Sunday, January 31, 2010

On Discussions of the Trinity in Contemporary Philosophy

There has been some discussion of the Trinity recently; some notable posts:

Substance and Hypostasis in the Trinity
(at The Smithy)
On the Trinity (at Maverick Philosopher)
Reply to the Maverick Philosopher (at The Smithy)
Some Questions about the Trinity Distinguished (at The Maverick Philosopher)
Contradiction in the Trinity? (at The Smithy)

I am very much with Michael here, and have been known at times to be a bit sharper than I intended in conveying the point. The fundamental problem I have with most of the work done by philosophers of religion on the subject, and certainly since Richard Cartwright's famous essay, "On the Logical Problem of the Trinity" is that they clearly and demonstrably start in the wrong place for an inquiry of this sort. The usual procedure is to take some sort of variation of the Quicunque Vult and boil it down even further to some summary like that found in Cartwright's essay, or in Vallicella's post on various questions. This is a shockingly bad start to analysis. The Quicunque Vult is not a dogmatic definition, nor is it a close analysis, being merely a catchy summary; if you are Eastern Orthodox you are in no way committed to it, if you are Catholic you are only committed by the Bull of Union with the Armenians to holding that it is compendious and suitable for basic catechetical purposes; and if you are Protestant, of course, your mileage will vary, but you are definitely going to have weaker commitments to it as an accurate statement of the doctrine than Catholics do. So we are already starting our analysis of the doctrine of Trinity with a secondhand summary of it. Never mind how good, or memorable, it is: this is a flaw in the beginning: it means that if you conclude that the doctrine is inconsistent, then you aren't in a position to tell whether your analysis identifies a problem with Trinitarian doctrine or is an artifact of the particular language used in the Quicunque Vult, which itself was simply a simplified summary. It gives the gist, but a 'gist' is not adequate for serious analysis. One might as well do philosophy of quantum mechanics using a description of photons from a middle school textbook.

Moreover, the flaws spread out farther from here. Often, as I said, this Quicunque-Vult-type summary is itself further summarized, without careful regard for any context, whether catechetical, liturgical, or historical. This is a flaw again: it means that you aren't in a position to tell, if you conclude that it is inconsistent, whether the inconsistency derives from the original or is an artifact of your particular way of boiling it down even further. There are ways to minimize this problem, but they are rarely seen.

Even if we set aside both of these problems, however, we are still faced with a more serious problem. Suppose we assume that these simplified summaries of a simplified summary retains, with full precision, an exactly accurate characterization of the doctrine. We are still faced with the problem that it needs also to compress, without significant loss of meaning, all the relevant content of the original doctrine. Suppose we take a summary like Cartwright's, viz.,

(1) The Father is God, the Son is God, the Holy Spirit is God.
(2) The Father is not the Son, the Son is not the Holy Spirit, the Father is not the Holy Spirit.
(3) There is exactly one God.

The problem is that this is a poor summary of the doctrine of the Trinity. The Church Fathers did not merely say God is one, they said in what way He is one. They did not merely say that the Father is not the Son, they talked at great length about why we whould believe He is not, and in what, precisely, the distinction lies. It is not difficult to rough up a more accurate characterization of the doctrine even along exactly the same lines as this summary; I once did it myself, a few years ago. Better versions are possible. But even these all fail to do what any serious discussion of the Trinity should do, and thus are starting at the tail-end. To start an analysis correctly, you need to start at the fundamentals, and here that means focusing on the processions, because the reasons for accepting that there are processions in God are the reasons for accepting the doctrine of the Trinity, and each of the points in these crude simplified summaries can only characterize the doctrine of the Trinity if it is understood to summarize some fact about the divine processions. Anyone who claims to discuss whether the doctrine of the Trinity is consistent without addressing first, foremost, and fully the doctrine of divine processions, and the reasoning underlying it, is someone who simply does not understand what the doctrine of the Trinity is.

As a tangent, I've sometimes wondered if this beginning at the wrong end is partly responsible for the shockingly heavy-handed treatment of analogies in this context. When someone claims that the doctrine of the Trinity can't be consistent because three things can't be one, and St. Patrick responds with the shamrock, three leaves in one leaf, this is a perfectly good answer, considered formally. It addresses the objection completely and elegantly by showing that the objection, as stated, is thoroughly silly: there are plenty of ways in which things can be three and one, and therefore you will have to make your objection much more precise than this if you really want to argue that the doctrine of the Trinity is inconsistent. It shows that the objection is an attempt to use a railroad tie to do a laser's work. But philosophers of religion these days often take the analogies materially; and so we get disquisitions on how the shamrock illuminates nothing about the doctrine of the Trinity because God is not like a three-leaf clover. Obviously God is not like a three-leaf clover; any sensible analogue you might choose is going to be something that God is very unlike. It is also not to the point. Even an analogy as crude and unsophisticated as a shamrock illuminates the doctrine by showing that it is clearly consistent up to a certain level of description. But of course even when we deal with more sophisticated analogies at deeper levels of analysis it is possible to stay heavy-handed in discussion of analogies in other ways. Michael gives a good example from Cartwright:

The heretical conclusion follows, by the general principle that if every A is a B then there cannot be fewer B's than A's. This principle, I claim, is evident to the natural light of reason. Thus, if every cat is an animal, there cannot be fewer animals than cats; if every senator from Massachusetts is a Democrat, there cannot be fewer Democrats than senators from Massachusetts. Just so, if every Divine Person is a God, there cannot be fewer Gods than Divine Persons.


But, as Michael notes, there is a world of assumption packed into this "just so," which requires that the analogy be formally exact among all the cases -- the doctrine of the Trinity is convicted for not treating God exactly like cats on this point. But the fact that if every cat is an animal there cannot be fewer animals than cats does not establish that this is so for every A that is a B, any more than the fact that every pair of geodesics on a Euclidean plane that are equidistant somewhere are equidistant everywhere proves that every pair of geodesics of any sort are. This is a crude handling of analogy, and not at all illuminating of anything.

I could extend the list, but the point, I think, is made: that discussions of the Trinity in contemporary philosophy are crude and backwards, not the sophisticated analyses they are put forward as being. Just how egregious an offender a particular philosopher is varies greatly; some are so much better than others that they are like fresh air -- and I would count both Cartwright and Vallicella in this category, because despite the fact that I think Cartwright goes wrong at so many points, I have seen much, much worse. But they are generally quite unsuited to the task of dealing with the Trinitarian doctrine itself; and, in fact, the closest they get to actually talking about it is when they talk about something as vaguely like it as a Dick and Jane book is vaguely like a novel.

Saturday, January 30, 2010

Ralph McInerny (1929-2010)

Ralph McInerny died yesterday, age 80. McInerny was a philosopher and novelist (author of the Father Dowling series of mysteries). His most significant philosophical work was probably Aquinas and Analogy. Here are things online that are by McInerny:

At The Catholic Thing
Theology for Dummies
The Chesterbelloc Thing
Noblesse Oblique
Vice and Verse
Implicit Philosophy
You Have Mail
Mammon and Uniquity
A Dickens of a Christmas
No Country for Old Men
Pietas
One That Got Away
The Happy Fault
The Hazards of Hedonism
Is Obama Worth a Mass?

Present at the Apocalypse
Lingua Franca
Unity vs. Diversity
A House Divided
The Marrying Animal
Don't You Know?
The Dean's Daughter
We Lepers
Otto Bird
"THERE'S KEBLE!"
Philosophia Perennis
Pascal's Memorial
On the Road to Limerick
Inconclusive Postscript
Sealed with an X
Flourish. Exeunt Omnes.

Elsewhere
Aquinas on Divine Omnipotence
Europe: The Mirror of the Future
Natural Law and Human Rights
Saint Thomas Aquinas
Ralph McInerny on a Forgotten Thomist (interview about Charles De Koninck)
What Went Wrong with Vatican II, Chapter One
ChesterBelloc
A History of Western Philosophy
The Writing Life
Why the Burden of Proof is on the Atheist
The Greene-ing of America

Audio
A Conversation with Ralph McInerny

Video
Introducing the International Catholic University
Introduction to Thomas Aquinas
Medieval Philosophy: Thomas Aquinas
Metaphysics and Fides et Ratio
Introduction to Moral Philosophy 1
Introduction to Moral Philosophy 2
Introduction to Moral Philosophy 3
Introduction to Moral Philosophy 4
Introduction to Moral Philosophy 5
Ancient Philosophy
Newman and Kierkegaard

Friday, January 29, 2010

Friday Ipod Random Ten

I've seen these around the blogosphere for years and never done one, so here it is, a random ten from the iPod today:

(1) Carly Simon: Let the River Run
(2) Screamin' Jay Hawkins: I Put a Spell on You
(3) Johnny Cash: God's Gonna Cut You Down
(4) Loituma: Ievan Polkka
(5) The Doors: People are Strange
(6) Suvi Terasniska: Hento Kuiskaus
(7) Johanna Kurkela: Varpunen Jouluaamuna
(8) Sufjan Stevens: Wolverine
(9) Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds: Mercy Seat
(10) Dolly Parton: Jolene

"Varpunen Jouluaamuna" is a little Finnish Christmas carol about a sparrow lost in the snow; a little girl offers him a seed because it is Christmas. The sparrow flies to her, taking the seed, saying that God will reward her. And in the last stanza the sparrow turns out to be the soul of her brother: her generosity even to a poor and homeless sparrow brought her in contact with a long lost loved one. You can hear Johanna Kurkela sing it here.

Like Mother-Tongue


The Poet - a Fragment
by John Keats


Where's the Poet? show him! show him,
Muses nine! that I may know him!
'Tis the man who with a man
Is an equal, be he King,
Or poorest of the beggar-clan,
Or any other wondrous thing
A man may be 'twixt ape and Plato;
'Tis the man who with a bird,
Wren or Eagle, finds his way to
All its instincts; he hath heard
The Lion's roaring, and can tell
What his horny throat expresseth,
And to him the Tiger's yell
Comes articulate and presseth
On his ear like mother-tongue.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

Feast of St. Thomas Aquinas

The material sun sheds its light outside us; but the intelligible Sun, Who is God, shines within us. Hence the natural light bestowed upon the soul is God's enlightenment, whereby we are enlightened to see what pertains to natural knowledge; and for this there is required no further knowledge, but only for such things as surpass natural knowledge.


ST I-IIae.109.1 ad 2

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Is-Ought Muddles

There has recently been some discussion in the blogosphere relevant to the is-ought problem, in particular at "Rationally Speaking":

Hume's Guillotine

On Morality, a Response to Julia

Chris Schoen also had some comments:

Oughtism

Horse's Mouths

One of the problems with thinking through this subject is that it is dominated by the slogan that you can't get an 'ought' from an 'is'; and the problem with doing philosophy by slogans is that slogans pick up baggage over time. This is especially true here. I've argued that Hume's argument on this point is usually taken out of its original context, which is an attack on moral rationalism, and I've also argued that Hume is right to think this is a problem for rationalists although not for sentimentalists like himself. But whenever I argue this, whether here or elsewhere, I find that I am suddenly involved not in one argument but in half a dozen, and this is because when people say that you can't get an 'ought' from an 'is', they can mean half a dozen completely different things. Strictly speaking, the original slogan was about relations: you can't get an 'ought' relation from an 'is' relation. This problem can be evaded by denying the rationalist claim that 'ought' is a relation; and this is precisely why Hume's moral theory is not endangered by his own argument. However, if you take it out of context and interpret only vaguely some of the phrases in Hume's actual argument, it becomes tempting to use the same slogan to claim that you can't deduce an 'ought' statement from an 'is' statement. Taken at face value this is thoroughly and obviously false, since any 'ought' statement can be reformulated as an 'is' statement. For instance, I can formulate 'We ought to give to the poor' as, quite trivially, 'We are such that we ought to give to the poor'. The second is an 'is' statement; and from it you can derive the 'ought' statement. So when people can't seriously mean the Statement interpretation; that would make it a logical problem, and a purely artificial logical problem based on a complete confusion, at that. People do, in fact, sometimes talk as if it were a logical problem; but obviously if there is a problem relating 'ought' and 'is', however those are understood, it must be due to some features of our substantive account of what they are, not a mere matter of logic. And there are plenty of things that make this obvious; it is simply not reasonable to claim that medical science has nothing to say about what you ought to do in order to be happy, or that physics has nothing to say about what you ought to do in order to go to the moon.

So we could perhaps set the Statement interpretation aside; people often talk as if it were the interpretation they meant, but if it were this would merely be a sign that they are logically confused. What people usually try to do is to take a dyad and deny that either member of the dyad is reducible to the other. There are several interpretations of this sort, but the most common is Fact-Value, when people say "ought and is" what they usually mean is "fact and value". They mean you can't get values from facts. Now, this is very ambiguous. It could mean that from facts it is impossible to tell whether something is valued. Taken this way it is obviously false (if something is valued by someone, that is a fact), but astonishingly you can find people who talk as if this were what they meant. But we can perhaps set this Literalistic Fact-Value interpretation aside as merely suggested by verbal sloppiness rather than real intent. More interesting as an interpretation, and probably what most people who talk about the opposition of Fact and Value are actually groping toward, is the claim that your recognizing something as fact does not guarantee that it is a value for you. Finally we hit something plausible. Whether it is right, however, depends crucially on how you classify things as Facts or Values.

There is a further problem with the term 'value' itself, which can mean either 'the property of a thing that is the reason a thing is valued' or 'things valued'. Happy puppies are things that most of us value, but we value them because they are cute, cuddly, lovey-dovey, and so forth. People genuinely value their children; they value them for many reasons: parental love, reciprocation of filial love, and so forth. But there are plenty of facts about both of these things, and recognizing some of these things may well guarantee that it is a value for you. A similar problem arises with 'fact'. A happy puppy or a child is not a fact; it's a thing about which factual statements may be true or false, but facts are not things, and have a propositional character. Rain is not a fact, but it may be a fact that it is raining. Dogs are not facts, but it may be a fact that they are chasing you. Or, if we are using the term in such a way that we can use it of both, we are introducing yet another ambiguity into this ever-increasing swampy muddle that is the 'is-ought problem'.

So some people generalize it. The problem is not Second Person but First Person Plural: there is no fact such that it guarantees that something ought to be a value for all of us. This has the advantage of getting us back to oughts, and thus of not involving any sort of lie when someone says that the problem is due to the 'oughts'. But, again, this simply depends on how you are classifying facts and values; and the same issue recurs again. It also shows what we should have already known: 'oughts' and 'values' are different things. Even putting the problem in this First Person Plural way requires recognizing that they are not the same; otherwise we are committing ourselves to an infinite regress. Why can't we get values from facts? Because it is a fact that no fact requires that values be valued. And why is that? Because it is a fact that it is a fact that no fact requires that valuing values be valued. This is thoroughly absurd. So 'ought' and 'value' are not the same thing, and should not be treated as if they were.

Problems like these will, in fact, arise at any level, because both facts and values are purely derivative; neither of them is the primitive it is treated as being. The reason these two, 'fact' and 'value', became attached to the is-ought slogan was due to logical positivism, which attempted to put forward a purely emotive theory of morals that would sharply distinguish morals from sciences and both from mere nonsense. The problem is that there are plenty of facts about emotions, from at least some of which you would have to be able to derive some moral statements if the emotivist theory were true. Logical positivism, here as elsewhere, was never able to make itself self-consistent. But very few people are tempted by logical positivism these days. Why do we find people still proceeding as if the logical positivists were right on this point, when they weren't even coherent, and almost nobody is a logical positivist, anyway?

There is reason to think that no interpretation of the problem (beyond Hume's original and narrow Relation interpretation) can be rationally sustained, or is even coherent. James Chastek once joked that we can't derive an 'ought' from an 'is'; therefore we ought not to try. The joke, of course, which apparently would be entirely lost on some people, is that the statement is self-refuting: it can only be true if one can derive an 'ought' from an 'is'. But it is hardly plausible that someone claiming that we can't derive an 'ought' from an 'is' is claiming that this has no ramifications for how we ought to reason, no matter how the 'is' and 'ought' are interpreted. Something suspicious is afoot. If 'ought' cannot be derived from an 'is', and this is a fact, then we can't derive from it any conclusion about whether we ought to try deriving an 'ought' from an 'is', nor about whether we ought to act as if we could. This is absurd. But if we mean instead that 'ought' ought not to be derived from an 'is' (whether it can be or not) then it becomes difficult to understand why anyone would believe this at all.

When we throw away the slogan and look at the actual problems people are addressing when they raise it, we find that a common problem, the one raised in the "Rationally Speaking" exchange above, is the question of whether "it is possible to use scientific facts to justify selecting one particular set" of moral principles. This is more interesting than anything involving the slogan, and it simply doesn't need the slogan. And it shows what the real problem is. It is how what is (and only that to the extent that scientific inquiry considers what is) relates to what is good. We know -- or we do if we don't confuse ourselves with incoherent slogans about ought and is or fact and value -- that standard scientific practices can genuinely inform us about some goods: health, for instance. It does not follow from this that there is nothing to be known about such goods except what standard scientific practices can determine. Even if it did, it would not directly follow that there are no goods beyond those about which standard scientific practices can give us complete information. For instance, medical science can inform you about what constitutes this real and genuine good, a healthy body, and what you ought to do to get it. It does not directly follow from this that medical science, or even any more fundamental or extensive natural science, can tell you that a healthy body is a better good than, say, the production of beautiful art. Rimbaud, in order to write better poetry, deliberately deranged his senses, and seriously endangered his health, with drugs and alcohol and crazy living. Is there any experiment that can be made, or measurement that can be taken, or mathematical theory that can be tested, that would prove that this was, overall, a good or bad thing to do? If there is, it certainly can't be assumed on the basis of the fact that scientific inquiry can shed light on goods like health and human taste for beautiful language. The one does not require the other.

The fact of the matter is that we have good reason to think that scientific inquiry of the sort we find in physics, chemistry, and biology can only shed a limited light on the goods that can be and are considered in human reasoning, and in anything like their current forms they can only shed a limited light on a limited number of these goods. The first follows from the fact that standard scientific practices require an immense amount of abstraction from details, but details, sometimes weird details, are clearly relevant to the proper understanding of some goods, for instance, those that we especially love, like children and spouses and friends. Not only that, but details are relevant to how these goods relate to other goods. Practical reason, unlike theoretical reason, has to deal directly with the actual circumstances of particular cases. And the second is seen easily enough in the fact that trying to solve serious ethical problems using only currently known facts from physics, chemistry, and biology, is thoroughly futile -- we inevitably make assumptions going beyond these facts. It is one thing to argue that physics, chemistry, and biology can help us a bit in narrowing down which moral principles, out of all possible candidates, are right. This is a fairly modest claim, and has much to be said for it. It is another thing to suggest that we can narrow the candidates down to one solely on the basis of physics, chemistry, and biology; we obviously cannot do this with the physics, chemistry, and biology we have now, and it is irrational to make claims about the world solely on the basis of what you imagine science will somehow discover at some point in the future. We'd need a very substantive argument for something like this; and substantive argument is precisely what we never find, just definition and fiat.

So when all the muddles are taken away, and all the absurdities are thrown out, we are left with a very modest position, that science can shed some light on the moral life. There is good reason, contrary to the thrust of the slogans, to think that is true; and there is good reason, contrary to some others, to think that the 'some' should be emphasized. The speculative mean is sometimes as golden as the ethical one.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Three Poem Drafts

All very rough.

Kalaratri in the Starlight

Come now, come now, said the woman's smile
as she leaned on the wooden fence,
come now, come now, said the woman's voice
with the coaxing that never relents.
And she looked me all over with sparkling eye
and she blushed and she smiled once more,
and she flirted at me with lash and with glance
and with form that held good things in store.

My love is another's, I quietly said,
and though your deep eyes are bright,
and though you reach up with a willow-tree grace,
I am for another by right.

And she smiled again and with softest of purrs
she replied that true love left no choice,
for when true lovers meet under full moon
the fates speak in inexorable voice
of destinies laid from the first of the world
that cannot be turned or undone,
and when she loved a man, that loving was sure,
and she loved, and I was the one.

But a bright, lovely girl awaits me, I know,
hopes to see me in clear morning light,
and how can a man seek honor and truth
who dallies with strangers at night?

Ah, said the lady, as she quickly drew near
and I felt the brush of the warmth of her breath,
but these frail mundane loves are but passing sighs;
I speak true, or my name is not Death.
Then she trickled her finger down the bridge of my nose,
took my pale face in her hands,
and she smiled then at me under the stars
and kissed me as I fell to the sand.

Violet

Our hearts were beating in the dusky silence.
Your great dark eyes with a touch of velvet
stroked my face and carressed my soul;
the night grew warm as the air grew cold,
and all the colors of this fragile world,
reds and greens with yellows curled,
were drowned by force like tides that roll,
were washed away in a rush of gold.
The gold in turn was drained away
to some dark shade of yesterday
and our hearts still beat in the shadowed silence
as the world was steeped in a sea of violet.

Envy

I have wallked the road of envy;
the darkness in that wood
grows tangled all around you
to choke out every good.
That jungle knows no reason
as it twists each thought with sin--
rather burn the hall of concert
than play second violin--
and hatred of one's neighbor
for good they have that you do not
becomes hatred of that very good
for not being where you sought,
and to spite another's vision
you pluck out your seeing eye
and in your heart's rich fallow
hell takes root, and lie.