Showing papers in "Review of Metaphysics in 2008"

The Conversation That Never Happened (Gadamer/Derrida)

Abstract: "IT WAS AN 'IMPROBABLE' ENCOUNTER, but improbable though it was, it took place." (1) This is how Diane Michelfelder and Richard Palmer initially described "The Gadamer-Derrida Encounter." Let me remind you of what happened (or did not happen). In April 1981, Philippe Forget organized a conference at the Goethe Institute in Paris that brought together Hans-Georg Gadamer and Jacques Derrida, as well as a number of other French and German scholars interested in hermeneutics and poststructuralism. At the time, these were two of the most significant continental philosophical orientations of the twentieth century: hermeneutics, deeply rooted in German nineteenth-century philosophy; and poststructuralism, a movement that burst upon the French scene after the Second World War. Gadamer, already in his eighties, and the much younger Derrida were respectively acknowledged to be the leading spokespersons of hermeneutics and deconstruction. Gadamer hoped that the occasion would provide an opportunity to begin a serious conversation with Derrida. In his lecture, "Text and Interpretation," Gadamer sketched his own understanding of hermeneutics against the background of their conflicting interpretations of Heidegger and Nietzsche. He indicated that "the encounter with the French scene represents a genuine challenge for me. In particular, Derrida has argued against the later Heidegger that Heidegger himself has not really broken with the logocentrism of metaphysics." (2) By sketching the different German and French readings of Heidegger and Nietzsche, Gadamer sought to provide a basis for a conversation. (Derrida's paper at the conference deconstructs Heidegger's interpretation of Nietzsche). But the conversation never really took place. The morning after Gadamer's lecture, Derrida began his brief reply by declaring: "During the lecture and the ensuing discussion yesterday evening, I began to ask myself if anything was taking place here other than the improbable debates, counter-questioning, and inquiries into unfindable objects of thought--to recall some of the formulations we heard. I am still asking myself this question." (3) He then went on to ask three questions, "taking off" from a brief remark that Gadamer made about "good will." (4) Gadamer was clearly perplexed and began his response to Derrida by saying: "Mr. Derrida's questions prove irrefutably that my remarks on text and interpretation, to the extent they had Derrida's well-known position in mind, did not accomplish their objective. I am finding it difficult to understand these questions that have been addressed to me." (5) I think that anyone, regardless of their sympathies with hermeneutics or deconstruction would not find in these exchanges any real encounter--any meeting of minds. And this is a great pity because there are important and consequential differences and points of contact between hermeneutics and deconstruction. The so-called encounter of Gadamer and Derrida strikes one as a classic instance of non-communication, of two philosophers speaking past each other; neither really making substantial contact. As we shall see, by the criteria that Gadamer takes to be a genuine conversation or dialogue, this is an example of what happens when a conversation or dialogue does not happen. Michelfelder and Palmer tell the story of how the papers from the 1981 conference were subsequently published in French and German, and how they decided to publish translations of the key texts from the 1981 conference together with other texts and commentaries. (6) Gadamer and Derrida met on several occasions after 1981, but there is no evidence that they ever really had a real dialogue. (7) I want to imagine the conversation that might have taken place. Or more accurately, I want to explore some of the key differences and points of contact between Gadamer and Derrida. I hope to show that they stand in a productive tension with each other; they "supplement" each other. To characterize their complex relationship, I employ a metaphor from Benjamin and Adorno that I have used before, that of a constellation: "a juxtaposed rather than integrated cluster of changing elements that resists reduction to a common denominator, essential core, or generative first principle. …

From Logic to the Person: An Introduction to Edmund Husserl's Ethics

Abstract: MANY POPULAR INTRODUCTIONS to ethics attempt to systematize ethical theories by distinguishing three different types of normative ethics: virtue ethics, which can be traced back to Aristotle, deontological ethics of a Kantian type, and consequentialist theories, including, most importantly, utilitarianism. While such a classification is too broad to tell us anything of much use about the details of most ethical theories, it can be helpful for looking at the guiding but perhaps hidden principles in an ethical theory. However, if we confront the Husserlian ethics with this classification, we will find that it does not fit. Instead, Husserl's ethics includes elements of all three of these types of ethical theories and combines them in a way that is both historically and systematically fruitful. Husserl's mature ethical theory, in particular, combines a modern, Kantian or Fichtean approach based on a strong concept of a free and active ego capable of shaping its life autonomously through its own will with a more Aristotelian theory of the virtues that help us to shape our lives in order to reach happiness or eudaimonia. Before entering into this theory I will begin this introduction to Husserl's ethics with a historical overview of the development of his ethical theory. Since there are different periods in this development we cannot speak about the Husserlian ethics as such. At least two different positions and periods must be distinguished from one another. (1) There is first Husserl's early ethics, which is strongly influenced by his mentor Franz Brentano, whose lecture courses on ethics Husserl attended when he was a student in Vienna from 1884 to 1886. (2) This early ethical theory is characterized by a strong parallel between logic and ethics, each of which is part of a comprehensive theory of reason that also comprises a theory of science and an ontology. Husserl himself did not publish his early ethical theory, but his lecture courses on ethics and some manuscripts from this period, which are preserved in his Nachlass, are available in the series of his collected writings, the Husserliana (hereafter "Hua."). Most of this material can be found in Hua. 28 ("Lectures on Ethics and Value Theory"), (3) which contains the lecture course on ethics and axiology from 1908/09 that Husserl repeated in a slightly changed version in 1911 and 1914. This volume also includes the remaining fragments of Husserl's first lecture courses on ethics from 1897 ("Ethics and Philosophy of Law") (4) and 1902 ("Elementary Questions of Ethics"). Additional texts on Husserl's early ethics are published in the first book of the Ideas to a Pure Phenomenology and Phenomenological Philosophy from 1913, (5) and in Husserl's lecture course on "Logic and General Theory of Science" from 1917/18, which is published in Hua. 30. (6) In Husserl's second ethical theory the parallelism between logic and ethics no longer plays an important role. Instead, the background of this later ethics is a refined phenomenological theory of the subject as a person who finally strives toward happiness or blessedness. Husserl developed this theory beginning around 1917 under the influence of his readings of Fichte and Kant. He published his basic ideas in a series of articles on the topic of "renewal" (Erneuerung)--a crucial term in this ethics--in the Japanese journal "The Kaizo" in 1922 to 1924. (7) Other important documents of this theory are the extensive lecture course on ethics from 1920 ("Introduction to Ethics") which he repeated in 1924, (8) parts of his lecture course "Introduction to Philosophy" (9) from 1922/23, a short text on "The value of life," (10) and some smaller manuscripts. Almost all of the aforementioned texts have been published in the last few years, and they now provide the basis for a discussion of Husserl's ethics that has only recently begun. (11) There may yet appear one more volume in the series of the Husserliana that would contain Husserl's latest ideas on ethics from the 1930s, which are embedded in a broader metaphysical conception. …

Aristotle's Defense of the Theoretical Life: Comments on Politics 7

Abstract: ARISTOTLE OPENS POLITICS 7, his discussion of the "best form of government" (politeias aristes), which he later calls "the city according to prayer" (kat'euchen), by informing his audience of his plan of attack. (1) Anyone who undertakes an inquiry into the ideal city must, he says, first determine what the most "choice-worthy life" is. (2) After all, "it is fitting for those who are best governed to act in the best way." (3) To commence discussion of the nature of this best life he refers to what he calls "the exoteric discourses," which, whatever exactly they were, seem to have expressed basic ethical principles. (4) Concerning one distinction, no one would disagree. There are three divisions [to be made within the best life]: external [goods], those of the body, and those of the soul. All of these must belong to those who are to be among the blessedly happy (makariois). (5) For no one would say that the blessed man has no share of courage or moderation or of justice or practical wisdom, but is afraid of flies buzzing around, can resist nothing when he desires food or drink, destroys his dearest friends for a pittance, and is as foolish and prone to error when it comes to intellectual matters as a child or a madman. With these assertions everyone would agree. (6) Aristotle is confident that no one would disagree that the best life requires possession of sufficient external goods (like money), a healthy body, and most important of all, the good which belongs to the "soul"; namely, "virtue" (arete). He does not use this last word in the passage above, but his mention of courage, moderation, and so on, as well as the fact that he uses it shortly thereafter clearly indicate that "virtue" is what he has in mind. (7) Even if it is granted that the best life requires virtue, it is not clear in what sort of virtue such a life consists. Politics 7.2 narrows the possibilities to two: Which is the more choiceworthy life, that of engaging in political activity and sharing in the life of the city, or is it rather the life of the stranger (ho xenikos) whose ties to the political community have been dissolved? (8) Among those who agree that the best life is most choiceworthy there is dispute whether the political and practical life is choiceworthy, or whether the life whose ties to all external matters have been dissolved--namely, the theoretical life, which some people say is the only life for a philosopher--is more choiceworthy. For it is nearly the case that the most honor-loving of men, both of the past and of the present, seem to choose these two lives when it comes to virtue. The two I mean are the political and the philosophical. (9) From a long tradition, Aristotle inherits the view that there are two genuinely excellent forms of life: the theoretical-philosophical and the practical-political. (10) In Nicomachean Ethics 10.7-8 he argues unambiguously on behalf of the former. Most commentators think he is less straightforward here in the Politics 7.1. For example, Kraut says that Aristotle "does not decisively draw a conclusion about which is better." (11) Reeve describes him as "cagey, dialectically balancing the claims on the political life against the philosophical, but not giving decisive precedence to either." (12) Solmsen puts the point strongly by saying that "we have to accept the oscillations of Aristotle's argument and the ambiguity of his conclusion; they are indicative of a deeper conflict between diverging tendencies and inclinations in his mind." (13) Miller concurs: "Aristotle's discussion is somewhat inconclusive because he does not explicitly answer the question he has posed as to whether the best life is political and or philosophical." (14) Miller's assertion is based on his reading of the following passage. Some consider that the despotic rule over one's neighbors involves the greatest injustice, while political rule, even if it does not involve injustice, nonetheless is an impediment to one's own well-being. …

The Fate of Ancient Greek Natural Philosophy in the Middle Ages: Islam and Western Christianity

Abstract: THE ENDURING IMPACT of ancient Greek science and natural philosophy on the civilizations of Islam and Latin Christianity is one of the great success stories in the history of the world. The successful transmission of Greek science into Arabic and then of Greek and Arabic science into Latin compels us to speak of "Greco-Islamic-Latin" science in the Middle Ages. It was Greco-Islamic-Latin science and natural philosophy that unquestionably set the stage for the Scientific Revolution of the seventeenth century, which would otherwise have been impossible. The transmittal of science and natural philosophy from Greek to Arabic and from Greek and Arabic to Latin was largely a one way process, a one-way belt of transmission. There was little, if any, backward movement--that is, there were no meaningful translations from Arabic to Greek and from Latin to Arabic and Greek--and therefore no significant interactions between Western Christianity and Islam. But if there were no mutual interactions in science and natural philosophy between Latin Christianity and Islam, the two religions on which I shall focus, there were important contrasts in the way each religious tradition responded to, and utilized, the scientific heritage it received. Perhaps the differences in their long-term responses to secular pagan philosophical and scientific learning were shaped to a lesser or greater extent by the culture and civilization in which each was born and the manner in which each came into being. I Major Differences that Transcend Science and Natural Philosophy. Christianity was born inside the Roman Empire and was spread slowly and quietly, but persistently. By comparison with Islam, Christianity was disseminated at a snail's pace. Not until 300 years after the birth of Christ was Christianity effectively represented throughout the Roman Empire. Only in 313, by the Edict of Milan, or Edict of Toleration, was Christianity given full equality with other religions in the Empire. And it was not until 392--almost four centuries after the birth of Christ--that Christianity became the state religion, when the Emperor Theodosius ordered the closing of pagan temples and forbade pagan worship. In striking contrast, Islam was spread over an enormous geographical area in a remarkably short time. In less than one hundred years after the death of Muhammad in 632, Islam became the dominant religion in a vast area stretching from the Straits of Gibraltar in the West to India in the East. Such a rapid spread could only have occurred by conquest. Where Christianity spread slowly, by proselytizing, Islam came from outside the Roman world as an alien intruder, and although its converts were pagans and often former Christians, the mind set of the invaders was one which viewed Greek learning as alien, as is illustrated by the fact that Muslims distinguished two kinds of sciences: the Islamic sciences, based on the Koran and Islamic law and traditions, and the foreign sciences, or "pre-Islamic" sciences, which encompassed Greek science and natural philosophy. We might say that the slow spread of Christianity provided Christians an opportunity to adjust to Greek secular learning, whereas Islam's rapid dissemination made its relations with Greek learning much more problematic. Another dramatic difference concerns the relationship between church and state. From the outset, Christianity recognized the state as distinct from the church. The separation is encapsulated in these momentous words of Jesus: "Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's; and unto God the things that are God's" (Matt. 22:21). Thus did Jesus acknowledge the state and implicitly urge his followers to be good citizens. Although Church and state were contending powers throughout the Middle Ages, each acknowledged the independence of the other. They regarded themselves as two swords, although, all too often, they were pointed at each other. …

Spinoza's Virtuous Passions

Abstract: A CENTRAL MESSAGE OF SPINOZA'S ETHICS is that we achieve freedom by mastering the emotions. (1) Harkening back to the ancient Stoics, Spinoza describes human bondage as "man's lack of power to control and check the emotions. For a man at the mercy of his emotions is not his own master but is subject to fortune" (4pref). (2) In order to help us become our own masters, Spinoza offers "remedies for the emotions," techniques for checking and controlling them. Of course, Spinoza did not believe, any more than the Stoics, that all emotions are harmful. (3) Spinoza judges what is bad in the emotions with respect to our virtue, which he equates with our power (4def8). The importance of our power, in turn, stems from our nature: we are ultimately modes of the one substance, whose essence as power is expressed as our individual striving to persist in our being and to increase our power to act. Emotions are bad, then, to the extent that they frustrate our striving, decreasing our activity and power. Eliminating these contributes to our freedom because it prevents us from being directed by external forces. On this basis, one would imagine that achieving virtue would require us to eliminate the passions, pursuing the Stoic ideal of apatheia. Since the passions arise from being passive to external forces, the passions would seem to represent the sort of bondage which concerns Spinoza. Partly on this basis, it is often assumed that Spinoza understood a life of virtue as one of pure activity, with as few passions as possible. (4) This paper aims to show that Spinoza reserves an important role for the passions in a life of virtue. (5) Seen in a certain light, this claim might appear trivial: the passions, like sensations, are knowledge of the first kind, which provides us with the particular knowledge about external things necessary for comporting ourselves in the world. Since Virtue amounts to increasing one's power, it follows that the passions, like sensation, must be Virtuous in the general sense that they are necessary for us to navigate the world successfully. While I agree with these claims, my thesis argues that the passions are virtuous in a more specific, moral sense. The passions, unlike other knowledge of the first kind, corresponds to our degree of perfection. As such, the passions play an important role in moral reasoning by indicating what activities are good and bad for us. Indeed, it follows that the passions are indispensable to moral reasoning: a truly virtuous person would require the passions in order to engage consistently in the sorts of activities that increase her power, namely, following reason. Consequently, the passions are virtuous, not just in the general sense that they increase our power, but in the deeper sense that they are integral to a virtuous character. This particular sense of virtue is captured by Spinoza's notion of true virtue as living in accordance with reason. This important role of the passions in a life of virtue has been neglected, in part, because it is difficult to make sense of Spinoza's claim that the passions track our perfection. Spinoza holds that passions are either pleasures, which indicate an increase in our perfection and power, or pains, which indicate a decrease in our power. (6) It is not clear, however, how a passion can be pleasurable, in other words, contribute to one's power consistently with Spinoza's philosophy: when we are passive, we are directed by external forces, which would not seem to constitute an increase in our power of activity. The problem has led some commentators to conclude that Spinoza was mistaken to allow for passive pleasure and that perhaps he didn't really think such a thing is possible. (7) In order to account for the importance of the passions, then, we must explain how they can increase our power. In brief, this paper will argue that, for Spinoza, even when we are passive, we are somewhat active to varying degrees. The passions represent activity because they exercise our understanding by providing us with intelligence about bodies, in particular, the degree of our own bodies' perfection. …

The Moral Inevitability of Enlightenment and the Precariousness of the Moment: Reading Kant's What Is Enlightenment?

Abstract: SYMBOL AND TEXT. Where the Enlightenment is concerned, there are few philosophical texts which are so often cited as Kant's famous essay An Answer to the Question: What is Enlightenment? (1) This occasional text, which started out as an answer to a question raised incidentally in the Berlinische Monatsschrift, has in the course of the last two hundred years grown to become the symbolic text of the philosophical Enlightenment. (2) The reasons for this are obvious. It is a text which, in terms of its textuality already displays a number of features traditionally associated with the phenomenon of the Enlightenment. To start with, there is the element of self-reflection and self-justification. In Kant's text, the Aufklarung seeks to give an account of itself, and tries to understand and explain itself. In addition, the text's pronouncements are those of an intellectual who speaks out freely, relies on his own understanding, and addresses a broad public via a readily accessible text. As a piece of writing, What is Enlightenment? is thus thoroughly "enlightened." Yet we also find the classic agenda of the Enlightenment in Kant's very argument. Characteristic here is the plea for the emancipation of thinking and the insistence on the importance of thinking for oneself (sapere aude). Equally typical is the link which is made between this question and the political conditions which make it possible: Kant refers expressly to the need for politically guaranteed publicity, in which this independent thinking can be articulated freely and without hindrance. One final recognizable feature is the way in which the Enlightenment becomes embedded in an historical-philosophical dynamic, which is intended to demonstrate that the Enlightenment is inevitable because it is ingrained in the very nature of things, and that it should therefore be immediately promoted and brought about. Therefore, it is not surprising that in numerous publications both past and present, What is Enlightenment? figures as a model text for the Enlightenment, or what is taken to be the Enlightenment. (3) This is no less true in Habermas's reading of What is Enlightenment? (4) and in that of Foucault. (5) They may avoid offering a predictable reading of Kant's essay, but like many others they all too readily refer What is Enlightenment? back to a number of central ideas and insights that can be easily linked with the great themes of the Enlightenment, or at any rate with their interpretation of it. Thus Habermas in his reading emphasizes the role that Kant assigns to publicity (Offentlichkeit). In Kant, Habermas argues, this publicity assumes its full significance for the first time. (6) This is because, for Kant, publicity is not just the sphere where people become mature (aufgeklart), but also the sphere where that maturity is deployed politically as a mediating factor between political authority and the citizen. The only problem is that Kant still regards the origination of this publicity, in historicophilosophical terms, as an inevitable step in the gradual progress of mankind and its institutions towards a complete (cosmopolitan) civic order. (7) Foucault for his part pays hardly any attention in his reading of What is Enlightenment? to this question of publicity, or to its historico-philosophical underpinnings. For him, in the text on Aufklarung, [Kant] deals with the question of contemporary reality alone. He is not seeking to understand the present on the basis of a totality or of a future achievement. He is looking for a difference: What difference does today introduce with respect to yesterday? (8) The way in which Kant raises the question about the present and elevates this question to the status of a philosophical task, Foucault argues, is new. (9) So much so, in fact, that Foucault believes it is a point of departure: "the outline of what one might call the attitude of modernity." (10) By this Foucault means an attitude toward the present which can be defined as a critique of our historical way of being, of the historical way in which we constitute ourselves as subjects here and now, and of the possibilities contained therein of transcending this historical specificity. …

Kantian Autonomy and the Moral Self

Abstract: KANT'S ACCOUNT OF AUTONOMY is not designed to solve the traditional problem of free will. It is a response to the problem of heteronomy rather than the problem of determinism. And the former pertains to concerns about the structure of practical reason rather than the scope of nature's causal laws. So his theory of practical reason, rather than his metaphysics, provides the proper context for understanding his account of autonomy. Unfortunately Kant did not always appreciate this feature of his own views. He says conflicting things about the relation between the practical concept of autonomy and the theoretical concept of "transcendental freedom." He sometimes claims that the former depends on the latter, which he characterizes as "the faculty of beginning a state from itself, the causality of which does not in turn stand under another cause determining it in time in accordance with the law of nature." (1) In other words, he sometimes says that our autonomy depends upon our ability to exempt ourselves from the workings of nature in order to initiate a chain of events that does not itself function as a link to earlier causal states. Yet on other occasions he claims that autonomy and transcendental freedom are two separate issues: "The question about transcendental freedom concerns merely speculative knowledge, which we can set aside as quite indifferent if we are concerned with what is practical, and about which there is already sufficient discussion in the Antinomy of Pure Reason." (2) Kant himself did not always follow through on this claim, but I propose that we take him at his word here. Further remarks recommend this interpretive approach. Consider, for example, his review of Johann Heinrich Schulz's work, Attempt at An Introduction to a Doctrine of Morals for all Human Beings, which Kant wrote and published in 1783, just before the Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals. After summarizing Schulz's views in a friendly and not unsympathetic manner, Kant draws the reader's attention to "the general fatalism which is the most prominent principle in this work and the most powerful one, affecting all morality, [since it] turns all human conduct into a mere puppet show and thereby does away altogether with the concept of obligation." (3) What is interesting is that Kant criticizes Schulz's position not by insisting on the reality of freedom, but, rather, by arguing that the viability and legitimacy of our moral practices do not depend on fatalism or determinism being false. (4) Despite having claimed in the Critique of Pure Reason that autonomy depends on transcendental freedom, and thus a solution to the free will problem, he says here that "the practical concept of freedom has nothing to do with the speculative concept, which is abandoned entirely to metaphysicians." (5) Bearing in mind that Kant regards autonomy as a species of practical freedom, this claim is worth repeating in a way that makes its relevance to his moral theory crystal clear: the concept of autonomy, he tells us, has nothing to do with the concept of transcendental freedom. This line of thought will surely not impress those who are committed to the importance of the traditional problem of free will. They will insist that the will is either free or not--no matter the perspective or standpoint from which one chooses to examine the issue. And whether the will is free or not depends either on the truth or falsity of determinism or on whether freedom can be made compatible with determinism. In the same review of Schulz Kant indicates a line of response to this objection that he will pursue throughout his practical philosophy: The most confirmed fatalist, who is a fatalist as long as he gives himself up to mere speculation, must still, as soon as he has to do with wisdom and duty, always act as if he were free, and this idea also actually produces the deed that accords with it and can alone produce it. …

Potentiality, Possibility, and the Irreversibility of Death

Abstract: I ONE OF THE MAIN TENETS held to be essential to the definition of death is that it is irreversible. Understanding death as irreversible allows one to say that using resuscitative measures to revive a person whose life functions have temporarily ceased is not a case of bringing the dead back to life; rather, a temporary hiatus of one's life functions does not entail that a person has died since this condition is reversible. The application of this tenet in clinical end-of-life cases is challenged, however, by the ability to maintain, through the use of a mechanical ventilator or a cardiopulmonary bypass machine, the vegetative functions of a body which has suffered whole-brain infarction and thus satisfies the widely accepted criterion for determining when death occurs. (1) A whole-brain dead body, which has been declared irreversibly dead, does not seem dead if respiration and circulation persist through the medium of an external device. (2) Is the machine, then, reversing the patient's death? A further challenge is the prospect of cryopreserving the bodies of persons who have been declared dead, in the hope that future technological developments will allow such frozen bodies to be thawed, repaired, and thereby reanimated. These challenges prompt careful reflection of how death should be conceptually defined and clinically determined. This paper offers such reflection from the Aristotelian-Thomistic metaphysical perspective. Aristotle and Aquinas understand a human person to be composed of a rational soul informing a living, sentient, animal body. What are the implications of this understanding in light of the above challenges? I have recently addressed the use of artificial technology to sustain a body's vegetative functions, as well as the implications of the view I articulate with respect to cases of prolonged somatic survival after whole-brain death and the practice of non-heart-beating organ donation. (3) In this paper, I will consider the case of cryopreservation. A central conceptual focus throughout this discussion is the purportedly irreversible nature of death and the criteria by which a human body is considered to be informed by a rational soul. II Aristotle defines a soul as the first actuality--or substantial form--of "a natural body having life potentially in it." (4) Aristotle defines three types of soul: a rational soul has the relevant capacities for life, sensation, and rational thought, and is the type of soul proper to the human species; a sensitive soul has the relevant capacities for only life and sensation, and is the type of soul proper to all nonhuman species of animal; a vegetative soul has the relevant capacities for life alone, and is proper to all nonanimal living organisms. (5) A specific type of soul informs only a specific type of body--one properly organized to support the soul's definitive capacities. Hence, a rational soul cannot inform the body of an ant or an oak tree; it can inform only a human body which supports a rational soul's capacities for life, sensation, and rational thought. (6) At the most basic level, though, a body is ensouled if it is organized such that it is potentially alive. Prima facie, the notion that a soul informs a body that is potentially alive seems to imply that such a body might be actually dead. (7) As Aquinas interprets Aristotle's definition, however, this is not the case. Rather, by "potentially alive," Aristotle is referring to the fact that a body which receives a soul as its form cannot already be actually alive since the soul is the actuality of a living body. Hence, the "body" that is referred to in the definition of soul is simply matter that is in a state of potentiality to receive a form--in this case, the form received is a soul that actualizes such matter as a living body: "The matter of a living body is that which is compared to life just as potency to act; and this is the soul, the act, by which the body lives. …

Parts, Wholes, and Presence by Power: A Response to Gordon P. Barnes

Abstract: PRESENCE BY POWER, often known as virtual presence, is one of the less known aspects of Aquinas's natural philosophy, but at the same time it is an essential part of his understanding of natural things as composed of form and matter. Any attempt to understand the natural world philosophically cannot simply dismiss the observations and theories of modern science, and presence by power is that facet of Thomistic natural philosophy that most obviously invites a philosophical consideration of these observations and theories. Without an understanding of presence by power, Aquinas's explanation of natural things as composed of form and matter--while it may be a compelling and enlightening way of understanding the natural world--seems almost irrelevant to the way in which modern science, with its elements and elementary particles, seems both to explain and to manipulate those same things. (1) Actually, the fact that complex bodies, living and nonliving, are composed of elements was known to both the ancients and the medievals. Presence by power is St. Thomas's explanation of how the elements are present in a complex body. (2) Gordon P. Barnes has recently argued that presence by power is inadequate as an explanation of the way elements are present in complex bodies, and that it would be better to explain the elements' presence by claiming that simpler substances--carbon atoms, for example--are actually and substantially present in living things. (3) In order to address his arguments, I will begin by briefly presenting St. Thomas's understanding of presence by power, and I will then argue that Barnes's proposal--that there is a multiplicity of substantial forms in one matter--is unsatisfactory. When St. Thomas discusses how the elements are present in a mixed body (a nonliving substance containing more than one element) or a living thing, he has to explain three things: how the mixed body can be really one substance (rather than merely the juxtaposition of exceedingly small parts of the composing elements), how it can still contain the elements of which it is composed, and how it is generated from and decays into those elements. The heart of his response is that the elements cannot be held to be actually present in mixed bodies, but must, rather, be present by their powers (virtute). This means that the elements do not remain in the mixed body as substances--their substantial forms do not strictly speaking continue to exist. This is the only way to preserve the unity of the mixed body. However, since it is clear that the elements somehow remain, St. Thomas proposes that the active and passive qualities of the elements are in some way preserved in the mixed body. (4) Similarly, preserving the substantial unity of a living thing requires that its elements, organs, and cells cannot be present as substances. While an examination of the physical processes in a living thing can explain much about that living thing's workings, especially of its vegetative operations of nutrition, growth, and reproduction, such explanations demand the presence of various accidental qualities in the parts of the living thing, but not the presence of these parts--whether elements or organs--as substances. It is because of iron's power of binding with oxygen, and not necessarily because iron is substantially present in it, that hemoglobin functions in an animal's body. (5) Because we sense and measure only accidents, it should be clear that the color of an animal's skin will be the same whether the pigments are actually present as discrete individual substances or only present by their powers, as parts of the whole. The skin of a rotting salamander, which no longer has substantial unity, will, at least for a time, have the same coloring as the living salamander did. In the rotting salamander, the pigments in the skin do not exist as part of a single living substance, but rather at some point become actual substances (until they too break down into their simpler components), while the pigments in the living salamander are not substances, but parts of a single living substance--parts having the same properties as the same pigment molecules existing as substances. …

The influence of Schleiermacher's second speech "On Religion" on Heidegger's concept of "Ereignis"

Abstract: MARTIN HEIDEGGER'S CONCEPT OF THE EREIGNIS has fascinated and puzzled interpreters of his philosophy. The strangeness of this concept is illustrated by the number of different translations. It has been rendered as "event of appropriation," "enowning," "happening," and "emergence" (1)--and this list of translations is far from complete. Various explanations for the background of this term have been given, including the Eastern concept of Tao. In this essay, I suggest that Heidegger's use of Ereignis is rooted in the young Heidegger's study of Schleiermacher's speeches On Religion in 1917. In the second speech, Schleiermacher speaks of a "mysterious moment," in which an individual thing is immediately perceived in relation to the universe. Only in a second stage is this immediate perception conceptualized. The same structure, as I am going to argue, can be found in the revelation of Being in the Ereignis, which is later conceptualized as Lauten des Wortes.

A Functionalist Reinterpretation of Whitehead's Metaphysics

Abstract: IN HIS CONTRIBUTION to a 1936 APA symposium on the philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead, John Dewey complains that Process and Reality attempts to combine a method of philosophizing based on the mathematical sciences with one based on the natural sciences. He argues that the two methods are not compatible, however, and that the result is an unfortunate series of bifurcations between "a succinct system of independent definitions and postulates" on the one hand and, on the other, corrigible distinctions arising from "experimental observational inquiry." Whitehead's metaphysics is an incoherent mix of "morphological" and "genetic-functional" generalizations. (1) Dewey illustrates his claim by noting that the relation of Whitehead's eternal objects to actual occasions is one of "ingression." This term "suggests an independent and ready-made subsistence of eternal objects" which then requires "the conception of God," an agency able "to act selectively in determining which eternal objects ingress in any given immediate occasion." (2) Whitehead's ontology involves two different kinds of reality, one eternal and one temporal, one a consequence of his mathematical method, one of his empirical method. These two contrasting kinds of reality then need a third to relate them. Dewey thus implies that Whitehead has the same problem of ontological incoherence as Descartes, and solves the problem in the same unsatisfactory manner--by the addition of a divine agent. Dewey's solution, unsurprisingly, is to propose that Whitehead abandon the mathematical method, that he construe eternal objects in terms of the genetic-functional method. Were Whitehead to take this approach, "the egression of natures, characters, or universals" would be understood as resulting from "the necessity of generalization from immediate occasions that exists in order to direct their further movement and its consequences." (3) Eternal objects--that is, possibilities "which are 'eternal' in the sense of not being spatio-temporal existences"--would "emerge because of the existence of problematic situations," as "suggestions" which could then be "operatively applied to actual existences" in an attempt to resolve those problems. (4) Experimental intelligence would replace God as the agency needed to relate actual existences and eternal objects, the latter now understood to be emergent rather than timeless. Dewey's concluding "plea" is that Whitehead embrace this "alternative direction of development of his thought." It is "in essence a plea for recognizing the infinite fertility of actual occasions in their full actuality." (5) In his response to the symposium papers, Whitehead rejects Dewey's plea, insisting instead that: the historic process of the world, which requires the genetic-functional interpretation, also requires for its understanding some insight into those ultimate principles of existence which express the necessary connections within the flux. (6) My aim in this essay is to respond positively to Dewey's plea, not by abandoning Whitehead's "ultimate principles of existence," but by giving them a "genetic-functional interpretation." First, I will explicate the metaphysical incoherence resulting from Whitehead's ontological identification in Process and Reality of possibilities as eternal objects, the relational features of which depend upon the work of a primordial agent. Second, I will explore the resources in Process and Reality for a functionalist understanding of possibilities, with Whitehead's categoreal obligations doing the work whitehead claimed could only be done by God. Third, I will argue that in Adventures of Ideas Whitehead embraces a functionalist approach, abandoning the aspects of Process and Reality I have been criticizing. Whitehead ends up far closer to Dewey than Dewey recognized-and than most Whiteheadian commentators realize. Whitehead's philosophy, when transformed by means of functionalist concepts, is rescued from its debilitating incoherence. …

Grosholz, Emily R. Representation and Productive Ambiguity in Mathematics and the Sciences

Abstract: GSCHWANDTNER, Christina M. Reading Jean-Luc Marion: Exceeding Metaphysics. Indiana Series in the Philosophy of Religion. Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana University Press, 2007. xxiii + 320 pp. Cloth, $65.00; Paper, $24.95--The fundamental aim of this handsomely printed volume is to explain that, through a careful and proper reading of all of Jean-Luc Marion's key writings, one can come to understand how and, more importantly, why the need to exceed metaphysics, one of the themes central to his life's work, leads Marion to "articulate a theology of excess and a phenomenology of saturation" (p. xi) in his attempt to elucidate the relationship between philosophy and theology and, ultimately, God and creatures. But, rather than producing yet another more-or-less standard commentary on his thought, the author takes a fresh and bold approach by arguing that a coherent and synthetic understanding Marion's theological and phenomenological thought can only be achieved by grounding it in his often overlooked work on Descartes. "Marion's desire to 'exceed metaphysics' is guided by his outline and criticism of the metaphysical system evident in Descartes: its concern with epistemology and its doubled grounding in the thinking ego and divine causality" (p. 243). The structure of the book, divided into three parts consisting of three chapters each, mimics profitably Marion's own tripartite lifelong project devoted to Descartes (metaphysics), theology (God), and phenomenology (the self and the other). Each part begins with a helpful review of pertinent critical secondary literature and is then followed by a careful discussion of the relevant subject matter. In the first part ("The Constraints of Metaphysics") the author strives to demonstrate the extent to which Marion's attempt to go beyond ("overcome") the limitations of metaphysics is rooted in his study of Descartes and the late medieval context. The second part ("A God of Excess") is devoted to Marion's treatment of God, a topic which, according to the author, may be most profitably considered only in light of his consideration of Descartes' white/blank theology. In particular, the author argues that it is only when Marion's thought is seen within the Cartesian and late medieval context that one can come to appreciate how subtly he is able to find a balance between the absolute transcendence and total immanence of God. In the third part of the book ("A Self Open to the Other"), the author examines Marion's account of the human self and argues that, for Marion, the "saturated phenomenon reformulates not only one's reflection about God but also thought about the human self' and that his "phenomenology of excess requires and makes possible such a different and new account of subjectivity" (p. 181). Perhaps the most interesting insight on this topic is the contention that Marion's "analysis of the Cartesian ego provides significant pointers both for the shortcomings of the traditional subject and for a more successful account of the self that might come 'after' it" (p. …

Nature and Inertia

Abstract: NEWTON'S FIRST LAW OF MOTION, also known as the principle of inertia, says "Every body perseveres in its state of being at rest or of moving uniformly straight forward, except insofar as it is compelled to change its state by forces impressed." (1) I will argue that inertia is an inherent principle and that inertia and Newton's First Law are in this way natural in the Aristotelian sense. Indeed, many difficulties concerning inertia and the First Law of Motion may be resolved by understanding them through an Aristotelian conception of nature. However, philosophers from different traditions have argued that the principle of inertia treats a body as if it had no inherent principle of nature and were devoid of an inner source of activity. According to Kant, This mechanical law alone must be called the law of inertia (lex inertiae); the law that every action has an equal and opposite reaction cannot bear this name. For the latter says what matter does, but the former only what it does not do, and this is better adapted to the expression of inertia. The inertia of matter is and signifies nothing but its lifelessness, as matter in itself.... From the very concept of inertia as mere lifelessness there follows of itself the fact that inertia does not signify a positive effort of something to maintain its state. (2) According to Sir Alfred North Whitehead, the creed of science is mechanism: The great forces of nature, such as gravitation, were entirely determined by the configurations of masses. Thus the configurations determined their own changes, so that the circle of scientific thought was completely closed. This is the famous mechanistic theory of nature, which has reigned supreme ever since the seventeenth century. It is just the orthodox creed of physical science. (3) Whitehead holds that Newton's First Law of Motion "is the first article of the creed of science." (4) This orthodox creed denies inherent natures and final causes: There persists, however, throughout the whole period the fixed scientific cosmology which presupposes the ultimate fact of an irreducible brute matter ... senseless, valueless, purposeless. It just does what it does do, following a fixed routine imposed by external relations which do not spring from the nature of its being. (5) The Thomistic natural philosopher James Weisheipl claims that the principle of inertia treats a body as having no nature: In this formulation [Newton's First Law of Motion], it would seem, two original ideas are assumed and one ancient idea is affirmed. First, a three-dimensional body (corpus) is conceived as a corpus mathematicure completely devoid of "nature" in the Aristotelian sense, or of anything that would affect the presence or absence of motion. (6) Other philosophers assert the complementary view that "the principle of inertia does not even try to explain uniform rectilinear motion, but only says it needs no explanation." (7) Against the views of these philosophers, one begins to see that inertia is an inherent principle and is natural in the Aristotelian sense by considering why Newton's First Law of Motion is also called the principle of inertia. Newton explains what he means by inertia in Definition III of the Principia, a definition that implies and partly explains the First Law: Inherent force of matter [Materiae vis insita] is the power of resisting by which every body, so far as it is able [quantum in se est], perseveres in its state either of resting or of moving uniformly straight forward. This force is always proportional to the body and does not differ in any way from the inertia of the mass [inertia massae] except in the manner in which it is conceived. Because of the inertia of matter [inertiam materiae], every body is only with difficulty put out of its state either of resting or of moving. …

The Plurality of Forms: Now and Then

Abstract: HOW MANY ESSENCES does a natural kind have, one or many? In this paper I address an argument of Hilary Putnam to the effect that the plurality of modern sciences shows us that any natural kind has a plurality of essences. Putnam argues for this claim in the context of objecting to what he takes to be the Thomistic assumption of a single essential or substantial form for any particular natural kind. (1) Putnam's objection to the Thomist is prompted by his longstanding worries about how language or the mind "hooks onto the world." (2) He has argued that no system of representations, mental or linguistic, could have an intrinsic relationship to the world. He has long used "Aristotelian" as a descriptive term applied to representationalist accounts of mind and language that appear to suggest such a built-in relationship. However, Putnam now grants that the Thomistic notion of form and its application to the identity of concepts may avoid the earlier objections he directed at what he called Aristotelianism. In this concession, he has in mind the Thomist thesis that the mind's concepts are formally identical to and determined by the objects in the world that fall under those concepts, what I will call the concept identity thesis (CIT). When we use a term like "dog," it succeeds in referring to dogs because the concept we have in mind is in some fashion formally identical to dogs. This looks like a powerful candidate for an intrinsic or built-in relation to the world on the part of concepts. Having granted CIT to the Thomist, Putnam now looks to defeat the Thomist's position on other grounds. Now he objects that the various different sciences of today reveal a multitude of essences for any particular natural kind. The application to the Thomist is straightforward. The advance of the sciences has shown us that there are too many substantial forms in any particular kind of thing to provide the unity of conceptual identity required by the Thomist's account. To put it plainly, Putnam denies or at least doubts that "substances have a unique essence" (3) that could provide formal identity conditions for the concepts under which those substances fall. In this regard, the dispute between Putnam and the Thomist is of great contemporary relevance, insofar as it bears upon longstanding questions in the philosophy of science, the philosophy of biology, and metaphysics. To address Putnam's objection, I will begin by describing his argument. A striking feature of his argument is the family resemblance it bears to a set of arguments Aquinas faced in the thirteenth century that also argued for a plurality of essences or substantial forms for the natural kind human being. This parallel suggests that a look at Aquinas's own arguments against the pluriformists or pluralists may prove helpful for providing philosophical resources for responding to Putnam in the twenty-first century. Thus, I will examine the famous plurality of forms position that Aquinas argued against in the Summa Theologiae in order to acquire reources useful for responding to Putnam. Finally, I will consider a particular case of recent scientific practice, in order to apply the results of my examination of Aquinas's arguments to the broader contemporary situation brought to our attention by Putnam's obejction, and to suggest whose position, Putnam's or the Thomist's, more adequately captures the practice of the natural sciences as we see them practiced today, and their bearing upon the metaphysical question of the nature of essence in natural kinds. I Putnam's Argument for the Multiplicity of Substantial Forms. Putnam states his objection to the Thomist as follows: "The greatest difficulty facing someone who wishes to hold an Aristotelian view is that the central intuition behind that view, that is, the intuition that a natural kind has a single determinate form (or 'nature' or 'essence') has become problematical." (4) He believes there is a philosophical consensus in modern thought that, given the plurality of modern sciences under which some object in a natural kind may fall, we must recognize a plurality of essences for that object, one each for each science. …

Moral Sense and Natural Reason

Abstract: EVER SINCE THE 1950s, studies on the moral philosophy of Francis Hutcheson have increased In addition to some previous classical historical or philosophical works, (1) an interesting discussion on the Hutchesonian moral epistemology has taken place among scholars such as William T Blackstone, Stephen Darwall, Jeffrey Edwards, William Frankena, Knud Haakonssen, Henning Jensen, Wolfgang Leidhold, James Moore, David Fate Norton, Elmer Sprague, J Martin Stafford, Robert M Stewart, Mark Philip Strasser, and Kenneth Winkler (2) Most of the points analyzed in this argument are related to a discussion about the cognitivism or the emotivism of Hutcheson--a discussion of contemporary ethics--even though the Scottish philosopher is obviously far removed from these philosophical problems It is not my intention to intervene in this dispute, although I have gathered certain interpretations from some of its relevant works On the contrary, my concern is to relate the moral philosophy of Hutcheson with a traditional point of view, according to which moral philosophy depends on natural theology (3) The analysis of this relationship is important because it is a crucial feature of the Hutchesonian moral philosophy However, this theological outlook does not entirely match his empirical moral epistemology, and this inconsistency allowed David Hume and Adam Smith to throw aside the theological foundation, taking from Hutcheson only the empirical aspects of his epistemology (4) My intention in this paper is to explain why this theological outlook cannot match a moral epistemology which lacks a metaphysical foundation In order to develop the argument, it is necessary to bear in mind some relevant points in Hutcheson's life which had an enormous influence on his thought Francis Hutcheson (1694-1746) belonged to a Scottish Presbyterian family settled in Ulster (Ireland), and lived most of his life in Glasgow (Scotland), first as a student and later as Professor of Moral Philosophy at the University of Glasgow His father and grandfather served as ministers of their church Hutcheson was marked by this religious cast The Church of Scotland was extremely powerful at the time, and it defended its faith by means of ecclesiastic courts that attacked both heresy and skepticism Little by little, the role of philosophy in Christian beliefs emerged in the church's judgments about heresy It generated a division between the official members of the church--who maintained that the only remedy for doubt and unbelief is saving faith, and that the powers of natural reason fall short of offering adequate grounds for belief in any of the central tenets of the Christian religion--and those who, by contrast, maintained not only that the Christian religion is congruent with uncorrupted rationality, but also that its central tenets could be supported by rational enquiry (5) At the end of 1740, this division of the Church of Scotland created two factions, the so-called Moderate party and the so-called Evangelicals Hutcheson sympathized with the former, defending the interests of philosophy both within the church and within Scottish culture as a whole He believed that the doctrines of the Christian religion could be and needed to be presented as supported by the conclusions of philosophical enquiry, in line with the thinking of Shaftesbury and with the aid of the philosophy of Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, and Marcus Aurelius (6) He rebelled against the strong Calvinism professed by his church, expressed in the Westminster Confession of 1647, according to which the nature of man is totally depraved, owing to Adam's fall, and only the chosen and predestinated by God can reach eternal salvation by means of irresistible grace (7) This doctrine was supported by Reformed scholasticism, a theology elaborated in response to the revival of Thomistic theology and philosophy on the part of the Jesuit controversialits of the sixteenth century, and in opposition to the Protestant Aristotelianism expounded by the Lutherans …

Some Reflections on Aristotle and Elitism

Abstract: IT IS OFTEN SAID THAT ARISTOTLE, since he locates human happiness preeminently in the exercise of speculative intellect,--and not when it is in quest of truth about the divine, but when it can exercise that activity on truths already known in contemplation,--effectively rules out the mass of mankind from human happiness. That this is a misunderstanding of what is going on when Aristotle identifies happiness preeminently with the exercise of our highest faculty is easily shown. But since the showing of it brings into play other aspects of Aristotle's alleged elitism, the showing of it is not without interest. I What does Aristotle mean by 'man'? A preliminary question that must be raised is what the range of 'man' or 'human' is when Aristotle says things like "All men by nature desire to know" or that "Man is by nature a political animal" or speaks of 'human happiness.' Aristotle restricts what he has to say about politics to citizens and not all members of a community are citizens. Slaves are notably excluded, and so too are women. Thus, quite apart from the alleged elitism within Aristotle's moral and political discussions, there seems to be an elitism of exclusion before the discussion even begins. There are several ways in which this difficulty can be discussed. First, historically, and then there is unquestionably a restricted range to Aristotle's teaching. Second, theoretically, where the undeniable restraints of Aristotle's historic setting may be overcome by suggesting that there is no intrinsic reason in what he teaches for such restrictions. For centuries, at least, women have read--and interpreted--Aristotle's moral and political writings without fear that they do not fall within the range of what he has to say. This could only be the case if they are convinced, rightly, that the de facto restrictions are not de iure. One could raise similar questions about the Declaration of Independence and other constitutive documents of our republic. Many of the founders approved of slavery, and women were not initially accorded the franchise and thus full admission to the body politic. If we reject these views, this is not because we wish to impose latter day opinions on earlier opinions, but rather because we think that the founders wrote better than they knew. When, over time, former slaves and women were admitted to full citizenship, it was not necessary to amend the statements of the founders so much as to set aside contingent and mistaken restrictions that attached to their recognition of the truths they set down. When Jefferson wrote that all men are created equal and are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights, among them life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, it is doubtless historically true that he was not thinking of all men tout court. Nonetheless, what he said is true of all persons and it was only the range of his remark that had to be corrected. So too, I suggest, with Aristotle. That he personally did not acknowledge the full range of the moral and political doctrine he proposed is unfortunately true; but it is equally true that what he had to say, when true, is true of all human persons. (1) II. Can all humans be happy? But even when such liminal restraints on the possible range of Aristotle's moral doctrine are lifted, there remains the issue of how applicable his final identification of happiness is to all those he would have considered to be his addressees. If only the philosophical life, the life of contemplation of the divine, counts as happiness, this seems restrictive indeed. We may know of even professional philosophers who seem incapable of human happiness in this sense. We might in moments of candor wonder about ourselves. In quest of a proper understanding of contemplative happiness, let us put before us, in its broad outlines, the order of the discussion in the Nicomachean Ethics. a) That there is an Ultimate End. …

Precedents in Aristotle and Brentano for Husserl's Concern with Metabasis

Abstract: HUSSERL'S WORK is marked by an abiding, if not always explicit, concern to avoid metabasis eis allo genos (a change into some other genus). This concern stands as a common element linking the pre-transcendental and the transcendental phenomenological phases of Husserrs thought. The theme is explicit and pervasive in the Prolegomena to Pure Logic (1900), the first volume of the Logical Investigations (1900-01), where the attack on psychologism exploits the fact that psychological treatment of logic commits a metabasis by confusing the domains of the real and the ideal. (1) The idealism of the Investigations is determined by the need to avoid psychologism's metabasis. In fact, Husserl believed his early idealism to be the lone alternative to psychologism. (2) Later, as he broaches transcendental phenomenology and a new form of idealism, the importance of avoiding metabasis provides Husserl with the basis for "a sufficient and complete deduction" of the need to perform the reduction. (3) Now, as is well known, for the mature Husserl, the transcendental reduction is the necessary means of entry into phenomenology. As a result, phenomenological analyses take their significance from the meaning of the reduction and the field of experience that it discloses. Understanding Husserl's late idealism, then, requires that we understand the reduction--a task which, in turn, requires us to contend with metabasis. Thus, as both Husserl's early and late idealisms arise through the avoidance of metabasis, a proper understanding of this concept promises to shed light on the much-disputed issue of his idealisms. (4) But what is metabasis? Why is it so pernicious? Despite general acknowledgment of its importance, this concept has, to my knowledge, received no sustained attention, either in the form of a systemic exploration of its role in Husserl or as an examination of his historical sources. (5) This paper seeks to fill this gap by considering these sources and precedents. That is, it reveals the historical roots of Husserl's concern to avoid metabasis. This will, in turn, serve as the foundation for a subsequent examination of its integral role in Husserl. An obvious source for the concept is Aristotle's Posterior Analytics. The fact that Husserl uses the Greek term to refer to the concept--a rarity for him--suggests that he intends the reader to discern its ancient pedigree and at least some of its original sense. (6) Nonetheless, we lack additional evidence that serious engagement with Aristotelian texts was an influence. (7) Thus we should look elsewhere for Husserrs proximate source. Indeed, it is much more likely that his appropriation of Aristotle was mediated by Brentano. Accordingly, the paper opens with a brief examination of the concept's meaning and use in the Posterior Analytics in order to establish context. It then jumps to the 19th century to discuss Brentano's influence, where his insistence on properly delimiting psychology, along with his procedure of separating the senses of equivocal terms, clearly place the notion of metabasis (now under the heading of transgression of scientific or conceptual boundaries) at the heart of Husserl's philosophical upbringing. I Aristotle understands metabasis eis allo genos to be a fundamental error of scientific reasoning. That is to say that it is not an error regarding a syllogism as such, but rather an error regarding a demonstration, "a syllogism which produces scientific knowledge." (8) Hence, although it is possible to shift from one genus into another in the course of a syllogism without affecting the formal evaluation of the syllogism, such a transition generally prevents the syllogism from rising to the level of science. In order to understand why this is so, let us consider the account of scientific reasoning in the Posterior Analytics. To have knowledge of something (x) one must know (a) the cause of x and (b) that x cannot be otherwise. (9) For example, to possess knowledge of the fact that all humans are mortal one must know both its cause/reason (that is, one must know why all humans are mortal) and also that all humans are necessarily mortal. …

The Generosity of the Good

Abstract: THIS IS NEITHER AN ELEGY NOR A EULOGY Every time metaphysics has been declared dead, it arises phoenixlike from its own ashes Something very much like that is now occurring in American philosophy The signs of its resurgence are evident in the papers delivered at this conference At its beginnings in Greece and Asia philosophy saw as its duty the obligation to respond to the difficulties of everyday life It neither was nor was ever meant to be something that was out of reach of the common person who dealt with life's vicissitudes on an everyday level My address is an endeavor to restore to its rightful place a way of thinking that is sorely lacking in our times But there is a deeper source for these reflections on the generosity of the good I wish to meditate on Socrates' still haunting declaration that the good is superior in strength and in dignity to being itself: Therefore you should also say that not only do the objects of knowledge owe their being known to the good, but their existence and being are also due to it; although the good is not being, but something yet beyond being, superior to it in rank and power (1) These are strange, even uncanny, words for they declare a level of reality beyond that which is Furthermore, they state quite definitively that all we know and are is due directly to this good These days these words fall on deaf ears We live in an age of great deceit The institutions that were created to safeguard the real, the true, and the intelligible have swallowed what the Buddha called the "the three poisons"--greed, hatred, and delusion (2) The political process, the churches, the universities, the institutions of commerce, and the health care industries--to name but a few--have revealed their dishonesty If the "first philosophy" cannot address these sorry failures, then it, too, has swallowed some sort of poison In 1781, Kant told us that we cannot know being directly but only as it appears to us (3) In 1811, Hegel told us in the Science of Logic that being is the most empty of words (4) In 1927, Heidegger told us that not only have we forgotten the meaning of being, but that we do not even know how to raise the question of the meaning of being Heidegger's last utterance on being was that the meaning of being is ereignis, an event that we must await with an open mind (5) In these latter days the story of the meaning of being has shifted to France Here Derrida declares that the meaning of being is an ineluctable differance that is due to our inescapable bondage to language, which in itself is structured according to differences (6) The conclusion is now drawn that speaking of being is a hopeless endeavor and the effort to express "the Metaphysics of Presence" is a contradiction So here we are in the year 2008, unable to utter a word about being Certain consequences follow The following vignette captures those consequences quite nicely In a conversation with an intelligent, young proponent of the school of deconstruction, I used the word "truth" She immediately replied, "Oh, I never use the word truth anymore For me things are either interesting or uninteresting" She had no response when I asked her if Custer thought it was interesting that Crazy Horse was riding right at him with a loaded rifle It may not be Crazy Horse himself that rides this evening, but there is still much riding on the words of the Republic Plato tells us that without goodness, nothing can be real or true or known What could be meant by such a connection among the good, the real, and the intelligible? We know that Plato explores these relations by means of a web of images, allegories, and analogies There is the Analogy of the Sun, the Simile of the Divided Line, and the Myth of the Cave Countless commentaries have been written on these tropes (to use the current term of art) We know that Socrates refuses to give a direct answer to the question, what is the good? …