Showing papers in "Review of Metaphysics in 2012"

Contemplative Friendship in Nicomachean Ethics

Abstract: I ROUGHLY THIRTY-FIVE YEARS AGO John Cooper published two articles on Aristotle's account of friendship, remarking in one of them that Aristotle's treatment of this subject in Nicomachean Ethics had not much engaged the attention of scholars. (1) Cooper drew attention to Aristotle's integration of friendship with happiness: "When Aristotle asks, then, whether a flourishing person needs friends, he is inquiring whether the having of friends is a necessary constituent of a flourishing life--not whether friends are needed as a means of improving a life that was already flourishing." (2) The fact that Aristotle identifies two forms of happiness is too well known to need mentioning, and yet, despite all the scholarship devoted to the relation between the forms of happiness and despite all that devoted to Aristotle's account of friendship since Cooper's 1977 work, there has been very little discussion of the twofold character of happiness in relation to the doctrine on friendship. (3) It may be that Aristotle's own analysis of the best form of happiness has prepared this omission. His description of the contemplative life as a self-sufficient life, lived in imitation of god, (4) renders that life only problematically related to other human beings and, consequently, the role of friends in the highest kind of human happiness remains less than completely clear. (5) Aristotle's depiction of the contemplative form of happiness in book 10 emphasizes the self-sufficiency and the divine character of this sort of life, and yet he takes care to qualify those judgments by saying, for example, that the contemplative human being is "most self- sufficient" (6) and that we should, "so far as we can, make ourselves immortal." (7) He concludes this discussion with these words: "And what we said before will apply now; that which is proper [[TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII]] to each thing is by nature best and most pleasant for each thing; for man, therefore, the life according to intellect is best and pleasantest, since intellect more than anything else is man. This life therefore is also the happiest." (8) These ambiguous formulations have received more than one interpretation, and, whatever they finally mean, the ideal of the solitary sage, as Aristotle admits, stands in some tension with the political character of human nature. Pierre Aubenque notes as much in an appendix in his book on prudence in Aristotle. He suggests, with support from Philip Merlan, that the exemplary divine mode of thought is not proposed for the immediate imitation of man. "What is self-sufficiency in God would be hebetude, autism, 'schizophrenia' in man." (9) If it is true that a solitary happiness would not quite be human and, on the other hand, our intellectual excellence is not fulfilled within political life, (10) the shared life of contemplative friends could perhaps resolve this tension and come to light as the properly human way to live in accord with the best thing in us. To frame the issue in this way is to cast the twofold doctrine of happiness in book 10 as akin to an aporia, which finds its resolution given in advance in the details of books 8 and 9. (11) Each view of happiness appears to abandon or diminish something essentially human. "For human beings are city-dwellers and their nature is to live together," (12) but contemplative happiness as it is described in book 10 is or aims to be solitary. On the other side, mind ([TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII]) is the best thing in us (13) and our life is properly speaking perceptive or contemplative, (14) but the life of moral virtue seems to be too absorbed in action to have room for contemplation. So contemplative happiness, as we excel in it, seems to require us to abandon our political or social character, and moral excellence seems to preclude contemplation or, at least, its primacy in us. The aporetic character of Aristotle's claims in book 10 might be more obvious if he had not done two things. …

Phronesis vs. Sophia: On Heidegger's Ambivalent Aristotelianism

Abstract: THE ISSUE, THE SACHE, around which an interpretative dialogue between Aristotle and Heidegger can be carried out has been recognized and confirmed in its importance by both Heidegger himself and numerous scholars in the last decades: it is the relation between theory and praxis, and respectively the relation between [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII]. There is no need to argue here for the importance of this relationship in the context of Aristotelian philosophy; but the subject is also crucial for the philosophy of Heidegger, insofar as this philosophy is from the outset an attempt to overcome an established understanding of philosophy as a theoretical activity isolated from life and the world of [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII]. Already in his first series of university lectures in 1919 at the University of Freiburg, Heidegger would identify as the main task of his philosophical engagement the demonstration (and later on the challenge) of what he will call "primacy" or "total regime of the theoretical element" (Generalherrschaft des Theoretischen). (1) Because of this regime, the main (and ultimately the sole) topic of philosophy, life itself, remains vague and is bypassed. Heidegger seeks at this time--and here all scholars are in agreement--a genuine form of life that goes beyond the traditional Aristotelian opposition between "theory" and "praxis." Faced with this opposition and wanting to undermine it, Heidegger obviously has to challenge Aristotle, and especially Nicomachean Ethics, the constitutive text of this opposition. This confrontation will mark Heidegger's philosophy throughout the 1920s. Another point of consensus among scholars is that this confrontation does not amount to a passive adoption of Aristotelian positions, distinctions and evaluations, but is a kind of productive adaptation and reinterpretation of the Aristotelian heritage: "appropriation," "reappropriation," "originelle Aneignung," "reinterprets and transforms"--these are the terms in which this relation has been described. (2) But what precisely is the content and nature of this appropriation? Its first description and assessment still retains its importance. This was a text by Franco Volpi, which pointed out the "homologies" between Being and Time (BT) and Nicomachean Ethics (NE). (3) It is worth noting here that Volpi outlined his illustration before many of Heidegger's lectures of the period 1919-26 were published; but it is precisely these lectures that allow us to incorporate Volpi's contribution into a broader context and to point out its occasional inadequacies. The need for amplifying the scope of the analysis is also clear from a consideration of the many diverging accounts to which scholars have been led in their interpretations of the relationship between Heidegger and Aristotle. While, for instance, Volpi presents Heidegger's philosophy as the result of a long confrontation with Aristotle, Sadler insists that this philosophy, as essentially Lutheran, is "not just non-Aristotelian but actually anti-Aristotelian." (4) Taminiaux, for his part, adopting the critical project of Hannah Arendt, believes that Heidegger's philosophy is dominated by a "Platonic bias," or a "hyper-Platonism," which banishes the political element and subjugates the entire field of action to the sovereignty of theoretical reflection. (5) The most characteristic and important case of an unmediated conflict among researchers lies in the specific issue of the relationship between [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII] and in the way in which Heidegger adopts, appropriates, and/or reinterprets this relationship. While, for example, according to Volpi, Heidegger proceeds to a reversion of their hierarchy, attributing to [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII] a leading role and regarding [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII] as "derived from a modification" of [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII], Gonzalez insists that Heidegger corroborates the superiority of [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII] over [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII], while Kontos argues against Volpi that aorta is not a form of nonauthenticity for Heidegger, but of utmost authenticity. …

Why Spinoza Is Intolerant of Atheists: God and the Limits of Early Modern Liberalism

Abstract: I SPINOZA IS OFTEN LAUDED as a founder of modern liberalism. Most recently, Jonathan Israel has argued that Spinoza was a central figure in what he calls the "Radical Enlightenment." In particular, he claims that Spinoza's focus on individual freedom of thought contributes more to our contemporary ideals of toleration than Locke's emphasis of freedom of conscience. (1) One way to test the extent of Spinoza's liberalism would be to ask whether or not he would tolerate atheists. Locke, of course, was notorious for arguing that the state should not tolerate either atheists or Catholics. We might think that Spinoza would argue explicitly to the contrary. (2) However, while he does not outright ban Catholics, he is hardly friendly to their views, especially regarding Papal infallibility and authority. (3) As we shall see, his position on atheism is not immediately obvious. In order to answer the question--was Spinoza intolerant of atheists?--we need to examine the two concepts that structure the question itself. What does it mean to be tolerant or intolerant in Spinoza's view? What is his view about atheism? Spinoza was not very explicit on either matter. In fact, he only mentions "atheism" twice in the Theological-Political Treatise (TTP), (4) and he uses it as something undesirable. The best way to discover Spinoza's view on atheism is to look at how he reacts to the charge that he is an atheist. In the letter in which he states his reasons for working on a treatise on Scripture, which was to become the Theological-Political Treatise, he writes that "common people" (vulgus) hold the opinion that he is an "atheist" and complains "[I am] driven to avert this accusation ... as far as I can." (5) The most important discussion of atheism can be found in Letter 43 to Jacob Ostens, which replies to a critique penned by Lambert van Velthuysen in Letter 42. The best way to look at his views on toleration is, of course, to look at the relevant chapters of the TTP. The problem is that Spinoza does not offer an explicit theory of toleration. His goal, he says, is to promote "freedom of philosophizing," and his views on the toleration of heretical religious beliefs are worked out along the way as part of his broader political theory. Moreover, given the history of lauding him as a founder of the radical enlightenment, Spinoza's conception of toleration is not what we might expect. As I shall show, it takes seriously the root etymology of the term tolerate, which means to bear a burden, which might be distasteful or difficult. In other words, Spinoza does not think of toleration as a matter of accepting something as worthy of respect but rather enduring something distasteful. If he were to consider atheism as a worthy position, then it would seem hard to square it with the notion of tolerating something distasteful or problematic. It turns out that there is something wrong with atheism, and what is wrong with it raises the question of the limits of toleration most directly. II Was Spinoza an Atheist? The exchange with Velthuysen. One way to get a sense of what the charge of atheism meant in this period is to look at the views of someone who believed that Spinoza was an atheist or had a position that led to atheism. In Letter 42 to the "learned and accomplished Jacob Ostens," Lambert van Velthuysen offers his "opinion" and "verdict" on the "Discursus Theologico-Politicus" (that is, the Tractatus). Velthuysen was a physician and enthusiastic advocate of Cartesian thought in Utrecht. (6) He understands the goal of the TTP as I am quite sure Spinoza does, that is, to end strife among factions and parties by analyzing its causes and ridding his own mind of any prejudice and superstition. "But," Velthuysen writes, In seeking to show himself free from superstition, he has gone too far in the opposite direction, and to avoid the accusation of superstition, I think that he has renounced all religion. …

What Goodness Is: Order As Imitation of Unity in Augustine

Abstract: I AUGUSTINE OF HIPPO famously argues that evil is privatio boni, a privation of good. (1) There is no such thing as independently existing evil, he insists. Rather, evil things are "evil goods," good things which have become corrupted. (2) If a thing were to lose all its goodness it would cease to exist, for only in this state would it have nothing left to lose. Evil is therefore also associated with a lack of existence (or, as it is often translated, being). Evil things are (esse) to a lesser extent than good things, and the worse they get, the less they exist. In Augustine's view, to be good is to be. (3) Augustine knew that his Manichean opponents had difficulty understanding his claim that evil does not, strictly speaking, exist. He cites one critic who mockingly suggests that people who believe in the nonreality of evil should try picking up a scorpion; they would quickly experience an emphatically palpable evil. (4) Interestingly, some modern commentators seem to have similar difficulties. Some argue that Augustine's privation theory of evil is too abstract or anaemic to deal with the harsh and very real presence of evil as it is actually experienced. (5) Others dismiss it as a uselessly arcane, overly subtle, or even intellectually dishonest conceptual sleight of hand. (6) The ways in which Augustine's metaphysics of evil can be misconstrued are legion; here I try to deal with only one of them. The real root of the misunderstanding between Augustine and some of his critics is perhaps not so much the idea of evil as privation, as it is the good which is lacking in an object so deprived. Augustine's implication that there are degrees of goodness and, even more mysteriously, of existence, makes it tempting to ascribe to him views he does not hold: that, for instance, goodness is either a conceptual abstraction (contrived mainly for the purpose of asserting that evil is not substantial) with no obvious correspondence to the world of our experience; or, that it is a featureless "stuff" of which things may have greater or lesser amounts and which God, the source of this stuff, injects into things. (7) Although Augustine's metaphorical language helps to encourage especially the latter misconception, it is, as we will shortly see, nevertheless false that he conceives of goodness (or existence) as a kind of mouldable substance poured out by God, still less that he thinks God makes the world out of his own goodness or substance. What, then, is this goodness, this being, that is lacking when a thing becomes evil? My aim here is to answer this question while clarifying how apparently amorphous abstractions such as goodness and existence translate for Augustine into the concrete world we know. I argue that order (ordo) is the pivotal concept for doing so. (8) As Augustine says (somewhat obscurely in its context in De moribus Manichaeorum), "what is corrupted is actually perverted; and what is perverted is deprived of order, and order is good." (9) Here, as we will see, Augustine is not saying that order happens to be one good among others, but that what good (or at least created good) is, is order. While it may be difficult for us to conceive of a lack of good, it is far easier to conceive of a lack of order. In many ways, the idea of order is the keystone of Augustine's philosophy. It unifies and renders intelligible (and certainly more accessible for us) not only Augustine's statements about evil, but also his broader claims that everything that is not God depends on God for its existence. II Augustine's Dualism. Throughout his works, Augustine uses a variety of metaphors to depict the relationship between particular goods and God, the kind of relationship in which privatio boni can occur. All these analogies describe situations wherein one thing depends for sustenance on an originating source: as the dependent thing becomes separated from that source, it is diminished. …

Order and the Determinate: The Good as a Metaphysical Concept in Aristotle

Abstract: DEVELOPING AND REWORKING the young Platonic tradition, Aristotle twice affirms that being is better than nonbeing. (1) For both Plato and Aristotle, this affirmation shapes a worldview; it is the fragile heartbeat of an essay at wisdom, guarded and sustained with enormous resolve and creativity. Yet one would like to know whether, and how, such a claim can be cashed out in more analytic terms: whether it can yield conceptual as well as poetic clarity. In Aristotle's case a number of ideas are relevant--most obviously, the distinction between power and act, which structures his entire account of bodily things as underlying and tending toward the fullness of life and activity that is their complete being. (2) This distinction, however, is one of his most prized philosophic innovations, and one that belongs properly to first philosophy; for both reasons, he often withholds it from explicit play in his treatises. If we collect his scattered comments about the good in general, we find that they indeed support a connection between goodness--or goodness and beauty--and being, but that this connection is often expressed in more readily available terms: the good or beautiful is said to be, for example, fitting, proportionate, or great. Three concepts, however, dominate Aristotle's general statements about the good: good things are ordered and determinate, they are complete, and they are self-sufficient. (3) The theme of self-sufficiency is familiar to students of Aristotle's ethics and politics, but appears also in his biology and his theology. (4) What is self-sufficient has its being, and hence its goodness, in and from itself. The same is true of completeness, the condition of whatever has attained its proper end, and thus fully actualized its potential. (5) Prior to both completeness and self-sufficiency, however, are the twin concepts of order and determinacy, and it is with these that we are here concerned. Beginning with Aristotle's well-known views about the causal role of the good in both nature and human affairs, we shall gradually make our way to his identification of order as a characteristic of the good in nature (section I). Then, after pausing to consider the relation between goodness and beauty (II), we shall approach determinacy by way of the related concepts of limit and the unlimited, relating both limit and the determinate to form (III). The body of the paper will conclude by discussing the determinate and the good in Aristotle's ethics and metaphysics (IV). Finally, with a view to understanding more deeply Aristotle's treatment of order and the determinate, I shall close with a brief reflection on their place in his understanding of nature as a whole (V). The following investigation presupposes two important points. First, although Aristotle tends to develop each science dialectically on its own terms, nevertheless statements made in one work (whether speculative or practical) are generally coherent with those made in others. Each work tends, from its own starting points, toward a unified vision of reality, and does so with remarkable success. Note that if this assumption is correct, particular investigations based on it should tend to reinforce the assumption itself; the present study, I believe, is a case in point. Second, Aristotle in fact has a unified understanding of the good. It is true that in Nicomachean Ethics 1.6 he denies that any one thing answers to the word "good." However, he also suggests two ways in which this disunity may be mitigated. (6) First, it may be that nonsubstances are called good by reference to the good of substances (that is, the good is spoken of by homonymy pros hen); second, though the goods of substances are diverse in kind, good a may well be to substance A as good b is to substance B (that is, the good is spoken of by analogy or proportion). In short, the good may well have exactly as much unity as does being itself. Note that, although these presuppositions must be stated at the outset, neither will figure explicitly in the following discussion. …

Ethics and History in Hegel’s Practical Philosophy

Abstract: ONE OF HEGEL'S most controversial contributions to practical philosophy is his attempt to situate ethics within a progressive philosophy of history. This implies that historically given practices and institutions can be assessed in two ways: they can be viewed from the perspective of the citizen who finds himself embedded within a specific ethical horizon, or they can be viewed from the perspective of the philosopher who surveys nations within the universal horizon of world history. A natural question that arises, given such a picture, is whether the world-historical perspective can ever be practically relevant, can ever override the situated perspective characteristic of the ordinary citizen. That Hegel's practical philosophy seems to offer the possibility of transcending customary morality and positive law has been seen as something of great promise in that it opens the door to revolutionary praxis, but also as something of great danger in that it potentially exempts individuals from their ordinary ethical obligations. (1) To see why this particular possibility first emerges with Hegel, it is useful to notice that his philosophy of history integrates two strands of thought about history that preexisted his work but were normally taken to be opposed to each other. First, he is clearly committed to some kind of ethical contextualism or holism. He thinks the basic question of ethics--"what ought I to do?"--cannot be answered in universal, perennial terms; the right answer to this question changes in important respects over time and in ways that cannot be explained as the gradual discovery of some immutable moral truths, like the natural law or a universal charter of human rights. As he memorably puts it: For the everyday contingencies of private life, definitions of what is good and bad or right and wrong are supplied by the laws and customs of each state, and there is no great difficulty in recognizing them. (2) This commitment to situating ethical claims within the sociohistorical context of each particular state is not unique to Hegel; it was shared to some degree or another by romantics (like Herder), conservatives (like Burke), and historicists (like Savigny). Hegel is also committed to a second important thesis about the relation of ethics to history, one that significantly qualifies his commitment to ethical contextualism. He claims that modern norms, practices, and forms of social organization are more rational than premodern ones in that they are more adequate realizations of human freedom. This can be seen both in his Philosophy of Right, which is intended to provide a philosophic justification for specifically modern institutions like the nuclear family and civil society, and in his Philosophy of History, which shows how less rational premodern forms of social life have been replaced by the more rational forms characteristic of contemporary European civilization. The idea that the philosophy of history provides access to a universal horizon by which the rational progress of any individual society can be judged was also not unique to Hegel; versions of this belief were shared by enlightenment figures (like Condorcet), liberals (like Kant), and even radicals (like Proudhon). Hegel's achievement is to put these two commitments together, viewing ethical life as both historically situated and yet rationally assessable from the point of world history. By doing so, however, he seems to make room for a novel predicament: the possibility of finding yourself ethically bound to norms or practices of a society per ethical contextualism that you know to be irrational and unjust from the perspective of world history. Many have interpreted Hegel's doctrine of "world-historical agent" in light of this dilemma: such an agent is characterized by his willingness to violate the ethical obligations he is under in order to make a more rational society. The actions of world-historical individuals may be immoral or unethical, on this common interpretation, but they have a putatively higher, supramoral justification: one stemming from what Hegel calls the "absolute right" of world spirit. …

Natural Law and the United States Constitution

Abstract: ON JULY 4, 1776, the United States of America, in declaring their independence, invoked "the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God," proclaimed that men are "endowed by their Creator" with unalienable rights, appealed to "the Supreme Judge of the world," and concluded by expressing their reliance on "Divine Providence." (1) There can be no doubt that those delegates in Philadelphia who adopted that Declaration believed in, and, based the nation's independence on, the Natural Law; that is, that God, in creating the universe, implanted in the nature of man a body of Law to which all human beings are subject, which is superior to all manmade law, and which is knowable by human reason. (2) Eleven years later, another group of delegates, representatives of the States, assembled in the same hall in Philadelphia, this time with the eminently practical task of creating a new structure of government for the United States, one that would establish "a more perfect union." (3) That document, written in 1787, was ratified by the several States, (4) and entered into effect in 1789 as the Constitution of the United States of America. Since the Constitution was designed to be a practical-juridical document for the operation of a more effective government, one should not expect to find there the ringing statements of principle that characterize the Declaration of Independence, (5) and, indeed, no such philosophical statements are present. But several important characteristics of the Constitution--indeed its most important characteristics--are clear and admirable applications of the Natural Law. Before examining those characteristics of the Constitution, it is important to emphasize that the Natural Law as understood by the Founding Fathers of the Constitution was the Natural Law that for two millennia had been a traditional and essential element of Western Civilization; that is, Natural law as understood and explained by, for example, Sophocles, Aristotle, Cicero, St. Thomas Aquinas, and Francisco de Vitoria. (6) It was the Founders' traditional understanding of Natural Law, rather than the various "Enlightenment" versions, that was most influential in the thinking that characterizes the United States Constitution. The fundamental difference between the classical-traditional understanding of the Natural Law and that of the Enlightenment is that the classical-traditional thinkers knew and declared that God is the author and source of the Natural Law, and that human reason is the faculty by which the Law established by God is made accessible to man, while the philosophers of the Enlightenment (who inspired the French Revolution) rejected God as the author of the Natural Law, or diminished His significance, and elevated human reason, or its variants, such as the general will or a legislative majority, to the position of supremacy. In the words of one historian, the Enlightenment philosophers "deified nature and denatured God." (7) These differences can produce, and in fact have produced dramatic differences in the activities of the governments of the nations of the world. (8) The most influential Founders of the United States Constitution saw God as the source of the supreme rules of law and government, and applied the Natural Law in their work in the 1787 Constitutional Convention. Let us examine the thinking of the four most influential delegates at the Convention. James Madison, of Virginia, considered the "Father of the Constitution," wrote, two years before the Philadelphia Convention, of the duty that man owes to God: This duty is precedent, both in order of time and in degree of obligation, to the claims of Civil Society. Before any man can be considered as a member of Civil Society, he must be considered as a subject of the Governor of the Universe. (9) Alexander Hamilton, of New York, wrote in 1775 that God: has constituted an eternal and immutable law, which is indispensably obligatory upon all mankind, prior to any human institution whatever. …

Locating the Lost Island

Abstract: PHILOSOPHERS HAVE NOW HAD nine and one-third centuries to dwell on Anselm's ontological argument in the Proslogion. Recent literature on the argument indicates that there is vigorous and sophisticated disagreement about what the argument presupposes, what the argument's logical structure is, and even where the argument is best located) The disagreement persists in spite of, perhaps even because of, the fact that during Anselm's lifetime Gaunilo criticized the Proslogion argument and Anselm replied to that criticism. What I propose here is to examine Gaunilo's most famous criticism to see what we can learn about Anselm's argument in light of it. Anselm's argument has fired up Gaunilo's critical engine, but he lacks the sophistication to express his objection magisterially. His prose needs to be tightened; his argument needs to be articulated more carefully; his logic needs to be brought to the surface for inspection. If we do that on his behalf, we will find that his criticism by counterexample puts significant pressure on Anselm's claim to have discovered a "single argument" for God's existence, and on recent attempts to refurbish Anselm's argument. I Before proceeding further we should note that on one interpretation of the Anselm-Gaunilo exchange, Anselm did a disservice to Gaunilo and the subsequent history of philosophical understanding by writing Proslogion 2. According to Sandra Visser and Thomas Williams, on this occasion Anselm expressed his reasoning "in language so compressed as to be elliptical and indeed misleading." For example, they say, "Anselm famously contrasts 'existing in the understanding' with 'existing in reality,' as though he had some metaphysical doctrine about two modes of existence. As we shall see, he has no such doctrine; such a thing never entered his mind. He clearly just thought the phrasing sounded nice and made the argument memorable." (2) For Visser and Williams Proslogion 2 is a misfired and misleading mess, made worse by its being placed strategically as the first chapter of philosophical substance in a thoroughly philosophical work. They argue instead that Anselm does a better job of elucidating his argument in his reply to Gaunilo. We should be reluctant to join in this judgment, especially in light of Visser and Williams's earlier acknowledgment that "Anselm was not the kind of philosopher who writes to get his thoughts in order. Anselm tended to work everything out in his head first and only then write it down." (3) Moreover, if his reply to Gaunilo presents a more considered revision of an argument badly presented in Proslogion 2, then it is puzzling that he persists in invoking the distinction between existing in the understanding and existing in reality. Visser and Williams have reasons for discounting Proslogion 2, chief among them the fact that Anselm so curtly dismisses Gaunilo's most vivid objection rather than respond to it. However, from the fact that Anselm's dismissal fails to respond satisfactorily to Gaunilo's criticism it does not follow that Anselm had a completely new or different argument in mind. I will examine Anselm's dismissal below. Here is the core of Anselm's argument as presented in Proslogion 2: We believe you [Lord] to be something than which nothing greater could be conceived. Or is there then not something of such a nature, since the fool has said in his heart, "There is no God" [Psalm 14:1, 53:1]? But surely this same fool, when he hears this very thing that I speak--"something than which nothing greater can be conceived"--understands that which he hears, and that which he understands is in his understanding, even if he does not understand it to exist.... And surely that than which a greater cannot be conceived cannot be in the understanding alone. For if it is in the understanding alone, it can be conceived to exist in reality also, which is greater. Thus if that than which a greater cannot be conceived is in the understanding alone, then that than which a greater cannot be conceived itself is that than which a greater can be conceived. …

Transcending Gadamer: Towards a Participatory Hermeneutics

Abstract: THE PHILOSOPHICAL TRADITION of Thomism is one which Hans-Georg Gadamer always decisively rejected on account of what he perceived as "the dogmatic overlay superimposed on Aristotle by ... neo-Thomism." (1) Not surprisingly, therefore, he never entered into dialogue with this tradition, although he did nevertheless discuss particular theses of Aquinas with what Alasdair MacIntyre describes as "his characteristic sympathy and accuracy." (2) On the other hand, it is only in relatively recent times that Thomists have begun to display an awareness of the historical and hermeneutical turns in philosophy and theology, and there is still much work to be done in order to show forth those elements in Aquinas's work that can meaningfully engage with these turns. (3) Certainly, one would have to agree with MacIntyre's assertion that "part of the importance of Gadamer's work lies in the help that it can afford in understanding the bearing of hermeneutics on the Aristotelian[-Thomistic] tradition," (4) but not simply, as he states, in bringing it to acknowledge the historically and culturally conditioned character of philosophical inquiry in a way that does not yield to relativism. Modern philosophy is indeed in debt to Gadamer for having shown, amongst other things, that when we seek the meaning of a text and the meaning of life, we are not seeking two different meanings; rather, as Jay L. Garfield puts it, "in coming to understand our lives as meaningful we apply the same hermeneutical considerations to ourselves that we apply when understanding texts." (5) What this means in reality is not that the notoriously difficult problem of explaining the mystery of life is reduced into the seemingly easier problem of textual semantics, but rather that, as Jay L. Garfield puts it, "the apparently unproblematic encounter with ink on the page or sound waves in the air turns out to be fraught with all of human being." (6) While Gadamer has done contemporary philosophy a great service in calling attention to this fact, his hermeneutical theory is nevertheless lacking in the extent to which it fails to provide an account of the various aspects of human nature and of the mystery of human existence that inform interpretations both of life and of the written text. Thus, for example, while one searches Gadamer's writings in vain for any systematic account of human nature, the only aspect of man that receives discussion is his linguisticality. (7) Furthermore, Gadamer's philosophical hermeneutics shuns any theological (or ultimately grounding) foundation. (8) This lack of a theological foundation raises the question of relativism in Gadamer's hermeneutics. Jean Grondin defends the idea of human consciousness that is completely embedded in history as follows: "The accusation of relativism thus presupposes and defends an absolutist knowledge of the truth. This truth claims an absolute perspective (!) which the hermeneutics of facticity deconstructs, given that the very idea of a fundamentum inconcussum proceeds from a denial of temporality." (9) In the absence of an absolutist conception of truth the charge of relativism has no basis. On the contrary, Grondin argues, "we learn to see in the historicity of understanding the working mainspring of truth." (10) Certainly one would have to agree that very idea of a fundamentum inconcussum as construed by Descartes and the subsequent Enlightenment rationalist tradition proceeds from a denial of temporality. This criticism cannot however be leveled against Aquinas however, as evidenced by the fact that the first of his proofs for the existence of God proceeds from the very reality of change itself. While Aquinas, of course, does not expound any philosophy of history, it is clear that in any such account time and eternity would not be construed as being incompatible with each other. This article contends that the thought of Thomas Aquinas provides resources which not only compliment and enrich Gadamer's efforts but in some respects go beyond them. …

Plato's and Aristotle's Answers to the Parmenides Problem

Abstract: THE QUESTIONS RAISED by the great pre-Socratic philosopher Parmenides were perhaps the main challenge for Plato and Aristotle, two of the greatest post-Socratic philosophers. To summarize the challenge briefly: Parmenides denied that there was any change in the world. Although the average person has intuitions from sense experience that run contrary to this claim, Parmenides had a logically valid argument that proved his theory. Parmenides denounced the intuitions of sense experience as falsities, the way of opinion. The way of truth was to accept his theory, that there is no change, all being is one, and the multiplicity of individual beings is a mere illusion. Parmenides' line of argument is as follows. Change is coming into being. If something comes into being, it comes into being from something that existed before. What was it before? There are only two possibilities, which make up the Parmenides problem: either : 1. Being comes from being. or: 2. Being comes from nonbeing. If #1 is correct and being comes from being, in that case the same thing exists before and after, and no change occurs. If #2 is correct and being comes from nonbeing, in that case nothing comes to be. Nothing comes from nothing after all, so no change occurs. The conclusion is that there is no such thing as nonbeing, and no such thing as change. The world is all one being, and there is no division into separate individual beings that interact and change. If Parmenides' argument seems tricky, it ought to. It has seemed tricky to all thinkers who have followed Parmenides. There were even a few unscrupulous thinkers who took advantage of this trickiness and used it as a justification for moral relativism. These thinkers were the sophists, and the most brilliant of them was Protagoras. Protagoras claimed that each individual man was "the measure of all things," so the same thing that was good for one man might not be good for another based on perspective. (1) Ultimately, Protagoras claimed there was no measure of goodness based on human nature because human nature as a separate individual form did not exist. Only being exists, as Parmenides argued; Protagoras said the rest of what we take to be reality is an illusion and subjective. Protagoras' argument is a stronger version of the sophist arguments about convention and nature (nomos and phusis). As Plato and Aristotle both recognized, the Parmenides problem had implications for politics as well as for philosophy. No philosopher was able to accurately interpret and refute the Parmenides problem until Plato and Aristotle. Plato answered it in an important way in his dialogue the Sophist, and Aristotle followed this up with the complete answer in Physics book 1, chapter 8. My thesis is that Plato's answer would have been good enough to defeat Protagoras in extended argument, thereby remedying the political aspects of the Parmenides problem. However, Aristotle's answer is required to answer some additional philosophical and scientific aspects. The first section of this paper will summarize the history of pre-Socratic philosophy and explain why Parmenides was a turning-point. The second section will explain the sophist Protagoras' relation to the Parmenides problem. The third part will present Aristotle's complete answer to the Parmenides problem, and in the fourth part I will compare that approach with Plato's solution in the Sophist. Lastly, I will sum up by characterizing how I think Plato and Aristotle would have responded to Protagoras' Parmenidean sophistry in political life. I From what we know about early pre-Socratic thought, the speculations of the philosophers did not clash against the intuitions of the average man as they did after Parmenides and the sophists. The typical pattern of the school of Miletus was to propose an underlying element that could explain the world that philosophers experienced around them. Thales proposed water, Aniximander proposed "the indefinite," and Anaximenes proposed air. …

The Principles of the First Critique

Abstract: IN THE A PREFACE to the Critique of Pure Reason, Kant gives us a general description of its central task. The "critique of pure reason" is to be a critique of the faculty of reason in general, in respect of all the cognitions after which reason might strive independently of all experience, and hence the decision about the possibility or impossibility of a metaphysics in general, and the determination of its sources, as well as its extent and boundaries, all, however, from principles. (1) If the results of the Critique, including its decisions about metaphysics, are to depend on the principles it sets forth, then our understanding of those results would seem naturally to depend on our understanding of its principles. But further, if the principles that ground Kant's view depend on Kant's understanding of what kind of thing a principle is, then much would seem to hang on our understanding of Kant's conception of the nature of a principle. Surprisingly, for all the history of Kant scholarship devoted to questions concerning the results of the Critique, with its range of views concerning the significance of this or that principle to be found in Kant's text, there seems to be little attention paid to the very notion of a principle in Kant. The term "principle" (2) appears repeatedly in the Critique, but nowhere in the text does Kant explain what he means by it. Moreover, the term is used in such varying contexts and with such seemingly diverse senses that it is difficult to see exactly how the Critique is supposed to be a unified science resting on a distinct and basic set of principles. For example, Kant uses the term to refer to forms of sensibility and understanding, to laws of possible experience, to maxims of reason to seek the unconditioned, and to grounds of cognition such as axioms of scientific knowledge or simply premises of a syllogism. On the face of it, it is unclear what the designation "principle" is supposed to signify, whether there are more or less fundamental principles and on what basis, and whether there is supposed to be some way in which the diverse instances of them are related to form a unified science of theoretical reason. (3) The aim of this essay is to offer a theory of Kant's principles that will provide answers to these questions. In what follows I shall first clarify what Kant understands by the term "principle" by briefly looking to his metaphysics lectures and then to the use of the term by two thinkers contemporary to and influential upon Kant--namely, Hume and Newton. Given these considerations, our initial hypothesis will be that Kant conceives of principles in an Aristotelian fashion, such that his use of the term involves distinct senses that correspond in an analogous way to Aristotle's four causes. I shall then show how this specific conception of a principle underlies Kant's account of reason's principles in the first Critique. I We begin with Kant's discussion of principles in his metaphysics lectures. (4) In the ontology division of his lecture Metaphysik [L.sub.2], (5) in a section entitled "Cause and Effect," Kant offers the following definitions and distinctions: Cause and ground are to be distinguished. What contains the ground of possibility is ground , or the principle of being . The ground of actuality is the principle of becoming , cause . What contains the ground of something is called in general principle . (6) Kant defines the term "principle" as that which contains the ground of something. He even seems to equate "principle" with "ground" insofar as, after making the claim that the principle of being "contains" the ground of possibility, he says that the ground of actuality "is" the principle of becoming. However closely Kant wants to bring together the concepts of ground and principle, what is most relevant for us here is Kant's distinction between two kinds of principle--namely, the principle of being and that of becoming. …

Punishment and Moral Sentiments

Abstract: In 1883, the Victorian Judge James Fitzjames Stephen famously argued that: The sentence of the law is to the moral sentiments of the public in relation to any offence what a seal is to hot wax. It converts into a permanent final judgment what might otherwise be a transient sentiment ... the infliction of punishment by law gives definite expression and solemn justification to the hatred which is excited by the commission of the offence. (1) It is often the case that our passions become unnerved upon learning that a heinous crime has taken place. However, what is the relationship between our moral sentiments and the justification of punishment? One position echoed above is that our moral sentiments provide for punishment's justification. My focus here will be on Adam Smith's theory of punishment and the role that moral sentiments play in this theory. I will argue that interpreters, such as Knud Haakonssen, Eric Miller, and John Salter, are mistaken to view Smith's position as essentially retributivist. (2) In fact, Smith defends a unified theory where punishment serves retributivist, deterrent, and rehabilitative goals together. I will conclude with some critical remarks on how well this account may speak to contemporary concerns. I Smith's theory of punishment. Smith begins by asking us to assess the merit or demerit of actions from the standpoint of an impartial spectator. (3) This device offers us what I will refer to as "the impartiality standard." (4) This standard is used to determine whether a given act deserves punishment. Therefore, we are not to focus on our own particular judgments, but judge instead from the perspective of an impartial observer. (5) We assess actions how we imagine the impartial spectator should assess them if called upon. For Smith, satisfaction of this impartiality standard is a guarantee of impartial justice. Determining whether or not an act requires punishment in fulfillment of the impartiality standard requires that we examine individual actions in light of three factors. The first pertains to the intentions behind an action. (6) Our intentions may be met with approval or disapproval as determined by an impartial spectator. If our intentions do not merit disapproval, then we cannot be susceptible to punishment. However, we may become susceptible to punishment when the opposite is true. Nevertheless, the mere possession of a censurable intention is insufficient to merit punishment. For Smith, punishing someone solely on account of their thoughts where no crime has occurred is "the most insolent and barbarous tyranny." (7) The second factor relates to the external action performed. Thus, the impartial spectator begins by asking what was intended and then proceeds to inquire about what action took place. These external actions do not always admit of approval or disapproval independently of other factors. For example, an external action may consist of pulling the trigger on a gun. This action may be morally problematic, but it may not. Perhaps I was simply practicing my marksmanship skills at a shooting range. Of course, this action may become morally problematic in different contexts, such as if I was shooting my gun with an intent to kill an innocent person. External actions become morally problematic in light of the intentions that give rise to them. A third factor concerns the consequences of an action: we ask what happened as a result of an action. Not unlike external actions, consequences also do not readily admit of approval or disapproval taken separately. For example, a consequence of an action may be the death of another person at my hands. Whether or not this consequence is morally problematic will depend on my relevant intentions. Therefore, if the consequence arose from my acting in self-defense, then the consequence is not morally problematic. The situation would be rather different if I was acting murderously. …

Mathematical Entities in the Divided Line

Abstract: MY AIM IN THIS PAPER is to examine the nature of the entities which are the objects in the second division of the divided line in Republic 510b-511a I shall defend the view that the objects of [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII] (dianoia) are indeed the mathematical objects, or "intermediates" as attributed to Plato by Aristotle at Metaphysics 987b15-18--entities which are part of the intelligible world in being stable and unchanging, yet which are particulars rather than universals In the geometrical case we may think of perfect (particular) triangles--which I shall anachronistically refer to as Euclidean triangles--as opposed to the triangles which geometers draw in the sand I shall then consider how to deal with the apparent mismatch between two respects in which the highest and the second level differ The second level (1) uses hypothetical reasoning, (2) uses images These seem to be unconnected, and it is the purpose of this paper to offer a solution to the problem of interpreting the divided line simile in such a way as to make clear the connection The difficulty which affects all the solutions is that at crucial points the text does not give us the help we should expect It's almost as if Plato is holding out on us In fact I shall argue that Plato is indeed holding out on us, and that he tells us so himself First note that the line simile explicitly continues the sun simile (1) So look at the introduction to the sun simile at 506d-e The sun simile is about the Form of the Good Plato tells his hearers that he is not able to give a literal account, because he would be ridiculed if he told them what is in his mind What if the Good is a kind of superform representing everything that the Forms have in common? They are perfect, immutable, essentially what they are, and so on Is there anything here that might cause Socrates' companions to laugh at him? In order to see why Plato might think that this would appear ridiculous look at the earlier development of his two-worlds metaphysics This metaphysics is introduced explicitly in the Phaedo At 74a-d we are asked to distinguish between the many sensible equals--the sticks and stones--and compare them with Equality itself There seem to be two things going on here First, the equal sticks and stones are many examples of the one universal Second, the Form of Equality is what the sensible equals are aiming at, but of which they are defective copies In fact Plato, perhaps deliberately, fudges these two things, for at 74c1, in a single line, he uses the phrases [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII] (equals themselves) and [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII] (equality), and only four lines later, at 74c4, we find [TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII] (the equal itself) In terms of the one/many phenomenon, we would be inclined today to say that it is a category mistake to treat equality as a paradigmatic example of equals Perhaps we should think in the following way Imagine Socrates standing in a hall of mirrors Some are colored, some are distorting, some are not very clean and so on Say there are twelve of them, in each of which there is a reflection of Socrates We then ask: "How many Socrateses are there?" There seem to be two answers If we are interested in comparing the quality of the various reflections we might say that there are thirteen--the twelve reflections and Socrates himself (Or perhaps we might say there are twelve if we are considering only the reflections) Another answer is possible We might ask: "How many Socrateses are there really?" In this case one might appropriately answer that there is really only one All the others are reflections One might ask what makes us give each one of the reflections the name "Socrates," and answer that they are given this name because they are all reflections of Socrates (see Phaedo, 102bl-2) One might then ask why Socrates himself has that name, to which the answer has to be: "because that is his name …

Winfield, Richard Dien. the Living Mind: From Psyche to Consciousness

Abstract: WINFIELD, Richard Dien. The Living Mind: From Psyche to Consciousness. Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, 2011. ix + 307 pp. Cloth, $95.00--In The Living Mind Richard Winfield escapes "the hard problem" of deriving consciousness from physical process by adopting a broadly Aristotelian strategy for understanding both nature and mind. He maintains that "the hard problem" stems from a conception of mind too narrowly focused upon consciousness and a mechanistic understanding of nature. Instead, he argues that embodiment is a necessary condition of mental process, but that mechanism does not supply an adequate understanding of embodiment. Physical and chemical processes supply necessary preconditions for mental activity, but mental processes are marked by reflexive and telic characteristics that are not inherent in physical and chemical processes. These physical preconditions only transcend mechanism to embody mental activities in living organisms; but not all organisms or organic functions qualify as mental. Whereas Aristotle regarded the nutritive or vegetative functions of plants as the first level of ensouled or "animate" existence, Winfield treats the organic processes of unification, metabolism, and reproduction as necessary, but still not sufficient, preconditions of mentality. Only the sentience and irritability that enable animals to move about their environments qualify as properly mental. In animals, the gap between physiological need and material fulfillment must be bridged by the subjectivity of desire and purposive activity. Through that explicitly reflexive, serf-seeking activity, the physical, organic process becomes the life of a mind. Part one of The Living Mind thus closes the gap between mind and matter by showing that a disembodied mind is inconceivable. But Winfield acknowledges that he has not thereby closed the gap between matter and consciousness, since the subjectivity of animal life does not entail that earthworms or paramecia are either conscious or serf-conscious. In part two, "The System of Mind," he distinguishes three successive levels or "spheres" of mind: psyche, consciousness and intelligence. Each sphere presupposes its predecessor but cannot be reduced thereto. In the remainder of The Living Mind, he undertakes a systematic study of psyche and consciousness, reserving intelligence for a sequel. Without warning or argument, Winfield reserves "consciousness" to refer to experiences that distinguish between subject and object. While some readers may object to that stipulation, it serves his systematic project of showing that the life of the mind need not be conscious and that consciousness presupposes and arises out of preconscious experience. He appropriates Hegel's use of "psyche" to refer to a minimal level of preconscious feeling that does not distinguish subjective affect from an intended object. Section one of part two explores the nature of the psyche. Although the feeler does not distinguish itself from its feelings at this level, Winfield notes an implicit duality between the how and what of such feelings. Since feelings alter with changes in the body and environment, the preconscious mind experiences differences among its own feelings, especially since they motivate and are motivated by overt activity and expression. These differences combine with the implicit duality between how and what to provide the conditions for a more explicit form of self-feeling, although there is no serf apart from its feelings at this stage. The reminder that feelings are embodied in action and expression opens the way to recognizing how organisms experience one another and how repeated patterns of action lead to the formation of habits. …

Aquinas's Commentary on Boethius's De Trinitate

Abstract: LONG BEFORE KANT PUBLISHED his reflections on the epistemological structure of philosophy, Aquinas addressed the topic in his commentary on Boethius's De Trinitate. (1) It is an early work, pertaining to the first Parisian period (datable not beyond 1259). The text, apparently unfinished at least as regards the initial intention (precisely a commentary on a work of Boethius on the Trinity), is surprising for its elegance and the profundity of its approach. The critical edition remarks, among other things, upon the extraordinary lexical elaboration of the autograph manuscript. The author knows how to etch from the thin Boethian text an ample discussion of the nature of science, theology, and philosophy. The latter includes the theoretical disciplines, according to the Aristotelian system: physics, mathematics and metaphysics. (2) The literal exposition of the text commented upon is interspersed with six questions, each divided into four articles. In this essay, I wish only to formulate, after a brief presentation of the epistemological conception developed in the Commentary, some difficulties about the nature of theoretical knowledge and its principles. For this reason, we refer especially to the fifth question. (3) The structure of knowledge. Thomas's approach appears immediately epistemological: to discern the order of the sciences it is necessary to understand the modality according to which reality is variously regarded. The object of a science is not the thing of which it treats, except under a specific qualification which grasps a particular aspect considered, the faculties, and the peculiar perspective of the knowing subject: namely, the operations, the conceptual presuppositions, and the methodological strategy which the same knowing subject always puts in practice to formulate and to respond to any questions. In general, When habits or powers are differentiated by their objects they do not differ according to just any distinction among these objects, but according to the distinctions that are essential to the objects as objects. (4) Such an approach, which underlines, as is apparent, the abstractive profile of scientific knowledge, requires that it be already determined what, in general, renders reality (res) an object (obiectum); or, what in reality and in the knowing subject cooperate in the unified constitution of knowledge. If science, more than just a form of knowledge, represents, moreover, the most excellent form, reflection upon it (epistemology) should offer, then, a general view of human knowledge (a gnoseology). We will have to see to what extent such a common assumption--given that it is not, in our case, a unilateral interpretation--is in fact satisfying. Thus, metaphysics is the science capable of facing this question. Only in metaphysics is reality made the object of consideration in an absolute sense, even in that absolute sense which corresponds to its projection in thought. Therefore, metaphysics is able to investigate the foundations of logic. Moreover, it verifies, reflexively, the field of thought: it determines the principles, the operations, and the modalities of the intentional reference. (5) Again, for Saint Thomas, the truth is a transcendental property of being. Thought does not constitute, therefore, an extrinsic topic for the study of being, but it is intrinsically tied to it. (6) In particular, metaphysics has to take account of the ontological properties which most directly characterize the object of scientific knowledge as such: immateriality and necessity. [A]n object of this kind--namely, an object of a speculative power--derives one characteristic from the side of the power of intellect and another from the side of the habit of science that perfects the intellect. From the side of the intellect it has the fact that it is immaterial, because the intellect itself is immaterial. From the side of the habit of science it has the fact that it is necessary, for science treats of necessary matters, as is shown in the Posterior Analytics [I, 6]. …

Peirce's Incomplete Synthetic Turn

Abstract: PEIRCE'S PRAGMATISM HIDES many enigmas. One of the most provocative is that it introduces many new philosophical tools-suffice it to mention semiotic, abductive logic, a heuristic based on continuity, and a reproposal of scholastic realism--all essential components of a never realized broader philosophical project. As is well known, there are several existential reasons to explain its incompletion, (1) but a question remains unanswered: what was the project to which he referred while striving to give "the proof of pragmatism"? (2) The project is not the proof itself. Rather, it is the reason for which the proof could not attain a final form. The proof never satisfied Peirce because it was always a partial view of something broader that Peirce usually identified as being "the truth of continuity" or "the truth of synechism," (3) or else the method of justifying the "nature of Sequence," (4) namely, the nature of pragmatism. However, the proof required a vast panoptic view necessarily covering different fields. In a letter to William James, he wrote that even if every single part of his work had been published, "the principal thing would remain unpublished; for this depends upon the way the parts are filled together." (5) This comment raises the question: what was the overall project? This paper intends to answer this question and possibly to complete it. The first part of the article (sections I and II) identifies in a "completely" synthetic pattern of reasoning, the direction toward which Peirce was leaning in his research. It also underlines that Peirce failed to provide a satisfactory account of this syntheticity. He forged many new "synthetic tools," but he did not put them in a new pattern, and he did not change the definition of "syntheticity." The second part (III-IV) explicates a Peirce-driven definition of "synthesis" compatible with Peirce's insights taken from his mathematical and logical studies. The third part (V) proposes a "completely" synthetic theory of knowledge based on the new concept of "synthesis" elaborated in the previous part. "Complete gestures" as meaningful actions that embody universals in particulars are the basic elements of this account of the dynamic of knowledge. I It was in the "Illustrations of the logic of science" (1877-78) that Peirce had first furnished his own version of the logic of inquiry, the core of which was the pragmatic maxim within the realistic procedure of science. Notwithstanding the clarity of the maxim, his logic of inquiry presented also several difficulties that Peirce tried to fix by deepening and extending his logic, which required the elaboration, at the turn of the century, of an entire classification of sciences and the study of several interdisciplinary topics. (6) In three series of lectures Peirce gave from 1898 to 1903, he tried several possible orders for these scattered parts of his philosophy. An ordered list of topics could be the one proposed in "Prolegomena to an Apology for Pragmaticism": continuity, phaneroscopy, signs, existential graphs, kinds of reasoning. In the series written for The Monist (1905-6) he stressed also the role of normative sciences. In the following years he tried in vain to fully explain this or a similar order he had in mind. These efforts were "in vain" because Peirce tended to lose his track while tilling the "virgin soil" (7) of those many fields of research he himself discovered. Here a complementary question arises: why did he get lost? Part of the reason is that all the above topics were products of his original insight, and Peirce was eager to explain them precisely. The mathematical definition of continuity stemmed from his thirty years of studying Cantor's set theory, and Peirce had independently discovered Cantor's theorem (the cardinality, or the multitude, of the set of all subsets of any set is strictly greater than the cardinality of the set) and Cantor's subsequent paradox (the set of all sets is at once larger and smaller than the set of its subsets). …

Rethinking Honor with Aristotle and Confucius

Abstract: RECENT COMPARATIVE WORKS on Aristotle and Confucius have focused on their similar accounts of the exemplary person. (1) Both authors stress the virtues of exemplary persons and their being models for self-cultivation. Commentators frequently emphasize the kinship between Aristotle and Confucius regarding the virtuous person's ability to do what is right in any situation, and how such a person's action transcends any formulation in rules. Hence the comparisons between Aristotle's phronesis and its corresponding functional equivalent concepts in Confucius's accounts of appropriateness (yi the virtue of acting appropriately in various situations) and humaneness (ren, the highest Confucian virtue in which one's love for one's family members is gradually extended to one's fellow human beings in the wider community). Discussions of the self as well as self-knowledge are also relevant and common. Even though commentators acknowledge some differences between Aristotle's and Confucius's fists of virtues, none so far has discussed their views on honor or pride. Megalopsychia, literally, the greatness of soul, also translated as pride or magnanimity, is a virtue Aristotle attributes to the good person regarding his claim to be worthy of great things, namely, honor. Contrariwise, Confucius censures the claim to be honored or acknowledged. Although proper honor of the worthy is included in his discussion of appropriateness (yi), that is, the virtue of acting appropriately in various situations, he praises humility over a concern with honor. Like other virtues, which are means between two extremes, Aristotle's megalopsychia is a mean between the two extremes of vanity and humility. He explains that vanity is the flaw of thinking that one is worthy of great things when one is not; humility that of thinking that one is worthy of less than one is. If humility is an extreme of pride, then Confucius's exemplary person (junzi) is the defective extreme on Aristotle's view. Repeatedly, Confucius tells us that the junzi is not bothered by not being acknowledged (bu zhi). Rather, he worries about not acknowledging others. He focuses on being good and avoids failing to do the things that deserve honor. (2) As such, Confucius shares Aristotle's conviction about honor being accorded to the virtuous. Whilst Aristotle thinks that the completely virtuous person should make claims to the honor he rightly deserves, Confucius maintains that he should be humble and disregard such claims. This radical opposition between Aristotle and Confucius about the good man's attitude toward honor provides a case for examining the exemplary person for them. I consider the reasons for their differences by focusing on the following questions: Who accords the honor? Does honor have any effect on the good man's actions, attitudes, virtues and self-knowledge? Whose account is superior? To which criteria should we appeal for adjudicating their contradictory claims? Focusing on the concept of pride, I examine whether the virtue of honor giving rise to these rival claims can provide the resources for resolving the conflicts. Aristotle's megalopsychia is not just about a proper estimation of one's worth or desire for honor, for that pertains to the proper desire of small honors too. He says, "honor may be desired [orexei] more than is right, or less, or from the right sources and in the right way. We blame both the ambitious man [philotimon] as aiming at honor [times] more than is right and from wrong sources, and the unambitious man as not willing to be honored even for noble [epi tois kalois] reasons." (3) Additionally, "he who is worthy of little [micron axios] and thinks himself worthy of little is temperate [sophron], but not proud; for pride implies greatness [en megethei], as beauty implies a good-sized body, and little people [hoi microi] may be neat and well-proportioned [sumetroi] but cannot be beautiful." (4) Instead of just the proper estimation of one's worth or the desire for honor, both of which apply to small honors, megalopsychia is about great things. …

Burrell, David B., Carlo Cogliati, Janet M. Soskice, and William R. Stoeger, Eds. Creation and the God of Abraham

Abstract: BURRELL, David B., Carlo Cogliati, Janet M. Soskice, and William R. Stoeger, eds. Creation and the God of Abraham. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. xii + 274 pp. Cloth, 58.00 [pounds sterling]--This volume is the fruit of a meeting of Christian, Jewish, and Muslim scholars in Castel Gandolfo in 2006 to discuss the philosophical and theological meaning of creatio ex nihilo and its ability to harmonize with contemporary science, especially cosmology. The first nine contributions are historical in nature, presenting the understanding of creation in one of the three traditions, though most also offer brief reflections on the relationships between philosophy, theology, and science. Next come two scientific contributions on cosmology and biology. The collection concludes with three meditations on the nature of science and the relation between God's creative causality and the causal activity of creatures. Here is an overview of the stronger entries. In her wide-ranging yet perspicuous contribution, Janice Soskice challenges Gerhardt May for being too cautious about the historical development of the idea of creatio ex nihilo in Judaism. She also defends Moses Mendelsohn's understanding of God's "I am" as eternal being against Buber and Rosenzweig's dynamic "I am with you" on the grounds that Mendelsohn's interpretation better fits with the traditional Jewish understanding of God as sovereign creator. David Burrell presents a fine summary of Aquinas's metaphysical account of creation, noting his transformation of the Platonic ideas of emanation and participation. In the best historical essay, Rahim Acar gives a philosophically nuanced account of Avicenna's reconciliation of the doctrine of creation with a necessary and eternal universe. Going beyond mere exegesis, Acar suggests that Avicenna errs by treating God and the universe as being eternal in the same way, and he reflects on how Avicenna's cosmology might be reconciled with modern science. Breaking with William Soeger and Janice Soskice's claim that creatio ex nihilo is complementary to any scientific explanation, Pirooz Fatoorchi briefly summarizes four different Muslim interpretations of creation and judges whether they are indeed compatible with various cosmological positions. Next, Ibrahim Kalin summarizes Mulla Sadra's (d. 1640) highly original creationist metaphysics, which sought to articulate the complete and ongoing dependence of all things on God without falling into occasionalism. All created things are unities in motion toward their full actualizations, such that creation is flux but stability is found in the ongoing attempt of created things to image the divine exemplars as best they can. While Simon Oliver's discussion (following Thomas Aquinas and von Balthasar) of how creatures imitate the triune God in their very difference and otherness is stimulating, his desire to treat motion and the creative act as reflections of the Divine life has unfortunately led him to conflate motus and emanatio; whereas Aquinas, when speaking of creation, contrasts the two terms---emanation is immediate, can be atemporal, requires no subject, and does not affect the agent. William Stoeger gives a masterful summary of contemporary cosmology and argues for its compatibility with the philosophical idea of creation. Thomas Tracey incisively summarizes the contemporary debates on human freedom and determinism and shows how a correct understanding of creatio ex nihilo can enable us to better understand how God's sovereignty does not conflict with human freedom. …