BORING THINGS

Report on Evaluating Scholarship for Tenure and Promotion

2012-01-11T08:57:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since this came out, but still interesting.

Report on Evaluating Scholarship for Tenure and Promotion:

'via Blog this'

Lecturing proves ineffective

2012-01-04T07:58:00.000-05:00

Interesting stuff here:

Physicists Seek To Lose The Lecture As Teaching Tool : NPR

Beginning to think about the Trinity

2011-09-27T08:52:00.000-04:00

Why should anybody study the Trinity academically? Isn't the Trinity really just a particular belief that belongs to one particular religious group, namely Christians?

Well, I certainly understand that perspective. Indeed, for many people, the idea that God could be three and one just seems bogus and crazy (and I am very often one of those people). Who in their right mind would ever think: "Oh I know! Let's say that the most supreme being, if there is one, is really tri-personal! Yeah, that'll probably make sense."

But, for whatever reasons, the Trinity ended up as a fundamental piece of the West's intellectual history. More specifically, Christianity ended up as a fundamental piece of the West's intellectual history, and the Trinity ended up as a fundamental piece of Christian thought. Ergo, the Trinity ended up as a fundamental piece of the West's intellectual history. Boring as that may be, it is a fact.

So, whether we like it or not, if we want to understand western intellectual history, we should study the Trinity.

Given that, here's how one could look at it. Let's assume for the sake of the argument that God (if there is one . . . or three . . . or one-three . . . or whatever) --- let's assume that God is triune. Once we grant that for the sake of the argument, then the really interesting stuff shows up. For now we can look at all the different ways that clever people throughout history have tried to make sense of it.

Here's another way to think about it. Think of the Trinity as a little math or logic puzzle. Lots of clever people who like to solve problems are drawn to that sort of thing. So, lots of people throughout history have tried to solve the puzzle. We can study that; we can look at the various ingenious attempts to formulate a solution to the puzzle.

Grading philosophy

2011-07-17T09:37:00.000-04:00

Some people have the impression that philosophy is just a matter of one’s own personal opinions, and so there really are no “right” or “wrong” answers. I do not share that view. I treat philosophical issues more like math problems, where there really are “right” and “wrong” answers.

That being said, philosophical problems are rarely as simple as “what is 2+2?” Philosophical problems are more like those complicated word problems we all did in school (“Frank travels north west at 40mph, Sally travels north east at 65mph, . . .”). Like complicated math problems, philosophical problems require that we work carefully and systematically through a number of interwoven steps.

Math teachers can grade word problems in (at least) two different ways. One way is simply to check if the student gets the right answer. After all, one might think, if the student gets the right answer, then surely they took all the right steps.

But that seems insufficient because it seems entirely possible for a student to take all the wrong steps, but yet by sheer accident end up with the right answer. For instance, a word problem might require that the student subtract 5 from 10 to get the right answer, but an erring student might add 2 and 3, giving her the "right" answer anyway.

Another, and probably better way to grade word problems is to look at the student’s reasoning process, i.e., to check whether the student tried to work carefully through the various steps that are required to get to the final answer. This makes it easier to detect students who simply misunderstand the whole thing altogether (or perhaps are just too lazy to put in the requisite time and effort), and it makes it easier to award points for those who may not end up with the right answer, but certainly were on the right track.

Surely we can grade philosophy like this, no? The problem is, I don't think my math teachers ever taught me how to solve word problems, and I don't think my philosophy teachers ever taught me how to work through problems either. Instead, I was given a bunch of incomprehensible pages to read and then write an essay or two (which were evaluated according to some criteria that I still don't think I understand).

Aquinas on Powers --- One Interpretation (3)

2011-05-13T17:02:00.002-04:00

In the last post, I tried to buttress Aquinas's (alleged) argument that the soul and its powers cannot be one and the same because I always have a soul, whereas I do not always exercise my soul's powers (there are times when I sleep, for instance, when I do not think). I further pointed out in the last post that each of the soul's powers require different circumstances for their actualization, and that provides another reason to say that the soul's powers must be distinct from each other (and, consequently, from the soul itself).

Now, suppose that we grant this. Still we might wonder: what sorts of things are the soul’s powers? According to Aquinas, they are qualities of the soul, perhaps similar to the way that a pale skin color is a quality of Socrates.

Of course, to compare the soul’s powers to the color of Socrates’ skin might suggest that the soul’s powers can be gained and lost, just like the color of Socrates’ skin. After all, Socrates’ skin color can change --- as would happen, say, if he went to the beach and got a tan. So surely the soul’s powers can change too.

But Aquinas rejects this, insisting instead that although the soul’s powers are qualities of the soul, they cannot be gained and lost in the way that Socrates’ skin color can. On the contrary, the soul’s powers are not the sorts of features that can ‘come and go’. Rather, they are permanently attached, so to speak, to the soul itself (so long as the soul exists).

I should note that Aquinas does not, so far as I know, ever offer an argument for the claim that the soul’s powers are qualities. But he did make this claim more than once throughout the course of his career, so I think we can safely assume that Aquinas is firmly committed to the idea that every human soul is accompanied by a set of distinct powers (qualities) that are permanently attached to it (so long as that soul exists).

One could easily take these ideas from Aquinas and generalize them. That is, one could easily insist that any power must be distinct from its basis when the thing that has the power in question also has its basis for any period of time when that power is not exercised. So, that is one interpretation of Aquinas's theory of powers.

Aquinas on Powers - One Interpretation (2)

2011-05-09T16:59:00.001-04:00

In the last post, I mentioned that part of me thinks Aquinas's arguments about powers really boil down to a simple argument from identity: if A and B are identical, then anything true of the one must be true of the other, but since this is not the case with my soul and its powers (I always have soul, for instance, but I am not always thinking), it follows that my powers that are based on my soul must be different from my soul itself.

But one could buttress this argument even further. For we might point out that one of the characteristics of powers is that they can only be exercised in particular circumstances. For instance, wine glasses can be broken when they are dropped on a hard floor (in a world consisting only of soft cushiony floors, wine glasses would not break when dropped). Wine glasses might also be broken when they are struck with a swinging baseball bat. And so on.

We might then point out that each power of my soul is no different. Each power of my soul requires a different set of circumstances for its exercise too. For example, compare my power of sight with my power to remember things I have already seen. According to Aquinas, both of these are powers of my soul. However, it would seem that the former power can only be exercised in one set of circumstances (I must have my eyes open, there must be sufficient light, and so forth), whereas the latter power requires an entirely different set of circumstances (e.g., that what I saw before was adequately stored in my memory banks, and so forth).

Consequently, we might make the following inference: since each power of my soul requires a different set of circumstances for its exercise, it follows that each power of my soul must be distinct from every other power of my soul, and from my soul itself. Otherwise, I could not exercise one of my soul’s powers without exercising all of them at the same time. So, one might say, surely it follows that my soul and each of its powers must be distinct from each other.

Aquinas on Powers - One interpretation (1)

2011-05-05T16:57:00.001-04:00

Throughout his career, Aquinas maintained that a human soul cannot be identical to its powers. I have translated a number of his arguments for this view (see the previous three posts), but I'm not sure I understand any of those arguments.

Part of me thinks that much of Aquinas's reasoning here boils down to the following simple argument: although I always have a soul as long as I exist, my soul’s powers are exercised only some of the time. For instance, so long as I am alive, I have a soul, but there are times in my life when I do not think, when I do not love, and so on. Consequently, my soul cannot be identical to any of my powers to perform these operations.

This is, of course, a simple argument from identity. That is, if any A and B are identical, then anything true of the one must be true of the other. But since this is not the case with my soul and its powers (for I always have a soul as long as I exist, but I do not always exercise my soul’s powers), Aquinas concludes that they must not be identical. Whatever my soul is then, it must be distinct from my power to think, my power to love, and so on.

Translation: Aquinas on powers 3

2011-03-10T11:58:00.000-05:00

Thomas Aquinas
Commentary on the Sentences
Book I, question 4, article 2

Are the powers of the mind its essence?

In response, it should be said that any proper and immediate effect must be proportionate to its cause. Whence, in all things in which the proximate source [principia] of its operation belongs in the genus of substance, its operation is its substance, and this is only true of God. For this reason, he alone does not act through the mediation of a power that differs from his substance. But for every other thing, its operation is an accident, and for this reason, the proximate source of its operation must be an accident too, just as we saw in bodies: the substantial form of fire [for instance] has no operation except through the mediation of its active and passive qualities, which are, as it were, forces or powers of it.

Similarly, I say that no operation comes forth from the mind, since it is a substance, except through the mediation of a power, nor does an operation come forth from a highly developed mental ability except through the mediation of a habit.

But these powers flow from the essence of the mind itself, like certain perfections of the body's parts, the operation of which is effected through the mediation of the body (e.g., the senses, the imagination, and so on), and as certain things that exist in the mind itself, the operation of which does not need the body (e.g., the intellect, will, and other such things).

For this reason, I say that the mind's powers are accidents. They are not common accidents, which flow not from the principles of the species but rather from the principles of the individual. On the contrary, they are proper accidents, which follow from the species and have their origin from its principles. At the same time though, they belong to the integrity of the mind, insofar as the mind is a 'whole made up of powers' [a 'totum potentiale', as Boethius calls it], having a certain perfection of power, which is made up of diverse powers.

Translation: Aquinas on powers 2

2011-02-28T06:57:00.000-05:00

Thomas Aquinas
Disputed Questions on the Mind
Article 12
Is the mind the same as its powers?

[Translation note: I translate 'anima' as 'mind', but by that, I do not mean to exclude animal minds. On the contrary, I mean to include both the sentient minds of animals, and the rational minds of humans.]

With regard to this question, it should be said that there are diverse opinions. Some say that the mind is [the same as] its powers, but others deny this, saying that the mind's powers are certain properties of it.

In order to understand the differences between these opinions, I should point out that a power is nothing other than the source [principia] of some operation, be it an operation that is done or an operation that is undergone. But the 'source' I am speaking of is not the agent or recipient [of the operation]. Rather, it is that by which the agent acts or that by which the recipient undergoes [the operation in question]. For just as the builder's skill is the power in the builder by which he builds, so also is the heat in a flame that by which the flame heats [other things], and dryness is the power in a log [by which it is combustible], for things are combustible insofar as they are dry.

Thus, those who postulate that the mind is [the same as] its powers understand this to mean that the very essence of the mind is the immediate source of all the operations of the mind, saying that a human understands through his or her mind, a human senses and [performs] other such operations [through their mind], and the mind is given diverse labels according to the diversity of these operations: [it is called] the 'sense' [or 'sentient power'] insofar as it is the source of sensation, [it is called] the 'intellect' [or 'intellective power'] insofar as it is the source of understanding, and so on for all the other [operations for which the mind is the source]. Whence, we label the heat in a flame as its power to heat, melt, and dry other things because it performs all of these things.

But this opinion cannot stand. First because everything that enacts anything --- and here I mean to refer to the thing which acts --- it does so only insofar as it is actual in the way [in which it acts]. For a flame heats not insofar as it is actually bright, but only insofar as it is hot, and hence every agent brings about something similar to itself. Whence, it is necessary that that by which something acts be considered as the source by which it acts, for it is necessary that each be in conformity. Thus, in book II of the Physics, it is said that the form and the generator are the same in species. Therefore, when that which acts does not pertain to the substantial being of the thing, it is impossible that the source by which it acts is something of the essence of the thing, and this is obvious for natural agents.

For when it comes to generation, a natural agent changes matter into form, and that happens because the matter is first disposed to that form, and eventually the form follows, according to which generation is the terminus of the alteration. It is necessary that, on the part of the agent, that which immediately acts is an accidental form corresponding to the disposition of the matter. But it is necessary that the accidental form acts in virtue of the substantial form, as an instrument of it, so to speak (otherwise, it would not induce a substantial form by acting).

On account of this, the only apparent source of action in the elements are their active and passive qualities, which nevertheless act in virtue of the substantial forms [of the elements]. Consequently, their actions are not directed only to accidental dispositions, but also to substantial forms. For in the making of artifacts, the activity of the instruments are directed at the form intended by the artist.

But if some agent were, by its action, to directly and immediately produce a substance (just as we say of God, who by creating produces the substances of things, and just as Avicenna says of the Agent Intellects, from whom (according to him) the substantial forms of inferior things flow), an agent of this sort would act through its essence, and in that case, its active power would not be distinct from its essence.

But regarding passive powers, it is obvious that a passive power for a substantial act belongs to the genus of substance, and a passive power for an accidental act belongs to the genus of accident --- by reduction (as a principle rather than as a complete species). For every genus is divided into potentiality and actuality. Whence, a human belongs to the genus of substance, and a human's potential whiteness belongs to the genus of quality.

However, it is clear that the powers of the mind, be they active or passive, are not spoken of directly with respect either to something substantial or to something accidental. Similarly, a being that is actually intelligent or sentient is not actually intelligent or sentient in a substantial sense, but rather in an accidental sense, to which the intellect or sense are directed, and similarly, to be large or small, to which the power of growth is directed.

But generative or nutritive powers are directed towards producing or conserving a substance, though through changing matter. Whence, such actions, just like all the other actions of natural agents, come about by a substance through intermediate accidental principles. Whence, the powers of the mind are not [the same as] the very essence of the mind, but rather are properties of it.

Thereafter, it is apparent from this that from the diversity of the mind's actions that they belong to diverse genera, and they cannot be reduced to one immediate principle, for certain of them are actions and certain of them are passions, and other of them differ by further differences, which differences must be attributed to diverse principles.

And so, since the essence of the mind is a single principle, it cannot be the immediate principle of all of its actions. Rather, it must have many diverse powers that correspond to the diversity of its actions. For a power is said to be correlative to its act, whence according to the diversity of actions there must be a diversity of powers.

Hence, the Philosophy says in Ethics VI that when it comes to things that belong to the mind scientifically (i.e., when it comes to those features that we identify by our scientific investigations of the mind), those things belong to the mind necessarily, whereas the things that belong to the mind's ratiocinative features belong to it in a contingent way, and so these two classes of things must be reduced to diverse powers, for things that are necessary and things that are contingent differ in kind.

Translation: Aquinas on powers 1

2011-02-21T20:01:00.001-05:00

Thomas Aquinas
Summa Theologiae
Part I, question 77, article 1
Is the mind the same as its power?

In response, it should be said that it is impossible for the essence of the mind to be its power, although some postulate this. For our present purposes, this can be shown in two ways.

First, since potentiality and actuality divide every genus of being, it is necessary that potentiality and actuality refer to the same genus. For this reason, if an act is not in the genus of substance, then the power which is spoken of with respect to that act cannot be in the genus of substance either. However, an operation of the mind is not in the genus of substance, with the sole exception of God, in whom his operation is his substance. Whence, the power of God, which is the source of his operation, is the divine essence itself. But this cannot be true of the mind, nor can it be true for any creature, as I said above when I discussed angels.

Second, that this is impossible for the mind is obvious. For the mind, in terms of its essence, is actual. Thus, if the essence of the mind itself were the immediate source of its operation, it would perform vital operations so long as it were actually existent, just as the mind is always living and actual [so long as it exists].

For insofar as it is a form, it is not an actuality that is ordered to the final act, but it is the ultimate terminus of generation. Whence, even when it exists, it is still in a state of potentiality with respect to some other actuality, and this belongs to it not in terms of its essence, i.e., insofar as it is a form, but rather in terms of its potentiality. In this way, then, the mind, insofar as it stands under its power, is said to be the 'first actuality', and it is ordered to its 'second actuality'.

However, one can easily see that everything which has a mind is not always actually performing its vital operations. Whence, even when the mind is defined as the actuality of a body that has the potential for life, nevertheless, that potentiality is not destroyed by the presence of the mind. It must be the case, then, that the essence of the mind is not the same as its power. For nothing is potential on account of its actuality, insofar as it is actual.

Scholasticism and witchcraft theory 9

2011-02-10T19:47:00.000-05:00

I want to conclude this series of posts with one final consideration. In the 15th and especially in the 16th century, mind-body dualism begins to develop, and the interesting thing about that is this: mind-body dualism is defined in pretty much exactly the same way that Scotus defines angel and demon possession.

For instance, if you look at Rene Descartes, our minds are joined to our bodies in the sense that (a) they occupy the same region of space that our bodies occupy (I feel the air condition here, in this spot where I am standing, not over there in that corner where I am not standing), and (b) they make our bodies move as puppeteers. So according to mind-body dualism, our minds ‘possess’ our bodies in much the same way that Scotus thought angels and demons possess our bodies.

Scotus would likely have been appalled if he heard anyone suggest that our minds occupy our bodies in that way. For Scotus, angel and demon possession is a very weak kind of mind-body connection. At best, it can only simulate organic life --- the implication being that our minds must therefore be joined to our bodies in a much tighter, much more organic way.

What does that tell us about the medieval imagination, or at least the scholastic imagination? Well, as a close reader of texts, I’m very cautious about generalizing from particular instances, so I want to be careful here. But it may be that the scholastics, at least in the early 14th century, saw themselves as organic unities, and therefore as much more a part of the organic world of plants and animals than the Modern world of Descartes. According to the Modern mind-body dualism, humans are much more removed from the organic world.

So what happened between the 14th century, the days of Scotus, and the 16th century, the days when mind-body dualism was on the rise?

Scholasticism and witchcraft theory 8

2011-02-06T19:46:00.001-05:00

If you pick up a scholarly monograph that deals with the development of early modern witchcraft theory, you will most likely find a section titled something like ‘The Scholastic Origins’. And if you start to read that section, it will most likely begin by saying something like this: ‘Early modern witchcraft theorists derived many of their ideas from medieval scholastic writers, the most important of which is Thomas Aquinas’, and then the section will proceed to discuss of some of the ideas that Aquinas had about angels and demons.

Now, sometimes you find discussions of earlier scholastic writers, but nobody discusses scholastic writers who lived after Aquinas, and virtually everybody makes the assertion that Aquinas is the most important scholastic voice.

Well, as a historian of medieval thought, that gives me pause. For one thing, Aquinas lived in the middle of the 13th century, and witchcraft theory developed in the 15th century. So what happened in the 14th century? Why are we skipping a whole century here?

But I also wonder why all these historians think Aquinas is the most important voice. One would expect the historians of witchcraft theory to offer some sort of justification for this claim. But alas, you don’t find anything of the sort. In monograph after monograph, what you see is the mere assertion that Aquinas is the most important scholastic voice. Why is that?

Part of the problem, of course, derives from the fact that historians of witchcraft are not specialists in medieval scholasticism. That’s perfectly understandable. Historians are a variegated bunch: we all have our own specializations, and we can’t be experts in everything. So when witchcraft historians are researching their books, they have to go to the library, find the best scholarship on medieval scholasticism, and then rely on that.

Now, that would be a rather trivial point, if it weren’t for the fact that there is a problem with the scholarship on medieval scholasticism. All the best studies on scholasticism that we have today grew out of a movement that is often referred to as ‘neo-thomism’. (To call the whole movement ‘neo-thomist’ is actually a vast oversimplification, but for the lack of a better label, please allow it of me here for the sake of brevity and simplicity.)

Neo-thomism got a huge blast of wind in its sails back in 1879, when the head of the Catholic church at the time, pope Leo XIII, issued a papal bull which encouraged Catholic educational institutions and scholars to begin researching and teaching Thomas Aquinas fervently. As a consequence, a body of research on medieval thought, and especially on Thomas Aquinas, began to amass.

Much of this neo-thomist research, however, tells a very particular story about medieval scholasticism. According to the neo-thomists (not surprisingly), Thomas Aquinas is the high point, the crowning achievement, of the Middle Ages.

Unfortunately, this body of literature was propogated rather successfully, so any non-specialist who goes to the library to look for good scholarship on scholasticism --- someone like a historian of witchcraft, for example --- is going to find these neo-thomist studies. And then they’re going to repeat the neo-thomist story. And why shouldn’t they? They don’t know any better.

The problem is, the neo-thomist story is just plain false, or at least it is highly misleading. As far as I can tell, Aquinas is of secondary importance for medieval scholasticism. For example, if you read 14th century writers (especially Franciscans, not suprisingly), you find that Aquinas is often treated as the whipping boy: he was the George Bush of his day, so to speak; someone who was easy to make fun of.

So when we attempt to trace the development of witchcraft theory back to its scholastic roots, we need to be very cautious about assuming that Thomas Aquinas must be the ‘most important’ voice. Aquinas may have had some important things to say in the 13th century, but there were other voices, and besides, as I’ve already pointed out, witchcraft theory does not develop until the 15th century, and we can’t just skip a century.

If we want to get a clear picture of how witchcraft theory actually developed, we need to take a fresh look at its scholastic roots, and in particular, we need to look at what happened in the 14th century. That’s the real story that needs to be told.

Scholasticism and witchcraft theory 7

2011-02-02T19:44:00.000-05:00

In the last post, I pointed out that for Scotus, when an angel or a demon possesses a physical body, it can only move the parts of that body. It cannot cause that body to perform any of its basic biological functions (nutrition, growth, and reproduction). This does not mean, however, that a possessing angel or demon cannot simulate these basic biological functions, and there are some wonderful passages where Scotus describes how this could be done.

For instance, a possessing demon could make a body appear to consume and process food. The demon could make the hand put the food in the mouth, then make the jaws grind up the food, and then make the tongue and mouth send the food down the throat into the stomach. And then, Scotus explains, the demon could excrete those tiny bits of food through gaseous excretions.

Similarly, Scotus explains that a possessing body could take the food that it makes its possessed body eat, and then add that material to the body, thereby making it appear to onlookers that the body is growing.

But perhaps the most interesting biological function here is reproduction. According to Scotus, since a possessing angel or demon can do nothing more than make a body move, it obviously cannot make the body of, say, a human male produce semen. But the angel can pull of a sneaky trick to bring about reproduction.

A possessing spirit can make the body that it possesses appear to be a woman, and it can then use that female body to seduce a man. When that man deposits his semen in the female body (traditionally called a succubi), the spirit can preserve that semen within its body (though many medieval thinkers were careful to point out that the demon would have to keep its semen deposit warm, for without its vital heat, the semen would become inefficacious --- I guess they didn’t know about the possibilities of freezing sperm in those days). Then, once the spirit has a warm semen deposit trapped within its body, it can then transform its body into a man (traditionally called an incubi). As a man, it can seduce a woman, at which point it can deposit the preserved semen into her. She might then become pregnant, and viola! The possessing spirit has brought about reproduction.

So, even though Scotus maintains that angels and demons can be nothing more than puppeteers of the bodies they possess, Scotus takes the time to point out that, with a little bit of ingenuity, angels and demons can certainly generate rather life-like behavior in the bodies that they possess. Still, even though a possessed body might appear to behave in rather life-like ways, Scotus insists that the real mechanics of this comes down to nothing more than occupying the same space as, and being the puppeteer of, a physical body.

Scholasticism and witchcraft theory 6

2011-01-30T19:44:00.000-05:00

According to Scotus, an angel or a demon must do two things if it wants to possess a physical body. First, it must occupy the same region of space as that body, and second, it must take control of that body and become the mover or puppeteer.

But what exactly does it mean for an angel or a demon to be the ‘puppeteer’ of a physical body? How far does the control of the possessing angel or demon extend? Scotus puts this in rather stark terms. The question that Scotus asks is this: supposing that an angel or a demon possesses a material body, can that angel or demon cause that body to perform its basic biological functions? In other words, does angelic or demonic possession merely amount to pulling strings and making the limbs of an organic body move? Or does it extend far enough that it involves regulating that body’s internal biological functions?

For medieval thinkers like Scotus, there are three basic biological functions that living organisms perform. The first is what they call ‘nutrition’. This is essentially the process whereby a living organism takes in and processes nutrients. As Scotus and his colleagues see it, when living organisms eat food, their bodies break down the food, and then they convert it into organic tissue. That tissue then gets added to their bodies, and that’s how organisms replenish the tissue that has been used or lost. This is the basic mechanism of sustenance. If you don’t eat, you whither and die. In order to say alive, you must eat enough food to replace the tissue that your body uses or loses.

The second biological function that living organisms perform is growth. As living organisms go about their lives, they of course grow larger, and the medievals understood this to be a function of nutrition. Provided that we eat more food than our bodies burn, our bodies grow larger.

The third biological function that all living organisms perform is reproduction. Some organisms reproduce asexually, others reproduce sexually, but all living organisms reproduce. Roses beget roses, oak trees beget oak trees, dogs beget dogs, and humans beget humans.

So those are the three basic biological functions that living organisms perform. All living organisms take in and process nutrients, all living organisms grow, and all living organisms reproduce. The question, then, is whether a possessing angel or demon can cause the body it possesses to perform any of these biological functions.

Scotus says no. According to Scotus, the only thing that a possessing angel or a demon can do to the body it possesses is cause it to move, or rather, more precisely, it can cause the various parts of that body to move. Possessing angels and demons are, for Scotus, mere puppeteers, quite literally.

Scholasticism and witchcraft theory 5

2011-01-26T19:43:00.000-05:00

In the last point, I pointed out that according to Scotus, in order for an angel or demon to possess a physical body, it must both occupy the same region of space, and it must take control of the body as the puppeteer (the mover).

But one might wonder: why should it matter where the demon happens to reside? Be it all the way across the room, or here in the spot where I am now standing, the fact of the matter is, the demon still controls my body. And wouldn’t that mean that I am ‘possessed’ by the demon in the relevant sense?

Scotus says no, and the reason is this: Scotus’s angelology was heavily influenced by the Persian thinker known to the Latins as Avicenna. Avicenna was a physician, a scientist, and a philosopher who lived from 980 to 1037.

Sometimes my students are surprised to discover that someone like Scotus was reading a Persian, but we shouldn’t think that the medieval world was ignorant of other cultures around it, especially when it comes to the Arabic culture around it. Far from it. In fact, one of medieval Europe’s most famous Holy Roman Emperors, Frederick II, was actually fluent in Arabic, and he was so fascinated by Arabic culture that he brought renowned scholars into his court to translate Arabic writings into Latin.

One of the Arabic authors that Frederick had translated was Avicenna, and it is hard to underestimate just how important Avicenna was in medieval Europe. Indeed, one of Avicenna’s books that was translated into Latin was known as the Canon of Medicine, and it served as the standard textbook for European medicine all the way up through the 17th century.

But even apart from Avicenna’s influence on European medicine, some of his other works that were translated into Latin made massive contributions in other arenas as well, and one of those arenas was cosmology.

Now, Avicenna was a good Aristotelian. He didn’t agree with everything that Aristotle said, but he did agree with a lot of it. In terms of cosmology, Aristotle adopted Ptolemy’s ideas about the universe. As is well known, Ptolemy’s system was geocentric: the earth (rather than the sun) sits at the center of the universe, while the moon, sun, planets, and stars rotate around the earth.

Aristotle, however, believed that all motion requires explanation. If you see a stone rolling past you, something must have put it in motion. The same goes for the heavens. We can see that the sun, moon, planets, and stars are moving around the earth, so something must be moving them. We cannot see anything else, though, so Aristotle inferred that the motion of any given heavenly object must be caused by something that is impercetible, some sort of immaterial being up there in outer space --- some sort of spirit.

Of course, Aristotle recognized that various celestial bodies move in different ways. The sun has one orbit, the moon has another, Saturn has another, and so on. Thus, Aristotle concluded that each celestial body that moves in a unique orbit must have its own spirit that moves it in that orbit. And depending on how you calculate it, says Aristotle, that means that there must be either 47 or 55 extraterrestrial spirits up there in outer space, each of which moves a particular celestial body around the earth. So, there is one spirit who moves the moon, another spirit who moves the sun, another who moves Saturn, and so on (or, to be more accurate, these spirits move large concentric spheres in which the sun, moon, planets and so on are embedded).

Avicenna accepts much of this Ptolemaic-Aristotelian picture, but Avicenna was a good Muslim, and so he believed in angels. Avicenna naturally goes on to identify the angels of his faith with Aristotle’s extraterrestrial spirits. Those spirits who according to Aristotle move the sun, moon, planets, and stars --- those are the angels of which the Quran speaks.

Back to Scotus. Like anyone of his day who went through so many years in the University system, Scotus of course fervently read both Aristotle and Avicenna. But Scotus was a good Christian, so he believed in angels just as Avicenna did. It should come as no surprise, then, to find that Scotus follows Avicenna in identifying the angels spoken of in the Bible with the extraterrestrial spirits spoken of by Aristotle. So like Avicenna, Scotus believes that the angels of his faith are moving the sun, moon, planets, and stars around the earth.

Given that, it should be clear by now why Scotus thinks angel and demon possession cannot amount to mere puppeteering. For Scotus sees demons as a particular kind of angel: they are fallen angels, but they are angels nonetheless. Angels, however, move celestial objects like the sun and moon, so angels are the puppeteers of the heavens, even though they do not possess the heavens.

That is why Scotus says that angel and demon possession involves more than mere puppeteering. It is the influence of the Muslim Avicenna that drives Scotus to this point. To be possessed by a demon or an angel means not just that you are being moved by that demon or angel. It means also that the demon occupies the same region of space as your body.

(Exactly how angels and demons ‘occupy a region of space’ is a tricky point, but let’s pretend for now that Scotus has a coherent account.)

Scholasticism and witchcraft theory 4

2011-01-22T19:42:00.001-05:00

Duns Scotus had quite a lot to say about angels and demons, but let me focus on one particular issue: how do angels and demons possess material bodies?

According to Scotus, there are two things a demon or angel must do in order to possess a material body. First, it must become the mover of a body: it must take control of the body in such a way that it moves it about. Second, it must occupy the same region of space occupied by the body it controls.

Scotus claims that an angel or a demon must do both of these in order to possess a material body. An angel or demon cannot do just one of them. To see why this is so, consider cases where an angel or demon does only one of them.

Suppose, for instance, that a demon is traveling through the room at this very moment, and along the way, it happens to pass through my body. At the moment that it passes through my body, it would occupy the very same region of space that I do, but that doesn’t mean it possesses my body. In order to posses my body, the demon cannot just occupy the same region of space. It must also take control of my body as a puppeteer.

At the same time, though, simply taking control of my body as a puppeteer is not sufficient for demon possession either. Suppose that a conniving demon is sitting over there in the corner, all the way across the room, and suppose next that it exercises its powers and makes my arm suddenly move upwards. Scotus would say that doesn’t count as demon possession either. My arm would certainly be under the influence of the demon in the corner, but I would not be possessed.

So in order to possess a material body, angels and demons must do both of the things I’ve mentioned: they must take control of the body as the mover or puppeteer, and they must occupy the same reason of space. As Scotus sees it, those conditions are each necessary and jointly sufficient for angel/demon possession of a material body.

Scholasticism and witchcraft theory 3

2011-01-18T19:41:00.000-05:00

When historians talk about scholasticism, they have something fairly precise in mind. The hallmark of scholasticism is a method of problem-solving that was taught in medieval universities. It is essentially a method whereby one tries to resolve a problem with the use of semantic and logical analysis.

So, for example, if you were a student at a medieval university, a typical lecture might begin with the professor asking a yes/no question. For instance: is it permissible to lie? That is, are there any cases when it is okay to lie, or is lying always wrong? Students were then expected to come up with an answer through the use of semantic and logical analysis.

Semantic analysis, because students were expected to distinguish between various meanings of the words being used. E.g., ‘lying’ could mean X, it could mean Y, and so on. Logical analysis, because students were expected to figure out what would logically follow from any given hypothesis. E.g., if ‘lying’ means X, then one set of consequences would logically follow, but if ‘lying’ means Y, then another set of consequences would logically follow.

That’s the scholastic method, and as I said, it was taught in the university classrooms. Virtually every problem was approached in this way.

Now, angels and demons were apparently discussed quite a lot in medieval university classrooms. If you were a student at a medieval university, chances are that you would study angels and demons at some point in your university career, and you would study angels and demons quite intensively.

Fortunately for us, university students were very good note-takers. They had a system of short-hand that allowed them to transcribe lectures pretty much word-for-word.

Also, medieval students had extend breaks just like students do today, so they would go home, trade notes, and talk over all these ideas with their friends.

For instance, if you were an Italian studying at Oxford, you might go home for summer break and exchange lecture notes with all your friends (who might be studying at Paris, Bologna, and so on). Then the next year, you would go back to your university, with your friends’ lecture notes, and you would exchange those lecture notes with your friends at Oxford. Those lecture notes would get spread around, and they would undoubtedly end up in the hands of your Professor, who would make a copy for himself. Your Professor would then discuss the ideas he had learned from Paris or Bologna in his own lectures.

Many of these lectures notes have survived, and that is immensely useful for the historian of medieval thought. And indeed, if we restrict ourselves just to the notion of angels and demons, we have a huge body of material, consisting of lecture transcripts (many of which have been edited by the Professors themselves) which record practically all of the theories about angels and demons that were discussed in the university classroom.

All of this material offers us a convenient lense through we can start to get at the role that angels and demons might have played in the medieval imagination. Of course, we need to be clear: this material represents the thoughts of the educated; quite literally, it represents the thoughts of medieval people who were either attending, or were teaching in, a medieval university. So we need to be aware of that before we try to make any inferences about what the ‘common folk’ might have thought about angels. But nonetheless, all this scholastic material is a piece of the larger puzzle, and if we want to understand the role of religious belief in the medieval imagination as a whole, we need to account for each piece of the puzzle.

Scholasticism and witchcraft theory 2

2011-01-14T19:39:00.001-05:00

In the 13th and 14th centuries, the scholastics did not speculate about angels and demons in a vacuum. Their ideas are part of a much broader cultural context. Indeed, it seems to me that at that time, ideas about angels and demons permeate practically every sector of medieval society. To make this point, let me list just a few examples.

When I talk about angels and demons in the Middle Ages, one of the first things that comes to mind for a lot of people is the artwork. Medieval paintings are well known for their depictions of angels and demons (and this imagery of course survived well through the Renaissance). The outside of medieval cathedrals are covered with sculptures of angels and demons. And of course, there’s the literary work as well. Dante’s Divine Comedy features angels and demons quite prominently.

But we also find stories of angels and demons in medieval writings that are not as stylized as Dante’s Divine Comedy. For instance, medieval training manuals for young monks often have entire chapters filled with stories of angels and demons. One of my favorite such examples is a story of a demon who, taking the form of beautiful young woman, managed to lure a college student out into the forest, where she quickly whisked him away to hell. The student’s Professor then had to go to great lengths to convince the demon to return the student. Apparently this want meant as a warning for young monks about the dangers of following young women off into the forest (they might be demons).

Angels and demons also show up in law codes --- and not just ecclestiastical law, but also in civil/secular law. In the 13th and 14th centuries, there were ways to sue your neighbor for associating with angels or demons (Scotus is quite famous for his view about how to counter (police?) the spells of such meddling neighbors).

And, of course, I should mention the visions of the mystics. Throughout the writings of Julian of Norwich, Catherine of Sienna, and other 13th and 14th century mystics, we find page after page of encounters with angels and demons.

Finally, angels and demons were discussed within the context of scholasticism. In the next post, I’ll say a little more about what scholasticism is.

Scholasticism and witchcraft theory 1

2011-01-10T19:38:00.001-05:00

By some estimates, over 100,000 people were killed during the witch hunts that occurred in continental Europe, England, and America. The witch craze began in the 15th century, and at that time, the notion of the ‘witch’ appeared with a rather precise definition.

Basically, witches were thought to be people (some men, but mostly women) who made the following sort of pact with a demon: in exchange for the witch’s soul, that demon would go and do all sorts of bad things to other people on the witch’s behalf. That’s how witches were thought to be able to cast spells on their neighbors. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t the witch who had the power to, say, make all your crops wither, make all your sheep sick, make you impotent, and so on. It was their demon who did all that.

Witches were also thought to do other things. For example, it was believed that they flew around on brooms, and that image has of course survived all the way up to our own day. (I should note that brooms became the witch’s flying stick of choice only in the 15th century. Before that, the preference was for the shovel.) Witches were also thought to gather together in local and regional meetings where they would have sex with demons, or even with Satan himself.

How do we know all this? Early modern witchcraft manuals. To cite the most famous: in 1486, Heinrich Kramer and Jacob Sprenger published a book under the Latin title Malleus Malificarum, and that translates roughly as The Hammer of Witches. This was an early modern witchcraft manual --- not a manual for witches, but rather a manual for witch hunters. Indeed, in the Malleus Malificarum, the authors try to explain exactly what witches are; they try to explain how witches get their powers; they try to enumerate the various activities that witches get up to in the wee hours of the night; and they try to explain how one should go about investigating witches (via torture).

Now, if you sit down and read the Malleus Malificarum, you can’t help but notice how often the authors refer to ideas from earlier scholastic thinkers, e.g., people like Thomas Aquinas and John Duns Scotus. This, of course, has not escaped the historian’s watchful gaze. Historians readily acknowledge that 15th and 16th century witchcraft theory has its origins in medieval scholasticism. Unfortunately though, historians have done a rather poor job of identifying and analyzing these scholastic origins.

Because the concept of the witch wasn’t really invented until the 15th century, you won’t find such clearly defined conceptions of witches in medieval scholastic writings. But what you do find are discussions about how angels and demons can interact with the physical world, and that’s the material that 15th and 16th century witchcraft theorists drew upon.

So, the origins of witchcraft theory should be traced back to scholastic discussions of angels and demons, and especially scholastic discussions about how angels and demons can interact with the physical world. In the following series of posts, I want to explore this in a little more detail.

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 13 --- Quote from Ockham

2010-12-15T12:14:00.000-05:00

From Quod. 2.11 (Freddoso/Kelley translation, p. 137):

"When a human being or a brute animal dies, numerically the same accidents remain as were there previously; therefore, they have numerically the same subject. The consequence is evident from the fact that an accident does not naturally migrate from subject to subject. But the subject in this case is not primary matter, since if it were, then primary matter would be the immediate recipient of absolute accidents --- which does not seem true. Therefore, some form that was there previously remains, and this form is not the sentient soul. Therefore, it is the [form of] corporeity.

The assumption, viz., that numerically the same accidents are in the living animal and the dead animal, I prove from the fact that if the accidents [of the dead animal] were different, they would at least be the same in species as the accidents of the living animal. This is evident from the fact that they are so similar that a human being is not able to discriminate between them."

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 12 --- Ockham 4

2010-12-03T09:18:00.001-05:00

What about the mind? Ockham also thinks that is a distinct thing too. But here, his reasons are theological. Like most Latin-speaking scholastics of his day, Ockham was a Christian, so he believed that the mind (or soul) survives after death.

If I were to die in the next few seconds, my mind would continue to exist, as a free-floating mind of sorts. But the animal in me would not survive, for animals cannot survive without a body. Hence, the mind that is doing all this thinking here, and the animal that is standing here now --- these must be distinct things too, just as the body and the animal that are standing here must be distinct as well.

For Ockham then, there are three distinct things here, and they all occupy the same region of space. There’s a body, there’s an animal, and there’s a mind. And this allows Ockham to easily explain things like why we leave a corpse behind when we die.

On the other hand, Ockham’s view doesn’t do justice to the intuitions that Aquinas heeded, namely the idea that here in this region of space, we normally think that there is just one thing here, namely a living organism who goes by the name of JT. So both Ockham and Aquinas do justice to certain intuitions we have about human beings, but they fail to do justice to all our intuitions.

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 11 --- Ockham 3

2010-11-30T09:17:00.000-05:00

However, even though my body must survive my death, Ockham thinks the animal that is standing here right now --- that would not survive my death. When I die, the animal dies too. And again, Ockham thinks we have good reason to think this. When you look at the place where I am now standing, you can clearly see something that is sentient, but if I were to die, nothing sentient would be left.

For Ockham then, it seems obvious that the body standing up here would survive my death, but the animal standing up here would not. And that, thinks Ockham, means that the body and the animal up here cannot be the same thing.

This also captures a deep-seated intuition that we have. We tend to think that if two things are actually one and the same thing, then whatever is true of one must also be true of the other. For example, the great Roman senator Cicero also went by the name Tully. Now, if Cicero and Tully are indeed the very same person, then whatever is true of one must also be true of the other. If Cicero were speaking in the Roman senate at this very moment, then Tully would be too. Conversely, if Cicero were speaking in the senate, but Tully were off drinking at the pub, then we would assume that Cicero and Tully could not be the same person.

So also, thinks Ockham, would this apply to the body and the animal that occupy this region of space where I am now standing. If I were to die in a few seconds, then one of them would end up lying on the floor, but the other one would be gone altogether. So surely the body and the animal you see here cannot be the same thing. Ockham thus concludes that they must be distinct things altogether. For Ockham, there is, in fact, a distinct body and a distinct animal standing up here in this very same spot.

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 10 --- Ockham 2

2010-11-25T09:17:00.000-05:00

For Ockham, the fact that my living body and my corpse are so similar implies that they must be the very same body (not different bodies, as Aquinas would say).

This captures another intuition that we have about material objects. When we watch something over a period of time, we assume that if it looks much the same at the beginning and end of that block of time, it must be the same thing.

For instance, a rusty old Jaguar has been sitting in my driveway for the past three years, and it looks much the same now as it did three years ago. I’ve seen it change a little (it’s become more rusty and discolored), but for the most part, it looks very much the same. And I assume that it is, in fact, the very same car. I doubt very much that anybody has stealthily replaced it with another, nearly identical looking car overnight.

We make the same sorts of judgments about most things, including people. We watch our loved ones age, but none of us would think they ever get replaced by nearly identical clones. And the same goes for my corpse. Why would we ever think that it would be a different body from the one that is standing here now? Surely my body survives my death. Or so Ockham would say.

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 9 --- Ockham 1

2010-11-20T09:16:00.001-05:00

Aquinas was not the only medieval philosopher around back then, and his view about human beings was not the only view floating around either. In fact, it was a highly unpopular view. Most medieval philosophers disagreed entirely. Ockham, for example, finds the problem of the corpse decisive.

Suppose that I die a few seconds from now. As I said before, my body would fall lifeless to the floor, and you would be left with a corpse on your hands. But compare my body now with the soon-to-be corpse. How would they differ?

As Ockham sees it, they wouldn’t differ at all. On the contrary, they would be exactly similar in every way. They would have the same color, the same size, and so on. They would even have the same cells. Of course, the cells would start to decay after I die, but at the moment just before my death and the moment just after my death, there would be exactly the same cells (or very nearly). And that, thinks Ockham, gives us a very strong reason to think that they are, in fact, the very same body.

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 8 --- Aquinas 6

2010-11-15T09:15:00.001-05:00

On Aquinas’s view, when I die, I go away, and a new object (a corpse) pops into existence to fill the same region of space. That seems weird. Most people think that our bodies remain after we die, with the difference between my current body and the soon-to-be corpse on the floor being just that the one has life and the other does not. That is another deep-seated intuition many people have; when we die, most people think that what departs is my life, not my body.

Now, if you think that humans are composed of bodies and minds (or souls, as some call them), then you could easily explain this. For you could say that when I die, my soul goes away, but my body remains. And that would very nicely explain how my body continues to exist after I die.

But this is not an option that is open to Aquinas. Again, remember that he thinks there is just one thing occupying this region of space where I am now standing, not two. There are not two distinct things here, a body and a soul, one of which could go away at death and the other of which could remain.

Aquinas thinks there is just one thing here, and so when it goes away, there’s nothing else left to fill this region of space. Consequently, the corpse that we would see here would have to be something new, something that would have to pop into existence at the moment of my death, and which would fill the very same region of space.

Interestingly, Aquinas is aware of this consequence, and he doesn’t mind it. On the contrary, he completely accepts it. ‘Yes’, he would say, ‘when you die, you would cease to exist there (you would get whisked away to heaven), and a new thing --- a corpse --- would come into being’.

So there are some nice things about Aquinas, and some not so nice things. When he says that there is just one thing that fills this region of space where I am now standing, he does seem to do justice to many of our intutions about material objects and living organisms. On the other hand, his view does entail that when I die, a new thing (a corpse) pops into existence, and that seems odd.

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 7 --- Aquinas 5

2010-11-09T09:14:00.002-05:00

Even though Aquinas’s view does line up with certain intuitons we have about material objects and living organisms, Aquinas’s view does have some odd consequences. The most important of those runs as follows.

What would happen if I were to suddenly die in the next few seconds? Well, my body would fall lifeless to the floor, and you would be left with a corpse on your hands. But the question is: would that lifeless corpse be the same body as the living one that is standing here now?

Aquinas would have to say no. Remember: Aquinas maintains that here in this region of space that I am now occupying, there is just one thing, and that’s me. So, if I were to die, one of two things could happen. Either this one thing (me) would cease to exist altogether, or it would get whisked away to the ‘other side’ (heaven, hell, or wherever it is you think dead people go). Indeed, that’s what it means for something to die: it ceases to exist, or it goes away to the ‘other side’.

But either way, the thing that occupies this region of space right now would no longer be here. Consequently, the corpse would have to be something new, something that pops into existence at the moment of my death and then fills the exact same spot where I was standing a moment before. Crazy, eh?

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 6 --- Aquinas 4

2010-11-04T09:13:00.000-04:00

A third intuition we have has to do with counting. Suppose I pointed to this region of space where I am now standing, and then I asked you, ‘how many things do you see here?’ Surely you would say ‘one’. If you said ‘two’ or ‘three’, I would probably think you weren’t seeing straight. I would think you were drunk and seeing doubles or triples. I would think that something was wrong with your vision.

So we tend to count each living organism as one thing, not more than one thing, and again, Aquinas really captures this intuition. You don’t count three objects standing here in this region of space. You just count one, and that’s me.

Henc, there is something very nice about Aquinas’s view that there is just one thing in this region of space where I am now standing. It certainly lines up with the three aforementioned intuitions we have about material objects and living organisms.

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 5 --- Aquinas 3

2010-10-30T09:12:00.000-04:00

Another deep-seated intuition we have is that two material objects cannot occupy the same place at the same time. Take any two material objects and try to get them into the same space. You can’t do it. They bounce off each other; they repel each other. And indeed, this is precisely why we don’t try to park our cars in spots that are already occupied by other cars.

The same goes for human beings. As Aquinas sees it, if there were a distinct body and a distinct animal in this region of space where I am now standing, then there would be two material objects in the same place at the same time, and surely that’s impossible. Aquinas’s view captures this intuition nicely as well: there can only be one thing here in this spot right now, and that’s me.

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 4 --- Aquinas 2

2010-10-25T09:11:00.000-04:00

In the last post, I explained that for Aquinas, there is just one thing occupying this region of space where I am now standing, and that’s me, a human being. Aquinas thinks it would be ludicrous to say that there is a distinct body, animal, and mind in this same region of space.

Now, at first sight, that probably sounds right to most people, and for good reason: it lines up with a number of intuitions that we have about material objects, and especially about living organisms.

For example, one intuition we have is that living organisms exhibit a very tight kind of internal unity. That is, the parts and functions of an organism are tied together very tightly and integrated into one single entity. It’s not as if I’m made of a bunch of lego bricks that can be pulled apart at will. If you pulled off my leg, it would be incredibly painful, and I would very likely die from blood loss, if the shock didn’t kill me first. I’m not a loose blob of parts; there’s a very tight connection between everything within me.

So we tend to think about living organisms as tightly unified individuals, and Aquinas’s view captures this intuition very well. When asked what it is that occupies this region of space where I am now standing, there’s got to be just one thing here, namely a single living organism (me).

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 3 --- Aquinas 1

2010-10-20T09:10:00.000-04:00

In the last post, I pointed out that if we look at the region of space where I am now standing, we can identify at least three different sorts of things: an organic body, a living animal, and a mind. The question is, though, how are these three things related? Are they three distinct things in the same region of space, or is there just one thing here?

According to Aquinas, it would be ludicrous to say that here in this region of space that I now occupy, there are three entirely distinct things. As Aquinas sees it, there’s just one thing here, and it’s me, a human being.

Aquinas gives a number of arguments for why this must be so, but the one that really gets to the heart of his view is this: if a ‘human being’ were actually just a bunch of other individual things that just happened to occupy the same spot, then a ‘human being’ would really just be an aggregate of those other things. As Aquinas himself puts it:

‘Many . . . things do not make up one [larger] thing unless something unifies them and ties them together. So, for example, if Socrates were both an animal and a mind . . . , those two things would need to be united by some link that would make them into one thing. But since there is no such link [ex hypothesi], Socrates would just be an aggregate or a heap of many things’. --- From Quaestiones de Anima, in the Responsio to question 11.

And Aquinas clearly thinks that would be absurd. A human being is one individual thing, not a conglomerate of many things occupying the same region of space.

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 2 --- The Aristotelian Background

2010-10-15T09:09:00.000-04:00

As with most medieval issues, the place to start is Aristotle, for he really set the terms of the debate. To start, consider the spot where I am now standing. Now let’s ask this question: what occupies this region of space? Aristotle thinks we could give a number of different answers here.

(1) For instance, one thing that fills this region of space is a body, i.e., this chunky lump of tissue bumbling around up here. And this is not just any old body. It’s not made of clay, or steel, or any other sort of inorganic material. It’s made of flesh and blood, bones and organs. In short, it’s an organic body. So one option is that there’s an organic body in this region of space.

(2) A second answer might be that there’s an animal here. For Aristotle, the defining characteristic of animals is that they are sentient, which is to say that they are aware of and responsive to the outside world. And indeed, I have five senses through which I access the outside world: I can see things, smell things, touch things, and so on. So here we have another option: there’s an animal standing here in this region of space.

(3) A third answer you might give is that there is a mind here, i.e., something with an intellect and will. Of all the animals on our planet, only humans are able to think in complicated ways, love our spouses and children deeply, take stands on moral issues, and so on. These are the sorts of things that can only be done by a mind (or at least by a thinking thing). So here we have yet another option: that there’s a mind which in some sense or other resides in this region of space.

So Aristotle thinks we can identify at least three things in this region of space. At the very least, there’s a body here, there’s an animal here, and there’s a mind here (or at least a thinking thing).

But how are these three related? Are they three entirely distinct things that all occupy the same region of space simultaneously, perhaps like how if we look at a wet sponge, we could say that the water and the sponge occupy the same region of space as well? Or is there just one thing occupying this region of space, and it has the characteristics of a body, an animal, and a mind?

That’s the basic question. Next, I’ll turn to Aquinas.

Bodies, Animals, and Minds 1

2010-10-09T09:06:00.001-04:00

One of the things that medieval philosophers debated was this: how many substantial forms do material substances (especially human beings) have? This is known as the controversy over the plurality of forms. The debate can seem rather abstract and archaic, what with all the matter and form stuff. It may be abstract, but it’s not at all archaic. It still occupies philosophers today. In this series of posts, I want to introduce the topic in a way which I hope will make the basic problems and issues clear. So here goes.

One way into the debate is to think about this question: what exactly is a human being, or perhaps even a (human) person? Most of us would agree that we have bodies, we are all living animals, and we have minds. But which of those is crucial for being a (human) person? All of them? Just one of them? Some combination of them? Or perhaps none of them at all?

To help bring the issue into focus, consider the following. Sometimes people suffer severe head trauma, and as a result, they lapse into a vegetative state. Sometimes the damage is so bad that they require life support. They need machines to keep the heart beating and the lungs breathing.

What do we want to say about the person then? When I have my students deal with this question, many of them start off by arguing that when the mental activity stops, the person stops too, so to speak. And that suggests that the body is not that important for personhood. ‘It’s the mind that matters’, my students tell me.

But we can further push the point. Philosophers sometimes hypothesize about science-fiction sorts of scenarios, one of which is brain transplants. Imagine if we could take my mind --- all of its abilities, knowledge, memories, personal quirks, and so on --- and then transfer it into another body. Where would I be then? Would I go with my mind into the next body, or would I have left an important part of me behind in the old body?

In the next post, I’ll start digging into how the scholastics dealt with these sorts of questions.

More on Haecceities

2010-09-25T09:40:00.003-04:00

The venerable blogger Ocham (curator of the Logic Museum) has put up some good posts on my questions about haecceities:

http://ocham.blogspot.com/2010/09/paasch-on-haecceity.html
http://ocham.blogspot.com/2010/09/is-haecceity-repeatable.html
http://ocham.blogspot.com/2010/09/indivisibility-and-unrepeatability.html
http://ocham.blogspot.com/2010/09/why-haecceity-is-not-repeatable_24.html

I thought I could do otherwise, but I was mistaken

2010-09-23T13:13:00.001-04:00

Let's assume that an action is free if it could have been otherwise:

(T1*) For any person x who performs an action A,
x performs A freely = iff
x could have done other than A,
given the same history.

Now imagine the following scenario. Suppose you live in a big mansion. You're sitting in your study, reading an excellent philosophy book. I sneak up outside the door and lock you in, but I do this so stealthily that you don't even notice that I've done it. Soon it hits your bedtime (which is probably 9 o'clock), but after looking at your watch, you decide to stay and read a bit longer.

Was that a free choice? You couldn't have left, even though you don't know it. Some people might say that it is a free choice, even though you couldn't have done otherwise. If so, then this would be a counter-example to the idea that an action is free if it could have been otherwise.

We could go even further here and introduce moral responsibility. Let's assume that a person is morally responsible for what she does if and only if she could have done otherwise:

(T3) For any person x who performs an action A,
x can be held morally responsible for A = iff
x could have done other than A,
given the same history.

Now suppose that we are back in the days of the cold war, and you decide to kill President Reagen. I find out about your scheme, and being a KGB spy, I want to ensure that you go ahead with it. While you're sleeping, I implant a little device in your head that will make you kill Reagen when activated. You know, in case you loose your nerve, I can activate the device, and you'll kill Reagen. But again, you don't know this. In the end, I don't need to activate the device, because you go ahead and kill Reagen anyway.

Would you be morally responsible for this? This is very nearly parallel to the last example. You couldn't have done otherwise, but you don't know it. Some people might think that you would be morally responsible, even though you couldn't have done otherwise. If so, then this is a counter-example to the idea that moral responsibility requires that you could have done otherwise.

(Notice a difference between these two examples: in both cases you do not know that you could not have done otherwise, but in the one case the question is whether you're free, and in the other case the question is whether you're morally responsible.)

Moral responsibility and free will

2010-09-18T12:50:00.001-04:00

In my last post, I mentioned that some people say that a person can be held morally responsible for their actions if and only if they perform those actions freely, by which we mean they could have done otherwise than they did:

(T3) For any person x who performs an action A,
x can be held morally responsible for A = iff
x could have done other than A,
given the same history.

This might be too strong. I'm not sure, but maybe. I'm thinking about cases where we have a very strong impulse to do something bad --- e.g., if someone held a gun to my head and made me smash your favorite porcelain plates, or if I stole your favorite porcelain plates so I could sell them and feed my crack addiction.

In these cases, someone could say:

'Look, you're still free there, because you could have done otherwise. You could have opted to be shot instead of smashing those plates, and you could have opted to suffer withdrawal instead of stealing those plates'.

Okay, sure. I'll grant that. After all, I'm assuming for the moment that an agent acts freely if they could have done otherwise. So these would be cases of 'free acts' in that sense.

Still, would I be morally responsible for these actions? Probably not in the first case. (Unless I said something to you like this: 'I did it at gunpoint, man! You can't hold me responsible for destroying those plates that I hate so much'.)

I guess I'm saying that there might be cases where the accused had the choice to do otherwise than they did (and so were 'free' in that sense), but yet are not morally responsible for doing what they did. So I'm not sure I'd buy T3, which says that 'moral responsibility' and 'free action' extend to exactly the same cases.

Moral responsibility and could-have-done-otherwise

2010-09-12T10:18:00.000-04:00

Sometimes people say that moral responsibility requires free will, i.e., that we can act freely.

(T2) For any person x who performs an action A,
x can be held morally responsible for A = iff
x performs A freely.

But we can go further. We might assume that moral responsibility requires the sort of free will where we could have done otherwise. After all, when we say 'you should not have done what you did do', or 'you should have done what you did not do', we seem to be implying that you could have done otherwise. So if we assume that free will is this:

(T1*) For any person x who performs an action A,
x performs A freely = iff
x could have done other than A,
given the same history.

Then one could say:

(T3) For any person x who performs an action A,
x can be held morally responsible for A = iff
x could have done other than A,
given the same history.

Free will, could-have-done otherwise, and causal determinism

2010-09-07T10:13:00.001-04:00

One common notion of free will is the idea of choice: you have a number of options in front of you, and you pick one. Or, perhaps a better way to talk about this is like so: you have free will if you could have done otherwise than you did. A provisional definition could be this:

(T1) For any person x who performs an action A,
x performs A freely = iff
x could have done other than A.

But that's not really good enough, because a determinist who believes that our actions are causally determined by our prior histories could agree with it. Such a determinist might say: 'of course you could have done otherwise, if you had a different history.'

Well, sure, I could have done otherwise if I had a different history. But that's still deterministic: one history determines me to do certain things, and another history determines me to do other things. And that's not really what I mean when I say that I could have done otherwise. What I really mean is that I could have done otherwise, even with the same history. So we could revise T1 something like this:

(T1*) For any person x who performs an action A,
x performs A freely = iff
x could have done other than A,
given the same history.

That seems a little better.

Powers and impossibility

2010-09-01T14:40:00.003-04:00

One might think that powers necessarily involve some relation to the activities for which they are powers. After all, we do not say that 'Jane has the power' without stating (or at least implying) what Jane has the power for. Thus, it would seem that a connection with the relevant sort of activity is built into the very nature of a power.

Still, I wonder what that actually means, ontologically speaking. One theory would be this: something has the power to do an activity if it is possible for it do that sort of activity. And if that were the case, then something x would have the power to perform an activity A if there were some world W where x (or a sufficiently similar counterpart of x) actually performs A.

I don't know if I buy this particular view, but it seems to me rather intuitive. After all, if there were no worlds at all where x performs A, then it would be impossible that x performs A. That's just the definition of 'possible' and 'impossible': something is possible if it happens in some world, and it is impossible if it happens in no world. So also here: if x does A in some world, then it's possible, but if x doesn't do A in any world, then it's impossible. And if it's impossible, then surely x does not have the power to perform A, plain and simple.

On this view, one could say that a power (or at least a type of power) is essentially connected to its corresponding activity, for there will always be at least one world where the agent actually performs the activity in question.

Are Scotus's haecceities really unrepeatable?

2010-08-26T13:52:00.005-04:00

In my last post, I explained that the only way I can see that a thisness (haecceity) would be unrepeatable would be if the thisness involved some identity reference to the individual in question. Otherwise, I can't see how cloning it would result in a contradiction.

Does Scotus think a thisness involves some identity reference to the individual in question? I don't see how he could think this. Two reasons.

(1) First, identity reference is a relation, and Scotus argues that thisnesses are absolute (non-relational) entities. So it's hard to see how Scotus could say that a thisness is constituted by any reference to the individual.

I wonder, then, if a thisness is supposed to be an absolute entity, why couldn't God clone it? Why couldn't God clone any absolute entity? I can't see why not.

(2) Second, Scotus believes that relations supervene on the things they relate. That is, they are posterior to the things they relate, so if they supervene on an individual, then the individual is already individuated. In short, relationships cannot do any individuating, for they show up on the scene too late, as it were, to do any individuating.

Indeed, to say that Socrateity is the property of being identical to Socrates already presupposes that Socrates is an individual. Otherwise it would make no sense to make an identity reference to Socrates as the individual that he is.

This, I think, is a particularly powerful desideratum here. Take the view of the venerable Robert Adams. He argues that a thisness is just the property of being identical to oneself, and this explains nicely why a thisness is non-qualitative (unrepeatable) property: reproducing it would generate a contradiction.

But what I don't understand is how it does not presuppose the individual in question. If Socrateity is the property of being identical to Socrates, then doesn't that presuppose that Socrates is already an individual? How could we say x is identical to Socrates if we didn't already think of Socrates as an individual?

As Scotus would put it, identity relationships (and in fact all relationships) are naturally posterior to the things they relate, so they show up on the scene too late, as it were, to do any explaining.

One might further suggest, I suppose, that identity relationships are just figments of the imagination. When I think 'Cicero is identical to Tully', I'm imagining Cicero and Tully as if they were different individuals: I have a picture of Cicero in my mind, and I have a picture of Tully in my mind too, and then I connect them and say 'those are the same person'. But in reality, there are not two persons there. There's just one dude, so the 'identity relationship' is really not some sort of entity that exists 'out there' in Cicero/Tully. It's just a (true) connection I've drawn in my mind.

So also with Socrateity: the fact that Socrates is identical to Socrates would be a fact that supervenes on the fact that Socrates is Socrates. But doesn't that already presuppose that Socrates is already the individual Socrates that he is? How could I possibly refer to him if he wasn't?

In any case, it seems to me that Scotus cannot answer any of these questions. He says a thisness is a positive, absolute entity, but if it is an absolute entity, why couldn't it be cloned (by God at least)? I think Scotus has to take thisnesses as entities that are just (somehow) primitively unrepeatable. And that doesn't really explain very much.

But perhaps that is the meat and potatoes of Scotus's position. If so, then Scotus would be saying: we simply cannot explain individuation, for we always presuppose the individual in question. Consequently, it must be the same in reality: there must be some sort of entities 'out there' in the world which are, in and of themselves, (somehow) unrepeatable.

What makes a haecceity unrepeatable?

2010-08-20T13:29:00.047-04:00

My question is this: what is it about a thisness (haecceity) that makes it so unrepeatable? Take Socrateity. Why couldn't God create another one, an identical copy or clone?

As far as I can tell, if we assume that God is omnipotent (by which I mean that God can bring about anything that does not involve a contradiction), then the only way that a thisness could not be cloned is if doing so brought about a contradiction.

Suppose, for instance, that we assume (as some modern metaphysicians do) that a thisness is the property of being identical to oneself. In that case, Socrateity would be the property of being identical to Socrates. Now suppose that God created a clone of Socrates, and cloned his Socrateity as well. Let's call this clone 'Harold', and let's call the Socrateity-clone 'Haroldeity'.

Since Haroldeity is a clone of Socrateity, it would be the property of being identical to Socrates. Thus, Harold would be identical to Socrates. But Harold is not identical to Socrates. On the contrary, he is just a clone of Socrates. Thus, Harold would turn out to both be identical to and non-identical to Socrates, and that's a contradiction. So God could not clone Socrateity if it amounted to being identical to Socrates, for cloning that property would result in a contradiction.

One might take this example and generalize: the only way that cloning a thisness will result in a contradiction is if the thisness involves some sort of intrinsic reference to the individual in question. For ultimately, the contradiction is going to involve being identical to vs. not being identical to the individual in question. (It would be irrelevant if the resulting contradiction amounted to being identical and not being identical to Beulah the cow. We're talking about Socrates here, so the contradiction is going to have to pertain to him.)

So, one might think, if a thisness lacks any sort of reference to the individual in question, then it could be cloned after all.

What are haecceities?

2010-08-14T13:06:00.006-04:00

One of the major questions that I wonder about is this: what is the difference between haecceities and quiddities (or 'thisnesses' and 'suchnesses')?

One option is to say this: a suchness is qualitative, whereas a thisness is not. But what does that mean? My pre-theoretical intuitions are this: something that is qualitative has some sort of content, whereas something that is non-qualitative does not (it's more abstract -- whatever that means).

But it's hard to come up with examples for that sort of distinction, and that tells me that my pre-theoretical intuitions are just confused.

Another option is to say this: a suchness is repeatable, whereas a thisness is not. That is, a suchness can be instantiated more than once, whereas a thisness cannot. There can only be one of any given thisness.

That is how most analytic philosophers these days distinguish 'qualitative' and 'non-qualitative' properties. Anything that is repeatable is qualitative, and anything that is not is non-qualitative.

But still, what are some examples? It's hard to come up with an example of a non-qualitative property or constituent. Any entity I can think of is the sort of thing that could be repeated: God could create another identical copy of it, for instance.

So why couldn't God create an identical copy of a haecceity? What makes it so unrepeatable?

Scotus: haecceities must be some positive entity

2010-08-07T12:50:00.015-04:00

Medieval philosophers offered a variety of theories about individuation -- that is, about the formal cause of individuation. Here are two popular medieval options.

(1) Some proposed that individuals are individuated by their unique set of incidental features. For instance, if we ask why you and I are different, the proponent of this theory would say that you and I have different heights, weights, shapes, colors, and so on, and this particular set of features that I have is unique: no other individual has these features, just as no other individual has your particular set of features.

This view obviously rests on the identity of indiscernibles: any things that have the exact same properties are indistinguishable, and hence the very same thing. So, for instance, if someone else looked exactly like me in all respects, you couldn't tell us apart, and for that reason we would be same individual.

One might object, of course, that we could easily distinguish me and my twin because I am sitting here, in this chair, and my twin is sitting there, in that chair. In other words, we occupy different regions of space-time.

But the advocate of the theory in question would say that space and time are also part of our incidental features, and so me and my twin would not have the very same features after all. We would have a lot of them in common, but we would not have our spatial and temporal features in common, and for that reason we would not be the same individuals.

Max Black famously questioned this theory. There's no reason, he proposes, that we couldn't imagine two exactly similar identical spheres in parallel dimensions. (I must admit that I have never understood this. Even if they have all the same features, they are still indexed to different dimensions, and so wouldn't they differ with respect to that? I confess that I don't get how Black's example is a genuine counter-example.)

(2) Others proposed that two individuals differ because they are made up of different chunks of materials. So, for instance, me and my twin might have all the same features, except I am made of this chunk of material, and he is made of that chunk of material.

(This theory seems to assume that different chunks of material are distinct -- either primitively, or in virtue of the fact that they occupy different regions of space. But again, couldn't one suppose: what if these two chunks of material had the same spatial and temporal properties? How would they be distinguished then? I think that most advocates of this theory would have to maintain that different chunks of material cannot occupy the same region of space-time simultaneously.)

Scotus argues that neither of these two theories actually explain individuation. For Scotus, each of these theories presupposes individual entities. The first theory assumes that incidental features are already individual, and the second theory assumes that chunks of material are individual. But that still leaves us wondering: how are incidental features or chunks of material individuated? So as Scotus sees it, neither of these theories have really explained individuation after all.

In fact, Scotus goes through all the major theories that he knows of and points out that they all presuppose some individual entity, and for that reason, he rejects all of them.

Scotus then concludes that we must assume that individuation comes about by some primitively individual entity -- and this is called a haecceity. We don't know what this entity is, but it must be a positively real thing, and it must be individual in and of itself. Since all of our theories about individuals assume individuality already, we must postulate some primitive individuator.

Individuation is a question of the formal cause

2010-07-30T12:39:00.006-04:00

When scholastic philosophers discuss individuation, their basic question is this: which of a thing's constituents make it the individual that it is? This question deserves some comment. As the schoolmen see it, we are looking for what they call the 'formal cause', not the 'efficient cause'.

The efficient cause is the agent that brings the effect in question into being. For instance, when a sculptor makes a statue, the sculptor is the efficient cause here, for the sculptor is the person/agent who effectively brings the statue into being. In short, the efficient cause is the producer of the effect.

The formal cause, on the other hand, is some feature or constituent of the product itself that explains why it is the sort of thing it is. For instance, the formal cause of a statue being a statue is the shape of the statue. Without it's shape, it wouldn't be a statue, so that very shape is the 'formal cause' of the statue being a statue.

When the schoolmen talk about individuation, everybody agrees that the efficient cause of the individual is its producer. But that seems perfectly obvious. If you want to know who produced this particular statue, the answer is the sculptor who actually produced it.

But when it comes to the formal cause, the schoolmen disagree. Again, here they are looking for some feature or constituent (or combination thereof) in the individual itself that explains why it is the individual it is.

More precisely: here we are looking for some set of features or constituents that cannot exist in some other individual. Suppose I ask every member of a group to take a side on capital punishment. Some will be for it, others will be against it, but in this case, taking the 'for' or 'against' side will separate these individuals into distinct groups, for nobody can be 'for' and 'against' capital punishment at the same time.

Taking the 'for' or 'against' side here would be an example of something that is the 'formal cause' of distinction: it's the sort of thing that cannot exist in more than one individual at the same time, and so when individuals take the 'for' or 'against' side of capital punishment, they necessarily get separated into groups. So also when it comes to individuals. The schoolmen are looking for some feature that cannot exist in more than one individual at a time, much like how being 'for' or 'against' capital punishment cannot exist in one and the same individual at the same time.

Getting it right is very difficult

2010-07-21T14:32:00.000-04:00

In Chapter 9, Aristotle points out that getting it "just right" is very difficult. Anyone can be angry, or anyone can spend money. But to do this just right, at the right person, at the right time, with the right motive, and so on --- that is not easy at all. So wherever someone does these things skillfully, that should be praised.

Thus, to learn how to get it "just right", we must first train ourselves to avoid the extremes. To do that, we can start avoiding the worst of the two extremes, and this will slowly help to train us and develop the right sorts of habits.

We must also consider our own proclivities, and try to over-correct for them. If I have a penchant for sex, then I should over-correct and avoid sex more than indulge in it. That will help to correct my penchant, and develop a habit for getting it "just right". It's like trying to straighten a curved stick. We bend it the other way even further, in the hopes that this will correct the curve that goes in the opposite direction.

We should especially watch out for pleasure. That is very tempting, and we do not go into with a cool head. So we can best develop moderation by aiming at the opposite extreme.

Nevertheless, we praise the man who deviates from "just the right amount" only a little bit, and we condemn the man who deviates from "just the right amount" a great deal. And indeed, we can err in degrees. If I slap my grandmother, that's much less worse than delivering a spinning air kick. Neither are good, but one is much worse than the other.

Still, it is not easy to determine the precise point where a man becomes culpable. Can I deviate from "just the right amount" only a little bit? A little bit more? A little bit more than that? How far before I am culpable for wrong-doing? This is tricky, and it takes wisdom to know how much is too much, and it takes skill to do just the right amount.

And with that, we finally reach the end of Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics, book 2.

The scale of virtue

2010-07-18T14:32:00.000-04:00

In Chapter 8, Aristotle discusses how all of these virtues and vices stand on a scale with respect to each other. So to begin, there are three kinds of dispositions: too much, too little, and just right. The "too much" and "too little "are vices, and the "just right" are skills/virtues.

Each of these are relative to each other. The "just right" is the excess of "too little", and the "just right" is too little with respect to the "too much". Further, the two extremes are the most opposed: "too little" is much farther away from "too much" than it is from "just right".

Sometimes, though, the "just right" is slightly closer to the "too little" than the "too much", and sometimes it is closer to the "too much" rather than the "too little". For instance, being courageous involves having a slight tendency to stand up to danger than to run from it. But moderation involves abstaining more often than indulging.

There are two reasons for this. Sometimes, the "just right" is actually more like the "too much" (or "too little"). For instance, being rash is a little bit more like being courageous than it is being cowardly, so the "just right" is closer to the "too much" in that case.

But sometimes, we are drawn to one of the extremes more than the other, in which case, we need to overcompensate a little bit and aim slightly in the other direction. For instance, pleasure is extremely attractive, so to teach us moderation, we want to err on the side of abstinence.

Some examples of virtues

2010-07-14T14:30:00.000-04:00

In Chapter 7, Aristotle briefly runs through the various emotional skills that lead to a successful life. He discusses these skills in much more detail later in the Nicomachean Ethics, but here is his brief summary.

Courage

Courage involves just the right amount of fear and confidence.

(a) Too little fear makes you rash.
(b) Too much fear makes you a coward.

In short, being courageous involves knowing when to stand your ground, and when to run.

Moderation (Temperance)

Moderation involves just the right amount of indulgence and abstinence.

(a) Too much indulgence makes you self-indulgent.
(b) Too little indulgence makes you austere.

In short, enjoying pleasure with moderation involves knowing when to indulge, and when to abstain.

Financial Liberality

Financial liberality involves just the right amount of giving and taking money.

(a) If you give too much and take too little, you are prodigal.
(b) If you take too much and give too little, you are mean.

(Strictly speaking, Aristotle says that financial liberality has to do with small amounts of money. If we are talking about huge amounts of money, then we are talking about magnificence, and this too can have extremes: tastelessness and vulgarity is the excess, and stinginess is the deficiency.)

In short, financial liberty involves knowing when to give, and when to take.

Honor

Honor involves just the right amount of pride and humility.

(a) Too much pride is empty vanity.
(b) To little pride is undue humility.

(Like financial liberality, this deals with smaller amounts of pride. For huge amounts, we are talking about ambition, and there too one can have too much or too little.)

In short, honor involves knowing when to be proud of yourself, and when to be humble.

Good-temper

Being good-tempered involves just the right amount of anger.

(a) Too much anger makes you irascible.
(b) Too little anger makes you inirascible.

In short, being good-tempered involves knowing when to be angry, and when to not, and in just the right amount.

Truthfulness

Being truthful involves just the right amount of being truthful.

(a) Too much truthfulness makes you boastful.
(b) To little gives you false modesty.

In short, truthfulness involves just the right amount of saying what you did and what you are.

Witty

Being witty involves just the right amount of amusement.

(a) Giving too much amusement makes you a buffoon (a jokester).
(b) Giving too little amusement makes you boorish (a bore).

In short, being witty involves knowing when to crack a joke or tell a good story, and knowing when not too.

Friendly

Being friendly involves just the right amount of general pleasantry.

(a) If you are too friendly too often, you are obsequious (too agreeable) and a flatterer.
(b) If you are not friendly enough, you are quarrelsome and surly (no fun).

In short, friendliness involves knowing when to be agreeable, and when to disagree.

Modesty

Modesty involves just the right amount of shame and modesty.

(a) Too much shame makes you bashful.
(b) Too little shame makes you shameless.

In short, modesty involves knowing when to be ashamed, and when not to be.

Righteous Indignation

Righteous indignation involves feeling just the right amount of sympathy for the good and bad fortune of your neighbors.

(a) Too much sympathy makes you envious (I want what they have).
(b) Too little makes you spiteful (I don't care what they have).

In short, righteous indignation knows when to feel pleasure or pain for what happens to your neighbors.

Some things are just plain wrong

2010-07-11T14:29:00.000-04:00

Aristotle admits, however, that some things have no 'middle ground', and they are just flat out bad and should always be avoided. For instance, spite, envy, adultery, theft, murder, and so on --- these are all bad. There is no "middle ground" to these; one cannot do "just the right amount" of adultery or murder or anything like that.

Similarly, there is no middle ground for the vices, for the vices are already the extremes. Being cowardly, for instance, is having a deficiency of fearlessness. It is, then, silly to think about the "middle ground" with cowardliness. You can't be "just the right amount" of cowardly, because being cowardly is already an extreme.

Likewise, the middle ground (a skill) does not have "just the right amount" or "not enough". Having just the right amount is precisely that: having just the right amount. You can't have "just the right amount of just the right amount". Either you have just the right amount, or you don't.

So: some things are just bad, and for them there is no "just the right amount". Other things (vices) are extremes all ready, so there is no "just the right amount" for them either. Finally, other things (virtues/skills) are "just the right amount" already, so there is no "just the right amount" of them either.

Two vices for every virtue

2010-07-07T14:28:00.000-04:00

Since a skill (virtue) involves hitting the middle ground, there are two extremes that it avoids: excess and deficiency. These two extremes are called 'vices', so there are two for every virtue/skill. For instance, being courageous involves knowing when to stand up to the danger, and when to flee. But if I run to face every danger, then I have an excess of fearlessness, and that makes me rash. So rashness is a vice with respect to courage. Similarly, if I run from every sign of danger, then I have too little fearlessness, and that makes me a coward. So being a coward is a vice with respect to courage as well. For every skill, there are two vices: one involving excess (too much), the other involving deficiency (too little).

The Doctrine of the Mean Again

2010-07-04T14:27:00.000-04:00

For anything that comes in degrees, there is too much, too little, and somewhere in the middle. If we consider just the spectrum or range of options itself, we can usually identify the exact middle. For instance, 6 is exactly between 2 and 10. However, if we consider what is the 'middle ground' for us, this may not be the exact middle. For instance, if I need to eat a certain number of apples each day, and 2 is too few and 10 is too many, the right amount may not always be 6 apples. It might be 4.5 on one day, or 7 on another. It really depends on the situation and just how much I might need at that time.

Choosing the middle ground is thus something of an art: knowing how much at a particular point in time. It's not a science, like choosing the exact middle in mathematics.

Crafting the perfect work of art is also like this. The perfect art work is such that we can't take away anything, but nor do we need to add anything. The artist has done just the right things, in just the right places, with just the right materials, and so on. Good artists know this. Too much or too little of something destroys quality work, while doing just the right amount preserves it. This "just the right amount", thinks Aristotle, is the standard by which we judge that a work is good. If I'm in a museum and I say, "too much red", I'm pointing to a fault in the work. But if I say, "that's a nice balance of red and blue", then I'm praising the work. Aristotle thinks this kind of "just the right amount" is what makes the work good.

Skills that help us live successfully are like this too. Good skills aim at just the right amount; not too much, not too little.

All our emotions can be felt in degrees, so we would want to learn to feel them in just the right amount, at just the right time, with just the right motive, and so on. Similarly, actions can be done in degrees as well, so again, we would want to do something to just the right degree, at just the right time, and so on.

The skills that help us live successfully are skills in this sense: when I know how to do just the right amount, at just the right time, with just the right people, with just the right motive, and so on --- then I am skilled at doing that sort of thing correctly. After all, if I do too much of it, or do too little of it, then I have failed. But if I do just the right amount, then I have succeeded. So doing things successfully takes skill. It is something of an art.

Hence, says Aristotle, these skills are aimed at the middle ground. This is Aristotle's famous "doctrine of the mean."

The good-making character of life skills

2010-06-30T14:26:00.000-04:00

At the beginning of Chapter 6, Aristotle claims that these life skills are such that they both (i) make their possessors good, and (ii) make the activities of their possessors good. They firm up, so to speak, their possessors and the work they do.

As an analogy, Aristotle mentions the eye and a horse. When an eye is in excellent working order, it sees very well. So its fine character both makes the eye good, and it makes its vision good. Similarly, an excellent horse performs very well, so its fine character makes that horse good, and it makes it run well (or behave well in battle).

The skills that help us live successfully are like this too. They make a person good, and they make him or her do their work well.

What type of feature is a life skill?

2010-06-27T14:25:00.000-04:00

In Chapter 5, Aristotle explains that the soul has three types of features:

(1) Emotions (anger, envy, joy, etc.).
(2) Capacities (the capacity to be angry, the capacity to be envious, etc.).
(3) Dispositions (tendencies to feel an emotion intensely or not, e.g., to be violently angry rather than barely angry, as when we say "he has an violent disposition").

(Note that in this context, "disposition" is not the technical term that analytic philosophers often use to mean a causal power. "Capacities" are more like powers here. Dispositions are more like tendencies.)

As for the skills that help us live successfully (and the contrary skills that help us live unsuccessfully), which type are they?

Aristotle first explains that they are not emotions. We are not good or bad because we have certain emotions. On the contrary, we are called good or bad because of our emotional skills. E.g., I am not a bad person just because I feel angry. I am a bad person if I don't handle my anger well.

Similarly, we don't choose to have certain emotions. Anger, envy, joy, and the like often arise quite naturally. But skills involve choice, so skills cannot be mere emotions.

For the same reasons, the skills that help us live un/successfully are not capacities either. We are not god or bad because we have the capacity to feel anger, envy, joy, and so on. We are good or bad because of how we handle our emotions.

That leaves option (3): dispositions. The skills that help us live un/successfully are therefore dispositions --- tendencies to feel emotions in particular ways and act accordingly. These skills belong to the genus of "disposition" (tendencies).

Learning emotional skills requires practice

2010-06-23T14:25:00.000-04:00

At the beginning of Chapter 4, Aristotle raises an objection: if we develop our skills by practicing rightly, then aren't we already good at it? Aren't we already doing it right? For instance, if I train my skills to take things in moderation by actually taking things in moderation, then aren't I already doing it right in the first place?

Similarly, isn't this true for any other craft? If I speak according to the proper rules of grammar or play the piano according to the proper rules of music, don't I have the skill to speak with grammatical correctness, and don't I have the skill to play the piano correctly?

In response, Aristotle says that these other crafts are different from the skills that help us live successfully. The reason, he says, is this: the products that come about by these crafts are worthy in and of themselves. In order to "speak well" or "play well", I only need to produce the right thing. It doesn't matter how I do those things. The end result is all that matters. If the end result is right, then I did it right.

The skills that help us live successfully are not like this. Even if the end result is the 'right thing to do', that doesn't mean that I have done them skillfully. Why?

According to Aristotle, you must satisfy certain conditions when you do the right thing if your action is to be done skillfully:

(1) First of all, you need to have the knowledge that "this is how you do it correctly".

(2) Second, you must choose to do it.

(3) Third, your activity must proceed from a "firm and unchangeable character". That is, you must have a solid habit for doing that sort of thing. It can't just be that you choose to do the right thing this one time. You need to have done it so many times that you have developed a serious habit of doing that sort of thing. And then, your habit is so deeply instilled, as it were, that it is of a "firm and unchangeable character".

Without all three of these conditions, thinks Aristotle, doing the right thing doesn't count as skillful activity. Only when you meet all three conditions is your activity skillful.

The crucial bit is (3). That's the one that can only be developed through time and training. Without training, you can't develop a firm habit, and without a firm habit, you aren't acting skillfully.

For this reason, Aristotle claims that you become skillful by practicing the activity. Doing just things is what makes you just, for by doing just things over and over, you develop the habit that makes your activities just. Before you have that habit, you just happen to do the right thing out of chance, or even under instruction as part of a practice routine. But you don't have the habit yet, so you are not just. You only become just once you've practiced enough to develop the habit of being just.

(Of course, it is very difficult to see why the crafts wouldn't be like this too. It seems to me that all this stuff would apply just as well to say, sculpting, or building, or fixing cars, or whatever.)

Pleasure and pain

2010-06-20T14:23:00.000-04:00

In chapter 3, Aristotle argues that doing things well or poorly involves pleasure and pain, and the pleasure or pain that is associated with any given activity is a sign of how developed one's skills are.

For instance, if I stand up to a danger and delight in that, I am courageous, but if I stand up to that danger and it pains me to do so, then I am a coward. The idea here seems to be this: when you delight in doing the right thing, you have developed your skills fairly well, but if it still pains you to do the right thing, then you need to keep working at it.

This is a subtle point. Aristotle is not saying that we should decide which activities are good and which are bad based on whether they bring pleasure or pain. Now, sex (for instance) is always pleasurable, while doing the right thing often involves pain. Aristotle openly admits that we often do the wrong thing precisely because it is pleasurable, and we don't do the right thing because it might be painful.

But that doesn't mean (according to Aristotle) that we should always indulge in sex, or always avoid doing the right thing. On the contrary, thinks Aristotle, we should avoid excesses and do the right thing, even if it is not as pleasurable as indulging.

But Aristotle's point, I think, is that when we have developed our skills well enough, it will, in the end, bring us pleasure to exercise those skills correctly. Conversely, if our skills are underdeveloped, it may be painful to exercise them correctly. So the enjoyment we get from exercising our skills correctly is a sign of how developed they are. When we delight in the proper exercise of our skills, we know that our skills are reaching a high degree of development.

This is why I said earlier that developing skills to do the right thing involves emotional training. Doing the right thing is not simply doing the right thing but feeling something different. No, as Aristotle sees it, we need to bring our emotional responses in line with the right thing to do. So we should delight in the right thing to do, not feel conflicted about it.

Aristotle also makes the point that training from childhood is important, for otherwise, he seems to think, we would always just indulge in the pleasurable (like sex) and avoid the painful (like abstaining). We need, he says, to be trained from a very young age to delight in doing the right thing.

So, says Aristotle, pleasure and pain accompany all activities, but we need to be careful about following or avoiding the pleasurable or painful. It is easy to pursue the pleasurable, but this may be wrong. On the other hand, once we have developed our skills sufficiently, doing the right thing becomes pleasurable indeed.

This is about training, it is not about a rule

2010-06-16T14:22:00.000-04:00

Aristotle's point here --- that choosing the middle ground is best --- is not intended as a moral rule. Rather, it is intended as a training principle. That is, it is not that you are 'good' if you choose the middle and 'bad' if you choose too much or too little. Aristotle is saying something quite different. He is saying that when you train your emotional skills, you need to aim (roughly) for the middle as you practice. If you always do too much in your training, or if you always do too little, you aren't habituating the middle ground. So this is about training, not a rule.

Also, Aristotle points out that the practice arena is alway the same, irrespective of whether you practice in the right way or the wrong way. For instance, if I were learning to play the piano, I would sit in a practice room and practice every day. However, I could still be practicing in the wrong ways there. So simply jumping into the practice arena and practicing is not enough to guarantee that I will develop my skills correctly. It takes the right kind of practice.

Generally, Aristotle believes that what makes you 'good' or 'bad' is not following a rule. You are 'good' or 'bad' if you more or less consistently do the right thing. You can slip up every once in a while, especially while you are training. But slip ups don't make you 'bad'. Excellent piano players can make mistakes once in a while. What makes you 'bad' is consistently doing the wrong thing. By Aristotle's reckoning, you are judged to be good or bad in accordance with how you live your whole life, not in accordance with how you enacted this or that particular thing.

The doctrine of the mean

2010-06-13T14:21:00.000-04:00

Aristotle next points out that skills are destroyed by excess or deficiency. As analogies, Aristotle cites nutrition and strength. Take nutrition. Too much food and wine is bad for you, but so is too little. You need just the right amount. Doctors tell us it's helpful for our hearts if we have a glass of wine each day, but of course no wine will give you no benefits, and too much wine may kill you.

Now take strength. Too much exercise destroys your strength, and too little doesn't give you enough strength. (Over zealous body-builders can become so bulky that they can only move in very awkward ways, whereas wraith-like weaklings can barely lift a finger.)

This is how it is for the emotional skills that lead to a successful life. Consider, says Aristotle, courage. If we jump right into every sign of danger, we're rash. If we run like screaming rabbits from every sign of danger, we're cowards. But when we take the middle ground --- i.e., when we stand up to the dangers we should stand up to and flee from the dangers we should flee from (and let's pretend that this does not involve any circular reasoning) --- that's courage.

Similarly, consider moderation (or 'temperance', as some translations put it). We can over-indulge in pleasures, but we can also abstain totally. As Aristotle sees it, the middle ground is best. Running headlong (or perhaps handlong) into every pleasure is hedonist, and running from every pleasure is austerity. Taking your pleasures with moderation is the best way to go.

Ethics is not an exact science

2010-06-09T14:20:00.000-04:00

The theory of conduct (i.e., doing the right thing) is not an exact science. The reason, says Aristotle, is that every theory needs to be as exact as its subject matter. In the realm of conduct though, there are no exact rules. Consequently, a theory of conduct cannot have any exact rules either.

As an analogy, Aristotle points to matters of health. There are no exact rules for making a sick person healthy. Sometimes it's good to do an organ transplant, but sometimes it is not. It really depends on the circumstances. And since circumstances can be infinitely variable, there simply cannot be any solid, steady rules about making sick people healthy. A good doctor is not one who always assigned the textbook prescribed medication. On the contrary, a good doctor is one who knows when and where to do certain things, and when and where to not do such things.

The same goes for a theory of conduct. Sometimes it's good to do X, but sometimes it's good to do Y. It really depends on the circumstances. So when it comes to matters of conduct, we need to pay attention to the circumstances.

Still, Aristotle says we can do something to help us understand good conduct, and that's what he tries to do in the rest of the Nicomachean Ethics.

Ethics is about conduct, not mere knowledge

2010-06-06T14:19:00.000-04:00

Aristotle begins chapter 2 by claiming that ethics is different from other branches of philosophy because ethics is a practical discipline rather than a theoretical discipline. That is, it is concerned with doing the right thing, not just knowing the right thing. After all, one could know the right thing to do, but sit on a mountain top and do nothing, but then Aristotle would think that you aren't really living successfully.

So, says Aristotle, we need to look into our conduct: we have to ask how we are to live skillfully so as to live successfully. For as we have seen, the quality of our practice (i.e., the things we do day-in and day-out from a very young age) determines the quality of our skills.

Aristotle then brings up a principle: "to act in conformity with the right principle". This should be read like so: "be able to do the right thing at the right time, and know why you did such and thing and why it was the right thing to do at that time." Theo point here is this: doing the right thing does involve knowledge: it involves knowing what the right thing to do actually is, and knowing why it is the right thing to do. Doing the right thing, for Aristotle, is a reasoned course of action. We truly succeed at doing the right thing only when we have good reasons for doing so.

Hence, knowledge is involved here, even though ethics is a practical science. But of course, ethics also involves doing things, so it is ultimately a practical science, albeit a reasonable one.

Practice can lead to good or bad performers

2010-06-02T14:18:00.000-04:00

However, Aristotle is aware that practice can lead to good or bad performers. For instance, if I practice playing the piano every day, I could still turn out to be a very good piano player, or I could turn out to be a very bad piano player. Similarly, even if I try to build something out of wood every day, I could turn out to be a great builder or a horrible builder. Which way it turns out depends on the quality of my practice routine. Good practice leads to good performance skills, bad practice leads to bad performance skills.

If this were not so, says Aristotle, we would not need any instruction. If I could be a good piano player just by sitting down and banging my fingers on the keys every day, then I would never need a piano teacher. But obviously, that sort of practice will not make me a maestro. I need a good teacher to guide my practice in the right ways.

The same goes for emotional skills. Take courage. According to Aristotle, being courageous means facing danger when it's appropriate, and fleeing when the danger is too great. Suppose, then, that I were training to be a ninja, and suppose that everyday my master put me in a ring with a sparring partner. Then suppose that every time the adjudicator yells "fight!", my master yells out, "run away!".

Would I develop any courage with that kind of training? Not unless my master were teaching me to run to another, even better sparring match. But assuming that my master were not doing that, he or she would really just be teaching me cowardice, not courage.

On the other hand, if my master always had me run headlong into my opponent's house --- and by 'house', I mean round house (a kind of spinning kick) --- would I be developing courage? Aristotle thinks not. On the contrary, I would be developing rashness, i.e., the kind of crazy fearlessness that would lead me to take on anything anytime, even if my opponent were a giant tank, or perhaps a stationary brick wall.

So, thinks Aristotle, we need good training and good practice. Otherwise we won't develop our skills correctly. And this is why, Aristotle explains, our childhood training is very important. Or, as Aristotle puts it, our upbringing makes all the difference.

Emotional skills are not naturally instilled in us

2010-05-30T14:17:00.000-04:00

Aristotle next points out that emotional skills are not naturally instilled in us. The reason, he says, is that natural inclinations cannot be trained, whereas emotions can. Aristotle gives the following (amusing) example. Stones like to fall to the earth, and that's something they do naturally. Consequently, I could never train a stone to fall upwards, even if I spent half my life throwing the stone up in the air over and over again. The stone would never develop the habit of flying upwards, for it goes down naturally.

Emotional skills, on the other hand, can be trained, so they must not be natural proclivities in us. This is not to say that emotional skills are contrary to our nature. No, says Aristotle, we are naturally set up to develop these skills. But the point is that we won't develop these skills naturally. Rather, we need to develop them through training, namely by developing the right habits.

Also, says Aristotle, natural proclivities are first potential and then actual, whereas emotional skills are first actual then potential. The idea here is that natural proclivities are already built-in, and so we can exercise them whenever we want because we already have them. Emotional skills, by contrast, are not built-in. Rather, they need to be developed first. And the only way to develop them is to start doing them: to practice them.

With emotional skills then, we have to start doing them first, and only after doing them for a while can we develop the skill to do them well. For instance, people become good builders by building, and they become good piano players by playing. The same goes for emotional skills: we develop them by practice. They are not built-in in the way that natural proclivities are.

(One might object: some emotions are natural proclivities. Take anger, jealousy, and so on --- surely these are natural responses to certain situations. I suppose, though, that Aristotle could say that although these may appear to us as 'natural responses', they are in fact trained responses; it's just that we have been trained in these ways from a very young age.)

Developing mental and emotional skills

2010-05-26T14:16:00.000-04:00

Aristotle next says that we develop mental skills through instruction. The point, I take it, is that in order to become skilled at processing information, we need to be taught how to do so. Anybody can learn the basic theorems of arithmetic, but that doesn't mean they can work through an arithmetic problem very quickly. It takes someone like me a very long time to work through even basic addition and subtraction, so I am not skilled at arithmetic. But someone could probably teach me how to do that better. That would involve lots of practice of course, but it would still require some sort of instruction. And obviously, developing such mental skills takes experience and time, just like learning any other skill.

As for emotional skills, Aristotle says we develop them by developing habits. A habit is a tendency to act in a certain way rather than another way. For instance, I have developed the habit of never putting my wallet down. It goes in my pocket, or it stays in my hand, and nothing else. At first, this required conscious thought. But after doing this for a period of time, it became a habit, and now I just do it without even thinking about it. That's a habit. Emotional skills are like this, thinks Aristotle. We start our training early, in childhood, but we develop habits to feel certain things (anger, etc.) and hence to act accordingly in certain situations.

Two kinds of life skills

2010-05-23T14:15:00.000-04:00

Aristotle opens Book 2 by claiming that the skills which help us live successfully come in two flavors: there are

(a) skills for thinking the right thing, and
(b) skills for doing the right thing.

(Note: older translations use the label 'intellectual' virtues for (a), and 'moral' or 'ethical' virtues for (b), but I think the way I have put it here captures the idea a little more clearly.)

Now, in order to have the skill to think the right thing, and we might call this a mental skill, we obviously need to know the correct facts about the world and our situation. So Aristotle lists (i) having good intuitions, and (ii) scientific knowledge among the mental skills we need for living successfully.

But thinking the right thing also involves being able to make the right judgments at the right time. Now, we make judgments about theories, and we make judgments about what to do, and these are two separate skills. Aristotle says that the ability to make the right judgment about theories is called 'theoretical wisdom', and the ability to make the right judgment about what to do is called 'practical wisdom'. As Aristotle sees it, these two kinds of wisdom are the most important mental skills, because they ultimately guide our thoughts and actions.

Skills for doing the right thing involve just that: having the skill or ability to do the right thing at the right time. However, Aristotle thinks this also involves emotional training. It does not simply amount to doing the right thing, it amounts to feeling the right thing as well. Hence, what we feel and what we do should not be out of whack.

For instance, suppose that you tred on the toe of my sheep, and that gets me super pissed. Still, I recognize that I shouldn't punch you in the forehead, so I decide to forgive you instead. In this case, I feel one thing (anger: I want to punch you in the forehead so badly), but I know that acting on that would be the wrong thing to do, so I end up doing the right thing.

Aristotle thinks that I wouldn't be very skillful at doing the right thing in this case, for having the skill to do the right thing involves not just doing the right thing, but also having the appropriate emotional response. And if punching you in the forehead is not the right thing to do, then feeling that I want to punch you in the forehead is not the right thing to feel either. I need to train my emotions so that I end up feeling an emotion that corresponds exactly to the action that I should do.

In other words, I need to train my emotions to feel the right things at the right times, and then act accordingly. That is what Aristotle thinks is involved with skills for doing the right thing. And since there is emotional training involved here, we might as well call these skills 'emotional skills' (though I mean to imply that we should also act on our (right) emotions, and not simply have the right emotions).

Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics, Book 2

2010-05-15T14:14:00.000-04:00

In the next few posts, I'm going to put down some thoughts on book 2 of Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics. This will be a sort of commentary, though I am no specialist, and so there are bound to be all sorts of things here that specialists could take up. But this is really just an attempt to put some thoughts of my own down and try to understand the text.

Before I dig in to book 2, I should say a little about what Aristotle says in Book 1. There, Aristotle argues that we can develop certain skills that help us live successfully --- i.e., live the best kind of life. (I sometimes call these skills 'life skills', though I'm still looking for a better term.)

Now, older translations use the word 'virtues' for these life skills, and they use the word 'happiness' for living successfully. I do not particularly like these labels. On the one hand, the word 'virtue' (in my mind anyway) seems to bring along with it some sense of morality. But that is not quite right. Aristotle is suggesting something much closer to 'skill' than 'morality'. These skills involve doing things well, in the way that a master calligrapher can make a very precise pen stroke. It is not simply following rules of right and wrong.

On the other hand, the term 'happiness' suggests a state of mind, something like 'contentment' or 'bliss'. One could be 'happy' in that sense and not do anything, e.g., by sitting on a mountain top meditating. But that is not what Aristotle has in mind either. Aristotle is thinking of doing things well. This is about activity, not sitting there contentedly.

So the point Aristotle is making is this: living successfully involves certain skills. More precisely, by developing and using these skills, we can live a successful life. Or, to put it the other way around, the most successful life is one that is lived by exercising the skills in question.

But what exactly is the nature of these skills? That is the topic of Book 2 in the Nicomachean Ethics.

Christology and Heresy

2010-04-10T20:31:00.002-04:00

I did a short and simple series of posts on the Incarnation over at trinities.org. Here are the links:

Christology and Heresy - 1
Christology and Heresy - 2
Christology and Heresy - 3
Christology and Heresy - 4
Christology and Heresy - 5

Henry of Ghent on real relationships

2010-01-26T21:04:00.001-05:00

According to Henry, all real relationships are ultimately based on the absolute features, parts, or constituents of the things that are related. For instance, the fact that Peter is taller than Paul is based on the fact that Peter and Paul have certain heights, and the fact that the chairs in my kitchen are similar in color is based on the fact that they are all white. The same goes for any relationship: there is always some absolute basis for it.

Nevertheless, Henry does not believe that a real relationship consists simply in some x and y having the right sorts of absolute features, parts, or constituents, for if that were the case, then the only connection between x and y would be something we draw in our minds. But as Henry sees it, real relationships are real, so there must be some sort of genuine ‘relatedness’ that exists outside the mind.

However, Henry does not think this relatedness can be a distinct thing in its own right. After all, if it were a distinct thing, then it would have to be related to its basis by some further relatedness, and if that relatedness were also a distinct thing, it too would have to be related by yet another relatedness, and so on ad infinitum. But that is absurd, so Henry concludes that the relatedness we are seeking cannot be a distinct thing in its own right.

Instead, says Henry, it is just a special ‘way of being’ for the absolute basis in question. In particular, it is a way of being which ‘looks outwards at’ (respicit), and so points towards, something else. And this outward-looking characteristic (respectus) transforms, as it were, the absolute basis into a ‘pointing thing’. Hence, on Henry’s view, some x is really related to some y because it really has something in it that points towards y.

More on Ockham against Henry's Solution to the Creation Problem

2010-01-19T20:26:00.000-05:00

The interesting thing about Ockham’s argumentation here is that it highlights the precise point of comparison that Henry draws between the divine essence and matter. For Henry, the divine essence is like matter because it is not produced in the Son. But that’s the only reason that Henry really has to say that the divine essence is like matter at all.

Ockham points out that it is at least logically possible that the form is unproduced. God could take an already existing form, and create new matter under it.

I don’t know, let’s construct an example. Suppose an ancient king has his servants build a giant gold statue of himself. God doesn’t like the king’s arrogance, so he destroys the gold, and replaces it with rusty iron, but he keeps the statue’s shape throughout the whole process.

Then the king becomes the laughing stock of his people. They’re all standing around, pointing, pushing each other over in the bushes and laughing.

Maybe something like that.

There we would have a case where the matter is produced but the form is not! So as Ockham sees it, it’s at least logically possible that the form is the constituent that is unproduced, not the matter.

Consequently, thinks Ockham, Henry has no reason to say that the divine essence is like a lump of matter. It could just as well be like a form.

So Ockham rejects Henry’s view just like Scotus. But Ockham takes a different approach. He rejects the whole idea of drawing an analogy between the divine essence and matter. That’s just too slippery a slope for Ockham.

But again, what’s amazing here is that Ockham doesn’t label Henry as a heretic, neither does Scotus. I mean, in their day, Scotus and Ockham are the minority. They’re the dissentors. Henry’s view was fairly popular, and Scotus and Ockham were the ones sitting there telling their classmates, “you guys got it all wrong.”

Ockham against Henry on the Creation Problem

2010-01-10T20:25:00.001-05:00

Now, let’s turn to Ockham. Ockham essentially agrees with Scotus’s conclusions. He agrees that the divine essence is not material, and he agrees that it is a pre-existing ingredient in the Son, and therefore the Son is not created from nothing.

But Ockham attacks Henry’s view in a different way than Scotus. Ockham points out, “Okay Henry, so you say the divine essence is a lump of matter. Either you mean that literally, or figuratively.”

Well, obviously the divine essence is not literally a lump of matter. Everybody agrees that the divine essence cannot possibly be material in any literal way. So Henry must mean that the divine essence is like a lump of matter.

But, says Ockham, if you want to say that two things are alike, they must have something in common, and that commonality is what you base your comparison on.

So, for instance, let’s suppose that Socrates had the embarassing social habit of chewing his cud. Well, then we could say that Socrates is like Beulah the cow, because both chew cuds.

So also in the divine case. If Henry wants to say that the divine essence is like a lump of matter, then Henry is going to have to identify some feature that the divine essence has in common with matter.

However, says Ockham, sometimes two things share their commonalities with other things too. For instance, it’s not just Socrates and Beulah that chew their cuds. Camels, llamas, giraffes, and other such things chew their cuds too.

So if the only basis of comparison that we have for Socrates and Beulah is that they chew their cuds, well then we could just as easily say Socrates is like Elsie the Giraffe, or Hank the Llama.

Likewise in the divine case, says Ockham. Everything imitates God in some way, so we could say that the divine essence is like all sorts of things. We could say the divine essence is like a stane, or a warrior, or a guardian angel, or whatever.

If we want to say that the divine essence is like a lump of matter rather than something else, we’ve got to identify something that the divine essence has in common only with a lump of matter.

So Ockham says: “Fine. Let’s suppose that we can identify something that the divine essence has in common only with a lump of matter.”

But then, what if the divine essence has something in common only with something else too? For instance, the divine essence has certain things in common only with forms. Forms make things certain kinds of things. A human form makes something human, a bovine form makes something a cow, and so on. Similarly, the divine essence makes the divine persons divine, so it’s like a form in that very sense. And that’s something the divine essence has in common only with forms.

So even if we can say identify something that the divine essence has in common with matter, we can also identify something that the divine essence has in common with forms. So why should we say that the divine essence is like a lump of matter? We have just as much reason to say it is like a form!

As Ockham sees it, Henry is really on a slippery slope. Ockham’s a very literal kind of guy. He doesn’t like this analogy stuff. It doesn’t really do much philosophical work. So Ockham not only rejects the idea that the divine essence is literally a lump of matter, he also rejects the analogy.

Scotus on the Creation Problem

2010-01-03T20:23:00.001-05:00

As I explained in the last post, Scotus argues against Henry of Ghent: the divine essence is not like 'materials' that the Son is made from. It's more like a shared form. Still, that leaves the question that Henry was grappling with: what about the Creation problem? Wouldn't the Son be created if he were not produced without any 'pre-existing materials'?

To that, Scotus says that the Son is not created. In order for something to be created, Scotus says it must be produced with at least one pre-existing ingredient. But that doesn’t have to be some kind of material. It could be a form, or any other sort of constituent. What matters is simply that it is a pre-existing ingredient, so to speak.

So as Scotus sees it, we don’t need to say that the Son is produced with materials in order to avoid the Creation Problem. All we need to say is that the Son is produced with some sort of pre-existing ingredient. And of course, the divine essence is a pre-existing ingredient in the Son, because it already exists in the Father.

But it’s not like a lump of matter or any other sort of material. We don’t need to appeal to materials to solve the Creation Problem.

What’s interesting here is that Scotus accuses Henry of being incoherent. Scotus doesn’t say to Henry, “you’re a heretic,” or anything like that. There’s nothing religious about this. This is purely philosophical. Scotus rejects Henry’s view simply on philosophical grounds.

This is amazing to me. You would think that one of the first things people would say to Henry is that he is heretical. God is not material in any way. But that wasn’t the case. Henry garnered a healthy group of followers. So these scholastic Christians didn’t see Henry as a heretic or a nutjob. Henry’s view seemed to many as perfectly sane.

So this tells me that we need to be very careful about our pre-conceived ideas of medieval philosophy. We need to be careful about thinking of medieval philosophy as an era of superstition, or the Dark Ages, or everybody just bowing to the Pope. There was some really imaginative philosophical thinking going on here.

But again, this is all stuff that we’re just learning about. There’s a lot of really interesting stuff here in the medieval period, and we’re only just starting to learn about it.

Duns Scotus against Henry on the Creation Problem

2009-12-24T20:56:00.000-05:00

Even though Henry of Ghent garnered a healthy group of followers (see the last post for details), there were some dissentors. Scotus was one of the students that grew up under Henry. In fact, Scotus may have even sat in Henry’s classroom. But unlike many of his classmates, Scotus was not happy with Henry’s theory. Scotus was against it.

Scotus’s real problem with Henry’s view is this: it makes the divine essence the subject of incompatible properties. I mean, fatherhood and sonship are incompatible. In logic, we would call them irreflexive relations. Someone can be the father of someone else, and someone can be the son of someone else. But nobody can be the father and son of himself, right? So if the divine essence were like a lump of matter that exemplified both fatherhood and sonship, then the divine essence would be both the father and son of itself! And that’s just flat out impossible.

Indeed, that’s like saying that a lump of clay is shaped like both a statue and a vase at the same time. But that’s crazy. A lump of clay has got to be one or the other, it can’t be both.

So Scotus thinks we cannot say that the divine essence is like a lump of matter or subject of fatherhood and sonship. On the contrary, says Scotus, the divine essence has got to be more like a form that the persons share.

Henry of Ghent on How the Son is Produced 'From Materials'

2009-12-17T20:20:00.001-05:00

As I explained in the last post, Henry of Ghent argues that the Son must be produced from materials in some sense, for otherwise the Son would quite literally be created 'from nothing'. Still, Henry recognizes that he needs to explain how that is possible.

To do that, Henry points out that according to Aristotle, you produce things by taking a lump of matter and giving it a form. As an analogy, a sculptor makes a clay statue by taking a lump of clay, and giving it a statue shape. Similarly, says Aristotle, anything that gets produced is made by taking a lump of matter and giving it a form.

Henry likes this model. He points out, “look, the matter is not produced, but the form is”. A sculptor doesn’t produce the clay. She simply gives it a shape. Something similar happens in the Godhead.

According to Henry, and indeed all his scholastic contemporaries, each divine person includes two ingredients: first, there’s a shared divine essence. This is a single item that all three share. So it’s not like sharing a piece of cake where you cut it up into pieces and dish it out. The divine essence is one, undivided thing that exists in all three persons.

Second, each person has a unique ingredient that belongs only to them. These are called ‘personal properties’. So to take the Father and Son, the Father’s unique ingredient is called fatherhood, and the son’s is called sonship. So the Father and Son each share one divine essence, but they also each have their own unique ingredient, fatherhood or sonship.

Henry then says, “look, the divine essence is shared by the Father and Son. So the Father doesn’t produce it in the Son. He just shares it. Sonship, on the other hand, does get produced with the Son. It is unique to the Son, so it only exists when the Son does. So the divine essence is not produced in the Son, but his sonship is.”

And that’s just like a clay statue. The clay does not get produced, but its shape does. So Henry concludes that the divine essence is like a lump of matter, and the personal properties are like forms.

If you can imagine three gold statues all made from the same lump of gold at the same time, that’s very close to what Henry has in mind.

Now, if you think about the medieval context here, this might seem like a really wild idea. This is the age of high scholasticism and perfect being theology, so surely Henry would get condemned as a heretic, and denounced as a crazy man.

But amazingly, that’s not the case. Henry actually ended up with a number of loyal supporters on this issue. Among his students, and even among the next generation of students after that, a number of them thought Henry had hit the nail on the head.

Henry of Ghent against Peter Lombard on the Creation Problem

2009-12-10T20:17:00.000-05:00

Henry is acutely aware of the Creation Problem, and this comes out very clearly when he disagrees with Peter Lombard.

Peter Lombard lived at the beginning of the 12th century (1100-1160), and he is a very important figure for medieval philosophy. The reason is this: he wrote a very long book on theology called the Sentences. It is essentially a compilation of quotations from church fathers on a variety of topics. Lombard arranged all this material into a series of ‘yes/no’ questions, with quotations on the ‘yes’ side, and quotations on the ‘no’ side. And occasionally, Lombard would give his own opinion too.

Before long, the Sentences became the standard textbook in theology. In the 13th and 14th centuries, if you were a doing a PhD in theology, you had to lecture on the Sentences. And his was like your dissertation. It was your big theological magnum opus. So Peter is very important simply because he wrote the major medieval textbook for theology.

Now, at one point in the Sentences, Peter asks if the Son is created from nothing. Peter of course says no. The Son is not produced from nothing. He is produced from something.

To back this up, Peter appeals to the Nicene Creed, the earliest Christian Creed. The Nicene Creed says that the Son is produced from the Father’s substance, so Peter says, “the Son is not produced from nothing, he’s produced from the Father’s substance.”

But what does that mean? Peter explains it like this: he says the Son is produced by the Father, who is a substance.

Well, Henry points out that that’s all well and good, but creatures are produced by a substance too, namely God. And creatures are created. So just saying that the Son is produced by a substance does not tell us that the Son is not created.

As Henry sees it, in order to show that the Son is not created, we have to say that the Son is produced from materials in some sense. Otherwise, the Son would be produced from nothing, in which case he would be created.

So Henry really seems to buy into this Avicennian idea that if you produce something without materials, then you create it. And since Henry doesn’t want to say that the Son is created, he says the Son must be produced with materials in some sense or other.

Now, Henry knows this would have sounded absolutely crazy to his contemporaries. I mean, this is the age of high scholasticism. This is the age of perfect being theology. God is the most supreme being, he is “that than which nothing greater can be conceived”. And the greatest conceivable being is going to be totally perfect, and that means God is going to be totally good, totally perfect, and totally immaterial. He won’t be limited by material dimensions, or anything like that. So Henry knows that his contemporaries are going to say, “Whoa! God is not material in any way!”

So Henry needs to show exactly how or in what sense we can say that the Son is produced ‘with materials’. That is what I will discuss next.

Solving the Creation and Subordination Problems

2009-12-03T11:24:00.001-05:00

In the last two posts, I described what I call the 'Creation' and 'Subordination' problems. Here, I want to say something about different ways to solve these Problems. Christian scholastics are dealing with two sets of claims. On the one hand, they have a set from Aristotle and Avicenna (from Aristotle: things can only be produced with materials, from Avicenna: things produced without materials are created and inferior to their producers). On the other hand, they have their own Christian set of claims about divine production (namely, T1, T2, and T3 from the last two posts). As I explained in the last two posts, putting these two sets of claims together results in the Creation and Subordination Problems.

To avoid these two Problems, a scholastic thinker like Scotus or Ockham must reject something from either set of claims. As for the Christian claims (T1-T3), scholastics like Scotus and Ockham feel that T1 and T3 are required by Christian doctrine, for T1 is required by the Nicene Creed, and T3 is required to avoid subordinationism. Consequently, they are not going to reject T1 or T3. However, authors like Scotus or Ockham do not think that T2 is required for orthodoxy in the way that T1 and T3 are. Rather, they see T2 as just a very plausible claim.

In principle then, a scholastic thinker could reject T2, and that could be one way to avoid the Creation and Subordination Problems. For instance, if one were to say that the Son is, in fact, produced from some sort of pre-existing material, then the Son would not be created from nothing, and by consequence, the Son would not necessarily be less perfect than his producer (the Father).

But of course, T2 is extremely plausible, so anyone who wants to reject it would have to explain how a divine person --- who is entirely spiritual and therefore without any material components at all --- could be produced from 'pre-existing materials'. And that is certainly no easy task.

Alternatively, someone Scotus or Ockham could reject one of the claims from Aristotle or Avicenna. That too could be a way to avoid the Creation and Subordination Problems. However, Aristotle’s and Avicenna’s theories are designed to explain production, so if one were to reject a part of these theories, they would have to provide an alternative account, and that too is no easy task.

Divine production and the 'Subordination Problem'

2009-11-26T11:23:00.002-05:00

In the Christian tradition, 'subordinationism' is the idea that one divine person is less perfect than another. This is considered a heresy; the divine persons are all supposed to be equal. Thus, one might think that when one divine person produces another, the product must be just as perfect as its producer(s):

(T3) For any divine persons x and y, if x produces y, x and y are equal in perfection.

However, T3 conflicts with Avicenna’s theory of production. Avicenna maintains that whenever a product is produced without any pre-existing materials, it must be different in kind from its producer. Further, many medieval Aristotelians held the even more general claim that whenever a producer and its product are different in kind, the product must be less perfect than its producer.

But supposing all of that is right, then if a divine person were produced without any pre-existing materials (as T2 from the last post says), that person would then be different in kind, and therefore less perfect than its producer.

(1**) For any x and y, if x produces y without any material m, x and y are different in kind.
[From Avicenna.]

(2) The Father cannot produce the Son with any material m.
[From T2.]

(3**) Therefore, if the Father produces the Son, the Father and Son are different in kind.
[From (1**) and (2).]

(4**) For any x and y, if (i) x produces y, and (ii) x and y are different in kind, then y is less perfect than x.
[From any standard medieval Aristotelianism.]

(5) Therefore, if the Father produces the Son, the Son is less perfect than the Father.
[From (2), (3**), and (4**).]

But of course, that amounts to subordinationism, and it contradicts the Christian scholastic claim that

(6) the Father and Son are equal in perfection.
[From T3.]

Thus, scholastic thinkers like Scotus and Ockham cannot hold all these ideas together, on pain of contradiction. Again then, Avicenna’s theory leaves the Christian schoolmen with a problem, for Avicenna’s theory entails that if the Son and Spirit are produced, they are lesser deities. And that is not acceptable to a Christian scholastic Hence what I call the Subordination Problem: how can the Son and Spirit be produced, but not be lesser deities?

Divine production and the 'Creation Problem'

2009-11-18T23:17:00.002-05:00

The Nicene Creed states that when the Father begets the Son, the Father does not create the Son out of nothing. For a Christian scholastic like Scotus or Ockham, this suggests that no divine person is created:

(T1) For any divine persons x and y, if x produces y, x does not create y from nothing.

Now, if the Son and Spirit cannot be produced from nothing, then it might be tempting to think that they must be produced from something. But what could that 'something' be? Surely it cannot be any pre-existing materials. After all, the Son and Spirit are spiritual beings, so how could they be 'made' from anything material? It seems very plausible to think that the Son and Spirit cannot be produced from materials at all. Thus:

(T2) For any divine persons x and y, if x produces y, x cannot produce y with any material M.

However, (T1) and (T2) lead to problems. Consider the following.

Aristotle maintains that nothing can be produced unless it is produced from pre-existing materials. According to (T2) though, a divine person (e.g., the Son) cannot be produced from pre-existing materials. Thus, a divine person (like the Son) cannot be produced at all:

(1) For any x and y, if x produces y, x cannot produce y without any material m.
[From Aristotle.]

(2) The Father cannot produce the Son with any material m.
[From T2.]

(3) Therefore, the Father cannot produce the Son.
[From (1) and (2).]

Of course, scholastics like Scotus and Ockham want to affirm that

(4) the Father produces the Son,

but that contradicts(3), so one cannot hold all these claims at the same time, on pain of contradiction.

In order to avoid this, one might be tempted to give up Aristotle’s claim in (1), just as Avicenna did. After all, Avicenna was a good Muslim, so he believed in creation: some things can be produced without pre-existing materials.

However, Avicenna also holds that if a product is produced without any pre-existing materials, then it must be created from nothing. And that would entail that if a divine person is produced without pre-existing materials (as T2 says), then that person would be created from nothing.

(1*) For any x and y, if x produces y without any material m, x creates y from nothing.
[From Avicenna.]

(2) The Father cannot produce the Son with any material m.
[From T2.]

(3*) Therefore, if the Father produces the Son, the Father creates the Son from nothing.
[From (1*) and (2).]

But according to the Nicene Creed, no divine person is created from nothing, so:

(4*) if the Father produces the Son, the Father does not create the Son from nothing.
[From T1.]

But that contradicts (3*), so again we get a contradiction.

On the face of it then, both Aristotle’s and Avicenna’s theories of production present scholastic authors like Scotus and Ockham with a problem. For Aristotle’s and Avicenna’s theories entail that either the Son and Spirit cannot be produced at all, or they must be created from nothing, and neither consequence is acceptable for the Christian schoolmen. Hence, what I call the Creation Problem: how can the Son and Spirit be produced, but not created?

Scotus on the 'indetermination' of active and passive powers

2009-10-28T09:50:00.001-04:00

Scotus on the different ways that active and passive powers can be indifferent (or 'indeterminate') to the different activities they empower.

Lect., 1.3.3.2-3, n. 415 (Vat. 16: 390.22-391.6): 'dicendum quod indeterminatio duplex est: una est indeterminatio quae convenit causae materiali, et alia est indeterminatio quae convenit causae agenti universali et quodammodo illimitatae. Exemplum primi est de indeterminatione ligni respectu caloris vel alterius formae; exemplum secundi est de indeterminatione solis ad producendum hoc generabile vel illud; unde haec indeterminatio virtutis activae est ad agendum et non ad aliquam formam ab aliquo recipiendam. Quando igitur dicitur quod illud quod est indeterminatum requirit aliquam formam determinantem qua determinetur, verum est de potentia passiva’.

'It should be said to this that indetermination is twofold: one is the indetermination that belongs to material causes, and the other is the indetermination that belongs to a universal agent cause which, in a sense, is unlimited. An example of the first is the indetermination of a log with respect to heat or some other form. An example of the second is the indetermination of the sun with respect to producing this or that generable thing. Whence, the indetermination of active power is for acting, not for receiving some form from something. Thus, when it is said that something indeterminate requires some determining form to determine it, this is [only] true of passive power’.

Lect., 1.3.3.2-3, n. 415 (Vat. 16: 391.6-22): 'Si autem loquimur de indeterminatione causae effectivae, hoc contingit dupliciter: aliquando enim causa efficiens est indeterminata ad producendum aliquem effectum quem tamen immediate producere potest, et aliquando est determinata ad effectum producendum quem tamen sine causa proxima producere non potest. Loquendo autem de causa effectiva primo modo, ad hoc quod determinetur ad agendum sufficit praesentia passi, sicut sol habet virtutem qua immediate potest dissolvere et constringere: ad hoc quod dissolvat sufficit praesentia dissolubilis, ut glaciei, et ad hoc quod constringat sufficit etiam praesentia passi, ut luti; unde causa effectiva non determinatur per hoc quod aliquam formam recipit. Sed ad hoc quod causa effectiva secundo modo determinetur, sufficit praesentia passi cum praesentia causarum particularium concurrentium, sicut est de sole ad producendum animalia perfecta, ut asinum, bovem; requirit enim, ad hoc quod determinetur ad productionem bovis, causam particularem univocam, ut bovem et passum praesens’.

'But if we are talking about the indetermination of an effecting cause, it applies in [one of] two ways, for sometimes the effecting cause is indeterminate with respect to producing some effect that it can produce directly, and sometimes it is determined to produce some effect that it cannot produce without [the help of] a proximate cause. Speaking of an effecting cause in the first way, the presence of the recipient is enough to determine it to activity. For example, the sun has the power to melt or dry [something] directly, so the presence of something meltable (like ice) is sufficient for the sun to melt it, and the presence of some recipient (like mud) is sufficient for the sun to dry it. Whence, the effecting cause is not determined through the fact that it receives some form. But in order for an effective cause to be determined in the second way, the presence of the recipient along with the presence of [any] concurring particular causes is sufficient. An example is the sun’s ability to produce complete animals like donkeys or cows, for in order to produce a cow, the sun must [act along with] a particular univocal cause such as a cow, and a recipient must be present’.

Ibid., n. 416 (Vat. 16: 391.23-392.3): 'Dico igitur quod intellectus est indeterminatus ad eliciendum actum intelligendi, non indeterminatione causae materialis et passi sed indeterminatione causae activae, quae requirit causam aliam particularem, ad hoc quod causet intellectionem, --- et illa est obiectum, vel species in qua obiectum relucet; et ideo determinatur per obiectum et speciem. Sed non determinatur ipsa tamquam intellectum perficiat, ad hoc quod intelligat, sed determinatur sicut causa universalis et quodammodo illimitata, per causam particularem’.

'I say, then, that the intellect is indeterminate with respect to eliciting acts of understanding not by the indetermination of a material or recipient cause, but rather by the indetermination of an active cause which requires some other particular cause to bring about understanding. And that is the object or species in which the object ``shines through’’. For this reason, it is determined by the object and the species. But it is not determined such that it perfects the intellect enough to understand, but it is determined --- as a universal cause which is, in a certain sense, unlimited --- through a particular cause’.

Lect., 1.7.un., n. 26 (Vat. 16: 481.16-22): 'Sed contra hanc opinionem arguo sic: duplex est potentiae indeterminatio, sicut supra dictum est. Una enim est indeterminatio ``potentiae passivae’’, et haec est ad contradictoria, quae ad hoc quod determinetur, oportet quod recipiat (sicut lignum est in potentia ad calefaciendum et privatur calore aliquando, et ideo non vadit in actum nisi recipiat calorem); et haec est potentia passiva, quae est ``materiae’’’.

'But against this opinion [of Henry’s], I argue as follows. The indetermination of a power is twofold, as I said above. One is the indetermination of a ``passive power’’, and this is [indeterminate with respect] to contradictory [states of affairs]. In order for this [indeterminate power] to be determined [to one or the other state of affairs], it must receive [something]. For instance, a log has the potential to be heated, but sometimes it is deprived of heat, so it only becomes actually [hot] when it receives heat. This is the [indeterminacy of the] passive power of ``matter’’’.

Lect., 1.7.un., n. 26 (Vat. 16: 481.22-482.5): 'Alia est ``potentiae activae’’ indeterminatio, quae indeterminatio consequitur illimitationem suae causalitatis et suae virtutis, et haec potentia in naturalibus -- licet non in voluntate --- non est ad contradictoria; et ista potentia indeterminata, ad hoc quod determinetur, non recipit aliquam formam, sed sufficit praesentia passi si requirat passum (sicut sol est indeterminatus ad multos effectus indeterminatione et illimitatione quadam suae virtutis activae; et ideo ad hoc quod determinetur, non requiritur quod aliqua forma sibi imprimatur)’.

'The other [kind of] indetermination is that of ``active power’’, which is an indetermination that follows from the unlimitedness of its causality and power. And this power [that exists] in natural things -- though not in the will -- is not [an indetermination with respect] to contradictory [states of affairs]. In order for such an indeterminate power to be determined, it does not need to receive some form. Rather, it only requires the presence of a recipient (if it requires a recipient [at all]). For instance, the sun is indeterminate with respect to many effects by an indetermination and a certain unlimitedness that belongs to its active power. For this reason, in order for it to be determined [to some effect], it does not need to have some form imprinted in it’.

Lect., 1.7.un., n. 27 (Vat. 16: 482.6-17): 'Ex his arguitur sic: principium indeterminatum ``indeterminatione activa’’, quod est totale principium naturale et non ``voluntarium indifferens ad contradictoria’’, est de se determinatum ad producendum. Ista propositio iam manifesta est in exemplo praedicto [viz., solis], et iterum probatur ratione: quia si talis causa limitaretur ad unum effectum tantum, determinaretur sufficienter ad illum; sed per hoc quod talis causa ponitur illimitata respectu aliorum effectuum, non aufertur determinatio ad istum effectum nec tollitur comparatio eius ad istum effectum, unde nihil eius perfectionis tollitur per comparationem ad istum effectum; igitur potentia naturalis quae est indeterminata illimitatione suae naturae, determinatur ex se’.

'From these points, I argue as follows. The basis [for a power] that is indeterminate by ``the indetermination of active [power]’’ -- which is the total natural basis and not [a power that is] ``indifferent to contradictory things that can be chosen’’ -- is determined to produce [the effect or effects in question] from within itself. Now, this claim is obvious in the aforesaid example [of the sun], but it can further by proved by argument. For if such a cause were limited to one effect only, it would sufficiently be determined to that [one effect from within itself]. But given that, if such a cause were then supposed to be unlimited with respect to other effects, it would not lose that determination to the first effect nor would that take away its relationship to that effect. Whence, nothing of its perfection would be lost through its relationship to this [other] effect. Therefore, a natural power that is indeterminate by the unlimitedness of its nature is determined from within itself’.

Lect., 1.7.un., n. 27 (Vat. 16: 482.17-22): 'Cum igitur essentia divina sit indeterminata non indeterminatione passiva, sed indeterminatione quae est virtutis activae illimitatae, ipsa non requiret aliquam formam ipsam determinantem; si igitur essentia divina sit principium generationis aut spirationis, ipsa non determinatur ad producendum per aliquam proprietatem respectivam’.

'Thus, since the divine essence is indeterminate not by the indetermination of passive [power] but rather by the indetermination of the unlimitedness of its active power, it does not require some form to determine it. If, then, the divine essence were the basis for generation or spiration, it would not be determined to produce through some relative property’.

Ord., 1.7.1, n. 20 (Vat. 4: 114.1-11): 'Indeterminatio, quaedam est ``potentiae passivae’’ et quaedam ``potentiae activae’’ illimitatae ad plures effectus (exemplum: sicut sol est indeterminatus ad producendum multa generabilia, non quod aliquam formam recipiat ut agat, sed quia habet virtutem productivam illimitatam). Quod est indeterminatum ``indeterminatione materiae’’ oportet quod recipiat formam ad hoc quod agat, quia non est in actu sufficiente ad agendum, sed quod est indeterminatum ``indeterminatione potentiae activae’’ est ex se sufficienter determinatum ad producendum quemcumque illorum effectuum: et hoc si passum-dispositum sit approximatum, ubi requiritur passum, vel ex se ipso ubi passum non requiritur’.

'One kind of indetermination belongs to ``passive power’’ and another to ``active power’’ that is unlimited with respect to many effects. For example, the sun is indeterminate with respect to producing many generable things, not because it needs to receive some form in order to act, but rather because it has unlimited productive power. That which is indeterminate by ``the indetermination of matter’’ must receive a form in order to act, because it is not sufficiently actual itself to act. But that which is indeterminate by ``the indetermination of active power’’ is sufficiently determined from within itself to produce any of those effects (and in cases where a recipient is required, this will happen if a disposed recipient comes near enough, but in cases where no recipient is required, this will just happen from within itself)’.

Ord., 1.7.1, n. 20 (Vat. 4: 114.11-115.2): 'probatio: si tale activum esset de se determinatum ad unum effectum, posset de se sufficienter producere illum, --- sed si est indeterminatum ad hoc et ad aliud, ex tali illimitatione non tollitur perfectio causalitatis eius respectu talis effectus, sed tantum additur causalitas respectu alterius; ita ergo potest istud producere, sicut si tantum esset istius, et ita non requiritur aliquod determinans’.

'Proof: if such an active thing were determined within itself to [produce only] one effect, it could produce that effect sufficeintly from within itself. But if it were indeterminate with respect to this effect and another effect, such unlimitedness would not entail that it would lose the perfection of its causality with respect to the [first] effect. Rather, this would only add causality with respect to the other effect. Thus, it could produce this other effect, just as if it were limited to [produce only] this other effect, and it would not need something to determine it’.

Ord., 1.7.1, n. 21 (Vat. 4: 115.3-7): 'Ad propositum. Essentia divina non est principium indeterminatum ``indeterminatione materiae’’: ergo si est indeterminatum indeterminatione alterius quasi principii activi, erit simpliciter determinatum determinatione quae requiritur ad agendum, et ita non requiritur aliquid aliud’.

'As for the case at hand, the divine essence is not the basis for indeterminate [power] by the ``indetermination of matter’’. Therefore, if it is indeterminate by the indetermination of the other [sort], as the basis for active power, so to speak, then it will simply by determinate by the determination which is required for acting, and it will not need anything else’.

Ord., 1.7.1, n. 21 (Vat. 4: 115.7-12): 'Confirmatur, quia talis indeterminatio activi licet sit ad disparata, non tamen est ad contradictoria, sed determinate ad alteram partem contradictionis respectu cuiuslibet illorum disparatorum; nulla autem indeterminatio prohibet ex se determinate agere, nisi quae aliquo modo esset ad contradictoria, ut ad agere et non-agere; ergo etc.’

'This is confirmed in the following way. Although the indetermination of active [power] is [indeterminate with respect] to different kinds [of activities], it is not [indeterminate with respect] to contractory [states of affairs, viz, acting or not-acting]. Rather, it is determinate only to one of the contradictory [states of affairs, i.e., it is determinate to acting rather than to not-acting], and so [it is only indeterminate] with respect to the different kinds of [activities] for which it is [the basis]. However, no indetermination prohibits something within itself from acting except the kind [of indetermination that is indeterminate with respect] to contradictory [states of affairs] such as acting and non-acting. Therefore, etc.’

Been offline for a while

2009-09-27T20:09:00.000-04:00

As Seinfeld said in his dramatic return, 'what have I been doing?' Well, I've been working hard on my book, and I've been preparing applications for jobs. And all of that takes crazy amounts of time. I hope to get back to writing stuff here soon.

Richard of St Victor on the Trinity

2009-07-31T19:59:00.002-04:00

Over at trinities.org, I began a series of posts on Richard of St. Victor's argument that God must be triune. It's a famous argument, or at least the argument Richard gives in book 3 of his De Trinitate is famous, and it's been taken up by a number of people in the 20th century, perhaps most notably by Richard Swinburne. For the first post of this series, see here, but keep an eye out for the rest of the series by myself, Scott Williams, Joseph Jedwab, and Dale Tuggy (the series is ongoing, so these cats haven't all posted their thoughts yet).

Basically, Richard argues that perfect love requires sharing it with another person, and perfect love between two requires loving for the sake of a third. And since God has perfect love, there must therefore be three persons in the Godhead. In my posts for this series, I argue that Richard probably begs the question: if we insist that perfect love requires, by definition, sharing it with another person, then we've already assumed from the start what we're trying to prove, namely that there is more than one person.

But hey, there are a lot of defenders of Richard out there (or perhaps they should more accurately be described as lovers of Richard, and therefore said lover(s) and Richard both exist -- studio audience laughter should be heard at this point), so my view will probably take some criticism.

Another argument of Scotus against Henry of Ghent (translation)

2009-07-19T09:55:00.000-04:00

From the Lectura

‘If the [divine] essence is that from which the Son is produced, then this can only be in virtue of some being that belongs to that essence, for that from which the Son is generated must have some being if a form is imprinted on it’.

[Scotus, Lect., 1.5.2.un., n. 83 (Vat. 16: 441.22-25): ‘si essentia sit illud de quo producitur Filius, oportet quod hoc sit secundum aliquod esse ipsius essentiae, quia illud de quo generatur Filius oportet habere aliquod esse prout sibi imprimitur forma eius’.]

‘Therefore, I ask what is this “being” that the essence has, in virtue of which the Son is produced from it? It is either the being which the essence has in itself, or it is the being it has unshareably in some person’.

[Scotus, Lect., 1.5.2.un., n. 84 (Vat. 16: 442.1-3): ‘Quaero igitur quid est illud esse quod habet essentia, secundum quod de ea producitur Filius: vel est esse quod est essentia de se, aut est esse incommunicabile in alia persona?’]

‘If in the first way, then the Son would truly be generated from the essence of the Son just as [he is generated] from the essence of the Father [for the essence is shared by the Father and the Son]. But they [viz., Henry and his followers] concede that this cannot be admitted, for they say that the Son is [produced] from the [divine] substance as it is in the Father and not from the substance as it is in the three persons’.

[Scotus, Lect., 1.5.2.un., n. 84 (Vat. 16: 442.4-7): ‘Si primo modo, igitur ita vere Filius erit genitus de essentia Filii sicut de substantia et essentia Patris; unde et ipsi concedunt quod hoc non potest dici, dicentes quod Filius sit de substantia ut est Patris et non de substantia ut est trium personarum’.] [The reference is to Henry of Ghent, SQO, 54.3 (Bad. II f. 84rF): ‘Dico autem [Filius generat] de substantia generantis cum reduplicatione, in quantum scilicet generans est: licet enim eadem sit in tribus, non tamen habet rationem potentiae ut de ea generatur aliquis, nisi secundum quod habet esse in Patre’.]
‘But if it is said that the Son is [produced] from the essence of the Father insofar as the being [of the essence is unshareably] in another person (e.g., in the first existent [viz., the Father]), then I argue like this: the being [of that] from which something is [produced] by imprinting [a form in it] cannot be understood without the being [of that] in which that [same] something is [produced by imprinting a form in it], nor can the being [of that] in which that [same] something is [produced by imprinting a form in it] be understood without the former [viz., that from which that same something is produced by imprinting a form in it]. If, then, there is something from which the Son is [produced] by imprinting [a form in it], e.g., the substance insofar as it is in the Father, then that substance insofar as it is in the Father will necessarily be that in which the Son is [produced]. For if a surface is that from which whiteness [is produced] by imprinting [the whiteness in it], then that surface [will be that] in which the whiteness [is produced], and so by consequence, just as that surface will have whiteness, so also the essence as it is in the first person will have filiation’.

[Scotus, Lect., 1.5.2.un., n. 84 (Vat. 16: 442.8-18): ‘Sed si hoc dicatur, quod Filius est de essentia Patris secundum esse in alia persona, ut in prima exsistens, tunc arguo sic: esse de quo est aliquid per impressionem, non potest intelligi sine esse in quo est aliquid, nec esse in quo est aliquid potest intelligi sine hoc quin sit illud. Si igitur est aliquid de quo per impressionem est Filius, ut substantia secundum quod est in Patre, tunc substantia secundum quod est in Patre necessario erit illud in quo est Filius; sicut si superficies sit illud de quo per impressionem est albedo, superficies est illud in quo est aledo, — et per consequens sicut superficies est habens albedinem, ita essentia ut est in prima persona erit habens filiationem’.]

From the Ordinatio

‘It is necessary to assign some being to the [divine] essence insofar as it is that from which the Son is generated, for to be the principle — whatever kind of “principle” — of some real being only belongs to a real being. Therefore, I ask: what “being” belongs to the essence as it is that from which the Son is generated by an impression? If it is precisely its absolute being, which belongs to the essence qua essence, then the Son will be [produced] from the essence qua essence, and in this way the Son will be of three persons. Alternatively, if the “being” [I’m asking about] belongs to the [divine] essence insofar as it exists in some subsistent [person], then I ask: in which person? If it’s the ingenerate person [viz., the Father], then the concept of “the being from which something is produced” includes the notion of “the being in which the form is induced”, and so in that concept the “being in which” includes “that which is in it”, and by consequence the being that comes along with it formally. Therefore, if the [divine] essence as it is in the Father is tha from which the Son is generated (and by an impression, according to them), then it follows that the essence itself as it is in the Father will be that in which begotten knowledge [viz., the Son] is imprinted, and so the essence as it is in the Father will formally by the Word or “that which knows begotten knowledge”, which is inappropriate’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., nn. 72-73 (Vat. 4: 50.15-52.4): ‘essentiae ut de ea generatur Filius necesse est assignare aliquod esse, quia principiare aliquod verum ens — in quocumque genere principii — non convenit alicui nisi realiter enti. Quaero igitur, quod esse convenit essentiae ut ipsa est de quo per impressionem generatur Filius: aut praecise esse ad se, quod est essentiae ut essentiae, — et tunc Filius est de essentia ut essentia, et hoc modo est trium personarum; aut convenit sibi esse in aliqua subsistentia. Et tunc quaero, in qua: aut ingenita, — et si hoc, cum in intellectu eius quod est “esse de quo aliquid producitur” includatur hoc quod est “esse illud in quo forma inducitur”, et in intellectu eius quod est esse in quo includatur habere illud quod est in eo, et per consequens esse formaliter per ipsum, — ergo si essentia ut est in Patre sit de quo Filius generatur (et per impressionem, secundum eos), sequitur quod ipsa ut in Patre erit illud in quo notitia genita [viz., Verbum vel Filius] imprimitur, et ita essentia ut in Patre erit formaliter Verbum [viz., Filius] sive noscens notitia genita, quod est inconveniens’.]

From the Reportatio

‘Every real principle of a real entity has real being in virtue of which it is a principle, for otherwise it would be the principle of a non-being. The [divine] essence is a real principle of a real entity, namely insofar as it is a quasi material principle of a real being, namely the Son. Therefore, it gives some real being to him. But it either gives him absolute being or relative being. It does not give him absolute being, because then the Son would be from the substance of the Father insofar as [the Father’s substance] has absolute being, and then the Son would be from the substance of the three persons, for the absolute being of that substance does not belong to one person more than to another. Therefore, it is clear that the essence is not the principle from which the Son is produced insofar as it has absolute being. However, if the essence, as a quasi material principle, were to give relative being [to the Son], then this will be in the first person . . . . But it does not give relative being in the first person, because that which is the material principle of generation and that which receives the form are the same according to this “relative being”. Therefore, the being of this quasi material principle in the first person would receive the property of the Son, and then filiation would be received in the Father, so that in this way the Son [would be the Son] of [the Father’s] substance’.

[Scotus, Rep. 1.5.2.un., nn. 68-69 (Wolter, 276-278): ‘omne principium reale entis realis habet esse reale secundum quod principiat, alioquin illud quod principiat esset non-ens; essentia est principium reale et entis realis, scilicet in quantum est principium quasi materiale, et entis realis, scilicet Filii; ergo dat sibi aliquod reale esse. Ergo vel dat sibi esse ad se vel esse ad; sed non dat sibi esse ad se, quia tunc Filius esset de substantia Patris secundum esse ad se; ergo de substantia trium, eo quod substantia ad se non est plus unius personae quam alterius. Sic ergo patet quod essentia secundum esse ad se non est principium de quo principiatur Filius. Si autem essentia ut est principium quasi materiale det esse ad, ergo hoc erit vel in prima persona . . . . Nec dat “esse ad” in prima persona, quia secundum idem “esse ad” istius aliquid est principium materiale generationis et recipit formam; ergo secundum esse istius principii quai materialis in prima persona recipitur proprietas Filii, et sic filiatio recipitur in Patre et sic Filius substantiae’.]

One argument of Scotus against Henry of Ghent (translation)

2009-07-14T20:09:00.000-04:00

From the Lectura

‘According to the Philosopher in Physics 5, a change belongs to the same species as its end-point, just as [the act of] whitewashing [a log] belongs to the species of whiteness, not the species of “white-log”, which is only one “thing” incidentally’.

[Scotus, Lect. 1.5.2.un., n. 72 (Vat. 16: 437.2-4): ‘quia secundum Philosophum V Physicorum [224b6-8] mutatio est eadem specie cum termino, ut dealbatio cum albedine, et non cum ligno albo, quod est unum per acccidens’.]

From the Ordinatio

‘A production is placed in a genus or a species from its formal end-point, as is clear from the Philosopher in Physics V [224a26-30]. For instance, a change in quality is placed in the genus of quality, for here there is a [qualitative] form which is the formal end-point of the change in quality. Therefore, if the formal end-point of some such production were a relation, that production would be placed in the genus of relation, and it would not be a generation’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., n. 69 (Vat. 4: 49.8-13): ‘productio ponitur in genere vel specie ex suo termino formali, sicut patet per Philosophum V Physicorum, — sicut alteratio ponitur in genere qualitatis, qua ibi est forma quae est formalis terminus alterationis; ergo si formalis terminus huiusmodi productionis esset relatio, ista productio poneretur in genere relationis et non esset generatio’.]

From the Reportatio

‘Change and every per se production is placed per se in the genus of the end-point to which [the change or production is directed], and [it is placed] precisely in the genus of the formal end-point, according to Physics V, where examples are given from each [kind of] per se motion or change, namely generation, alteration [i.e., change in quality], and growth [i.e., change in size]. If, then, the formal end-point of the Son’s production were a relation [i.e., the Son’s unique property of sonship] rather than the [divine] essence, then the Son’s production would not be a generation, but more a change in relationship’.

[Scotus, Rep. 1.5.2.un., n. 63 (Wolter, 275): ‘mutatio et omnis per se productio ponitur per se in genere termini ad quem et praecipue in genere termini formalis, V Physicorum, ubi exemplificatur de omnibus per se motu et mutatione, scilicet generatione et alteratione et augmentatione. Si igitur formalis terminus productionis Filii non est essentia sed relatio, tunc productio Filii non esset generatio, sed magis adaliquatio erit’.]

Some Scotus passages on the formal distinction (translation)

2009-07-10T20:00:00.000-04:00

‘By this composite of realities — i.e., of a potential reality and an actual reality — it is minimal, which suffices for the nature of a genus and a difference. But this is not able to obtain where any reality in something is infinite, for however much something [infinite] is taken precisely, it cannot be potential with respect to some reality. Therefore, since there is some essential reality in God that is formally infinite, there is nothing that can be formally taken as having the nature of a genus’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.8.1.3, n. 107 (Vat. 4: 202.5-11): ‘Ista composito realitatum — potentialis et actualis — minima est, quae sufficit ad rationem generis et differentiae et ista non stat cum hoc quod quaelibet realitas in aliquo sit infinita: realitas enim si esset de se infinita, quantumcumque praecise sumpta, non esset in potentia ad aliquam realitatem; ergo cum in Deo quaecumque realitas essentialis sit formaliter infinita, nulla est a qua formaliter posset accipi ratio generis’.]

‘Because some reality is taken to be a genus which, considered in itself, is potential with respect to a reality that is taken to be a difference. But nothing infinite is potential with respect to anything, as is clear from the preceding question. This proof obtains for the composition of a species and by the potentiality of a genus, but both are removed from God, on account of his infinity’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.8.1.3, n. 103 (Vat. 4: 200.5-10): ‘quia genus sumitur ab aliqua realitate quae secundum se est potentialis ad realitatem a qua accipitur differentia; nullum infinitum est potentiale ad aliquid, ut patet ex dictis in quaestione praecedente. Probatio ista stat in compositione speciei et potentialite generis, sed utraque removetur a Deo, propter infinitatem’.]

‘Sometimes, when there are not two things there (as there are two things in incidental composites), or at least when in one thing there is some proper reality that is taken as a genus and another reality that is taken as a difference, and let’s call the first a and the second b, then the following obtains: a, considered in itself, is potential with respect to b, and so by understanding a precisely and by understanding b precisely, when a is understood in the first instant of nature (it which it is precisely itself), it is perfectible by b (as if b were a distinct thing), but it is not really perfected by b, and this is because of the identity of a and b with some whole with which they are really and primarily the same, for [in these cases] a certain whole is produced primarily, and in that whole both of those realities are produced. But if one of those were produced without the other, then the one would be potential to the other and it would really be imperfect without the other’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.8.1.3, n. 106 (Vat. 4: 201.11-202.4): ‘Aliquando, quando non sunt ibi res et res (sicut in accidentibus), saltem in una re est aliqua propria realitas a qua sumitur genus et alia realitas a qua sumitur differentia; dicatur prima a et secunda b: a secundum se est potentiale ad b, ita quod praecise intelligendo a et praecise intelligendo b, a ut intelligitur in primo instanti naturae — in quo praecise est ipsum — ipsum est perfectibile per b (sicut si res esset alia), sed quod non perficitur realiter per b, hoc est propter identitatem a et b ad aliquod totum, cui realiter primo sunt eadem, quod quidem totum primo producitur et in ipso toto ambae istae realitates producuntur; si tamen altera istarum sine altera produceretur, vere esset potentialis ad eam et vere esset imperfecta sine illa’.]

‘For “[x] to formally include [y]” is for [x] to include something [y] in its essential nature, and so if the definition of the including [x] were stipulated, it would include the definition [of y] or a part of the definition [of y]. But just as the definition of common goodness does not have [the definition] of wisdom in itself, then neither does infinite [goodness include] infinite [wisdom]. Therefore, there is some formal non-identity between wisdom and goodness, in as much as they would have distinct definitions if they were definable. However, a definition indicates not just a concept caused only by the mind, it also indicates the what-ness of the thing, so formal non-identity is real on the part of the thing. In this way then, I know that the mind which puts together the proposition “wisdom is formally non[-identical] to goodness” does not cause the truth of that proposition by putting it together. Rather, the terms of that proposition are found in the object itself, and the mind’s act of putting them together is true from the fact that they are put together in the thing itself’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.8.1.4, n. 193 (Vat. 4: 261.14-262.10): ‘quia “includere formaliter” est includere aliquid in ratione sua essentiali, ita quod si definitio includentis assignaretur, inclusum esset definitio vel pars definitionis; sicut autem definitio bonitatis in communi non habet in se sapientiam, ita nec infinita [bonitas] infinitam [sapientiam]: est igitur aliqua non-identitas formalis sapientiae et bonitatis, in quantum earum essent distinctae definitiones, si essent definibiles. Definitio autem non tantum indicat rationem causatam ab intellectu, sed quiditatem rei: est ergo non-identitas formalis ex parte rei, et intelligo sic, quod intellectus componens istam “sapiens non est formaliter bonitas”, non causat actu suo collativo veritatem huius compositionis, sed in obiecto invenit extrema, ex quorum compositione fit actus verus’.]

Scotus on how the divine essence and a personal property 'combine' to make a person (translation)

2009-07-06T20:05:00.000-04:00

‘But how is it that the nature of a real relation [viz., a personal property such as sonship] does not have the same formal nature as the divine essence, but nevertheless the two do not constitute a composite together? The reason for this is that the nature of the one is perfectly the same as the nature of the other, for on account of the infinity of the one nature, whatever can be [compresent] with it is perfectly the same with it. Therefore, the perfection of this identity excludes any composition or quasi-composition, and that identity holds because of the infinity [of the divine essence]. Still, that infinity does not destroy the formal natures [of the things contained in it], so this one [viz., sonship] is formally distinct from that one [viz., the divine essence]’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., n. 117 (Vat. 4: 69.6-13): ‘Qualiter autem stat quod ratio relationis [e.g., filiationis] in re non sit formaliter eadem rationi [divinae] essentiae et tamen in eodem concurrentes non constituunt compositum, — hoc ideo est, quia illa ratio est perfecte eadem illi: propter infinitatem enim unius rationis, quidquid potest esse cum ea, est perfecte idem sibi. Perfectio ergo identitatis excludit omnem compositionem et quasi-compositionem, quae identitas est propter infinitatem, — et tamen infinitas non tollit formales rationes quin haec formaliter non sit illa’.]

‘Now, [to say “deity is in the Father”] is true insofar as [deity or the divine essence] is a nature in the person, for that person has its “being” and “whatness” through that nature (for this belongs to a “whatness” insofar as it is a “whatness”), but this is not because the form informs the person, and this is true even in creatures. But [to say “fatherhood is in the Father”] is true insofar [fatherhood] is an individual form in the individual, but [again] not by informing it’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., nn. 121-122 (Vat. 4: 71.8-13): ‘Nam prima [viz., “deitas est in Patre”, cf. n. 120] est vera ut natura est in supposito, habente “esse” quiditativum ea (quia hoc convenit quiditati unde quiditas est), sed non propter hoc est forma informans suppositum, etiam in creaturis. Secunda [viz., “paternitas est in Patre”, cf. n. 120] est vera ut forma hypostatica est in hypostasi, – sed nec informat ipsam’.]

‘I concede that the relation [viz., a unique personal property like sonship] contributes to the actuality of the [divine] person, but it does not contribute actuality to the “whatness” [of that person], for the relation distinguishes that person “personally” rather than in terms of its “whatness”. However, the essence contributes actuality to the “whatness” [of the person], and by that “whatness”, it distinguishes [the person from other things with a different “whatness”]’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., n. 127 (Vat. 4: 72.16-19): ‘Concedo relationem esse actum personalem, non actum quiditativum, – quia personaliter distinguit et non quiditative. Essentia autem est actus quiditativus et quiditative distinguens’.]

‘So although the “whatness” [in a person] is the form of that person just as much as its individual form is (as it also is in creatures), it is not an informing form. For in creatures, the “whatness” is a part [of a person], so to speak, but in a divine person it is [present] as one formal nature, as it were, formally concurring with another to [constitute] one simple thing that has within itself many formal natures’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., n. 122 (Vat. 4: 71.13-17): ‘Tam enim quiditas quam forma hypostatica, etiam in creaturis, licet sit forma suppositi, non tamen est forma informans, sed ibi quasi pars, hic autem quasi una ratio formalis concurrens cum alia, formaliter, ad idem simplex sed habens in se plures rationes formales’.]

Scotus on generation without matter

2009-07-02T20:00:00.000-04:00

From the Reportatio

‘Insofor as it implies production, generation as such does not require matter or quasi-matter, and where it happens without matter, generation is said to be perfect and without any imperfection. Therefore, this is how it has to be ascribed to God, for in no way can generation be conceived without imperfection if it is understood to presuppose matter’.

[Scotus, Rep. 1.5.2.un., n. 74 (Wolter, 279): ‘generatio ut importat productionem, quae ut sic non requirit materiam nec quasi materiam et ut sic dicit perfectionem sine imperfectione; ergo ut sic habet attribui Deo. Sed nullo modo concipitur sine imperfectione ut intelligitur praesupponere materiam’.]

From the Ordinatio

‘The reason that a “generated creature” is not [produced] from nothing is that something in it (such as matter) pre-exists. Therefore, . . . if the form of something were to pre-exist and the matter were newly added to it so that it were informed by the pre-existent form, that very product would not be [produced] from nothing, for something in it pre-existed [the production] . . . . Therefore, if someone [like Henry] were to say that the Son is not [produced] from nothing “because his essence existed in the Father prior in the order of origin”, and if [they said that] the essence is the matter, so to speak, in the Son’s generation, then how much more would it be the case that the Son is not [produced] from nothing if the [divine] essence that “exists in the Father prior in origin” is a quasi-form shared with the Son?’

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., n. 103 (Vat. 4: 64.3-13): ‘quia “creatura genita” non est de nihilo, quia aliquid eius praeexsistit, ut materia. Ergo . . . si forma alicuius praeexsisteret et materia de novo adveniret et informaretur illa forma iam praeexsistente, ipsum productum non esset de nihilo, quia aliquid eius praeexstitisset . . . . Ergo si Filius non diceretur esse de nihilo “quia essentia eius secundum ordinem originis praefuit in Patre”, et hoc si illa essentia esset quasi-materia generationis Fili, multo magis nec Filius erit de nihilo si illa essentia “prius origine exsistens in Patre” sit quasi-forma communicata Filio’.]

From the Reportatio

‘It is impossible for the numerically same [lump of] matter to remain under the form of the generator and the generated [at the same time], whatever sort of thing the generator or the generated is, for the same [lump of] matter cannot be simultaneously perfected by two ultimate forms which give complete being to the matter. Nevertheless, the same form can give being to many [lumps of] matter simultaneously, or to one [lump of] matter to which it did not give being before. This is clear in growth, for where the form of food has corrupted into flesh, the [already existing] form of the flesh newly perfects the matter of the food, because the [body’s] flesh converts the food into flesh and perfects the matter of the food insofar as it is flesh pre-existing in the food’.

[Scotus, Rep. 1.5.2.un., n. 80 (Wolter, 282): ‘impossibile est eandem materiam numero manere sub forma generantis et geniti, quodcumque sit generans vel genitum, quia non potest eadem materia simul perfici duabus formis ultimis quae dant esse completum materiae; potest tamen eadem forma dare esse pluribus materiis simul, sive uni materiae cui non dabat prius. Patet in augmentatione ubi, corrupta forma alimenti in carnem, forma carnis de novo perficit materiam alimenti, quia caro convertit alimentum in carnem et perficit materiam alimenti ut carnem praeexsistentem in alimento’.]

From the Lectura

‘This can also be shown with an example. If something were to grow in itself without anything being added to it (as it happens in rarefaction), here the form of the growable thing would be changed and it would receive some new perfection. But suppose that there is some growth that occurs by something more being added to it, and that the soul (which havs the capacity and power to perfect the whole organic body) only perfects one part (like the heart) [first], and afterwards when other parts of the body are added to it, the soul — without any change to itself — perfects those other organic parts without being perfected in some other way. Similarly, the divine essence is supremely perfect in the first instant of nature, and afterwards the relations spring forth and come onto it, as it were, and then the essence makes itself intimate to them, giving them every perfection that they have and making them God by deity. For this reason, in no way does the essence have a passive capacity to be perfected by them’.

[Scotus, Lect. 1.5.2.un., n. 105 (Vat. 16: 451.10-21): ‘Hoc etiam declaratur in exemplo: si alquid augmentetur in se sine alio adveniente, ut est in rarefactione, ibi forma rei augmentabilis mutatur et recipit novam perfectionem. Sed ponamus quod augmentatio fiat aliquo extra adveniente, isto modo, quod anima habens potentiam et virtutem perficiendi totum corpus organicum tantum perficiat unam partem, ut cor, et quod postea aliae partes corporis addantur, tunc anima — sine ulla mutatione sui — absque hoc quod aliunde perficitur perficit alias partes organicas. — Sic essentia divina, in primo signo naturae est perfectissima; postea, quasi superveniant relationes pullulantes, essentia intimat se eis, dans eis quidquid perfectionis habent et quod sint Deus deitate, — et ideo nullo modo habet potentiam passivam ut perficiatur eis’.]

From the Ordinatio

‘An example of this can be taken from creatures, by postulating a certain counterpossible situation. [We know that] growth happens when food [that’s been eaten] comes to be corrupted in the body, and its matter receives the form of flesh, and [thereby being new flesh added to the body], in this way it becomes informed by the soul. Here we are supposing that the same matter which remains throughout is apt to receive another part of the [soul’s] form (just as it is thought to happen in rarefaction), so the matter remains one, though it was first informed [by the form of food], but is now informed by a new form. This is formally a real change, because the matter goes from being deprived of to having a form. Now let’s look at this from the side of the soul. Suppose that the same soul perfects first one part of the body (such as the heart), and then later, when another part of the organic body which is perfectible by the soul is added to it [such as some food that is converted into flesh], the soul perfects that newly added part. In this case, the soul is not changed by this because it is not first deprived of and then comes to have a form. Deprivation is a lack in something that is naturally apt to receive, but [in our example here], the soul is first not-informing [the acquired part] and afterwards it is informing [it], and the soul is not apt to receive something, but rather to give’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., n. 133 (Vat. 4: 76.1-15): ‘Exemplum istius potest accipi in creaturis, ponendo ibi quaedam “per impossibile”. Augmentatio modo fit per hoc quod alimentum adveniens corpori corrumpitur, et materia eius recipit formam carnis, et sic informatur ab anima. Ponatur quod eadem materia manens nata sit recipere aliam partem formae (sicut ponitur in rarefactione), materia manet una, quae prius fuit formata et nunc nova forma formatur, — ipsa tamen formaliter est vere mutata, quia de privatione transit ad formam. — Ponamus, ex alia parte, quod anima eadem perficeret primo unam partem corporis (ut cor), postea adveniret alia pars corporis organici, perfectibilis ab anima, anima perficeret illam partem advenientem de novo, — et ipsa tamen non mutaretur, quia non esset in ea primo privatio et postmodum forma. Privatio enim est carentia, in apto nato recipere; anima autem primo non-informans et postea informans non est nata aliquid recipere sed dare’.]

‘In each of these cases, there is a real production of some product, but in the first case, there is a change, and in the second case, there is not’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., n. 134 (Vat. 4: 76.16-17): ‘In utroqe extremorum istorum vere esset productio alicuius producti, sed in primo mutatio, in secundo non’.]
‘A more apt example can be seen if we suppose that the matter of the animated heart could remain the same and be shared with diverse forms — say, that of a hand and a foot — so that by the [hypothetical] active power of the animated heart, it would produce those composites [namely, the hand and the foot] from its matter that it shares with them and their forms. Here there would be a true production of the composite wholes, and they would have the same matter, though this would happen through a change in the matter. Now let’s look at this from the side of the soul. Let’s suppose that the soul [which first exists in and so animates the heart] is unlimited with respect to its actuality as a form, such that it could be shared with many things, so that by the power of that soul in the heart, it could share itself with a hand and a foot which the animated heart produces. If that happened, there would here be a true production of many things that are consubstantial in their form, without any change in that form’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., n. 135 (Vat. 4: 76.18-77.4): ‘Aptius videtur exemplum, si ponamus materiam cordis animati posse eandem communicari diversis formis — puta manus et pedis — et hoc virtute activa cordis animati, producentis composita ista ex materia sua communicata et ex formis istis, hic vere esset productio totorum habentium eandem materiam, et esset cum mutatione illius materiae; sed si, ex alia parte, ponamus animam — propter sui illimitationem in ratione actus et formae — posse communicari multis et virtute animae in corde ipsam communicari manui et pedi, productis a corde animato, hic vere esset productio multorum consbustantialium in forma, absque mutatione illius formae’.]

‘In each example, it is proposed that some being is produced which is subsistent by itself (rather than proposing that some parts are produced that belong to the same thing, because to be a part is an imperfection). These cases being posed, the second case in each example (which is about a form being shared with the product) perfectly represents production in God, while the first case in each example (which is about matter being shared) does not. Let’s modify this example even further, namely by supposing that although the soul is in the heart and the hand and the foot, it is not an informing form (for being a component of a composite is an imperfection), but is rather a whole form which is those subsistent things [viz., the heart, the hand, and the foot] and which animates them. Similarly, deity is understood to be shared with the relational subsistences (assuming that the persons are relative subsistences) not like quasi matter, but rather as a form, and not by informing them but rather as that by which each relation or the relative subsistent is God’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., n. 136 (Vat. 4: 77.5-16): ‘In utroque exemplo ponantur producta esse per se subsistentia, non partes eisdem, quia esse partem est imperfectionis. Hoc posito, secundus modus in utroque exemplo, qui est de communicatione formae ipsi producto, perfecte repraesentat productionem in Deo, non primus, qui est de communicatione materiae, — et hoc, adhuc addendo in positione, quod anima in corde et manu et pede non sit forma informans, quia componibilitas includit imperfectionem, sed sit forma totalis qua illa subsistentia sint et animata sint: ita quod intelligitur deitas non communicari quasi-materia, sed relationibus subsistentibus — si personae ponantur relativae — communicatur deitas per modum formae, non informantis sed qua relatio vel relativum subsistens est Deus’.] [See also, Rep. 1.5.2.un., nn. 77-79 (Wolter, 280-281).]

Scotus on change vs. production (translation)

2009-06-28T20:00:00.000-04:00

From the Lectura

‘Generation in creatures includes both change and production. For a [creaturely] generator has imperfect power, so it requires not only another cause in the same genus, but also a cause in another genus, and for this reason, it does not produce the whole composite [from nothing]. Rather, it presupposes [a lump of] matter, and then it produces the form by transforming that matter.

Thus, change and production have different end-points, for the end-point of change is the form introduced in the matter, but the proper end-point of production is the whole composite (hence the Philosopher speaks of the end-point of generation in various ways, for in Physics II [193b12-18] he postulates that the form is the end-point of generation, and in [Metaphysics] VII [1033b16-18] he says that the composite is primarily generated).

From this, it is clear that the nature of production is separable from the nature of change — by removing the imperfection of the agent — without contradiction, for production is that by which a thing acquires being. Now, it is incidental to a thing which is produced [by a creature] — and so which acquires its being through that production — that it is changed [in this process]. This is evident in creation, where the whole is truly produced without any preceding change. Whence, where there is perfect active power, a thing can acquire all of its being without a change.

Therefore, production is separable from change, for there are distinct formal end-points in generation: the proper start- and end-points of change are being deprived of a form and having a form, but the end-point of a production is the whole composite itself. For an agent with perfect power can act, and there will then be a production, but not a change. Whence in creation, because something is produced by a perfect production, there is a production but not a generation’.

[Scotus, Lect. 1.5.2.un., n. 91 (Vat. 16: 444.23-445.18): ‘generatio in creaturis includit mutationem et productionem. Quia generans est imperfectae virtutis, ideo non solum requirit aliam causam eiusdem generis, sed causam alterius generis causae, et ideo non producit totum compositum, sed praesupponit materiam, et tunc producit formam transmutando materiam. Et ideo alios terminos habet formaliter mutatio et productio, nam terminus mutationis est ipsa forma inducta in materia, sed terminus proprius productionis est totum compositum (et secundum hoc, Philosophus variis modis loquitur de termino generationis, nam in II Physicorum [193b12-18] ponit quod forma est terminus generationis, — et in VII [Metaphysicae, 1033b16-18], quod compositum primo generetur): ex quo patet quod ratio productionis separabilis est a ratione mutationis — amota imperfectione agentis — sine contradictione, nam productio est qua res capit esse. Nunc autem accidit rei quae producitur — et quae esse capit per productionem — quod mutetur, sicut patet in creatione, ubi vere producitur totum sine mutatione praecedente; unde ubi est perfecta virtus activa, ibi potest res capere totum esse sine mutatione. Productio igitur separabilis est a mutatione, tum quia habent terminos formaliter distinctos in generatione, nam termini proprie mutationis sunt privatio et forma, sed terminus productionis est ipsum totum compositum, — tum quia agens perfectae virtutis potest agere, et ibi erit tunc productio, sed non mutatio; unde in creatione, quia producitur aliquid a perfecto producente, est productio et non generatio’.]

‘Therefore, by laying aside the imperfections in generation (namely, the presupposition of matter, which is required on account of the agent’s imperfection), generation is transfered to the divine case. For this reason, generation that’s transfered to the divine case only includes production, but not change, and so in no way in divinity is there a subject or matter or quasi-matter, since there is no change nor quasi-change in God’.

[Scotus, Lect. 1.5.2.un., n. 92 (Vat. 16: 445.19-25): ‘Auferendo igitur illud quod est imperfectionis in generatione (scilicet praesuppositio materiae, quae requiritur propter imperfectionem agentis), transfertur generatio ad divina. Et ideo generatio tantum transfertur ad divina prout includit productionem, et non mutationem, — et ideo nullo modo in divinis est subiectum aut materia nec quasi-materia, cum ibi non sit mutatio nec quasi-mutatio’.]

From the Ordinatio

‘There are two things said to be in generation in creatures: change and production. And of these, there formal natures are different, and they are separable from each other without contradiction’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., n. 94 (Vat. 4: 60.16-18): ‘Generatio in creatura duo dicit, mutationem et productionem, et istorum formales rationes aliae sunt et sine contradictione separabiles ad invicem’.]

‘For production formally belongs to its product, and it is incidental to it that it comes about by changing some part of the composite, as is clear in creation [where the production occurs without presupposing a part such as matter to change]. Change is formally the act which the “changeable” thing comes to have after being deprived of it, but change occurs along with production in creatures because of the imperfection of [creaturely] productive power, for it is not [powerful enough] to give the end-point of production all of its being. Rather, some part of it is presupposed, and then changed to another part of it, and in this way the producer produces a composite. Therefore, change and production can be separated without contradiction, and they really are separated in cases where there is perfect productive power’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., n. 95 (Vat. 4: 60.19-61.7): ‘Production enim est formaliter ipsius producti, et accidit sibi quod fiat cum mutatione alicuius partis compositi, ut patet in creatione; mutatio formaliter est actus “mutabilis” qui de privatione transit. Concomitatur autem mutatio productionem in creaturis propter imperfectionem potentiae productivae, quae non potest dare totale esse termino productionis, sed aliquid eius praesuppositum transmutatur ad aliam partem ipsius et sic producit compositum. Ergo sine contradictione possunt separari, et realiter separantur comparando ad potentiam productivam perfectem’.]

‘This is apparent in creation, where because of the perfection of the productive power [of the creator], something is first placed in all of its being, and this is the true nature of production, in which the end-point of the production acquires its being through the production. But there is not here [viz., in the case of creation ex nihilo] a change, insofar as change is said to be some substratum that ‘exists now in a way that it did not before’, from Physics VI [234b5-7, 10-13]. For in creation, there is not some substratum’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., n. 96 (Vat. 4: 61.8-13): ‘Hoc etiam apparet in creatione, ubi propter perfectionem potentiae productivae ponentis primo in esse totum, vere est ratio productionis, in quantum per eam terminus productus accipit esse, — sed non est ibi ratio mutationis, in quantum mutatio dicit aliquid substratum “aliter nunc se habere quam prius”, ex VI Physicorum [234b5-7, 10-13]. In creatione enim non est aliquid substratum’.]

‘To the case at hand. Since no imperfection should be postulated in God, but rather only total perfection, and since change is said to be imperfect in its very nature, for it pertains to potentiality, in virtue of which something is changeable — and accordingly the active power in the changer is also said to be imperfect, for an imperfect changer necessarily requires a concurrent cause in order to produce something (for there [in God] htere is no imperfection, nor any sort of passive power, nor even any imperfect active power, but only the highest perfection) — in no way is generation in God postulated with the character of change or quasi-change. Rather, generation is postulated in God only insofar as it is production, that is, insofar as something acquires being from it. Thus, generation occurs without matter in God — and for this reason, matter nor quasi-matter is attributed to generation in God, but only the end-point, and this is either the total or primary (i.e., the adequate) end-point, namely that which is primarily produced in being, or it is the formal end-point, according to which the primary end-point formally acquires being’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., n. 97 (Vat. 4: 61.14-62.10): ‘Ad propositum. Cum in divinis nihil ponendum sit imperfectionis, sed totum perfectionis, et mutatio de ratione sui dicit imperfectionem, quia potentialitatem, et hoc in mutabili, — et concomitanter etiam dicit imperfectionem potentiae activae in mutante, quia talis requirit necessario causam concausantem ad hoc ut producat (non autem fit ibi aliqua imperfectio, nec qualis est potentiae passivae, nec etiam aliqua imperfectio potentiae activae, sed summa perfectio), — nullo modo ponetur ibi generatio sub ratione mutationis nec quasi-mutationis, sed tantum generatio ut est productio, in quantum scilicet aliquid per eam capit esse, ponetur in divinis. Et ideo generatio ut est in divinis, est sine materia, — et ideo generationis ut est in divinis non assignabitur materia nec quasi-materia, sed tantum terminus: et hoc vel totalis sicut primus, id est adaequatus — qui scilicet primo producitur in esse — vel terminus formalis, secundum quem terminus primus formalis accipit esse’.]

From the Reportatio

‘The difference between generation, production, and change is clear, for change is an act [that happens to] something which is changeable by itself, so its start- and end-points are “not such” and “such”. Whence, that which now exists in different way than it did before is said to be changeable. But generation is not an act [that happens to] something changeable, but rather is, by itself, the way to [acquire] a form, just as perishing is the way [to become] deprived [of a form]. Thus, the start- and end-points of generation are “existence” and “not existing”, that is, [to have a substantial] form and [to be] deprived [of a substantial form]. Production, however, is the way not to exist or not to exist, nor the way to acquire or be deprived of a form, but rather the way for [something] to be generated or produced. So production has for its end-point not a form but rather the whole composite’.

[Scotus, Rep. 1.5.2.un., n. 75 (Wolter, 279-280): ‘Quod autem sit differentia inter generationem, productionem et mutationem, patet; quia mutatio est actus per se mutabilis et termini sunt non tale et tale. Unde illud dicitur mutabile quod se habet aliter nunc quam prius. Generatio autem non est actus mutabilis, sed est per se via ad formam, sicut corruptio ad privationem, et ita termini eius sunt esse et non esse, id est forma et privatio. Productio autem est via non ad esse vel non esse sive ad formam et privationem, sed ad genitum vel productum, ita quod habet pro per se termino non formam sed compositum’.]

Scotus on 'Filius est de substantia Patris' (translation)

2009-06-22T20:00:00.001-04:00

From the Lectura

‘I say that the Son is truly begotten and he is from the substance of the Father. Now, the doctor who holds the aforementioned opinion [viz., Henry] says that the Master [Peter Lombard] concedes that the Son is from the substance of the Father according to a causality of origin. And certainly, if he [Peter] were to say this, he would not say enough, for creatures are also from the substance of the Father according to a causality of origin. Whence, the Master does not only speak of a cause of origin, nor does he only speak of consubstantiality, for in that way it could be said that the Father is from the Son. But the preposition “from” here indicates both origin and consubstantiality, just as one ancient doctor said. Whence, the preposition “from” here indicates consubstantiality along with origin, and in this way the Son is not created by the Father, nor is the Father from the Son’.

[Scotus, Lect. 1.5.2.un., n. 93 (Vat. 16: 446.1-12): ‘dico quod vere Filius generatur et est de substantia Patris. Nam doctor tenens priorem opinonem, dicit quod Magister concedit quod Filius sit de substantia Patris secundum causalitatem originis, — et certe, si hoc diceret, non sufficienter diceret, quia sic creatura est de substantia Patris secundum causalitatem originis. Unde nec dicit solam causam originantem, nec solam consubstantialitatem, quia sic posset dici quod Pater esset de Filio, sed praepositio “de” in proposito notat originationem et consubstantialitatem, sicut unus antiquus doctor dicit; unde notat in proposito consubstantialitatem cum origine, et sic nec est creatura de Patre nec Pater de Filio’. The editors say that the ‘antiquus doctor’ mentioned here is Alexander of Hales, Summa, I, n. 300 (I 433b).]

‘Whence, it should be known that these Latin prepositions “a” and “ab” [which mean “from”] signify the circumstances of an originating cause, like when we talk about “the light from [a] the sun” and “the brightness from [ab] the flame”. But this Latin preposition “ex” [which also means “from”] denotes the circumstances of a material cause, as when we talk about how a “man is [composed] from [ex] a body and a soul”. The Latin preposition “de” [which also means “from”] denotes the circumstances of an efficient cause, but this is not generally the case, for we do not say that a “house is from [de] a builder”. Whence, the preposition “de” does not universally identify the circumstances of an agent cause in the way that “a” or “ab” do. Rather, [in the case at hand] it denotes the circumstances of an agent cause with a consubstantiality of origin. In this way, the Master [Peter Lombard] meant to say that the Son is from [de] the substance of the Father, as it is clear from his exposition of his meaning in this distinction’.

[Scotus, Lect. 1.5.2.un., n. 94 (Vat. 16: 446.13-23): ‘Unde sciendum est quod istae praepositiones “a” et “ab” significant circumstantiam causae originantis, sicut cum dicitur “lumen est a sole” et “splendor ab igne”; haec autem praepositio “ex” denotat circumstantiam causae materialis, sicut “homo est ex corpore et anima”; haec autem praepositio “de” denotat circumstantiam causae efficientis, sed non in generali, quia non dicimus quod “domus est de aedificatore”: unde non dicit circumstantiam causae agentis in universali, sicut “a” vel “ab”, sed denotat circumstantiam causae agentis cum consubstantialitate originis, — et sic intendit Magister quod Filius est de substantia Patris, sicut patet intuenti expositionem suam in ista distinctione’. For the reference to Peter Lombard here, the editors point to his Sent. 1.5, c. 1, n. 64 (I 49); c. 2, n. 66 (I 50).]

From the Ordinatio

‘The word “from” here does not indicate an efficient or originating cause alone, for if it did, creatures would be from the substance of God. Nor does it indicate consubstantiality alone, for then the Father would be from the substance of the Son. Rather, it indicates origination and consubstantiality at the same time. That is, insofar as the term “substance” is combined with the preposition “from”, it indicates consubstantiality, such that the Son has the same substance and quasi-form as the Father, from whom he is originated. And insofar as the term “substance” is combined with “of the Father”, it indicates the [Son’s] originating principle. Thus, the whole statement “the Son is from the substance of the Father” has this sense: the Son is originated from the Father such that he is consubstantial with him’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., n. 99 (Vat. 4: 62.15-63.4): ‘Ubi per ly “de” non notatur tantum efficientia vel originatio, quia si tantum efficientia, tunc creaturae essent de substantia Dei, — nec notatur per illud “de” tantum consubstantialitas, quia tunc Pater esset de substantia Filii, — sed notatur simul originatio et consubstantialitas: ut scilicet in casuali huius praepositionis “de” notetur consubstantialitas, sic quod Filius habet eandem substantiam et quasi-formam cum Patre, de quo est originaliter, — et per illud quod in genitivo construitur cum isto casuali, notetur principium originans; ita quod totalis intellectus huius sermonis “Filius est de substantia Patris” est iste: Filius est originatus a Patre ut consubstantialis ei’.]

Scotus on how the Son is not created but is still a Son (translation)

2009-06-17T20:00:00.001-04:00

From the Lectura

‘I say that the Son is not [produced] from nothing, even though he is not [produced] from the substance of the Father as from matter. The Son is [produced] from the substance of the Father as from a consubstantial-formal principle of the originator and the originated, and this most truly preserves that the Son is not produced from nothing, and it does so more truly than if the Son were generated from quasi-matter. Here’s an example from creatures: if a flame were to generate a flame without presupposing any matter, and assuming that there were no pre-existing matter such that it produces the matter in the other flame and shares its form with it, the produced flame would more truly not be produced from nothing than in the way of being produced that presupposes matter, for the flame is more truly a being by the form than it is by matter. In this way, the Son is not [produced] from nothing, because he is from the substance of the Father as from the formal end-point of production, for the Father shares the whole [divine substance or essence] as the [formal] end-point of [the Son’s production]. Thus, although the Son is not [produced] from matter, nor does [his production] presuppose anything with the character of matter, he is still not produced from nothing’.

[Scotus, Lect. 1.5.2.un., n. 96 (Vat. 16: 447.9-21): ‘dico quod Filius non est de nihilo, licet non sit de substantia Patris quasi de materia, — quia Filius est de substantia Patris sicut de principio consubstantiali-formali originanti et originato, et hoc salvat verissime Filium non esse de nihilo, et verius quam si Filius generaretur quasi ex materia. Exemplum in creaturis: si ignis generaret ignem ita quod non praesupponeret materiam — nec praeexsisteret materia — sed produceret materiam et communicaret formam, verius esset ignis tunc non de nihilo quam modo quando praesupponit materiam, et eo verius quo forma est verius ens quam materia. Sic Filius non est de nihilo, quia est de substantia Patris ut de termino formali, quia Pater communicat totum ut terminus; et ideo Filius, licet non sit ex materia nec praesupponat aliquid in ratione materiae, non tamen est de nihilo’.]

‘This consubstantiality is sufficient [to give the Son] his character of ‘being a Son’ for the nature of fatherhood in creatures does not come from the fact that fathers share matter, but rather because they share [their formal] end-point. Whence, when a cow generates, it proffers semen, and if it then were to produce and proffer from itself a cow, it would truly be a father. Whence, if the cow were able to proffer a cow just as it can proffer semen, on account of that produced end-point it would be called a “father” even if it did nothing else. Whence, even if this kind of an immediate production were delayed, a cow would still be produced from its semen. Therefore, a cow is not a “father” because he shares his matter in a generation, but rather moreso because of the form and the [primary] end-point that he produces. So also in God, the Father is not a Father because he produces the Son from quasi matter, but rather because he shares the whole [divine substance or essence with the Son] as [the formal] end-point of production’.

[Scotus, Lect. 1.5.2.un., n. 97 (Vat. 16: 447.22-448.8): ‘Et sufficit haec consubstantialitas ad rationem “Filii”, quia ratio paternitatis in creaturis non est quia materiam communicat, sed propter terminum communicatum. Unde quando bos generat, decidit semen, — et si tunc produceret et decideret a se bovem, vere pater esset: unde bos si posset, decideret bovem sicut semen, et propter istum terminum productum dicitur esse “pater” et si nihil aliud operaretur; unde si moreretur statim, adhuc ex semine producitur bos. Non igitur est bos “pater” propter communicationem materiae generationis, sed magis propter formam et terminum quem producit. Ita Pater in divinis non erit Pater quia producit Filium quasi ex materia, sed quia communicat totum ut terminus’.]

From the Ordinatio

‘But to understand the affirmative claim that “the Son is from the substance of the Father” in the aforesaid way [namely, such that the Son is originated from the Father and is consubstantial with him], I say that this understanding truly preserves the fact that the Son is not [produced] from nothing, and it even truly preserves that the Son is “from” in the way that’s required for sonship’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., n. 102 (Vat. 4: 63.18-64.2): ‘Ad intellectum autem istius affirmativae qua dicitur “Filius est de substantia Patris”, secundum intellectum praedictum [viz., totalis intellectus huius sermonis “Filius est de substantia Patris” est iste: quod Filius est originatus a Patre ut consubstantialis ei], dico quod intellectus ille vere salvat quod Filius non sit de nihilo, — vere etiam salvat quod Filius est “de” sicut requiritur ad filiationem’.]

‘I explain the first point [viz., that the Son is not produced from nothing] like this: a “generated creature” is not [produced] from nothing because something in it (such as matter) pre-exists. Therefore, since the form is something in the composite and it is something in it that’s more perfect than its matter, if the form of something were to pre-exist and the matter were newly added to it so that it were informed by the pre-existent form, that very product would not be [produced] from nothing, for something in it pre-existed, and in fact something in it that’s more perfect than the matter which is normally pre-exists. Therefore, if the Son were not said to be [produced] from nothing “because his essence existed in the Father prior in the order of origin”, and if the essence were the quasi-matter in the Son’s generation, then how much more would the Son not be [produced] from nothing if the essence that ‘exists in the Father prior in origin’ were a quasi-form shared with the Son?’

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., n. 103 (Vat. 4: 64.3-13): ‘Primum declaro, quia “creatura genita” non est de nihilo, quia aliquid eius praeexsistit, ut materia. Ergo cum forma sit aliquid compositi et aliquid eius perfectius quam materia, si forma alicuius praeexsisteret et materia de novo adveniret et informaretur illa forma iam praeexsistente, ipsum productum non esset de nihilo, quia aliquid eius praeexstitisset, immo aliquid eius perfectius quam materia quae praeexsistit communiter. Ergo si Filius non diceretur esse de nihilo “quia essentia eius secundum ordinem originis praefuit in Patre”, et hoc si illa essentia esset quasi-materia generationis Fili, multo magis nec Filius erit de nihilo si illa essentia “prius origine exsistens in Patre” sit quasi-forma communicata Filio’.]

‘I explain the second point as follows, namely that in this way the term “from” suffices to preserve the nature of sonship, for in animated thing,s where there is paternity and filiation, we see that he who is the generator by his act is formally called the “father”. Or at least the act of proffering semen, and if he were a perfect agent, such that at the moment when he proffered his semen, he could instantly proffer his offspring, he would truly be a father even more perfectly than in the way where the entirety of all the intermediate changes is required. But here, in this act of proffering semen, that which was his substance (or in some way was something that belonged to him) is not matter, but rather is the quasi formal end-point, shared [with] or produced [in the product] by that act, just as there would be an offspring if it were instantly proffered from the Father. Therefore, because something of the substance of the generator is the end-point of his action, by which he is a father, this truly preserves the fact that the product is similar in nature and “comes to exist from his [father’s] substance”, so also this term “de” is truly enough to preserve the nature of being a father and a son, and because what “he proffered as an end-point” is the matter of a further change, this applies to the term “from” as it belongs to a father and a son’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., n. 104 (Vat. 4: 64.14-65.9): ‘Secundum declaro sic, scilicet quod istud “de” sufficiat ad rationem filiationis, quia in animatis, ubi est paternitas et filiatio, videamus quis sit ille actus per quem generans dicitur formaliter “pater”. Ille utique est actus decidendi semen, et si esset perfectum agens, ita quod nunc, quando decidit semen, posset immediate decidere prolem, vere esset pater, et multo perfectius quam modo sit, ubi requiruntur tot mutationes intermediae; sed nunc, in isto actu decidendi semen, illud quod erat substantia eius, vel aliquo modo aliquid eius, non est materia, sed est quasi terminus formalis, communicatus sive productus per istum actum, sicut esset proles si immediate decideretur a patre; ergo quod aliquid substantiae generantis sit terminus actionis suae, qua est pater, hoc vere salvat productum simile in natura “esse de substantia eius”, sic ut ipsum “de” vere sufficit ad rationem patris et filii, — et quod illud “decisum ut terminus” sit materia sequentium transmutationum, hoc accidit ipsi “de” ut convenit patri et filio’.]

‘Therefore, the eternal Father, not by proffering some part of himself but rather by sharing his whole essence, such that it is the formal end-point of that production, he most truly produces a Son from himself, in the way in which the term “from” pertains to a father and a son. And although the essence would be here as “that from which” as from quasi-matter, the term “from” does not make something have the character of a father, just as neither in creatures if the generator had his semen both for the formal end-point and for the material of his action, he would not be “father” insofar as his semen were the material subject of his action but rather insofar as it were the end-point of that action, just like how if a created father were to instantly proffer a son from himself, he would truly be a father, because that which would be proffered from him would be the end-point of his action, but it would not be matter in any way’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.2.un., n. 105 (Vat. 4: 65.10-20): ‘Ergo Pater aeternus, non decidendo aliquid sui sed totam essentiam sui communicando, et hoc ut formalem terminum illius productionis, verissime producit Filium de se, eo modo quo esse “de” pertinet ad patrem et filium; et licet esset ibi essentia “de qua” sicut de quasi-materia, illud “de” non faceret aliquid ad rationem patris, — sicut nec in creaturis si generans haberet semen suum et pro termino formali et pro materia suae actionis, non esset “pater” in quantum semen suum esset materia subiecta suae actioni sed in quantum esset terminus illius actionis, quemadmodum et si pater creatus immediate decideret a se filium, vere esset pater, quia illud quod esset de ipso, esset terminus actionis, nullo autem modo materia’.]

Scotus on the formal end-point of production (translation)

2009-06-13T09:43:00.004-04:00

From the Lectura

‘I say that in creatures, there is something that is produced, and that’s the primary end-point of production — it is the whole composite that is primarily produced or generated, just as the Philosopher proves in Metaphysics VII [1033b16-18]. Similarly, there is something that’s formally in the product which is produced, and this is the formal nature under which the production ends. This is the formal end-point of production, and it is the form of the product. So in one sense, the form truly ends the production . . . . the form truly is an end-point of production, even though the primary and adequate end-point is the composite itself’.

[Scotus, Lect. 1.5.1.un., nn. 27-28 (Vat. 16: 420.8-22): ‘dico quod in creaturis est aliquid quod producitur, quod est primus terminus productionis, — et est totum compositum quod primo producitur et generatur, sicut probatur VII Metaphysicae; similiter, est aliquid formale in producto quod producitur, quod est formalis ratio sub qua terminat productionem, et est formalis terminus productionis, et haec est forma producti. Et quod sic forma uno modo vere terminat productionem . . . . forma vere est terminus productionis, sed tamen terminus primus adaequatus est ipsum compositum’.]

From the Ordinatio

‘I say that a production has the product for its primary end-point, and I call this “primary end-point” here an adequate end-point. In this way, the Philosopher says in Metaphysics VII [1033b16-18] that the whole composite is what is primarily produced or generated, for it is what primarily gets its existence from the production, and this is adequate [for there to be a production]. Nevertheless, the form in the composite is the formal end-point of generation, but this is not an incidental end-point, as is apparent from the Philosopher’s comment in Physics II [193b12-18] where he proves that a form is a nature: “generation is natural because it is the way into nature, but since it is the way into form, etc.” That argument would mean nothing if the form were only an incidental end-point of generation’.

[Scotus, Ord. 1.5.1.un., nn. 27-29 (Vat. 4: 25.13-26.9): ‘dico quod productio habet productum pro termino suo primo, et dico hic “primum terminum” terminum adaequatum; et hoc modo dicit Philosophus VII Metaphysicae quod compositum primo generatur, quia est quod primo habet esse per productionem, hoc est adaequatum. In composito tamen forma est formalis terminus generationis, non autem terminus per accidens, sicut apparet per Philosophum II Physicorum, ubi probat formam esse naturam per hoc quod “generatio est naturalis quia est via in naturam, est autem via in formam, ergo etc.”, — quae ratio nulla esset si forma tantum esset terminus per accidens generationis’.]

Avicenna on the emanation of the universe

2009-05-20T06:21:00.002-04:00

Here's a translation I did of Avicenna's Metaphysics (Al-Shifa) book 9, chapter 4. That's the place Avicenna describes the emanation of the universe from God. It's a facing page translation, with the critical Latin text.

Avicenna, Meta. 9.4

Matter

2009-04-22T07:58:00.003-04:00

Lots of people know of Aristotle's and Aquinas's theories that matter is the substratum of change, that it is 'pure potentiality', that it cannot exist without form, and so forth. Henry of Ghent, Scotus, and Ockham have a very different view of matter.

Roughly speaking, matter is the basic stuff that all material substances are ultimately composed of. For instance, although animals are composed of organic tissue, tissue is composed of cells, and so forth, at rock bottom there’s a fundamental kind of stuff that all material substances are ultimately made from. This basic stuff is called ‘matter’, and the earth is filled with it.

Matter is not, as we might imagine today, just another name for atoms or quarks or whatever other sort of particle we think is the fundamental building block of material bodies. Matter cannot be broken down into fundamental ‘particles’ or indivisible parts. It’s more like an amorphous kind of stuff that can always be divided into smaller and smaller parts, similar to the way that a line can always be divided into shorter segments.

But matter is ‘amorphous’ in the sense that it does not have any form itself — it is not, that is, itself a composite of matter and form. Rather, matter is a purely receptive sort of material that can be made into different kinds of material substances.

This is not to say that matter is a ‘bare substrate’, as it were, that has no features of its own. On the contrary, matter is real stuff; it has parts (as I’ve already indicated), and it exists in space. Ockham even thinks matter is extended in three dimensions. (Scotus denies that matter is extended, but he still thinks it exists in particular places, perhaps similar to the way that electrons have no dimensions but still exist here or there.)

Further matter has specific features. It is the foundation for relations, and it has the capacity to take on substantial forms. More precisely, there is a discrete power that exists in matter to receive each different kind of substantial form. So there is a power p1 to receive the form of fire, a power p2 to receive the form of water, and so forth for every substantial form that matter can receive. (Matter has no powers to receive accidental forms.)

Nor is matter just ‘pure potentiality’ — i.e., a mere abstraction of the potential in material substances to be transformed into different substances. Henry, Scotus, and Ockham all believe that God could create a lump of matter without any forms, so matter is at least the sort of thing that in principle can exist all by itself.

Aquinas denies all this, I think. He explicitly says that matter cannot exist without form, and even God cannot create matter all by itself, without a form. Matter does not have any features of its own except that it is a 'pure potentiality'. (I don't know if Aquinas thinks matter has parts or exists in places. I wouldn't think so, but I don't know.)

Still, it’s difficult to imagine what a lump of matter is like, even on the views of Henry, Scotus, and Ockham. As I’ve already hinted, the best we can do is imagine an amorphous blob. But even that’s not quite right, and there’s a reason for this. Medieval Aristotelians believe that we can only know things through their forms, so we cannot imagine something that doesn’t have some particular form.

But just because we can’t imagine it does not mean that it’s not there. As our authors see it, matter must exist because we see material substances coming to be and passing away all the time, and given the hypothesis that change requires a recipient, there must be something there that gains and loses the forms that constitute those material substances.

(Besides, say Henry, Scotus, and Ockham, God isn't limited to knowledge by forms, and he has a proper 'idea' of matter -- and that means that matter has a nature; i.e., it has essential properties that define just like every other kind of entity.)

Per se unity 2

2009-04-13T14:46:00.001-04:00

Here are some more thoughts on 'per se unity'. I had a post on this earlier.

For Aristotle, change occurs when a subject x acquires a form F. There are, however, two broad types of change: substantial change, and accidental change.

In substantial change, the subject is a lump of matter, and the form is a substantial form. The matter and substantial form together constitute a substance (e.g., Socrates' matter and a substantial form constitute the human person Socrates).

In accidental change, on the other hand, the subject is a substance, and the form is an accidental form (e.g., when Socrates goes to the beach and gets a tan, Socrates is the subject, and his tan color is an accidental form).

According to Aristotle, matter and a substantial form have 'substantial unity' (or 'per se unity', as it's also called), and a substance and its accident has 'accidental unity'. And for Aristotle, the constituents in a substantial unity are tied together much more tightly than those in an accidental unity. For instance, the matter and form in Socrates are tied together more tightly than Socrates and his tan color.

But as far as I can see, it's very difficult to identify the precise way that a substantial unity is tighter than an accidental unity. In both cases, the constituents are related to each other in many of the same ways. Consider the following.

(1) In both cases, the subject can survive the gain and loss of the form. For instance, Socrates can lose his tan, but Socrates' matter can likewise lose his human form.

(2) In both cases, the form can only exist by inhering in a subject. An accident like a tan color can only exist when it inheres in a subject (like Socrates), but Aristotle thinks that applies to substantial forms too: Socrates' human form can only exist when it inheres in a lump of matter.

(The Christian scholastics believe human forms can survive the death of their bodies, but that's a special case. We can easily use a different example to make the same point: even the Christian scholastics believe that Beulah the cow's substantial form can only exist in a lump of matter.)

(3) In both cases, the identity of the composite depends on the identity of its constituents. For Aristotle, Socrates would be destroyed if his matter and form were separated, but 'tan-Socrates' also cannot survive if its constituents are separated: 'tan-Socrates' ceases to exist when Socrates loses his tan.

(4) In both cases, the subject and the form are related in terms of potentiality and actuality. For instance, Socrates' matter has the potential to have a human form, and Socrates' human form actualizes that potential. Likewise, Socrates has the potential to be tan, and his tan color actualizes that potential too.

So for both accidental and substantial unities, the form actualizes a potential in the subject, the form can only exist by inhering in the subject, the subject can survive the loss of the form, and the subject and the form together constitute a unity that cannot survive if the subject and the form are taken apart. In what way, then, are substantial unities 'tighter' than accidental unities? I don't know.

It's tempting to say that while Socrates' tan color is tied to Socrates only 'accidentally' (i.e., 'loosely'), a human substantial form is tied to Socrates essentially (i.e., much more 'tightly'). But this does not help, for it equivocates on the meaning of 'Socrates'.

When we say the tan color is accidental to Socrates, we are taking Socrates as the subject of the tan color. But when we say a human substantial form is essential to Socrates, we are taking Socrates as the composite of a subject (matter) and a form.

Thus, although Socrates is the subject of his tan color, Socrates is not the subject of his substantial form. Rather, Socrates' matter is the subject of his substantial form. So while it's true that Socrates' tan color is accidental to its subject (Socrates), it's also true that Socrates' human form is accidental to its subject (Socrates' matter).

Similarly, although Socrates is the composite of which his substantial form is an essential component, Socrates is not the composite of which his tan color is an essential component. Rather, 'tan-Socrates' is the composite of which the tan color is an essential component. So while it's true that Socrates' human form is an essential component of the composite Socrates, it's also true that Socrate's tan color is an essential component of the composite 'tan-Socrates'.

Thus, we need to be careful when we talk about how constituents are 'essential' or 'accidental' to their subjects and/or composites. In both cases, the forms are accidental to their subjects, but essential to their composites.

Avicenna on necessity and possibility

2009-04-09T17:18:00.001-04:00

Avicenna famously says that God is 'necessary in himself', while all creatures are both 'possible in themselves' and 'necessary from another'.

There are two distinctions here.

1. The first distinction is between something that is 'necessary in itself' and something that is 'possible in itself'. God is 'necessary in himself', while everything else is 'possible in itself'.

It would be a mistake to interpret this as a distinction between necessary and contingent beings, as if that which is 'necessary in itself' exists in every possible world, while that which is 'possible in itself' exists in some but not all worlds.

This would be wrong not only because Avicenna doesn't believe in possible worlds (for Avicenna, there are no possible worlds -- just the one, necessary world), but also because Avicenna thinks everything that is 'possible in itself' is produced necessarily. Since anything that's produced necessarily would exist in every possible world, it would be incoherent to also say that it would exist in some but not all worlds.

(Averroes thinks Avicenna is suggesting just that, so he accuses Avicenna of incoherence. But Averroes' interpretation is incorrect.)

So we should not think that to be 'possible in itself' means to be 'contingent'. Rather, we should take it to mean just what Avicenna says: that which is 'necessary in itself' exists without being produced, while that which is 'possible in itself' exists because it is produced.

And that, I think, is the bottom line. That's all that Avicenna means when he talks about being 'necessary in itself' and 'possible in itself'. There's nothing there about modality.

Now, Avicenna says some other things about being 'necessary' or 'possible in itself', but I don't think they take away from my point. They are as follows.

(a) Something is 'necessary in itself' if its non-existence entails a contradiction. In other words, something that is 'necessary in itself' is the sort of thing that simply must exist. Consequently, it exists on its own, so it need not, and in fact it cannot, be produced. (It just exists on its own, and you can't produce what already exists.)

(b) By contrast, if something is produced, then it cannot be 'necessary in itself'. If it were 'necessary in itself', then it would exist on its own, so it could not be produced. But since it is produced, it must not be 'necessary in itself'.

(c) Further, since it's produced, it must not be 'impossible in itself', for impossible things cannot exist at all.

(d) Its existence, then, must be within the bounds of possibility. So it is 'possible in itself'.

But as I said, I don't see how any of that takes away from the basic point: for Avicenna, to be 'necessary in itself' means to exist without being produced, and to be 'possible in itself' means to exist because its produced. And that's all it means.

Some people talk as if Avicenna thinks there is a realm of 'possibles' standing in front of God, and God chooses what to actualize.

But I don't think that's right either. Avicenna uses the word 'possible' only because that which is produced is neither 'necessary' nor 'impossible' in itself, and the only word left is 'possible'. But unfortunately, the word 'possible' suggests contingency, a realm of 'possibles', etc.

I think a better label would be 'not necessary in itself'. Avicenna's real point is just that a product is produced; it's not the sort of thing that just exists without being produced. As Aquinas nicely puts it in Sent. 1.8.3.2: 'That which acquires its existence from another does not exist necessarily in itself, as Avicenna proves'.

So to say that something is 'necessary in itself' means nothing more than that it exists without being produced, and to say that something is 'possible in itself' means nothing more than that it exists because it is produced. That's it. No modality here.

2. The second distinction, however, does have to do with modality. This is a distinction between something that is produced necessarily and something that is produced contingently (or, in Avicenna's terminology, between what is 'necessary from another' and what is 'possible from another').

For those who believe in possible worlds, we could put the point like this: a product is 'necessary from another' if it's produced in every possible world, but it is 'possible from another' if it's produced in some but not all worlds.

Note that just because something is produced does not entail whether it is produced necessarily or contingently. To put it in terms of possible worlds again, a product might be produced in every world, or it might be produced only in some.

This is why I say that the distinction between being 'necessary' or 'possible in itself' is not a distinction between necessary and contingent beings. It is just a distinction between being produced or unproduced. The distinction between being necessary or contingent comes up here, i.e., in the distinction between being 'necessary' or 'possible from another'.

For reasons I don't want to go into here, I should note that Avicenna's distinction between being 'necessary' or 'possible from another' is only a logical distinction. Avicenna believes that every product is produced necessarily, so there is nothing that is genuinely contingent in Avicenna's universe. So the distinction is just logical.

Nevertheless, the point still stands: to be produced is one thing, and to be produced necessarily or contingently is another. Again, to put it in terms of possible worlds, a product cannot exist in a world all by itself: if it exists in a world, it must exist with its producer. But that says nothing about how many worlds a product exists in. It might exist in none (if it was never produced), it might exist in some if it's produced contingently), or it might exist in all (if it's produced necessarily).

Obviously, the distinction between being 'necessary' and 'possible from another' only applies to products. It cannot apply to something that is 'necessary in itself', for such things are not produced, so there's no option to be produced 'necessarily' or 'contingently'. Only products can be produced 'necessarily' or 'contingently'.

Consequently, anything that exists without being produced has only the one feature: that of being 'necessary in itself', while anything that is produced has two features: that of being 'possible in itself', and that of being 'necessary' or 'possible from another'.

William of Ware: a lesser mind?

2009-02-27T13:24:00.004-05:00

Medieval philosophy does not consist only of Anselm, Aquinas, Scotus, and Ockham. There were many, many more philosophers back then. But not all of them were anywhere near as sharp as those I just mentioned.

Scotus's alleged teacher is a character by the name of William of Ware. I don't really know much about William except that he followed Henry of Ghent's claim that the divine essence is like the quasi-matter or subject of the Son's generation. And I only know this because I read about it in an article.

So I was re-reading that article the other day, and for the first time I decided to pay attention to one of the quotations from William (before I had always just skipped over it). This paragraph struck me as such a bad piece of philosophy that it made me think William might be one of those lesser minds that are simply not as bright as the Anselms and the Ockhams. Maybe I'm wrong about this; I've only read this one little paragraph. But I had the thought nonetheless.

Here's the paragraph. William writes:

'In book 5 of The Physics, the Philosopher argues as follows to show that generation is not motion: "what is moved, is; what is generated, is not; therefore, generation is not motion". In the first premise, the word "what" is taken subjectively for the subject of motion. Therefore, it must be taken in the same way in the second premise, for if it were taken to refer to the end point of the generation [i.e., the substance that's generated], then there would be a variation in the argument, and it would not go through'. [Vienna, 1424, fol. 29vb]

The implied conclusion here is that the subject of generation -- i.e., matter -- is generated. Let me explain this in more detail.

Aristotle tries to distinguish generation and motion on the grounds that generation causes something that didn't exist to come into being, and motion causes something that already exists to move. The thrust of the quotation from Physics 5 is clearly that what's generated didn't exist before, while what's moved did.

But William looks at the logical form of the argument. Here it is:

(1) What is moved, exists [before the motion].
(2) What is generated, does not exist [before the generation].
(3) Therefore, generation is not motion.

As William points out, this argument is only valid if the term 'what' stands for the same thing in both (1) and (2). If it stands for different things in (1) and (2), then it commits the fallacy of equivocation.

Now, on a standard scholastic-Aristotelian analysis, motion and generation are both types of change. A change occurs when something x acquires a new property F that it didn't have before.

Motion fits this definition because an object moves when it acquires a new place, and so the object is x, and its new place is the acquired F. Generation also fits this definition because a living organism is generated when a lump of matter acquires a substantial form, so the lump of matter is x and its new form is the acquired F.

With this in mind, William points out that in premise (1), the term 'what' clearly stands for x, i.e., the subject that acquires a new F (where, in the case of motion, x is the object that moves, and F is the new place it moves to). But since 'what' in premise (2) has to stand for the same thing, it must also stand for x, i.e., the subject that acquires a new F (where, in the case of generation, x is the lump of matter, and F is the form it acquires).

So if we substitute the subjects of motion and generation for 'what' in (1) and (2), we get this:

(1*) The object that is moved, exists [before the motion].
(2*) The lump of matter that is generated, does not exist [before the generation].

William then looks at (2*) and infers that a lump of matter is generated, for (2*) states that the lump of matter did not exist before the generation, whereas (1*) states that an object that's moved does exist before it's moved.

So the conclusion here, as William sees it, is that matter is generated. (Or, to put it slightly more generally: the subject of a generation is itself generated.)

Now, that, it seems to me, is absolutely crazy. Apparently, William is here taking an argument from Aristotle so literally (in terms of its logical form) that he reaches a very un-Aristotelian conclusion. One of the foundational claims of Aristotelian philosophy is precisely that every change (even generation) requires a substrate or subject that persists throughout the change. If you claim that the subject of a generation is itself generated (as William is here), you have traveled very far from Aristotle indeed.

Surely William can see this. You would think that instead of denying a fundamental Aristotelian claim, he would instead say that Aristotle's argument is (at worst) either invalid or (at best) not to be taken so literally.

And indeed, the argument is, in fact, invalid. Premise (1) states that the subject of motion exists before the motion (or at least independently of the motion), while premise (2) states that the product of generation (i.e., the whole organism that's generated) does not exist before the generation (or at least not independently of the generation). But those two claims in no way entail the conclusion (3) that motion is not generation. So William could have had a nice point here if he would have just shown that Aristotle's argument is invalid when taken too literally.

But instead of doing that, William took the crazy route. Bad scholastic philosophy, if you ask me. As I said above, this is an example of the lesser minds you can find in medieval philosophy. The better minds like Scotus and Ockham would never even dream of such bad philosophizing.

Per se unity

2009-02-25T05:55:00.004-05:00

The scholastics often follow Aristotle in saying that the matter and form in a living organism have 'per se unity'. What's that?

Well, the basic idea is that different ingredients can be tied together more or less loosely. Consider the following cases.

(i) Items in a pile of trash are tied together extremely loosely. It doesn't take a lot of force to separate them, and the items aren't held together in a pile because they each have some intrinsic power to join together.

(ii) Socrates and his pale color are tied together more tightly than a trash pile, but not so tightly that they can't be taken apart, so to speak. After all, Socrates can get a tan, in which case Socrates and his pale color are no longer together. It doesn't necessarily take a lot of force to separate them, for natural processes like getting a tan can do the job; we don't need God stepping in here. Also, Socrates and his pale color do have intrinsic powers to join together. Socrates has the (passive) power to be pale, for example.

(iii) Matter and form are supposed to be tied together far more tightly than either of the previous two scenarios. The way that matter and form come together to form 'one thing' is, for the Aristotelians, a paradigm case of unity. But like case (ii), it doesn't necessarily take a lot of force (like God) to separate matter and form, for natural processes like copulation and decomposition can do the job. And like case (ii), matter and form do have intrinsic powers to join together. Matter, for example, has the (passive) power to acquire a form.

The problem is, it's incredibly difficult to define 'per se unity', at least for the scholastics (it's also difficult for Aristotle, but I'm not interested in that here). There are a number of difficulties here.

I can define accidental unity like this: when a substance x (like Socrates) and an accident F (like his pale color) are tied together, x can survive the gain and loss of F. In other words, F does not determine the identity or persistence conditions of x. So x and F are tied together loosely enough that they can separated without x being destroyed.

One is then tempted to say that per se unity occurs when some x and F are tied together so tightly that they can't survive being taken apart. But that doesn't work. Here are some counter examples.

(a) Living organisms gain and lose matter all the time. Particles are constantly flying out of and into me, and biological cells are continually dying and being regenerated. I see no reason why an organism can't survive a total replacement of its matter. Aristotle, I think, says this somewhere (though I can't remember where, and I may be mis-remembering this fact). The scholastics also think so, but for an additional reason: they believe the body is restored (replaced?) after death, and most believe that God could miraculously replace a sick person's heart with a new, healthy heart, so mutatis mutandis for the whole body.

(b) Matter can survive the loss of a form, and indeed this is what happens in every normal case of change down here on earth. For example, when water is turned into steam, the scholastics (following Aristotle) would say that a chunk of matter first has the form of water, and then it loses that water-form and acquires a steam-form; but the matter is the very same throughout the whole process. As with all Aristotelian changes, the matter (by definition) persists throughout the change.

(c) For the scholastics, the soul can survive the loss of its body. They believe the soul survives for a time without its body, after it dies. Right now I have my body, but when I die, my soul gets separated from my body, and then it gets reacquainted (over coffee, probably) with a body in heaven.

So matter and form aren't inseparable. For all intensive purposes, it looks to me like they're tied together in exactly the same way that a substance and an accident is. Matter can survive the gain and loss of a form, and a form (like the human soul) can survive the gain and loss of matter.

Aquinas on the origination relations of the Son and Spirit

2009-02-22T10:37:00.001-05:00

According to Aquinas’s argument thus far, if the Son and Spirit are distinct, then they must have opposite features. The only kinds of opposite features they can have are the correlative features of ‘being the producer of’ and ‘being the product of’ that arise from instances of origination.

Consequently, if the Son and Spirit are distinct, they must each have one of those features. So if we take this argument seriously, Aquinas is saying that all three persons must be distinguished by the features 'being the producer of' and 'being the product of'. Those are the only options. So each divine person must either be the producer of, or produced by, another person.

This goes for the Son and Spirit too. If they are to be distinguished from each other, one must be the producer, and one must be the product. But which is which? Is the Son the producer, or is it the Spirit?

Aquinas simply says that the Son must be the producer of the Spirit, not the other way around, for nobody says that the Spirit produces the Son. Rather, everybody says that the Spirit is given by and from the Son.

Aquinas may be referring to Anselm here. In De processione 15.2 (Schmitt, 215), Anselm argues that either the Son is produced by the Son, or the Son is produced by the Spirit, and since nobody thinks the Son is produced by the Spirit, then it must be that the Son produces the Spirit. Henry of Harclay, when commenting on this particular argument in Aquinas, thinks Aquinas is just plain quoting Anselm here. And that may be.

But in any case, we have finally reached the end of this first argument for the Filioque in the SCG. Whew.

Aquinas on what kinds of correlatives distinguish the Son and Spirit

2009-02-12T18:31:00.002-05:00

It's been some time since I've posted, as I've been busy writing a paper on Arius and Athanasius. That's pretty much done now, so I can jump back into what I've been posting about for the last couple of months, namely one of Aquinas's argument from the Summa Contra Gentiles on the filioque. This argument is fairly complicated, so I've been posting on it for some time now.

Up to this point, Aquinas has argued that spirits can only be distinguished as opposites, and the only kinds of opposite features that can distinguish the Son and Spirit are correlative opposites (like 'double' and 'half', or 'father' and 'son'). But then Aquinas wonders which kind of correlative opposites distinguish the Son and Spirit. In the last post, I explained that Aquinas says there are two basic kinds of correlatives: sameness-correlatives and action-correlatives. Sameness-correlatives are 'being the same as' (or 'being different from') with respect to substance (i.e., identity and distinction relations), quantity (equality and inequality relations), or quality (similarity and dissimilarity relations). Action-correlatives obtain between things that do an action and things that have that action done to them. Okay, so that's where we got to last time. Let's move on.

Given these two kinds of correlatives, which kind applies to the Son and Spirit? Aquinas says the first kind (sameness-correlatives) doesn't apply. Long before Aquinas’s day, Augustine established that the Father, Son, and Spirit must all be the same in substance, quantity, and quality. That is, they are all the same substance (they are all the very same God), they are all equal in magnitude or greatness, and they are all qualitatively similar (all have the same divine attributes).

Aquinas accepts this Augustinian rule, and so the divine persons can’t be different in any of those ways. Consequently, they can’t be opposites in any of those ways either. If two things are the same, they’re not opposites. Cicero and Tully are not opposite substances because they’re the same substance; two 10kg blocks are not opposite in weight because they have the same weight; and two white objects are not opposite in color because they’re the same color. So the divine persons are not opposites with respect to sameness-correlatives.

That leaves the second kind of correlatives, i.e., those based on action. But here, Aquinas makes an odd statement:

When it comes to correlatives based on action or passion, one of the pair of correlatives is in a subject that’s unequal in power [to that of the other’s subject]. The only exception are correlatives based on origination, for there nothing is designated as the ‘lesser’. Rather, in cases of origination, we find something that produces another which is similar and equal to it in nature and power.

Aquinas seems to be saying that most of the time, when one thing acts on another, one of them has more power than the other. But there’s a special case where this doesn’t happen, and that’s called ‘origination’. In cases of origination, one thing produces another, and the producer and the product are the same kinds of things (similar in ‘nature’, as Aquinas puts it), and they have the same degree of power.

What I don’t get about this is the claim that an action always involves one thing that has more power than another. What about when living organisms beget offspring? In those cases, Aquinas is happy to say that the producer and the product are the same kinds of things, and so they would also be equal in power. Humans are humans, and they have the exact some innate powers, irrespective of whether they’re fathers or sons.

Perhaps Aquinas is thinking about the raw materials that a producer uses to make a product. Raw materials don’t have any of the powers they have once they’re fashioned into a product (raw steel isn’t drive-able, but a car is), and so of course the producer has more power than the raw materials it uses to make a product. Or maybe Aquinas is thinking of offspring that need to develop their powers. Human zygotes don’t initially have the same powers as their parents. They have to develop those powers.

More generally, perhaps Aquinas is thinking that every action involves an agent and a patient, where the agent has active powers (powers to do something), and the patient has passive powers (powers to have something done to it). Thus, for every standard case of action down here on earth, the agent is more powerful than the patient.

But if that’s right, then Aquinas thinks ‘origination’ is a very specific kind of production that occurs only in the Trinity. Natural generation here on earth would not count as ‘origination’. Only in the Trinity is the producer and the product totally equal in power, for that’s the only instance of production that doesn’t involve any ‘moment’ when the patient (an underdeveloped product or the raw materials) has less power than the producer.

There might be something else going on here too. In most cases of production, producers cause their products to come to exist. That is, products depend on their producers for their existence. One would think that this applies in the Trinity too. If the Father produces the Son, then surely the Son depends on the Father for his existence.

However, the Son is supposed to have aseity -- and part of what it means to have aseity is not to depend on anything for existence. How then, can the Son both have aseity and be produced? This is a difficult issue, and I don’t intend to go into it here. The point is just that Aquinas might be thinking that products normally don’t have aseity, but in the divine case, the products (the Son and Spirit) do have aseity, and so he uses a special word -- ‘origination’ -- to talk about that special kind of divine production.

Still, that seems a stretch. Aquinas makes no mention of aseity or existential dependence here. Instead, he talks about the producer and the product being the same in kind and power. So I would think my former comments about power are closer to the mark.

In any case, Aquinas concludes from this that ‘origination’ is the only action that applies to the Son and Spirit, and so the only kinds of correlatives that can apply here are those based on origination. And presumably, these correlatives are the features of ‘being the producer of’ and ‘being the product of’ for an instance of origination. Finally, then, Aquinas has identified the opposite features in question. These are the features that distinguish the Son and Spirit.

Aquinas on different kinds of correlatives

2009-01-16T21:02:00.003-05:00

Aquinas says that the Son and Spirit are opposites, but we can ask: what kinds of opposites are they? In the last post, I explained why Aquinas thinks that of Aristotle's four kinds of opposites, the Son and Spirit are only opposites in the way that correlatives are opposites. However, there are different kinds of correlatives, so Aquinas needs to say something about the different kinds of correlatives.

To that end, Aquinas says that correlatives come in two kinds: those based on ‘quantity’, and those based on ‘action’. (Note that Aquinas surely has book 5 of Aristotle's Metaphysics in mind here.) Let’s look at each in turn.

(a) Quantity. The term ‘quantity’ is a little misleading in this context, and Aquinas's comments ehre can be a little obscure. Here's the stuff to keep in mind. Instead of ‘quantity’, it would probably be more helpful to talk about ‘sameness’ and ‘difference’. Let me explain.

Whenever two things are the same in some way, they are said to be ‘one’ in that way. For example, Socrates and Plato are the same kinds of things: they are both humans. Thus, we can say that they are ‘one in kind’. In this sense, sameness is based on situations where two things are ‘one’ in some way.

But when two things are different in some way, they are said to be ‘many’ in that way. Socrates and Felix the cat, for example, are different kinds of things. One is a human, and the other is a cat. Thus, we can say that they are ‘many in kind’ (in the sense that there are many (more than one) kinds of things there). In this sense, difference is based on situations where two things are ‘many’ in some way.

Now, talking about ‘one’ and ‘many’ makes it sound as if we’re talking about quantities — either one or many — and so Aquinas (following Aristotle) classes this kind of sameness and difference under the broad heading of ‘quantity’. But really, he is thinking of two things being the same (being ‘one’) or different (being ‘many’) in some way.

Aquinas next points out that there are only three ways that something can be ‘one’ or ‘many’ (same or different).

(i) First, two things can be the same or different with respect to substance. This is what the medievals (and us too) call identity and distinction. That is, when some x and y are they very same thing, they are identical, but when they are two things, then they’re distinct. For example, Cicero and Tully are identical, for ‘Cicero’ and ‘Tully’ are just two names for one and the same person. But Cicero and Plato are distinct, because Cicero and Plato are two separate persons.

(ii) Second, two things can be the same or different with respect to quantity. This is what the medievals (and us too) call equality and inequality. Note that here Aquinas is talking about ‘quantity’ in the strict sense (as in, the second of Aristotle’s categories). When two things are the same size/weight/some other quantity, then they are equal with respect to quantity, but otherwise they’re unequal. For example, two 10kg blocks are equal in weight, but a 10kg block and a 5kg block are unequal in weight.

(iii) Third, two things can be the same or different with respect to quality. This is what the medievals (and us too) call similarity and dissimilarity. When two things are the same in color, temperature, or some other quality, then they are similar with respect to quality, but otherwise they’re dissimilar with respect to quality. For example, the white table in my kitchen and the white walls in my living room are similar in color, but black cows and red cows are dissimilar in color.

At this particular point in his text then, when Aquinas talks about correlatives that are founded on ‘quantity’, he is talking about two things being ‘one’ or ‘many’ (same or different) in one of these three ways. Aquinas does not always talk about ‘quantity’ correlatives like this. More frequently, he talks about ‘quantity’ in the stricter sense, in which case he is talking about equality and inequality (type (ii) above). Here, I’ll just say ‘sameness-correlatives’ when I mean the broader kind based on ‘one’ and ‘many’, and I’ll reserve the word ‘quantity’ for the strict sense that pertains to equality and inequality.

(b) Action. The second kind of correlative is based on action. These sorts of correlatives occur between two things where one acts in some way on the other. In these cases, one thing x acts on another thing y, and a specific relationship occurs between the two that is based on that action.

Aquinas gives ‘mover’ and ‘moved’ as an example. When one thing moves another, there is a reciprocal relationship there: one thing does the moving, and the other gets moved. The mover/moved relationship is based on the mover’s activity that causes the movement.

Aquinas also gives ‘master’ and ‘slave’ as an example. The idea is that a master/slave relationship is based on the activity of governing and being governed: the master governs the slave, and the slave is governed by the master. Another example Aquinas gives is ‘father’ and ‘son’, for the father/son relationship is based on the father’s reproductive activity that brought the son into being: the father does the producing, and the son is produced.

Aquinas on what kind of opposites the Son and Spirit are

2009-01-15T19:00:00.003-05:00

In the last post, I talked about Aquinas's claim that all distinct spirits are opposites. He wants to use this to show that the Son and Spirit are distinct by opposites too. To do so, he goes through Aristotle's four kinds of opposites (see my earlier posts on that), and he argues that of Aristotle’s four kinds of opposites, only the first (viz., correlatives) applies to the Son and Spirit. To see this, let’s start with contradictions and work our way backwards.

(d) First then, are contradictions. Aquinas claims that the Son and Spirit are not opposites by contradiction. That is, the Son and Spirit are not opposites in the way that ‘Socrates is sitting’ and ‘Socrates is not sitting’ are. Why not? One obvious reason is this: the Son and Spirit are not sentences, and contradictions only apply to sentences. But that’s not what Aquinas says. Instead, he says that a contradiction distinguishes ‘beings’ from ‘non-beings’.

By ‘beings’ and ‘non-beings’, Aquinas has in mind the beings that affirmative and negative statements describe. An affirmative statement asserts that some state of affairs exists. A negative statement, by contrast, asserts that some state of affairs does not exist. Thus, affirmative statements describe ‘being(s)’, and negative statements describe ‘non-being(s)’.

Okay, so affirmative and negative statements describe states of affairs that do and do not exist. But why should that mean the Son and Spirit can’t be distinguished by contradiction? Unfortunately, Aquinas says no more than what I’ve already said, namely that the Son and Spirit aren’t distinguished by contradiction because contradiction distinguishes ‘beings’ and ‘non-beings’. Apparently, he thinks the conclusion is obvious, but it takes some explaining (it does for me, anyways).

Consider the following. Can’t I say that ‘the Son is begotten by the Father’ and ‘the Spirit is not begotten by the Father’? Wouldn’t that be enough to distinguish them? Similarly, if I said ‘George Bush Jr. is the President of the United States’ and ‘I am not the President of the United States’, wouldn’t that be enough to distinguish myself from the President?

Well, the problem here is that these are faux contradictions. Both pairs of statements are true, so they don’t count as contradictions, strictly speaking. As I explained in my previous post, contradictions are such that one of the sentences must be true and the other false. If two sentences are true, then there’s really no contradiction there.

Indeed, Bush Jr. really is the President, and I’m really not the President, and there’s nothing contradictory about that. Likewise, the Son really is begotten by the Father, and the Spirit really isn’t (he’s spirated, not begotten), and there’s nothing contradictory about that either.

A genuine contradiction would be this: ‘the Son is begotten by the Father’ and ‘the Son is not begotten by the Father’. Those two sentences are opposites by contradiction, not ‘the Son is begotten by the Father’ and ‘the Spirit is not begotten by the Father’. But the genuine contradiction can’t apply to the Son, for the false sentence is simply false. The Son is begotten, and that’s all we can say. But the Son being begotten says nothing about the Spirit. So genuine contradictions don’t really help us distinguish two things.

(c) Second, Aquinas says that the Son and Spirit are not distinguished by possession and deprivation. The reason is that possession and deprivation distinguish the perfect from the imperfect. Again, Aquinas says no more than this, for he assumes that the conclusion is obvious. And for me anyways, this time it is a little more obvious.

In this context, ‘perfection’ refers to fully realized potential, so something is ‘perfect’ only when it fully realizes its potential, and it’s ‘imperfect’ until its potential is fully realized. Possession and deprivation imply this sort of perfection and imperfection. A blind animal can’t realize its capacity to see, so it’s ‘imperfect’ with respect to sight. A seeing animal, on the other hand, is fully realizing its capacity for sight, so it’s ‘perfect’ with respect to sight.

In the Godhead, of course, nothing can be imperfect. There is no unrealized potential in God, so every divine person has everything it has the capacity for. Thus, there simply is no ‘deprivation’ in God, and therefore, there can’t be opposition between ‘possession’ and ‘deprivation’ in the Trinity. This kind of opposition is simply not possible in the divine case, so it can’t distinguish the Son and Spirit.

(b) Third, Aquinas says the Son and Spirit are not distinguished by contraries. As I explained above, contaries are non-relational features like ‘hot’ and ‘cold’ or ‘white’ and ‘black’. For Aquinas (and for Aristotle), these sorts of features are forms. Something is hot, for example, because it has the form of ‘heat’, and that form is what makes it hot.

Consequently, a difference between contraries amounts to a difference between forms. A hot thing and a cold thing differ with respect to hot and cold because one of them has the form of ‘heat’, and the other has the contrary form of ‘cold’.

For Aquinas though, there is just one form in God, and that’s the divine essence. The three persons all share that one divine-essence-form. Thus, the persons cannot differ by having different forms, and so the Son and Spirit cannot be opposites by having contrary forms.

(a) That leaves only correlatives. The Son and Spirit must, then, differ by having correlative features. As I explained above, correlatives are relational features that are reciprocal, like ‘double’ and ‘half’. So the Son and Spirit must each have a relational feature that is reciprocal with respect to the other’s relational feature.

However, there are lots of different kinds of correlatives, and so Aquinas still needs to show which kind of correlative the Son and Spirit differ by.

Aquinas on the distinction of spirits

2008-12-26T08:57:00.003-05:00

In the Summa Contra Gentiles, book 4, chapter 24, Aquinas provides a number of arguments for the filioque (i.e., the claim that the Spirit is produced by two divine persons, namely the Father and the Son). In one of those arguments (n. 8 in the Taurini 1961 edition), he makes the following claim:

In things where the material distinction is removed (and a material distinction cannot have any place in the divine persons), no two things are found to be distinguished unless by some opposition.

Here Aquinas is saying that when it comes to non-material things (let’s just call them spirits), the only distinction is one between opposites. That is, any two distinct spirits are opposites in some way. Let's formulate this claim like so:

(A1) For any spirits x and y, x and y are distinct iff x and y are opposites.

Right away, I’m skeptical. A1 states that all spirits are opposites, but why should we believe that? You and I are distinct, but we’re certainly not opposites. Why can’t two spirits be distinct like we are, without being opposites? The angels Gabriel and Michael are distinct, but are they opposites? If so, in what way?

To explain why spirits are always distinguished by opposition, Aquinas says the following:

Those things that have no opposition to each other can be in the same thing at the same time. Hence, no distinction can be caused by them. Whiteness and triangularity are diverse, but they’re not opposites, so they can belong to the same thing.

This requires some unpacking. There are three points here, and each needs to be separated. That way, we can more clearly see what Aquinas is actually saying here.

(a) The first point to clarify is based on the comment that whiteness and triangularity can exist together in the same thing. The assumption is that some features can simultaneously exist in the same thing, but others cannot. Some features have no disagreement and are perfectly happy to be together, but others just can’t be in the same room, so to speak. Let’s say that the former type are ‘compatible’, and the latter type are ‘incompatible’:

(A2) For any x and y, x and y are compatible iff x and y can exist simultaneously in some z.

(A3) For any x and y, x and y are incompatible iff there is no z in which x and y can exist simultaneously.

To use Aquinas’s own example, whiteness and triangularity are compatible because one and the same thing can be both white and triangular. And indeed, we see white triangles all the time, so whiteness and triangularity are clearly compatible in this way.

Incompatible things, on the other hand, aren’t like this. If I ask a group of people to take sides on capital punishment, that will break up the group: some will be for the death penalty, and others will be against it. These are incompatible viewpoints, so they have to be held by different individuals/groups.

(b) The second point to clarify is based on Aquinas’s comment that compatible features cannot be the cause of distinction. The claim here is that incompatible features can, but compatible features cannot, be the cause of distinction. What does Aquinas mean by ‘cause’ here? To answer this, we need to distinguish between what Aquinas calls an ‘efficient cause’ and a ‘formal cause’.

The efficient cause explains how something comes to exist, while the formal cause explains how something is the particular kind of thing it is. Thus, the efficient cause of some x is the agent that brings x into being, but the formal cause of x is x’s defining characteristics (or ‘formal characteristics’, as the medievals put it), for those are the characteristics that make x the sort of thing it is.

For example, the efficient cause of a clay statue is the sculptor, for that’s who made it. Without the sculptor’s activity, the statue wouldn’t exist. But the formal cause of the statue is its statue-shape, for that’s what makes it a statue. After all, if the sculptor gave the clay a vase-shape, that’d make it a vase, not a statue.

So does Aquinas think incompatible features are efficient or formal causes of distinction? Surely he doesn’t think they’re efficient causes. Taking sides on capital punishment divides people into two groups, but the viewpoints themselves don’t literally twist people’s arms and force them into two groups. As the saying goes, viewpoints don’t kill people, people kill people.

But the ‘for’ and ‘against’ viewpoints are formal causes of division. Their formal/defining characteristics are such that one and the same individual can’t hold both viewpoints simultaneously. Thus, they require separate advocates: one to take the ‘for’ side, and another to take the ‘against’ side.

Besides, features depend on the things they belong to, not the other way around. A sports car has the feature of being red, but its red color depends on the car for its existence; the car doesn't depend on its red color. After all, I could re-paint my car, and the car would still exist, but if I destroyed the car, any color it might have would cease to exist too.

Consequently, features can't be the efficient cause of distinction. Features come on the scene too late, as it were, to cause any distinctions. For this reason alone, incompatible features can’t be the efficient cause of distinction (though they can be the formal cause of distinction).
I take it, then, that Aquinas thinks incompatible features are the formal cause, not the efficient cause, of distinction. When he says that two incompatible features F and G are the ‘cause’ of distinction, he means F and G formally require distinct things. He doesn’t mean that F and G efficiently cause distinct things to come into being.

(Note that this seems to be a priori or ‘self evident’ in the sense that the consequence is included in the antecedent. Here, incompatible features are defined as features that can’t exist in the same thing (A3 above). But to say that incompatible features are the ‘formal cause’ of distinction is just to say that incompatible features can only exist in distinct things.)

(c) The third point that needs clarification focuses on Aquinas’s claim that two features are compatible so long as they’re not opposites. We need to be careful here. How wide is Aquinas casting this net? He’s supposed to be talking only about spirits, but his example of whiteness and triangularity is taken from the material world. So is Aquinas talking about any two features (be they spiritual or material), or is he only talking about spirit features? If it’s the former, then Aquinas is saying this:

(A4) For any features F and G, F and G are compatible iff F and G are not opposites.

But if it’s the latter, Aquinas is saying this:

(A4*) For any spirit features F and G, F and G are compatible iff F and G are not opposites.

These are very different claims. The fact that Aquinas talks about whiteness and triangularity makes it tempting to think that he is affirming the former claim (namely, A4). After all, spirits are neither white nor triangular, so it certainly appears as if Aquinas is thinking that this rule applies to more than just spirits.

The problem is, Aquinas thinks A4 isn’t always true. Individual material substances are incompatible according to A3, but they’re not opposites. Socrates and Plato, for example, obviously can’t exist in the same thing, but they’re not opposites. Thus, Aquinas should reject A4.

Perhaps he holds A4* instead. That would support his initial claim (A1 above) that all spirits are distinct because they’re opposites. But if that’s right, I still wonder why Aquinas uses whiteness and triangularity as an example. Maybe it’s just a bad example, and that’s all there is to it.

Now, it’s well known that for Aquinas, material beings are distinct because they occur in different lumps of matter, but angels are distinct because they belong to different species. For Aquinas, a species gets divided up into different individuals when its instantiated in different lumps of matter, roughly similar to the way a cookie cutter’s shape gets replicated when it’s stamped into different lumps of cookie dough. (So Socrates is the human-species ‘stamped’ into this lump of tissue, and Plato is the human-species ‘stamped’ into that lump of tissue.) But angels don’t have any matter, so any given angel-species can’t be replicated by being ‘stamped’ into different lumps of matter. Thus, each angel is the sole member of its species. Moreover, each angel just is its species, much like how there’s nothing but the cookie cutter’s shape if there aren’t any lumps of cookie dough to take on that shape.

Given this, we might think that Aquinas believes that although distinct material beings (in the same species) aren’t opposites, distinct species are opposites. That would support the initial claim (A1), for although Aquinas is willing to accept that material things are distinct without being opposites, there is no matter in the realm of angels, so the only distinction there is one between species, and species are distinct only because they’re opposites.

But if that’s right, then what is it that makes species opposites? Every species is a complex of a shared genus and a unique specific difference. For example, the human species is composed of animality (the genus that humans share with other animals), and rationality (the specific difference that belongs uniquely to humans, and so distinguishes humans from other animals). Thus, any opposition between species would have to occur between the specific differences. After all, the genus is shared, and shared things can’t be opposites. But does Aquinas really think that specific differences are opposites?

That seems to be the moral of the story here. Consider the human- and brute-species. These are distinct because the former has rationality and the latter does not. Rationality and irrationality seem to be opposites, so perhaps that makes sense. Maybe, then, Aquinas is using opposition to explain how species themselves are distinct.

Still, this leaves many questions unanswered. If specific differences are opposites, what, exactly, are opposites? How does one define ‘opposites’? Are there different kinds of opposites? If so, which kind do specific differences fall under?

In any case, now that we’ve gone through all that, we’re in a better place to summarize Aquinas’s argument. As I hope is clear by now, Aquinas argues that non-opposing features are compatible, so they’re perfectly happy to exist in the same thing. (Well, in the material world, material substances can be incompatible without being opposites, but we’re talking about the realm of spirits here.) Consequently, non-opposing features can’t be the formal cause of distinction between spirits, for there’s nothing about such features which demands that they exist in distinct things.

Opposite features, on the other hand, are incompatible, so they cannot exist in the same thing. On the contrary, opposite features can only exist in distinct things. Thus, opposite features must be the formal cause of distinction for spirits.

Unfortunately, A4/A4* are contentious. Neither A4 nor A4* are universally agreed-upon claims. Ockham, for example, thinks that angels are individuals just like Socrates and Plato, and all individuals are primitively distinct (without being opposites). So Aquinas’s argument is only as successful as A4/A4*, and not everybody buys A4/A4*.

Aristotle on Opposites 4: Contradictories

2008-12-24T22:57:00.002-05:00

In the Categories 10, Aristotle describes four different kinds of opposites. I talked about the first three of those in the last three posts. As for the fourth, Aristotle says that contradictories are opposites.

Contradictories are pairs of statements, one of which is an affirmative sentence of the form 'x is F' (as in, 'Socrates is sitting'), and the other of which is a negative sentence of the form 'x is not F' (as in, 'Socrates is not sitting'). Negative sentences can also be expressed as 'it is not the case that x is F' (as in, 'it is not the case that Socrates is sitting').

(I use the word 'sentence' here instead of 'proposition' because I don't know if Aristotle believes in propositions -- i.e., eternal, abstract statement-like entities that somehow describe the world or worlds. I'd also be happy to use the word 'statement' too.)

Right off the bat, it's clear that contradictions belong to a separate class of opposites than the other three (namely: correlatives, contraries, and possession/deprivation). Contradictions are sentences, but the rest apply to some feature of things. Correlatives are relational features, contraries are non-relational features, and possession/deprivation apply to natural features, but none of these are sentences.

Further, Aristotle points out that if we do try to express the other kinds of opposites with language, we express them with predicates, not full sentences. 'Double', 'hot', and 'having sight' are predicates, and predicates don't contradict anything. Only sentences can be contradictory. ('Hot' doesn't contradict anything, but 'that thing is hot' contradicts 'that thing is not hot'.)

But can't we formulate contradictory sentences about any of the other kinds of opposites? Take sight and blindness. Can't we say 'Socrates is blind' and 'Socrates can see', and aren't those contradictory sentences?

According to Aristotle, the crucial characteristic of contradictions of this: it's always the case that one of them is true, and the other is false. We can, of course, form contradictory sentences from the other kinds of opposites, but it's not always the case that one is true and the other is false.

There are cases, for example, where both 'Socrates can see' and 'Socrates is blind' are false. When Socrates is a zygote, he can't see yet, so he neither has sight nor is blind. Similarly, if Socrates doesn't exist, there is no Socrates to be blind or to see. The same holds for correlatives and contraries too.

But with genuine contradictions, one is always true and the other is false. For example, 'Socrates is sitting' and 'Socrates is not sitting' are contradictons, and one is always true and the other is always false, no matter what. If Socrates exists, then one will be true and the other false (depending on whether Socrates is sitting or standing). Likewise, if Socrates doesn't exist, then 'Socrates is not sitting' (or better: 'it is not the case that Socrates is sitting') is true. There simply is no Socrates, so it's not the case that he's sitting.

(Thus, for contradictions, we can identify this general rule: if the subject of the contradictory sentences does not exist, the negative sentence is true; if the subject does exist, then one or the other is true.)

The key here is that contradictions always involve a negative statement, and the negative statement is always true when the subject doesn't exist. The other kinds of opposites can't be reduced to mere negative sentences. On the contrary, they all amount to some positive state of affairs.

For example, 'double' and 'half' are positive states of affairs: something is double, and something is half. 'Hot' and 'cold' are too, for something is hot and/or something is cold. 'Sight' and 'blindness' are also positive states of affairs: either something can see, or something is there, but it can't see. (As I said in the last post, being deprived of something is not the same as simply not having it.)

Aristotle on Opposites 3: Possession and Deprivation

2008-12-21T18:13:00.002-05:00

In the Categories 10, Aristotle outlines 4 kinds of opposites. In the last two posts, I covered the first two of these, namely 'correlatives' and 'contraries'. The third kind of opposites is possession and deprivation: possessing some feature that one should naturally have is the opposite of being deprived of it.

For example, sight and blindness are opposites in this way for animals, because animals naturally have the ability to see. When an animal can see, it possesses sight, but when it's blind, it's deprived of sight.

It's important to note that this only applies to natural features that things are supposed to have. We don't normally say that stones are blind, because stones aren't supposed to see. Only things that are supposed to have sight can be deprived of it, so sight/blindness are opposites for animals, but not stones, foot stools, and so on.

(To put this another way, being deprived of something is not the same as simply not having it. Stones don't have sight, but they're not blind. The sentence 'x is deprived of F' does not mean 'x does not have F'.)

Aristotle also says that possession and deprivation always refer to one thing that either possesses or is deprived of some natural feature. When we talk about sight and blindness and opposites, we're not talking about one animal that can see as the opposite of another animal that's blind. We're talking about the same animal either having sight or being blind. Sight/blindness are opposites for that one animal, not multiple animals.

This distinguishes possession/deprivation from correlatives. As I explained two posts back, correlatives always hold for two things, and they're reciprocal (if one thing is 'double', then another is 'half'). Possession/deprivation are not like this. If one thing can see, there's no guarantee that another is blind. If only one animal existed, it could still either see or be blind, and sight and blindness would still be opposites for that animal.

It's tempting to think that possession/privation are opposites in the way that contraries are. As I explained in the last post, contraries are the most different features that belong to the same kind (so 'white' and 'black' are contraries for color, 'hot' and 'cold' for temperature, and so forth). After all, what could be 'more different' than having some feature vs. not having it? But Aristotle says possession/deprivation are not contraries, and here are the reasons he gives.

Contraries are either (i) necessary and binary, or they are (ii) unnecessary and not binary. Possession/deprivation are binary, for something either has a natural feature or it doesn't. An animal can either see, or it's blind, but it can't be somewhere in between. (An animal might have poor sight, as I do, but I can still see. And sometimes an animal's sight is so bad that it is, for all intensive purposes, blind.) And the fact that possession/deprivation are binary rules out the possibility that possession/deprivation could be unnecessary contraries, for as I explained in the last post, no binary pair are unnecessary contraries.

But possession/deprivation aren't the same as necessary contraries either. Necessary contraries are such that one or the other of the pair must always be present in the appropriate sort of thing. But animals don't always have either sight or blindness. When animals are undeveloped (like when they're zygotes), they can't see yet. Still, at that time, they're not deprived of sight, for they aren't supposed to see yet. So although possession/deprivation are binary, they're not necessary in the way that binary contraries must be.