrisy: we disguise our contempt and our arrogance largely so we can express our contempt and arrogance without being too offended by the contempt and arrogance of others. But at the same time, Hume's account makes this moral in a very robust sense. It may not be as important in the greater scheme of things as (say) justice; but it is for all that as much a part of morality as justice. Hume's account doesn't really give us much room for transcending the rules of good-breeding; we can refine them, but all refinement really does is give us more flexible versions of the same thing. Women are doomed to be inferior because that's the way the rules have always been; these rules are refined through the centuries, but all we ever can get is a less brutal way for women to be inferior! Much of this actually indicates more of a flaw in Hume's account of what virtue and vice are than anything in the actual account of manners, but not all of it. Still, it is arguably the most sophisticated philosophical discussion of manners or etiquette ever put forward, and is worth some thought despite its many and definite flaws.
The key to Hume's account is sympathy, which produces our sentiment of morals in all the artificial virtues (Treatise 3.3.1.10). Artificial virteus are virteus only because they have a tendency to social good (they are 'artificial' virtues precisely in that they are invented for this purpose, or, at least, come to be generally approved for this reason). Hume gives a number of examples of these artificial virtues: (property-)justice, allegiance, modesty, chastity, 'laws of nations', and good manners.
So how does sympathy create the virtue of good breeding? Consider the case of someone arrogant. Through sympathy we enter into how the arrogant man feels about himself. These feelings present a view of ourselves that is "mortifying and disagreeable" (Treatise 3.3.2.6) - in short, humiliating. Needless to say, we don't like this at all. And since everyone feels this way about arrogant or proud people, everyone disapproves of arrogance or pride (ironically, because we are to some extent proud ourselves and don't like feeling humiliated). On Hume's account, this suffices to make pride a vice. To restrain this vice, we begin to develop general maxims for behavior. Enter the rules of good breeding.
Hume makes an analogy between the rules of good breeding and his account of the laws of nature (by which he means general maxims about just property-transference):
Laws of Nature
negative function: to prevent opposition of self-interest
positive function: to secure property in society
Rules of Good-Breeding
negative function: to prevent opposition of pride
positive function: to render conversation agreeable & inoffensive
So etiquette serves a function analogous to property law: it reduces conflicts between people and makes their lives easier.
Now, Hume regards the distaste for pride that grounds etiquette as a prejudice, and so we find that Hume's account of good manners draws almost directly from the discussion of prejudice as a form of unphilosophical probability in Treatise 1.3.13. And if we turn back to that section, what do we discover? Hume uses the rules of manners as an example in his discussion of unphilosophical probability:
For why do we blame all gross and injurious language, unless it be, because we esteem it contrary to good breeding and humanity? And why is it contrary, unless it be more shocking than any delicate satire? The rules of good breeding condemn whatever is openly disobliging, and gives a sensible pain and confusion to those, with whom we converse. After this is once established, abusive language is universally blam'd, and gives less pain upon account of its coarseness and incivility, which render the person despicable, that employs it. It becomes less disagreeable, merely because originally it is more so; and 'tis more disagreeable, because it affords an inference by general and common rules, that are palpable and undeniable. (Treatise 1.3.13.14)
So when someone acts toward us with scurrility, e.g., insulting us horribly, this shows up against the background of the rules of good-breeding, and are condemned because of these rules, which have been developed to keep pride in check. These rules also, interestingly, mollify the insulted: because they exist, the person insulted can regard the insulter as 'despicable' - "no good breeding in that one" - and this means that the insulter's opinion (as expressed in the insult) is really much less important than it might have otherwise seemed. What is happening in this case, according to Hume, is that our reasoned judgment has joined forces with our prejudice against self-applause. This prejudice would operate even contrary to reason, but, of course, not all prejudices are contrary to reason all the time.
This gives us something of a picture of how the rules of etiquette build up. We develop our (somewhat, and Hume thinks necessarily, inconsistent) prejudice against self-applause. But prejudices on their own can be very irregular and inconstant, as well as undiscriminating. Prejudices lead us into contradictions. To resolve these contradictions we reject or refine the first crude principles encapsulated in our prejudice. And so it goes. Of this sort of pattern, Hume says:
Mean while the sceptics may here have the pleasure of observing a new and signal contradiction in our reason, and of seeing all philosophy ready to be subverted by a principle of human nature, and again sav'd by a new direction of the very same principle. The following of general rules is a very unphilosophical species of probability; and yet 'tis only by following them that we can correct this, and all other unphilosophical probabilities. (1.3.13.11)
This is not a minor point; for all philosophy and science is built on general rules! But as noted above, not all such general rules are equal: some are more regular than others, in the sense that they lead us into fewer contradictions. The more regular they are the more they are considered 'rational'; the less regular are, the less 'rational' they are considered to be. In reality, they are the same sorts of things; it's just that, as a matter of practice, we find some more useful than others because they fit our experience more easily. The rules of etiquette, despite their origin in the prejudice against self-applause, are clearly considered by Hume to be refined enough to be considered 'judgment', i.e., rational. Our rejection of pride is a hastily and rashly formed general rule; but refinements on this general rule improve it for the purposes of society. It always remains a prejudice - Hume likes to argue that it really can't be a vice for someone of genuine merit to value himself highly - but genuinely serious forms of pride are common enough that we don't make any exceptions for them. And just as the rules of etiquette allow us to insult people if we do so in an oblique and subtle way (we call these 'witticisms'), so they allow people to disclose their superiority, if they do so in a sufficiently oblique and subtle way:
Nothing is more disagreeable than a man's over-weaning conceit of himself: Every one almost has a strong propensity to this vice: No one can well distinguish in himself betwixt the vice and virtue, or be certain, that his esteem of his own merit is well-founded: For these reasons, all direct expressions of this passion are condemn'd; nor do we make any exception to this rule in favour of men of sense and merit. They are not allow'd to do themselves justice openly, in words, no more than other people; and even if they show a reserve and secret doubt in doing themselves justice in their own thoughts, they will be more applauded. That impertinent, and almost universal propensity of men, to over-value themselves, has given us such a prejudice against self-applause, that we are apt to condemn it, by a general rule, wherever we meet with it; and `tis with some difficulty we give a privilege to men of sense, even in their most secret thoughts. At least, it must be own'd, that some disguise in this particular is absolutely requisite; and that if we harbour pride in our breasts, we must carry a fair outside, and have the appearance of modesty and mutual deference in all our conduct and behaviour. We must, on every occasion, be ready to prefer others to ourselves; to treat them with a kind of deference, even tho' they be our equals; to seem always the lowest and least in the company, where we are not very much distinguish'd above them: And if we observe these rules in our conduct, men will have more indulgence for our secret sentiments, when we discover them in an oblique manner. (Treatise 3.3.2.10)
This is all the Treatise account. The Enquiry account is shorter but much the same; he even draws the same analogy between rules of good-breeding and rules of justice. He calls these rules of good-breeding a "lesser morality" and, in another place, "the companionable virtues."
One other place in which Hume discusses the philosophical underpinnings of good manners is the essay "Of the Rise and Progress of the Arts and Sciences." There he argues that republics and monarchies create different sorts of cultural climates, because advancement depends on different things in each. In republics advancement depends on usefulness; thus, Hume claims, republics are more conducive to the sciences. In monarchies, however, advancement depends more on being agreeable; thus they are more conducive to "the polite arts". It is in this context that Hume gives his misguided defense of gallantry. The basic point of the argument is right - that gallantry is an improvement over the previous condition. However, in arguing for this conclusion, Hume overshoots the mark by arguing that gallantry is virtuous and sits well with wisdom and justice. And I think in some sense he must. The rules of good-breeding may be a lesser morality, but on Hume's account they must be considered a morality; gallantry must be considered a virtue.
It is here, I think, that we start seeing the problems with Hume's philosophical account of good-breeding. It is, for one, an elaborate form of hypocrisy: we disguise our contempt and our arrogance largely so we can express our contempt and arrogance without being too offended by the contempt and arrogance of others. But at the same time, Hume's account makes this moral in a very robust sense. It may not be as important in the greater scheme of things as (say) justice; but it is for all that as much a part of morality as justice. Hume's account doesn't really give us much room for transcending the rules of good-breeding; we can refine them, but all refinement really does is give us more flexible versions of the same thing. Women are doomed to be inferior because that's the way the rules have always been; these rules are refined through the centuries, but all we ever can get is a less brutal way for women to be inferior! Much of this actually indicates more of a flaw in Hume's account of what virtue and vice are than anything in the actual account of manners, but not all of it. Still, it is arguably the most sophisticated philosophical discussion of manners or etiquette ever put forward, and is worth some thought despite its many and definite flaws.
ACPQ Summer 2004
I've been wanting to say a few things about the most recent American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly, but other things have just swept it away. The first two offerings are a continuation of a dispute about Aquinas's Aristotelian commentaries. I confess, I always find this sort of dispute a bit pointless. Let's consider a different case. I write amateur poetry. Most of it is explicitly Christian. Some of it is not. I have written poems based loosely on the perspectives of Parmenides, Descartes, Vico, Mullah Sadra, etc.; one might ask: "Can these be seen as expressing Brandon's own views, or are they merely poetic interpretations?"
Am I (say) a Greek Pagan or a Sufi Muslim? Assuredly not.
When I write (say) a Cartesian poem, is that an insistence of any sort that I am a Cartesian? Assuredly not.
Would I write a poem on a perspective with which I did not find myself in particular sympathy in some way? Assuredly not.
Can my views simply be read off these poems from non-Christian perspectives, or perspectives of philosophies I do not hold? Assuredly not.
Can these poems be said not to convey my views at all? Assuredly not.
There is in these debates, I think, a perpetual temptation to regard texts as something from which one can simply 'read off' some sort of view; but this is not so. Texts are signs of minds and beliefs, not facsimiles of them. The same issues arise with regard to Aquinas's other works as arise with regard to his commentaries on Aristotle, it's just that the way in which the Aristotelian commentaries are signs of Aquinas's mind and views is a much more complicated matter than the way in which (say) the Scriptural commentaries are signs of his mind and views. In the Commentary on the Metaphysics we see Aquinas (whoever he is) leaving signs of his mental interaction with the text of Aristotle; and these signs tell us something about Aquinas, as any signs would. But what they tell is indirect and obscure, by their very nature. Some such signs are less indirect and less obscure; but they do not cease to be indirect and obscure, because they do not cease to be signs.
Consider a very different example: Kierkegaard. Is Johannes de Silentio Kierkegaard? In an obvious sense, yes: Johannes de Silentio is Kierkegaard writing pseudonymously. However, is what Johannes de Silentio writes a direct sign of what Kierkegaard believes, in the sense that reading Johannes de Silentio you are reading off Kierkegaard's beliefs in a straightforward sense? Not at all. In Johannes de Silentio we find Kierkegaard; but it is Kierkegaard under persona - truly Kierkegaard, but not in a straightforward way. All the signs of Kierkegaard in (say) Fear and Trembling are mediated through a pseudonymous persona; they are truly signs of Kierkegaard, but it is Kierkegaard as it were baffling us. If I ask you a straightforward question and you deflect it by answering it in a round-about and obscure way, you have answered my question, but you have baffled me a bit as to what is truly going on in my mind. The Pharisees ask Jesus a question; he responds in parables; they do not know how to reply, becausem although they can follow the answer, they have only a vague intimation of what that response tells them about Jesus. The disciples do better: they have heard Jesus often, and have heard him speak in many ways. But they are still to a degree baffled. It takes a Pentecost to unbaffle them.
And the question becomes: Is it really any different with any other text? No. By this I do not mean that we can never understand a text. What I mean is that there is always a limit to a text, and the limit is that it is not a person, not a mind, not a thought. It is a sign of these things, and the ways in which it may be a sign of these things are myriad. So I would say: there is no straightforward answer to the question of whether the Aristotelian commentaries give the mind of Aquinas, because the answer is Yes, and No. Yes: they are nothing other than signs of Aquinas mentally working through Aristotle for a purpose. In the Aristotelian commentaries we have signs of what a person with Aquinas's views (whatever they are) writes when writing a commentary on Aristotle, and that means we have signs of Aquinas's own views. No: Aquinas is not a commentary on Aristotle. Even if he agreed with Aristotle's text, as he interpreted it, in every particular, he is not a commentary on Aristotle's text. This sounds odd to say, and trivially true; but it is astonishing how easily it can be forgotten - we can easily slip into talking about Aquinas's views as if they were simply the commentary on Aristotle (or ST or SCG or whatever). But they are not; these things are only signs of Aquinas's views.
The way this is all written makes it sound as if I am more skeptical about our ability to know Aquinas's views than I am. There are signs that Aquinas closely agrees with Aristotle in some things in some way, and signs that he doesn't in others; there are also more ambiguous signs that can, upon examination be made more specific. But there is always a residual limitation to this: no amount of text, however clear, conveys to us the wild, living intellect of any human person. (There really isn't any need for it do so.) This doesn't prevent us from knowing a lot about such a person and his or her intellect; but it does explain why I think the dispute pointless. It's just silly to think we can have a general answer to the general question "Are the views in Aquinas's Aristotelian commentaries Aquinas's own views?" that would be at all accurate. It's only in the close analysis that we make headway with such questions, and even that will never answer all possible questions we could propose, even all the important questions we could propose. It would take a Pentecost to unbaffle us; and I'm afraid that Aquinas, not being Christ, lacks the resources to give us one.
Also in this issue is an article on Descartes's real distinction argument by Justin Skirry. Skirry holds a hylomorphic interpretation of Descartes's dualism. I think this is an interesting view, but I don't think it is Descartes's view - I incline toward Rozemond's view in Descartes's Dualism. The hylomorphic view requires, I think, overlooking just how much Descartes modifies the scholastic terminology he adapts.
Besides these articles, there is an article on Heidegger, which bored me, and an article on Lacan by Conor Cunningham, which looks interesting, but which I cannot understand at all. I must, therefore, forego comment on it.
Am I (say) a Greek Pagan or a Sufi Muslim? Assuredly not.
When I write (say) a Cartesian poem, is that an insistence of any sort that I am a Cartesian? Assuredly not.
Would I write a poem on a perspective with which I did not find myself in particular sympathy in some way? Assuredly not.
Can my views simply be read off these poems from non-Christian perspectives, or perspectives of philosophies I do not hold? Assuredly not.
Can these poems be said not to convey my views at all? Assuredly not.
There is in these debates, I think, a perpetual temptation to regard texts as something from which one can simply 'read off' some sort of view; but this is not so. Texts are signs of minds and beliefs, not facsimiles of them. The same issues arise with regard to Aquinas's other works as arise with regard to his commentaries on Aristotle, it's just that the way in which the Aristotelian commentaries are signs of Aquinas's mind and views is a much more complicated matter than the way in which (say) the Scriptural commentaries are signs of his mind and views. In the Commentary on the Metaphysics we see Aquinas (whoever he is) leaving signs of his mental interaction with the text of Aristotle; and these signs tell us something about Aquinas, as any signs would. But what they tell is indirect and obscure, by their very nature. Some such signs are less indirect and less obscure; but they do not cease to be indirect and obscure, because they do not cease to be signs.
Consider a very different example: Kierkegaard. Is Johannes de Silentio Kierkegaard? In an obvious sense, yes: Johannes de Silentio is Kierkegaard writing pseudonymously. However, is what Johannes de Silentio writes a direct sign of what Kierkegaard believes, in the sense that reading Johannes de Silentio you are reading off Kierkegaard's beliefs in a straightforward sense? Not at all. In Johannes de Silentio we find Kierkegaard; but it is Kierkegaard under persona - truly Kierkegaard, but not in a straightforward way. All the signs of Kierkegaard in (say) Fear and Trembling are mediated through a pseudonymous persona; they are truly signs of Kierkegaard, but it is Kierkegaard as it were baffling us. If I ask you a straightforward question and you deflect it by answering it in a round-about and obscure way, you have answered my question, but you have baffled me a bit as to what is truly going on in my mind. The Pharisees ask Jesus a question; he responds in parables; they do not know how to reply, becausem although they can follow the answer, they have only a vague intimation of what that response tells them about Jesus. The disciples do better: they have heard Jesus often, and have heard him speak in many ways. But they are still to a degree baffled. It takes a Pentecost to unbaffle them.
And the question becomes: Is it really any different with any other text? No. By this I do not mean that we can never understand a text. What I mean is that there is always a limit to a text, and the limit is that it is not a person, not a mind, not a thought. It is a sign of these things, and the ways in which it may be a sign of these things are myriad. So I would say: there is no straightforward answer to the question of whether the Aristotelian commentaries give the mind of Aquinas, because the answer is Yes, and No. Yes: they are nothing other than signs of Aquinas mentally working through Aristotle for a purpose. In the Aristotelian commentaries we have signs of what a person with Aquinas's views (whatever they are) writes when writing a commentary on Aristotle, and that means we have signs of Aquinas's own views. No: Aquinas is not a commentary on Aristotle. Even if he agreed with Aristotle's text, as he interpreted it, in every particular, he is not a commentary on Aristotle's text. This sounds odd to say, and trivially true; but it is astonishing how easily it can be forgotten - we can easily slip into talking about Aquinas's views as if they were simply the commentary on Aristotle (or ST or SCG or whatever). But they are not; these things are only signs of Aquinas's views.
The way this is all written makes it sound as if I am more skeptical about our ability to know Aquinas's views than I am. There are signs that Aquinas closely agrees with Aristotle in some things in some way, and signs that he doesn't in others; there are also more ambiguous signs that can, upon examination be made more specific. But there is always a residual limitation to this: no amount of text, however clear, conveys to us the wild, living intellect of any human person. (There really isn't any need for it do so.) This doesn't prevent us from knowing a lot about such a person and his or her intellect; but it does explain why I think the dispute pointless. It's just silly to think we can have a general answer to the general question "Are the views in Aquinas's Aristotelian commentaries Aquinas's own views?" that would be at all accurate. It's only in the close analysis that we make headway with such questions, and even that will never answer all possible questions we could propose, even all the important questions we could propose. It would take a Pentecost to unbaffle us; and I'm afraid that Aquinas, not being Christ, lacks the resources to give us one.
Also in this issue is an article on Descartes's real distinction argument by Justin Skirry. Skirry holds a hylomorphic interpretation of Descartes's dualism. I think this is an interesting view, but I don't think it is Descartes's view - I incline toward Rozemond's view in Descartes's Dualism. The hylomorphic view requires, I think, overlooking just how much Descartes modifies the scholastic terminology he adapts.
Besides these articles, there is an article on Heidegger, which bored me, and an article on Lacan by Conor Cunningham, which looks interesting, but which I cannot understand at all. I must, therefore, forego comment on it.
On Flood's Reply to Vallicella
There is an interesting conversation going on about creatio ex nihilo in the 'philosophosphere', so I thought I'd jump in. Anyone who reads this weblog regularly can almost certainly guess what my position is, so I won't belabor it. What I do want to discuss, briefly, is a contribution by Flood, responding to Vallicella. Two arguments in particular stand out:
A) Now that which is not distinct from a thing logically cannot fail to be that thing. Therefore the creation that issues from God’s operation upon himself is, necessarily, God. If God exists, then for any x, x is either God or a creature of God: tertium non datur. For God to create, but not out of that which is other than God, is for God to create out of God. Perhaps Vallicella can shown, or has already shown in PTE, how the product of such a process could be other than God. Absent such a showing, the logic of exnihilation would seem to issue in pantheism.
B) When we use “dependent” to express the relationship of one thing (or attribute, state, or trait) to another, we abstract that relationship from all the others the two may have to each other. The predicate “dependent” cannot express the totality of relationships that the one has to the other. That is because non-dependency or independence in at least one respect is a necessary condition of non-identity or difference. If a is dependent on b in one respect, then there must be at least one other respect whereby it is not the case that a is dependent on b. The notion of total dependence, dependence in every respect, entails identity, and therefore no dependence at all. If a is dependent on b in all respects, then a “collapses” into b, taking dependency, and difference, with it.
If a is dependent on b in all respects, then any difference between a and b is merely nominal, i.e., “a” and “b” are two names for the identical entity.
I don't see any reason to agree with the aspects of these two arguments that I have bolded above. (A) seems to require that all causation be operation on something pre-existent. There's a certain imaginative plausibility, given that this is the way causation generally works in our experience; but I can't think of any reason why one would need this to be an essential part of causation. Likewise, with regard to (B), the claim about total dependence seems to be simply false; for in a case of total dependence one of the things about b that would be dependent on a would be the distinction between a and b - and I see no reason why such a distinction could not be part of b's dependence on a. (It's worth pointing out, too, that the 'total dependence' here could very well just be total dependence of all positive attributes; and this would not, as far as I could see cause any problem even if we assumed Flood's principle here.)
It's always possible that I'm missing something key in the movement here; but the moves seem to be far too quick. And when one looks more closely at them, it's difficult to find any good reason for those moves, or, at least, I find it difficult.
Since Aquinas is ultimately in the background here, it's worth pointing out that he responds to something like the move in (A) in the response to Objection 2 here; and I think the response to Objection 2 in another place would be at least related to the issue in (B) - although I find (B) immensely more obscure than (A). Flood also introduces problem of evil issues; Aquinas responds to these sorts of issues here. It's also worth pointing out (since it's also an issue in the discussion) that, while Aquinas's full understanding of creation ex nihilo requires appeal to his doctrine of the composition of essentia and esse, essence and actual being, it doesn't (again, as far as I can see) play any obvious role in his ST discussion of creatio ex nihilo itself. This is so even when he argues that only God can create; the issue in his discussion is always the nature of the cause, not the constitution of the effect. He does integrate his doctrine of creation with the composition doctrine in De Potentia; what he says there seems to me to be entirely reasonable, but then, I think the composition doctrine in its basic form is entirely reasonable - we can't simply conflate actual being and kind of being as if they were the same thing; indeed, I'm not sure what that would mean. As Aquinas sometimes puts it, existence is other than essence. Aquinas's doctrine goes a bit beyond this basic point, but I find it a hard question to determine how much farther it goes. [As far as I can tell from my readings so far, I don't think it goes much farther; and the bit it adds seems reasonable to me.] The idea is found in De ente et essentia:
Everything that receives something from another is in potency with respect to what it receives, and that which is received in the thing is its act; therefore, a quiddity or form that is an intelligence is in potency with respect to the existence that it receives from God, and this received existence is received as its act.
For Aquinas 'compositio' typically means a union in which one element of the union is identifiable as act and the other is identifiable as potency; so the question of whether we can make sense of his view that creatures are composed of essentia and esse really boils down to whether we can regard essence as really potential to actual being in the created substance itself. It doesn't, I think, have anything to do with 'reception' [in a fairly literal sense] (as the original criticism in Deck's exegesis seemed to be); Aquinas talks about reception because it's a natural word to use when talking about the act-potency relation, not because it's carrying any serious metaphysical burden in the actual composition doctrine. In other words, we can afford to take the 'reception' talk very loosely; and so the question would just be: Is there some reasonable sense in which we can say essence receives existence [i.e., is there a sense in which e could say essence is really potential to existence]? I don't see why there wouldn't be. I have to look more closely at Deck's criticisms; I didn't find them convincing at all, but Aquinas and I tend to be congruent souls on most things, so he usually makes more sense to me on first blush than his critics do. As I said, I'll have to look more closely at the criticisms.
UPDATE: Clark had already put up an interesting post at Mormon Metaphysics; see also his comment below for clarification as to how it relates to my post here. I should also give the URL of the post by Vallicella to which Flood is responding; that is here. I've also added a few small things in brackets above for clarification.
A) Now that which is not distinct from a thing logically cannot fail to be that thing. Therefore the creation that issues from God’s operation upon himself is, necessarily, God. If God exists, then for any x, x is either God or a creature of God: tertium non datur. For God to create, but not out of that which is other than God, is for God to create out of God. Perhaps Vallicella can shown, or has already shown in PTE, how the product of such a process could be other than God. Absent such a showing, the logic of exnihilation would seem to issue in pantheism.
B) When we use “dependent” to express the relationship of one thing (or attribute, state, or trait) to another, we abstract that relationship from all the others the two may have to each other. The predicate “dependent” cannot express the totality of relationships that the one has to the other. That is because non-dependency or independence in at least one respect is a necessary condition of non-identity or difference. If a is dependent on b in one respect, then there must be at least one other respect whereby it is not the case that a is dependent on b. The notion of total dependence, dependence in every respect, entails identity, and therefore no dependence at all. If a is dependent on b in all respects, then a “collapses” into b, taking dependency, and difference, with it.
If a is dependent on b in all respects, then any difference between a and b is merely nominal, i.e., “a” and “b” are two names for the identical entity.
I don't see any reason to agree with the aspects of these two arguments that I have bolded above. (A) seems to require that all causation be operation on something pre-existent. There's a certain imaginative plausibility, given that this is the way causation generally works in our experience; but I can't think of any reason why one would need this to be an essential part of causation. Likewise, with regard to (B), the claim about total dependence seems to be simply false; for in a case of total dependence one of the things about b that would be dependent on a would be the distinction between a and b - and I see no reason why such a distinction could not be part of b's dependence on a. (It's worth pointing out, too, that the 'total dependence' here could very well just be total dependence of all positive attributes; and this would not, as far as I could see cause any problem even if we assumed Flood's principle here.)
It's always possible that I'm missing something key in the movement here; but the moves seem to be far too quick. And when one looks more closely at them, it's difficult to find any good reason for those moves, or, at least, I find it difficult.
Since Aquinas is ultimately in the background here, it's worth pointing out that he responds to something like the move in (A) in the response to Objection 2 here; and I think the response to Objection 2 in another place would be at least related to the issue in (B) - although I find (B) immensely more obscure than (A). Flood also introduces problem of evil issues; Aquinas responds to these sorts of issues here. It's also worth pointing out (since it's also an issue in the discussion) that, while Aquinas's full understanding of creation ex nihilo requires appeal to his doctrine of the composition of essentia and esse, essence and actual being, it doesn't (again, as far as I can see) play any obvious role in his ST discussion of creatio ex nihilo itself. This is so even when he argues that only God can create; the issue in his discussion is always the nature of the cause, not the constitution of the effect. He does integrate his doctrine of creation with the composition doctrine in De Potentia; what he says there seems to me to be entirely reasonable, but then, I think the composition doctrine in its basic form is entirely reasonable - we can't simply conflate actual being and kind of being as if they were the same thing; indeed, I'm not sure what that would mean. As Aquinas sometimes puts it, existence is other than essence. Aquinas's doctrine goes a bit beyond this basic point, but I find it a hard question to determine how much farther it goes. [As far as I can tell from my readings so far, I don't think it goes much farther; and the bit it adds seems reasonable to me.] The idea is found in De ente et essentia:
Everything that receives something from another is in potency with respect to what it receives, and that which is received in the thing is its act; therefore, a quiddity or form that is an intelligence is in potency with respect to the existence that it receives from God, and this received existence is received as its act.
For Aquinas 'compositio' typically means a union in which one element of the union is identifiable as act and the other is identifiable as potency; so the question of whether we can make sense of his view that creatures are composed of essentia and esse really boils down to whether we can regard essence as really potential to actual being in the created substance itself. It doesn't, I think, have anything to do with 'reception' [in a fairly literal sense] (as the original criticism in Deck's exegesis seemed to be); Aquinas talks about reception because it's a natural word to use when talking about the act-potency relation, not because it's carrying any serious metaphysical burden in the actual composition doctrine. In other words, we can afford to take the 'reception' talk very loosely; and so the question would just be: Is there some reasonable sense in which we can say essence receives existence [i.e., is there a sense in which e could say essence is really potential to existence]? I don't see why there wouldn't be. I have to look more closely at Deck's criticisms; I didn't find them convincing at all, but Aquinas and I tend to be congruent souls on most things, so he usually makes more sense to me on first blush than his critics do. As I said, I'll have to look more closely at the criticisms.
UPDATE: Clark had already put up an interesting post at Mormon Metaphysics; see also his comment below for clarification as to how it relates to my post here. I should also give the URL of the post by Vallicella to which Flood is responding; that is here. I've also added a few small things in brackets above for clarification.
Beyerstein on Framing
A good post at Majikthise on the ineliminable need for coherence and consistency in presenting one's views.
Two More Poem Drafts
Because poems are what I have that are most easy to post!
The first is an older one. The second I scribbled down yesterday. Both are somewhat flawed, but they both have a great line or two (especially the ending of the second).
Creation
All hint at the will of God; it stands behind each law,
it summons up each power that summons love and awe.
The creative act of God is not a whisper in early time -
it flows through every birthing as meaning flows through rhyme,
and, like the evocations of words within the heart,
reverberates in every whole that transcends summing parts,
and grounds each single part, as every leaping thought
makes as if anew the words within it caught.
The Good of Sorrow
This chill, sharp wind through lonely trees,
Which whips with snow and wails,
Is colder far than any ice-swept seas
In ancient north where story fails.
Am I a snowflake quickly sweeping
Through the flurried airs of night,
Alone in all my whispered weeping,
Battered in an endless fight?
So wild is this way I'm wending,
Yet intimating something more:
For drifts of sorrow, sadness sending,
Sadness-ending loves restore!
The first is an older one. The second I scribbled down yesterday. Both are somewhat flawed, but they both have a great line or two (especially the ending of the second).
Creation
All hint at the will of God; it stands behind each law,
it summons up each power that summons love and awe.
The creative act of God is not a whisper in early time -
it flows through every birthing as meaning flows through rhyme,
and, like the evocations of words within the heart,
reverberates in every whole that transcends summing parts,
and grounds each single part, as every leaping thought
makes as if anew the words within it caught.
The Good of Sorrow
This chill, sharp wind through lonely trees,
Which whips with snow and wails,
Is colder far than any ice-swept seas
In ancient north where story fails.
Am I a snowflake quickly sweeping
Through the flurried airs of night,
Alone in all my whispered weeping,
Battered in an endless fight?
So wild is this way I'm wending,
Yet intimating something more:
For drifts of sorrow, sadness sending,
Sadness-ending loves restore!
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