The Root of Error in the World Today

The intellectual culture of the West today--meaning not the culture of people who deem themselves intellectuals, but rather the set of assumptions that are shared among many people in the Western world--has at its heart a feeble and rotting philosophy which has somehow survived for nearly a thousand years, despite its sterility and vacuity. This is the philosophy of nominalism. Once I've explained to you what this philosophy is, I think you'll see just how widespread it is, and how much it's contributed to the inanity of public discourse.

Let's begin with the common-sense view. Consider a dog. We all can recognize that a dog is a dog. No matter the differences between different kinds of dogs, whether it's black or white, heavy or svelte, fluffy or sleek, long-tailed or short-tailed, we can still tell that they're all dogs, because these features are only accidental (being mere "attachments") to the critters; there is still something about each dog that makes it "doggy," that it has in common with all other dogs. Aristotle and the medieval philosophers who followed in his general line of thinking, like St. Thomas Aquinas, would call this "something that makes a thing what it is" that thing's "substantial form" or "nature" or "essence." We do still see this philosophy preserved in our everyday language, e.g. "Yeah, it may be missing a leg and been spray-painted bright green, but it's still essentially a dog." What makes a dog a dog, or a cat a cat, or a man a man, is its substantial form, its essence. When speaking of this in terms of how we know things, we would say that there is a universal concept of "dog" that can be equally said of all particular dogs; that is, all particular dogs have a participation in the universal concept of "dog."

But some later medieval theologians were dissatisfied with this notion of substantial form or essence, and they had problems with the notion of universal concepts. There were some who said that though we may use universal concepts as a way to talk about things more easily, this universal concept didn't point to anything real--that though we may talk about the concept of "dog," really, truly, in reality, there are only these particular things that share enough common features that we choose to call them all "dogs." There is no such thing as "dogginess," they would say, only things we choose to call "dogs" for the sake of convenience. Individual things are only collections of characteristics (the "accidents" mentioned above), but there's nothing that ties together all these different strands or "stands under" them (substance --> Latin substantia, sub+stantia = "to stand under"); we simply call things with similar characteristics by the same name. This is the philosophy of nominalism (Latin nomen, nominis, "name").

There is nothing that makes two things each "dogs" unless we choose to call them such. Do you see the consequences of holding this philosophical assumption? It would apply equally to everything that exists, including people: if nominalism is true, then there is nothing that makes two things each "human beings" unless we choose to call them such. There is nothing at the core of us all that makes us the same. "Humanity" becomes a useful fiction which can be discarded when it is no longer useful, an arbitrary category that can be filled with different members as it suits us. So an American plantation owner can declare by his fiat that Africans do not fit in the category of human, and he can enslave them. Nazis can pronounce Jews to be less-than, and exterminate them. Abortionists can term unborn children to be mere "products of conception" and kill them. Suddenly, your gender or sex is not a given, but an option, an "identity" you choose; in the nominalist mindset, there is nothing that makes a man a man or a woman a woman.

Or think of the effect of nominalism in this way. Moral laws can only be set in universal terms, e.g. "It is good for humans to do X, and not good for humans to do Y." "Humans" is a universal term; they are all those things which share "humanity," that is, the essence of what it is to be human. But if we deny that this essence, this nature, exists, we deny that there is anything intrinsically common to humans. If humans have no nature in common, if "humans" is a mere label attached to really distinct particular entities, then we cannot say that anything is universally good or bad for them on account of their "humanity;" we would only be able to say what is good or bad for each of the individuals that we label "human." And who else could determine that other than the individuals for themselves? The door is open for each person to make their own morality. 

Of course, we could not have a society in which everyone makes their own definitions of everything, especially of right and wrong. So who makes these determinations in a nominalist society? Whoever has power: physical might, or political sway, or financial backing. The one with power defines our terms, and shapes our reality. The one with power, for all intents and purposes, becomes God.

What a terrifying thought. Most terrifying of all that this is the world we find ourselves in today.

Don't Let the Lights Go Out

Our society is continuously engaged in pseudo-debates about a range of issues, from abortion to gun control to redefining marriage to the proper response to poverty and immigration concerns. I call them "pseudo-debates" because they quite often seem to be missing a constitutive component of a debate: thought. There's an awful lot of emoting, but not a whole lot of thinking. People deem it sufficient to decide a matter merely by the expression of their feelings about it. Rather than defining our terms, stating our principles, making our arguments, and considering objections (in the serenely reasonable style of the medieval Scholastic philosophers), we instead shout and scream and stamp and snivel and point fingers and tear our hair out and rend our garments and call each other hateful and fear-mongers and heartless and brainless and just about every other pejorative we can conjure up (in the typically passionate style of the modern philosophers, who began by defending reason and usually ended by denying its applicability or trustworthiness).

This is not only immoral in its lack of charity, it's unproductive. We don't get anywhere in our discussions with each other, and when one side does get enough momentum going on its side to win the tug-of-war, we meet a host of unintended consequences that may well have been foreseen had we thought our way through things, and in the end everybody falls down. It reminds me of a parable from G.K. Chesterton's book Heretics (1905):

Suppose that a great commotion arises in the street about something, let us say a lamp-post, which many influential persons desire to pull down. A grey-clad monk, who is the spirit of the Middle Ages, is approached upon the matter, and begins to say, in the arid manner of the Schoolmen, “Let us first of all consider, my brethren, the value of Light. If Light be in itself good–” At this point he is somewhat excusably knocked down. All the people make a rush for the lamp-post, the lamp-post is down in ten minutes, and they go about congratulating each other on their unmediaeval practicality. But as things go on they do not work out so easily. Some people have pulled the lamp-post down because they wanted the electric light; some because they wanted old iron; some because they wanted darkness, because their deeds were evil. Some thought it not enough of a lamp-post, some too much; some acted because they wanted to smash municipal machinery; some because they wanted to smash something. And there is war in the night, no man knowing whom he strikes. So, gradually and inevitably, to-day, to-morrow, or the next day, there comes back the conviction that the monk was right after all, and that all depends on what is the philosophy of Light. Only what we might have discussed under the gas-lamp, we now must discuss in the dark.

Though the medieval method may be too arid for the tastes of some, there is no denying its precision and efficiency. If the goal of debate is to air the various perspectives and thoughts of all and come to a reasoned conclusion on the subject, then we must stop our public debates from turning into shouting matches and lynch mobs and witch-hunts, and return to the cathedral school and the university of the pre-modern period, with its disputatio and quodlibet debates. Let's hurry, before the lights go out!

The Middle of What?

Have you ever asked yourself what the "Middle Ages" are supposed to be in the middle of? The answer tells us something about our biases.

See, at the time of the Renaissance and the Enlightenment (or, as my brother likes to call it, "the Endarkenment"), European intellectuals began to rediscover knowledge from the ancient Greeks and Romans that had been lost or neglected. They came to see themselves as heirs to this classical heritage, and looked upon their predecessors of the most recent centuries as poor benighted souls who had toiled away on matters that were at best insignificant and at worst frivolous superstition. So they termed the ancients as the "classical" period or "antiquity," and themselves as "modernity" or "the Enlightenment." And what was left in between? Those ho-hum "middle ages."

Basically, it's the historiographical equivalent of "flyover country."

Yeah, never mind that medieval Christian Europe invented the hospital, the university, and the fundamentals of the scientific method (thank you, Bishop Robert Grosseteste and St. Albert the Great). Never mind that they kept alive and furthered the thought of Aristotle. Never mind that they preserved the Roman legal system which still serves as the root of European law today. We'll just ignore all that. Silly moderns. What do they know anyway?

How to Make an Argument

One of the most useful things I learned in this last year studying philosophy was how to properly make an argument. The scholastics of the medieval period had a brilliant method for it. I thought I'd share the basics with you today.

Now, usually when you hear the word "argument" you think of an emotionally charged disagreement between two parties slapping each other with epithets and denouncing each other as hateful ignoramuses. One person says, "Janis Joplin is overrated as a singer," the other says, "You're a moron," and they don't talk to each other for days--most people would call that an argument. An exchange of that nature is not properly labeled an "argument," though. This is better classified as a "fight," or perhaps a "tandem temper tantrum" (I think I just made that up). If that's not an argument, what is?

We were on the right track at first. Someone makes a claim or states a proposition, e.g. "Janis Joplin is overrated as a singer." If we want to examine this claim, to see whether it holds any credence, we must do three things:

1. Define our terms.
2. Give supporting proof such as relevant facts and authoritative pronouncements.
3. Consider and address the arguments of the opposing view.

Let's take these one at a time.

1. Define your terms: This is the first step, and the most important, but all too often people skip it! It's absolutely crucial: how can you discuss a topic when you aren't even sure you're talking about the same thing? I heard a story once about a debate on the existence of God between an atheist and a priest. The priest said to the atheist, "Before we begin, would you describe to me this God you don't believe in?" The atheist replied, "Oh sure. God is an old man who lives in the sky and keeps a list of all the good and bad things we do, and if we've done more good than bad, he lets us into heaven when we die." The priest responded, "Oh good! I'm glad to see we're in agreement. I don't believe in that God either." They then were able to have a fruitful discussion on the existence of God. How much time would have been wasted had they debated for an hour not even talking about the same thing! So, in this example, one would want to define "overrated," or ask "what are the criteria by which we will evaluate or rate a singer?"

2. Give supporting proof: Once you determine by what criteria the question will be decided, you must introduce relevant support for your position. So, if you wanted to use record sales, you could point out that Janis Joplin hasn't sold nearly as many records as other people who aren't as highly regarded, and thus is overrated; or if you wanted to appeal to the opinions of music critics, you could show how so many of them love her voice and argue that she is not overrated. It would take too much time here to go into the issues of logical fallacies (the argument from authority is not a logical proof) and subjective vs. objective questions (isn't singing a matter of taste?), but the point is if you're going to discuss any issue, you need to agree on the criteria and support your argument according to those criteria.

3. Consider the opposing view: It's not enough to state your own case; you won't be able to defend your position unless you answer the strongest arguments from the other side. To be convincing, you have to show how the other side is mistaken in its facts, or misinterpreting an authority, or defining a term incorrectly, or focused on irrelevant matters, or something of that sort. You have to show not only that you're right, but that your opponent is wrong. This is the way that thinkers from Socrates to Aquinas to Abraham Lincoln have proceeded.

In the Middle Ages, a popular exercise in the schools was the disputatio, or "disputed question," which used these basic elements as the framework for a discussion. One of the masters would be presented with a thesis, e.g. "Whether it can be demonstrated that God exists?" The master would present his case, defining the terms and presenting supporting evidence, then answer objections from the students, who would cite other authorities and make counter-arguments. These were often recorded and used in teaching texts such as St. Thomas' Summa Theologica.

Rather than give a Summa-style argument for our facetious question, I'll link you to this tongue-in-cheek Summa-style argument on whether St. Thomas is boring. Enjoy! And remember: next time you have a disagreement with someone, please argue, don't fight.

The Week in Review: Evagriating

Patristic Spirituality: The subject of this week's class was Evagrios Pontikos, an ascetical writer from the late 4th century AD. Each week a student or two gives a presentation on the readings assigned, and I chose this week. The presentation could have gone better, but wasn't awful. I've learned I'm not a great extemporaneous speaker, and do much better when I have a prepared text before me. I tried to speak from an outline during this presentation, and I think it showed. Nevermind that, though. Evagrios wrote several works on the spiritual life and the path of progression to greater union with the Holy Trinity through focusing the intellect, calming the passions, and battling demonic temptations. Lots of your typical "deny the body to free the mind for contemplation" stuff--BUT the only reason it seems "typical" to us today is because Evagrios had HUGE influence on the history of Christian thought via his student John Cassian, who went into the Western Roman Empire and started founding monasteries; he, in turn, was a big influence on some guy named St. Benedict (you may have heard of him), whose rule for monastic life became an early standard for others to follow. We'll talk more about Evagrios this week in class.

Medieval Philosophy: There was no class on Monday due to the holiday. (Presidents' Day is a slap in the face, by the way; it used to be we had two separate federal holidays for the birthdays of Washington and Lincoln, and now we only get one with the ambiguous name "Presidents' Day." Is that supposed to include all the presidents? Really, are we taking time to commemorate the likes of William Henry Harrison, Franklin Pierce, and Chester A. Arthur?) Anyway... on Thursday we had a "discussion day" in which we compared various aspects of St. Augustine's De Magistro (On the Teacher) and Boethius' Consolation of Philosophy. There was a divide in the class as to who we thought had the more tightly constructed argument; it seems an unfair comparison, though, since Augustine was making one long argument, while Boethius made several short ones. Still, there was something about Boethius' I liked better. It had the clarity of the scholastic method about it. *Note: I will soon make a post describing the scholastic method in greater detail, so you'll know what the heck I'm talking about. (Actually, I wrote in my book "proto-Scholastic" as I read it, only to have our professor use that very phrase the next day in class!) This week we'll be discussing St. Anselm of Canterbury and Peter Abelard... or Peter Lombard... one of those Peters... it sometimes seems like the Middle Ages only had, like, eight names. Everyone's named Hugh or Peter or Thomas or John or something.

Philosophical Anthropology: Aristotle had a very helpful concept for relating the functions of the various powers of the soul. Sense knowledge gathers data from the outside world. The "common sense" (not meant as "practical know-how") relates the senses together and distinguishes them. The imagination acts as a storehouse for sense data. The cogitative or estimative sense allows us to intuit whether those things we sense are beneficial or harmful to us. And the memory allows us to store perceptions or conclusions of the estimative sense and retrieve particular ones. See how they all work together?

Metaphysics: "Quiddity" is one of my new favorite words. Especially because it's defined as "the thing-ness of a thing." Come on, that's just plain fun. Who said you can't have fun doing philosophy? Next week's post on this class will be more detailed, as I'll explain the principle of non-contradiction. Unless I forget to.

The Week in Review: Farewell Papa Benny

Before turning to a look at the week that was, let me first offer my prayers for our Holy Father, Pope Benedict, who this morning announced his abdication of the Chair of Peter, effective February 28. This was a huge surprise and a highly unusual move (the first time in nearly 600 years a pope has resigned), but it seems the pope feels he no longer has the strength to lead the Church. This saddens me greatly. I admire and respect this man as much as any person on this earth. His pontificate was a great gift to the Church, and he showed himself to be an outstanding teacher and pastor of souls, a man of humility, gentleness, and quiet strength and resolve. May God bless him in his remaining years.

Let us pray, too, for the papal election which will happen in a few weeks. May God grant us the right man for the job!

(One side note: you may have seen various news reports disagreeing on when was the last time a pope resigned his office. The earlier date cited, in the 1200s, was that of Pope Celestine V, who stepped down due to his advanced age, and perhaps his lack of desire to be pope in the first place. The later date, in the 1400s, was that of Pope Gregory XII, who resigned in the midst of the Great Western Schism, when three men were claiming to be pope simultaneously; all three men resigned, and a new pope was elected that all factions agreed to recognize. I'm not sure why some news agencies aren't citing the latter example--perhaps they look at that turbulent time in Church history and aren't sure what to make of it. Anyway, the later date is the correct one, so far as I know.)

Now, to much more mundane affairs....

My prediction of a schola brevis for the first meeting of Philosophical Anthropology was proved accurate. I used the additional time, as well as most of the rest of the day, to do some reading for classes later in the week.

Yeah, Monday and Tuesday pretty much consisted of some combination of class-read-eat-read-sleep-class-read-eat-read-sleep-repeat. Busy, but just the sort of busy I want to be!

Wednesday added a little curve ball of a few hours of work instead of class, but the rest of the day was much the same as the previous two.

Thursdays will be LONG this semester: I start class at 8:10am, and don't finish for the day until 9:00pm. Oh, there are some breaks in there, but they're going to be marathons. This last Thursday proved no exception, with some interesting highlights:

-- In the first meeting of our Metaphysics class, we were introduced to Dr. Marga Vega, a diminutive philosopher from Spain with a kind demeanor and a three-month old baby. (Said baby was not present in class, adorable as that would have been.) This is going to be a heady course, but a good one, I think.

-- A classmate and I took part of the afternoon to grab a coffee and talk about his journey toward the Catholic faith. After discussing his sensitivities toward his non-Catholic family, he said to me: "All right, so: Mary. Just tell me your thoughts about Mary, without trying to answer any objections or anything like that." I said that Mary is the first and greatest disciple of Jesus Christ, whose last words in Scripture are "Do whatever he tells you"; that the relationship between a mother and child is the closest and most significant of all human relationships, so that the relationship between God Incarnate and His mother can't be something merely peripheral; and that Mary always leads us to Christ. This echoed things he had read elsewhere, and I think he found it helpful to have them reinforced by a real live person. I hope to have more conversations of this sort in future.

-- The evening saw the first meeting of our Patristic Spirituality class, led by Dr. Thomas Cattoi, a seemingly omniscient Italian who plucks quotes by everyone from Hans Urs von Balthasar to Theo the Studite out of thin air. He even knew of this very webpage! After I gave my little spiel at the beginning of class, answering my name, my school, etc., Dr. Cattoi added, "...and he has a blog." Apparently I turned a highly luminescent shade of red, and the fellow next to me said, "I believe that's known as a bust." Nice (and a bit intimidating) to know we may have a Ph.D. perusing these pages on occasion.

Saturday evening I joined a view friends for a viewing of the sci-fi classic Alien, which turned out to be much better than I remembered. Good thrills, good pacing, good dialogue, good twists here and there. Our one friend who had never seen the film before responded to the iconic "alien birth" scene by bursting out laughing--not the reaction I expected. Just remember: if you ever are on an alien planetoid and come across some leathery-looking eggs, DON'T NOT put your face in close proximity to them unless you want a squidy thing attaching itself to your mug.

Highlights from classes:

Medieval Philosophy: We've begun the course by discussing St. Augustine of Hippo, particularly his influence on philosophy. He lived in a time (350-420 AD) when there was no clear distinction between philosophy and theology; thus, no one would call it "irrational" when he asserted that human beings gain knowledge by being taught by the "inner teacher," that is, God. Augustine's thought on everything from the grace to the relationship between church and state would go on to be hugely influential on medieval philosophers and theologians. Our professor told us today (paraphrase): "Ancient philosophy effectively ends with Augustine." So, yeah. Kind of a big deal.

Philosophical Anthropology: In our first meeting, the professor set the agenda for the course by presenting us with a series of questions: What is the human being? What is the relation between soul and body? Do human beings have free will? He concluded with a wry smile, saying, "We'll answer these next time."

Metaphysics: Not much to report here yet, as the one class meeting was pretty much introductions and "housekeeping" items.

Patristic Spirituality: We discussed the 3rd century author Origen, who had some pretty unorthodox ideas on some things (e.g. pre-existence of souls, matter as a form of corruption, etc.), but whose work as a biblical commentator and exegete was hugely influential. He asserted that Christ was present in the Old Testament as well as the New, but in types and "shadows," pre-figurations. You'd be hard-pressed to find a Scripture commentary that didn't employ this sort of language. So, yeah. Also a big deal.

Catching Up and the First Day of Class

Apologies to all of you both of you who were pining for a weekly update from me and didn't get one last week. Other than slicing off part of my thumb while working at the deli, I didn't think there was much to report. Come on, who among us can honestly say he hasn't mixed up his thumb and a salami before? Maybe that's why I liked to suck my thumb as a kid... hmm.... Anyway, it wasn't as bad as it first looked--it was just a flesh wound that took some skin and part of my nail, but it's so much fun to say to someone, "I slice off part of my thumb the other day."

This last week featured much less bloodshed and a bit more activity. The DSPT had a two-day event on the place of natural law rhetoric in American jurisprudence. If you're not sure exactly what that means, don't worry; the speakers didn't seem to quite know either. While we enjoyed some very controversial comments from Jean Porter of Notre Dame, some piquant observations from Russell Hittinger of Tulsa, and some trenchant thoughts from Lloyd Weinreb of Harvard, none of them explained particularly well what the natural law even is. They made many pleas to the "complexity of the tradition," etc., and said it was largely a framework for guiding further conversation, but didn't say much as to its content. I thought at first that I wasn't smart enough or well-versed enough to follow them, but several others had similar reactions to mine, making me think that it might possibly have been them, not me. Oh well. I suppose I can always read some St. Thomas and get a few answers.

Yesterday was the first day of classes for the semester. (Yes, it does start a bit late, but they make up for it by making the summer breaks shorter.) I described in a previous post the classes I'll be taking. Just one yesterday: Medieval Philosophy. (It's technically called "History of Philosophy: Medieval," but this is shorter.) It's being taught by Fr. Augustine Thompson, OP, who is an historian and a medievalist by trade; so not only is the subject material right up his alley, he owns the alley and the two adjacent buildings. And he gets so animated... it's going to be a great class.

Later today will be the first class meeting for Philosophical Anthropology, taught by Fr. Michael Dodds, OP. If Fr. Michael is true to form, today's class will be a schola brevis, or "short school," a tradition in the Dominican Order in which the first meeting for a class gives some basic introductory material and then adjourns early. That would be nice, since I've got a boatload of reading for my Patristic Spirituality class for Thursday... which I should probably get to now...