Maverick Philosopher

Transitivity of Predication?

I dedicate this post to London Ed, who likes sophisms and scholastic arcana.

Consider these two syllogistic arguments:

A1. Man is an animal; Socrates is a man; ergo, Socrates is an animal.
A2. Man is a species; Socrates is a man; ergo, Socrates is a species.

The first argument is valid.  On one way of accounting for its validity, we make two assumptions.  First, we assume that each of the argument's constituent sentences is a predication.  Second, we assume the principle of the Transitivity of Predication: if x is predicable of y, and y is predicable of z, then x is predicable of z.  This principle has an Aristotelian pedigree.  At Categories 3b5, we read, "For all that is predicated of the predicate will be predicated also of the subject." So if animal is predicable of man, and man of Socrates, then animal of Socrates.  

Something goes wrong, however, in the second argument.  The question is: what exactly?  Let's first of all see if we can diagnose the fallacy while adhering to our two assumptions.  Thus we assume that each occurrence of 'is' in (A2) is an 'is' of predication, and that predication is transitive.  One suggestion  -- and I take this to be the line of some Thomists -- is that (A2) equivocates on 'man.'  In the major, 'man' means 'man-in-the-mind,' 'man as existing with esse intentionale.'  In the minor, 'man' means 'man-in-reality,' 'man as existing with esse naturale.'  We thus diagnose the invalidity of (A2) by saying that it falls afoul of quaternio terminorum, the four-term fallacy.  On this diagnosis, Transitivity of Predication is upheld: it is just that in this case the principle does not apply since there are four terms.

But of course there is also the modern Fregean way on which we abandon both of our assumptions and locate the equivocation in (A2) elsewhere.  On a Fregean diagnosis, there is an equivocation on 'is' in (A2) as between the 'is' of inclusion and the 'is' of predication.  In the major premise, 'is' expresses, not predication, but inclusion: the thought is that the concept man includes within its conceptual content the subconcept species.  In the minor and in the conclusion, however, the 'is'  expresses predication: the thought is that Socrates falls under the concepts man and species.  Accordingly, (A2) is invalid because of an equivocation on 'is,' not because of an equivocation on 'man.'

The Fregean point is that the concept man falls WITHIN but not UNDER the concept animal, while the object Socrates falls UNDER but not WITHIN the concepts man and animal.  Man does not fall under animal because no concept is an animal.  Animal is a mark (Merkmal) not a property (Eigenschaft) of man.  In general, the marks of a concept are not its properties.  But concepts do have properties.  The property of being instantiated, for example, is a property of the concept man.  But it is not a mark of it.  If it were a mark, then man by its very nature would be instantiated and it would be a conceptual truth that there are human beings, which is false.

Since on the Fregean scheme the properties of concepts needn't be properties of the items that fall under the concepts, Transitivity of Predication fails.  Thus, the property of being instantiated is predicable of the concept philosopher, and the concept philosopher is predicable  of Socrates; but the property of being instantiated is not predicable of Socrates. 

Frege Meets Aquinas: A Passage from De Ente et Essentia

Here is a passage from Chapter 3 of Thomas Aquinas, On Being and Essence (tr. Robert T. Miller, emphasis added):

The nature, however, or the essence thus understood can be considered in two ways. First, we can consider it according to its proper notion, and this is to consider it absolutely. In this way, nothing is true of the essence except what pertains to it absolutely: thus everything else that may be attributed to it will be attributed falsely. For example, to man, in that which he is a man, pertains animal and rational and the other things that fall in his definition; white or black or whatever else of this kind that is not in the notion of humanity does not pertain to man in that which he is a man. Hence, if it is asked whether this nature, considered in this way, can be said to be one or many, we should concede neither alternative, for both are beyond the concept of humanity, and either may befall the conception of man. If plurality were in the concept of this nature, it could never be one, but nevertheless it is one as it exists in Socrates. Similarly, if unity were in the notion of this nature, then it would be one and the same in Socrates and Plato, and it could not be made many in the many individuals. Second, we can also consider the existence the essence has in this thing or in that: in this way something can be predicated of the essence accidentally by reason of what the essence is in, as when we say that man is white because Socrates is white, although this does not pertain to man in that which he is a man.

What intrigues me about this passage is the following argument that it contains:

1. A nature can be considered absolutely (in the abstract) or according to the being it has in this or that individual.
2. If a nature is considered absolutely, then it is not one.  For if oneness were included in the nature of humanity, e.g., then humanity could not exist in many human beings.
3. If a nature is considered absolutely, then it is not many. For if manyness were included in the nature of humanity, e.g., then humanity could not exist in one man, say, Socrates.
Therefore
4. If a nature is considered absolutely, then it is neither one nor many, neither singular nor plural.

I find this argument intriguing because I find it extremely hard to evaluate, and because I find the conclusion to be highly counterintuitive.  It seems to me obvious that a nature or essence such as humanity is one, not many, and therefore not neither one nor many!

The following is clear.  There are many instances of humanity, many human beings.  Therefore, there can be many such instances. It follows that there is nothing in the nature of humanity to preclude there being many such instances.  But there is also nothing in the nature of humanity to require that there be many instances of humanity, or even one instance.  We can express this by saying that the nature humanity neither requires nor precludes its being instantiated. This nature, considered absolutely, logically allows multiple instantiation, single instantiation, and no instantiation.  It logically allows that there be many men, just one man, or no men.

But surely it does not follow that the nature humanity is neither one nor many.  What Aquinas is doing above is confusing what Frege calls a mark (Merkmal) of a concept with a property (Eigenschaft)  of a concept.  The marks of a concept are the subconcepts which are included within it.  Thus man has animal and rational as marks.  But these are not properties of the concept man since no concept is an animal or is rational.  Being instantiated is an example of a property of man, a property that cannot be a mark of man.   In general, the marks of a concept are not properties thereof, and vice versa.  Exercise for the reader:  find a counterexample, a concept which is such that one of its marks is also a property of it.

Aquinas has an insight which can be expressed in Fregean jargon as follows.  Being singly instantiated -- one in reality --  and being multiply instantiated -- many in reality -- are not marks (Merkmale) of the nature humanity.  But because he (along with everyone else prior to 1884) confuses marks with properties (Eigenschaften), he concludes that the nature itself cannot be either one or many.

To put it another way, Aquinas confuses the 'is' of predication ('Socrates is a man') with the 'is' of subordination ('Man is an animal').  Man is predicable of Socrates, but animal is not predicable of man, pace Aristotle, Categories 3b5: no concept or nature is an animal.  Socrates falls under man; Animal falls within man.  Animal is superordinate to man while man is subordinate to animal.

For these reasons I do not find the argument from De Ente et Essentia compelling.  But perhaps there is a good Thomist response.

Geach on the Real Distinction II: The Argument from Intentionality

See Geach on the Real Distinction I for some background on the distinctio realis.  This post lays out the argument from intentionality to the real distinction.

A theory of intentionality ought to explain how the objective reference or object-directedness of our thoughts and perceptions is possible. Suppose I am thinking about a cat, a particular cat of my acquaintance whom I have named 'Max Black.' How are we to understand the relation between the mental act of my thinking, which is a transient datable event in my mental life, and its object, namely the cat I am thinking of? What makes my thinking of Max a thinking of Max?  Or perhaps Max is in front of me and I am seeing him.  What makes my seeing a seeing of him?

Here is what Peter Geach has to say, glossing Aquinas:

What makes a sensation or thought of an X to be of an X is that it is an individual occurrence of that very form or nature which occurs in X -- it is thus that our mind 'reaches right up to the reality'; what makes it to be a sensation or thought of an X rather than an actual X or an actual X-ness is that X-ness here occurs in the special way called esse intentionale and not in the 'ordinary' way called esse naturale. This solution resolves the difficulty. It shows how being of an X is not a relation in which the thought or sensation stands, but is simply what the thought or sensation is . . . .(Three Philosophers, Cornell UP, 1961, p. 95)

But what the devil does that mean? Allow me to explain. The main point here is that ofness or aboutness is not a relation between a mental act and its object. Thus intentionality is not a relation that relates my thinking of Max and Max. My thinking of Max just is the mental occurrence of the very same form or nature -- felinity -- which occurs physically in Max. Max is a hylomorphic compound, a compound of form and (signate) matter. Old Max himself, fleas and all, is of course not in my mind. It is his form that is in my mind. But if felinity informs my mind, why isn't my mind a cat? Here is where the distinction between esse intentionale and esse naturale comes in. One and the same form -- felinity -- exists in two different modes. Its mode of being in my mind is esse intentionale while its mode of being in Max is esse naturale.

Because my thought of Max just is the intentional occurrence of the same form or nature that occurs naturally in Max, there is no problem about how my thought reaches Max. One could call this an identity theory of intentionality.

What if Max were, unbeknownst to me, to cease to exist while I was thinking about him? My thinking would be unaffected: it would still be about Max in exactly the way it was about him before. The Thomist theory would account for this by saying that while the form occurs with esse intentionale in my mind, it does not occur outside my mind with esse reale.

That in a nutshell is the Thomist theory of intentionality. If you can see your way clear to accepting it as the only adequate account of intentionality, then it supplies a reason for the real distinction.  For the account requires that there be two distinct modes of esse, an immaterial mode, esse intentionale, and a material mode, esse naturale. Now if F-ness can exist in two different modes, then it cannot be identical to either and must be really distinct from both. (Cf. "Form and Existence" in God and the Soul, pp. 62-64.)

This argument for the real dstinction is only as good as the Thomist theory of intentionality which in turn rests on the notion of a common nature, felinity, say, which is indifferent to existence inasmuch as it can exist with esse naturale in Max and with esse intentionale in a Max-thinker, but taken in itself  and absolutely is neither material nor mental, neither many nor one.

The aporetics of common natures will be taken up in subsequent posts.

Kenny, Geach, and the Perils of Reading Frege Back Into Aquinas

I have been studying Anthony Kenny, Aquinas on Being (Oxford 2002).  I cannot report that I find it particularly illuminating.  I am troubled by the reading back of Fregean doctrines into Aquinas, in particular in the appendix, "Frege and Aquinas on Existence and Number." (pp. 195-204)  Since Kenny borrows heavily from Peter Geach, I will explain one of my misgivings in connection with a passage from Geach's important article, "Form and Existence" in God and the Soul.  Geach writes,

Frege, like Aquinas, held that there was a fundamental distinction in rebus answering to the logical distinction between subject and predicate -- the distinction between Gegenstand (object) and Begriff (concept). [. . .] And for Frege the Begriff, and it alone, admits of repetition and manyness; an object cannot be repeated -- kommt nie wiederholdt vor. (45-46)

So far, so good.  Geach continues:

Understood in this way, the distinction between individual and form is absolutely sharp and rigid; what can be sensibly said of one becomes nonsense if we try to say it of the other. [. . .] Just because of this sharp distinction, we must reject the Platonic doctrine that what a predicate stands for is is some single entity over against its many instances, hen epi pollon. On the contrary:  the common nature that the predicate 'man' (say) stands for can be indifferently one or many, and neither oneness nor manyness is a mark or note of human nature itself.  This point is made very clearly by Aquinas in De Ente et Essentia.  Again we find Frege echoing Aquinas; Frege counts oneness or manyness (as the case may be) among the properties (Eigenschaften) of a concept, which means that it cannot at the same time be one of the marks or notes (Merkmalen) of that concept. (46)

I smell deep confusion here.  But precisely because the confusion runs deep I will have a hard time explaining clearly wherein the confusion consists.  I will begin by making a list of what Geach gets right.

1. Objects and individuals are unrepeatable. 
2. Concepts and forms are repeatable.
3. Setting aside the special question of subsistent forms, no individual is a form, and no object is a concept.
4. Frege distinguishes between the marks of a concept and the properties of a concept. The concept man, for example, has the concept animal as one of its marks.  But animal is not a property of man, and this for the simple reason that no concept is an animal.  Man has the property of being instantiated.  This property, however, is not a mark of man since it is not included within the latter's conceptual content:  one cannot by sheer analysis of the concept man determine whether or not there are any men.  So there is a sense in which "neither oneness nor manyness is a mark or note of human nature itself."  This is true if taken in the following sense: neither being instantiated singly nor being instantiated multiply is a mark of the concept man.

But how do these points, taken singly or together, support Geach's rejection of "the Platonic doctrine that what the predicate stands for is some single entity over against its many instances"?  They don't!

It seems obvious to me that Geach is confusing oneness/manyness as the relational property of single/multiple instantiation with oneness/manyness as the monadic property of being one or many.  It is one thing to ask whether a concept is singly or multiply instantiated.  It is quite another to ask whether the concept itself  is one or many.  It is also important to realize that a Fregean first-level concept, when instantiated, does not enter into the structure of the individuals that instantiate it.  Aquinas is a constituent ontologist, but Frege is not.  This difference is deep and causes a world of trouble for those who attempt to understand Aquinas in Fregean terms.  For Frege, concepts are functions, and no function enters into the structure of its argument.  The propositional function x is a man is not a constituent of Socrates.  What's more, the value of the function for Socrates as argument is not a state of affairs with Socrates and the function as constituents. The value of the function for Socrates as argument is True; for Stromboli as argument, False.  And now you know why philosophers speak of truth-values.  It's mathematical jargon via Frege the mathematician.

The Fregean concept man is one, not many.  It is one concept, not many concepts.  Nor is it neither one nor many.  It can have one instance, or many instances, or no instance.   The Thomistic form man, however, is, considered in itself, neither one nor many.  It is one in the intellect but (possibly) many in things.  In itself, however, it is neither.  And so it is true to say that the form is not "some single entity over against its many instances."  It is not a single entity because, considered in itself, it is neither single nor multiple.

But this doesn't follow from point (3) above.  And therein consists Geach's mistake.  One cannot validly move from the "sharp distinction" between individuals/objects and forms/concepts  to the conclusion that what a predicate stands for is not a single entity.  Geach makes this mistake because of the confusion  exposed two paragraphs supra.  The mutual exclusion of objects and concepts does not entail that concepts cannot be single entities.

There is another huge problem with reading Frege back into Aquinas, and that concerns modes of existence (esse).  A form in the intellect exists in a different way than it does in things.  But if Frege is right about existence, there cannot be modes of existence.  For if existence is instantiation, then there cannot be modes of existence for the simple reason that there cannot be any modes of instantiation.

I'll say more about this blunder in another post.  It rests in turn on a failure to appreciate  the radically different styles of ontology practiced by Aquinas and Frege.  In my jargon, Aquinas is a constituent ontologist while Frege is a nonconstituent ontologist.  In the jargon of Gustav Bergmann, Aquinas is a compex ontologist while Frege is a function ontologist.

Geach on the Real Distinction I

Oceans of ink have been spilled over the centuries on the celebrated distinctio realis between essence and existence (esse).  You have no idea how much ink, and vitriol too, has flooded  the scholastic backwaters and sometimes spilled over into mainstream precincts. Anyway, the distinction has long fascinated me and I hold to some version of it.  I will first give a rough explanation of the distinction and then examine one of Peter Geach's arguments for it.

1.  First of all, we can say that the real distinction is so-called because it is not a merely conceptual or notional distinction.  It is not like the distinction between the Morning Star and the Evening Star. It is not a distinction parasitic upon how we view things or refer to them.  It is more like the distinction between Venus and Mars.  The MS and the ES are two "modes of presentation" (Fregean Darstellungsweisen) of one and the same chunk of extramental physical reality, the planet Venus.  But Venus and Mars are not modes of presentation but entities in their own right.  Venus and Mars are distinct in reality not merely in conception.

2. But although the Venus-Mars distinction is a real distinction, the distinction between essence and existence cannot be like this.  For while each of the planets can exist without the other, essence and existence cannot each exist without  the other.  A thing's existence is nothing wthout the thing whose existence it is, and thus nothing without the thing's essence.  I hope it is obvious that the existence of this particular coffee cup would be nothing without the cup and the cup's individual essence.

3. It is less obvious that the individual essence would be nothing without existence.  But to make the problem more difficult I will assume that there are no nonexistent individuals, that nothing is an individual unless it exists. This implies that before Socrates came into existence there was no individual essence Socrateity.  His coming into being was not the actualization of a pre-existent wholly determinate individual essence.  (This has implications for the theory of creation: it imples that creation is out of nothing, not out of mere possibles.)  It also implies that there is no individual essence corresponding to the name 'Vulcan' when this is used to denote an intra-Mercurial planet.  My assumption is anti-Meinongian and (I believe) also anti-Avicennian.  (There was a time, long ago, when the Muslims weren't total slouches when it came to philosophy. 'Avicenna' is the Latinization of 'Ibn Sina.')

4.  The essence and the existence of a particular individual are thus each dependent on the other but nonetheless really, not merely notionally,  distinct.  Really distinct (like Venus and Mars, but unlike the Morning Star and the Evening Star) but inseparable (unlike Venus and Mars).  They are really distinct like my eye glasses and my head but not separable in the manner of glasses and head. So an analogy mght be the convexity and concavity of one of the lenses.  The convex surface cannot be without the concave surafce and vice versa, but they are really distinct.  'Convex' and 'concave' are not merely two different ways of referring to the same piece of glass.  There is a real mind-independent difference.  But it is only  an analogy.

5. Now what reason could we have for accepting something like the the real distinction?  Here is one of Geach's arguments, based on Aquinas,  from "Form and Existence," reprinted in Peter Geach, God and the Soul (Thoemmes Press, 1994), pp. 42-64.  Geach's argument is on p. 61.  I'll put the argument in my own way.  I find the argument convincing.

Suppose you have two numerically distinct instances of F-ness.  They don't differ in point of F-ness, since each is an instance of F-ness.  But they are numerically distinct.  So some other factor must be brought in to account for the difference.  That factor is existence.  They differ in their very existence.  Since they differ in existence and yet agree in essence, essence and existence are really distinct.

Max Black was famous for his iron spheres.  (Geach does not mention Black.) He hypothesizes a world consisting of just two of them and nothing else, the spheres being alike in every relational and monadic respect.  In Black's boring world, then, there are two numerically distinct instances of iron sphere.  Since both exist, and since they differ solo numero, I conclude that they  differ in their very existence.  Since they differ in their existence, but agree in their iron sphericity, there is a real distinction between existence and nature or essence.

Suppose you deny that.  Suppose you say that the spheres do not differ in their very existence and that they share existence.  The consequence, should one cease to exist, would be that the other would cease to exist as well, which is absurd.

Three Dualisms: Simple, Compound, and Hylomorphic

This post continues my critique of hylomorphic dualism in the philosophy of mind. (See Hylomorphism category.) I will argue that hylomorphic dualism inherits one of the difficulties of compound substance dualism. But to understand the latter, we need to contrast it with simple or pure substance dualism. By 'substance' I mean primary substance, prote ousia in roughly Aristotle's sense. (But I hope to avoid exegetical bickering.) S is a primary substance if and only if S is broadly logically capable of independent existence.

Three Dualisms Distinguished

 A. Simple or Pure Substance Dualism. This is the view that I am identical to my soul or mind. (And the same goes for you.) In Cartesian terms, I am identical to a res cogitans, a thinking thing or thinking substance. If so, my body is not a part of me. I am not a compound of soul and body; I am a simple substance.

B. Compound Substance Dualism. This is the view that I am a composite of soul and body, which implies that my body is a proper part of me. Thus I have two proper parts, soul and body, the first essential to me, the second accidental. I cannot exist without my soul, but I can exist without my body, where 'can' expresses broadly logical possibility.

(A) and (B) are mutually exclusive. Assuming the truth of Cartesian dualism, they are also jointly exhaustive. So if you are a Cartesian dualist, you must choose between saying that you are your soul (mind) or that you are not your soul but a composite of soul and body.

C. Hylomorphic Dualism. This is the view that I am a compound of soul and body, but with the difference that the soul is the form of the body. Anima forma corporis.  The idea is not that the soul is like a form or analogous to a form, but that the soul is a form. Hylomorphic dualism is not a species of Compound Substance Dualism for the simple reason that form and matter are 'principles' invoked in the analysis of primary substances but not primary substances themselves. But it is dualistic in that mind and body are mutually irreducible.  A form is not a primary substance because it is not broadly logically capable of independent existence.

A Problem with Compound Substance Dualism

Suppose we ask a simple question. Using 'think' in the broad Cartesian way, to cover all manner of intentional states including perceiving, imagining, remembering, etc., who or what is it that thinks when I think? Who or what is the subject of thinking? There are only two possibilities given the above. Either a soul thinks when I think, or a soul-body composite thinks when I think. (The brain no more thinks than my eyeglasses see.)

The Compound Substance Dualist must say that a soul-body composite thinks when I think. Now soul = mind = thinking substance (res cogitans). So CSD implies that when BV thinks there are really two thinkers, the thinking substance which is a proper part of BV, and the whole BV as soul-body composite. (The point is made in a different way by Eric T. Olson in "A Compound of Two Substances" in Soul, Body, and Survival, Corcoran ed., Cornell UP 2001, p. 75.) Here is the way Olson puts it:

 

. . . compound dualism entails that there are at least twice as many thinking things as we thought there were. You are a compound of a body and a soul. But that soul is itself rational and conscious. So there are two thinking things sitting in your chair, a soul and a compound, reading an essay that was co-written by simple and a compound philosopher.

 

Obviously, this won't do. Well, why not just say that the soul does not think, that only the compound thinks? One might say that soul and body are each sub-psychological, and that to have a psyche and psychic activity (thinking), soul and body must work together. Soul and body in synergy give rise to thinking which qualifies the whole man. But this makes hash of substance dualism. For one of the reasons for being a substance dualist in the first place is the conceivability of disembodied thinking. (We'll have to look at Kripke's argument one of these days.) Disembodied thinking is obviously inconceivable if it is a soul-body composite that thinks. Second, if it takes a soul and a body working together to produce thinking, then the soul is not a mind or thinking substance -- which again makes hash of substance dualism.

For these and other reasons, CSD is to be rejected, and simple or pure dualism is to be preferred if one is to be a substance dualist.

Hylomorphic Dualism Faces a Similar Problem

Now let's confront the hylomorphist dualist with the question about the subject of thinking. Who or what thinks when thinking occurs in BV? For the HD-ist it is  the composite of soul and body, form and matter. Thus the soul by itself is subpsychological and so does not think: the subject of thinking, that which thinks, is the soul-body composite. But when we turn to the 'king' of the hylomorphic dualists, Thomas Aquinas, we find him saying things about the intellect that run directly counter to this.

In the Summa Contra Gentiles, Book II, chapters 49-51, we find a variety of arguments to the conclusion that the intellect is a subsistent form and so not dependent for its existence on matter. This is not the place to examine these arguments, some of which are defensible. Now since the intellect is that in us which thinks, the same ambiguity we found in Cartesian dualism, as between pure dualism and compound dualism, is to be found in Aquinas. Is it the composite that thinks, or a part of the composite? The answer must be that it is a part of the composite that thinks, the res cogitans on the Cartesian view, the intellectus on the Thomist view. And note that both must be viewed as substances, as capable of independent existence. Aquinas expresses this by referring to the soul as a subsistent form.

But 'subsistent form' smacks of contradiction. How can a form be subsistent? To say that a form is subsistent is to say that is is a primary substance, that is is broadly logically capable of independent existence.   But a form is precisely not a primary substance but a 'principle' invoked in the analysis of primary substances. Aquinas cannot do justice to his own insight into the independence of the intellect from matter from within the hylomorphic scheme of ontological analysis he inherits from Aristotle.   This bolded (and bold) thesis is central to my critique of hylomorphic dualism.  His metaphysica generalis is at war with his special-metaphysical insight into the independence of intellect from matter. 

Let me spell this out just a bit.  Aquinas' method of ontological analysis is hylomorphic, in terms of matter (hyle, materia) and form (morphe, forma).  He applies this type of ontological analysis across the board.  Of course, the world is not form and matter 'all the way down': this style of analysis reaches a limit with materia prima, prime matter.  Nor is the world form and matter 'all the way up':  this style of analysis reaches a limit with God who is pure form, the "form of all forms" (forma formarum).  These limits, however, remain within the ambit of hylomorphic analysis and do not show that the analysis does not hold across the board.  So, naturally, Aquinas applies this style of analysis to minds.

So I cannot see that hylomorphic dualism is any improvement over pure substance dualism. It is rather a step backward. And as I tried to show here  the notion that HD can solve the interaction problem -- assuming as I do not that it is a genuine problem -- is chimerical.   

Feser Defends Hylomorphic Dualism Against My Criticism

I want to thank Edward Feser for responding to my recent post, A Problem for the Hylomorphic Dualist.  And while you are at Ed's site, please read his outstanding entry, So you think you understand the cosmological argument?, an entry with which I agree entirely.

Ed writes,

Naturally, since I am a hylemorphic dualist, I completely disagree with Bill here. Let’s start with the last charge -- that hylemorphic dualism “make[s] an exception in the case of the human soul [that] is wholly unmotivated and ad hoc and inconsistent with hylomorphic ontology.” That the view is not “unmotivated and ad hoc” is easily shown. Bill himself would surely acknowledge that there are serious philosophical arguments for hylemorphism, even if he doesn’t accept that view himself. He would also acknowledge that there are serious philosophical arguments for dualism, a view he is sympathetic with. But then he should also acknowledge that someone could find both sorts of arguments convincing. And in that case he should acknowledge that someone could have good philosophical reasons for thinking that there must be some way to combine hylemorphism and dualism.

I agree that there are serious arguments for hylomorphism, and I especially agree that there are strong arguments for dualism.  And I agree that someone who finds both hylomorphism and dualism persuasive will have a motivation to try to combine them by showing how the special-metaphysical thesis of dualism can be accommodated within the general-metaphysical scheme of hylomorphism. 

But if one has good arguments for position A and good arguments for position B, it doesn't follow that one has good arguments for the combined position A + B.  For there may be a good reason why the two positions cannot be combined.  And so it is in the present case.  The case for hylomorphism and the case for dualism do not add up to a case for  hylomorphic dualism.  So while I agree with Ed that one who has good reason to be a hylomorphist and good reason to be a dualist will be powerfully motivated to combine the two positions, I do not agree that the reasons for hylomorphism and dualism, respectively, add up to reasons for the hylomorphic dualism.  A psychological motivation is not the same as a justificatory reason. 

Ed continues:

Nor, contrary to what Bill implies, is Aquinas somehow departing radically from Aristotle. For Aristotle too was committed both to hylemorphism and to the view that the intellect is immaterial -- indeed, to the view that the active intellect is immortal. To be sure, that does not by itself show that Aristotle’s views are identical to or entail Aquinas’s; the Averroists took Aristotle’s position in a very different direction, and contemporary commentators often find it simply puzzling. But the reason they do -- namely, that it seems odd to say both that the soul is the form of the body and that one of its capacities is somehow separable from the body -- is similar to the reason Bill finds Aquinas’s position puzzling. Needless to say, Aristotle had no Christian theological ax to grind; he was simply following the philosophical arguments where they led. There is no reason to accuse Aquinas of doing anything different, and it is hardly unreasonable to suggest that the way to harmonize the various aspects of Aristotle’s position is the way Aquinas does. That does not mean that one might not still question whether Aquinas’s position is ultimately coherent (as Bill does), or criticize it on other grounds. But the charge that it is “wholly unmotivated and ad hoc” -- a piece of Christian apologetics with no independent philosophical rationale -- is, I think, completely unwarranted. 

Clearly, Aristotle had no Christian axe to grind.  And so if the active intellect (nous poietikos) mentioned in De Anima III, v (430a) is a subsistent element of the human soul, capable of existence independent of matter, then Aquinas' position on the human soul would have been anticipated by Aristotle, and what I said, or rather suspected, about Aquinas implanting Christian  notions in the foreign soil of Aristotelianism would be insupportable.  But the interpretation of De Anima III, v is a vexed and vexing matter as the material in the hyperlink Ed provided makes clear.  If, as some commentators maintain, Aristotle is discussing the divine mind and not the human mind, then it cannot be maintained that Aristotle was anticipating Aquinas.

The important question, of course, is whether the human soul, or any part theoreof, can be coherently conceived as a subsistent form, whether this is maintained by Aristotle or Aquinas or both.  Ed now addresses my puzzle head on:

The soul is, for Aquinas, the form of the body. So how could it possibly exist apart from the body? Bill asks why things should be any different with human beings than they are with Fido. But Aquinas is quite clear about the answer to that question: The difference is that the human soul carries out immaterial operations (i.e. intellectual ones) while a dog’s soul does not. And if it operates apart from matter and agere sequitur esse, then it must subsist apart from matter.

I grant that the human soul, unlike the canine, carries out immaterial operations.  The argument is this:

a.  The human soul engages in immaterial operations
b.  Agere sequitur esse: whatever operates I-ly must be (exist) I-ly.
Therefore
c.  The human soul, qua executing immaterial operations, exists immaterially.

But how is this relevant to the issue I am raising?  Let's assume that the above argument is sound.  What it shows is that the human soul enjoys an immaterial mode of being.  But it does not show that a form of an animal body enjoys an immaterial mode of being.  It is one thing to establish that the human soul, or an element thereof, exists immaterially; quite another to show that this immaterial element is a form.  I hesitate to say that Ed is conflating these two questions.  What he might be doing is begging the question against me: he may be just assuming what I am questioning, namely, that the human soul is a form, and then taking an argument for the immateriality of the soul to be an argument for the immaterial existence of a form of the human body.  Quoting further from Feser:

Necessarily, a form is a form of that of which it is the form. But a subsistent form is possibly such as to exist apart from that of which it is the form. These propositions cannot both be true.

That they can both be true can be seen when we keep in mind how Aristotelians understand concepts like necessity, possibility, essence, and the like. Suppose we say that it follows from the nature or essence of a dog that it has four legs. Does that mean every single dog necessarily has four legs? No, because a given dog might have lost a leg in an accident, or failed to develop all four legs due to some genetic defect, or (if only recently conceived and still in the womb) may simply not yet have developed all four legs. What it does mean is rather that a mature dog in its normal state will necessarily have four legs. As Michael Thompson and Philippa Foot have emphasized, “Aristotelian categoricals” of the form S’s are F convey a norm and are not accurately represented as either existential or universal statements of the sort familiar to modern logicians. “Dogs have four legs” is not saying “There is at least one dog, and it has four legs” and neither is it saying “For everything that is a dog, it is four legged.” It is saying that the typical dog, the normal (mature) dog, has four legs.

I of course agree with the bit about the dog and his nature.  But I question its relevance to my point.  I grant that from the fact that it is the nature of a dog to have four legs it does not follow that every dog has four legs.  In parallel with this, Ed seems to be suggesting that while it is the nature of a form to be a form of something, it does not follow that every form is a form of something. I deny the parallel.  The claims are on different levels.  The 'canine' claim is about a particular nature (essence), dog-nature.  My claim is about the principles (in the scholastic sense) deployed by hylomorphic ontologists  in their ontological assays.  A form is a 'principle' not capable of independent existence in the manner of a primary substance.

How form and matter operate in the analysis of material substances becomes clearer if we examine a criticism the distinguished Aristotelian Henry Veatch lodges against Gustav Bergmann. (See here for the rest of the post from which the following blue section is excerpted and for bibliographical data.)

Veatch Contra Bergmann

Veatch now lodges a reasonable complaint against Bergmann. How could "matter or bare particulars [be] among the ultimates that one arrives at in a process of analysis. . ."? "For how could anything which in itself is wholly indeterminate and characterless ever qualify as a 'thing' or 'existent' at all?" (81) On Bergmann's assay, an ordinary particular has more basic entities as its ontological constituents. But if one of these constituents is an intrinsically indeterminate and intrinsically characterless entity, how could said entity exist at all, let alone be a building block out of which an ordinary particular is constructed?

For Veatch, form and matter are not ontological atoms in the way bare particulars and simple universals are ontological atoms for Bergmann. "Matter and form are not beings so much as they are principles of being." (80) 'Principle' is one of those words Scholastics like to use. Principles in this usage are not propositions. They are ontological factors invoked in the analysis of primary substances, but they are not themselves primary substances. They cannot exist on their own. Let me try to make Veatch's criticism as clear as I can.

An ordinary particular is a this-such. The thisness in a this-such is the determinable element while the suchness is the determination or set of determinations. Veatch's point against Bergmann is not that ordinary particulars are not composites, this-suches, or that the thisness in a this- such is not indeterminate yet determinable; his point is that the determinable element cannot be an ontological atom, an entity more basic than the composite into which it enters as ontological building block. The determinable element cannot be a basic existent; it must be a principle of a basic existent, where the basic existent is the this-such. This implies, contra Bergmann, that what is ontologically primary is the individual substance, the this-such, which entails that matter and form in an individual substance cannot exist apart from each other. They are in some sense 'abstractions' from the individual substance. The form in a material this-such is not merely tied to matter in general, in the way that Bergmannian first-order universals are tied to bare particulars in general; the form is tied to the very matter of the this-such in question. And the same goes for the matter: the designated matter (materia signata) of Socrates cannot exist apart from Socrates' substantial form.

Veatch says that Bergmann cannot have it both ways: "His bare particulars cannot at one and the same time be utterly bare and characterless in the manner of Aristotelian prime matter and yet also be 'things' and 'existents' in the manner of Aristotelian substances." (82-83)

 The point I want to underscore is that, as Veatch puts it,  "Matter and form are not beings so much as they are principles of being."  Ed continues,

Similarly, to say “Human souls are associated with bodies” is to say that the human soul in its normal state is associated with its body, just like the human hand in its normal state is associated with its body. But it doesn’t follow that it cannot exist apart from the body, any more than it follows that the hand (at least while its tissues are still alive) can exist apart from the body. And again, the reason this is possible with the human soul and not with Fido’s soul is that the human soul, unlike Fido’s soul, carries out immaterial operations even when it is associated with the body.

Here again I think Ed is failing to engage the problem I raised.  I do not question that the human soul in its normal state is associated with its body.  And I do not question that it can exist apart from its body.  What I am questioning is the conceptualization of the human soul as a form.  And so, while Ed has said many things with which I agree, he has not given me a reason to retract my criticism.  To put it another way, he has not given me a reason why I should accept argument A below over argument B:

Argument A:  The human soul can exist apart from its body; the human soul is the form of the human body; therefore, there are forms that can exist apart from the matter they inform.

Argument B:  The human soul can exist apart from its body; no form can exist apart from the matter it informs; therefore, the human soul is not the form of the human body.

I have another argument that Ed may recall from our discussions at my old Powerblogs site, namely, an argument based on the premise that a form cannot be a subject of experience, which is what a soul must be.  But that's a separate post.

A Problem for the Hylomorphic Dualist

A position in the philosophy of mind that is currently under-represented and under-discussed is Thomistic or hylomorphic dualism.  Whereas the tendency of the substance dualist is to identify the person with his soul or mind, the hylomorphic approach identifies the person with a soul-body composite in which soul stands to body as form (morphe) stands to matter (hyle). In a slogan: anima forma corporis: the soul is the form of the body. To be a bit more precise, the soul is the substantial form of the body, a form that makes of the matter it informs a human substance. 

This is not a version of substance dualism since soul and body on the hylomorphic scheme are not (primary) substances in their own right. We  define a (primary) substance as anything logically (as opposed to causally) capable of independent existence. Fido is then a substance but his soul is not inasmuch as his soul cannot exist on its own. And the same goes for Fido's body: it cannot exist on its own. Fido's corpse can exist on its own, but it is not his body. A dead dog is not a dog: 'dead' in 'dead dog' is an alienans adjective. It functions like 'decoy' in 'decoy duck.' Strictly speaking, a body is a body only when animated by a soul, and a soul is a soul only when animating a body. The composite is what lives and dies, death being the separation of soul and body.

So far, so good.

Now comes the tricky part. For Thomas, the soul of a human being — or the intellective part of the soul of a human being — is not merely a substantial form, but also a subsistent form, a form that can exist on its own. This is the element of Platonism that remains in Thomas's Aristotelianism. This subsistent form can survive separation from the body. The theological motivation for this is perhaps clear: there must be something that bridges the temporal gap between death (separation of soul from body) and resurrection of the body and concomitant reunification of body with soul. That which grounds personal identity over the temporal gap is the soul as subsistent substantial form. Whether there is a need for such a ground is a question that cannot be discussed at the moment.

So although Thomist dualism is distinct from Platonic or Cartesian dualism, it is still a rather robust form of dualism, more robust than the dualism of the epiphenomenalist, say. As long as we don't confuse dualism with substance dualism, there is no reason that I can see for not describing Thomas's hylomorphic theory of mind as dualistic.

So much for a brief sketch of the hylomorphic position.  I wish I could report that I find it unproblematic. But I don't. I'll mention one problem now, others later.

 How can a substantial form exist apart from that of which it is the form? Is it not necessarily tied to that of which it is the form? After all, it is so tied in the case of non-humans like Fido. Fido is a composite the components of which cannot exist on their own. Why should it be any different in the case of the human soul if the human soul is indeed the form of the human body?

The problem here, in short, is that there is a tension between soul as substantial form and soul as substantial subsistent form. Ontologically, one wants to protest, a form is not the sort of entity that could be subsistent. Necessarily, a form  is a form of that of which it is the form.  But a subsistent form is possibly such as to exist apart from that of which it is the form.  These propositions cannot both be true.

I find it hard to resist the suspicion that what Aquinas has done is implanted Christian elements into the foreign soil of Aristotelianism.  Christianity requires that the soul be capable of independent existence.  But no form, by its very nature as form, is capable of independent existence.  Simply to make an exception in the case of the human soul is wholly unmotivated and ad hoc and inconsistent with hylomorphic ontology.

(Further tantalizing wrinkle: Aquinas describes God as forma formarum, form of all forms, but also as ipsum esse subsistens, self-subsistent existence. So God is a self-subsistent form. He is a form that does not inform anything. More grist for the mill.)

 

How Are Form and Matter Related in Compound Material Substances?

Favoring as I do constituent ontology, I am sympathetic to that type of constituent ontology which is hylomorphic ontological analysis, as practiced by Aristotelians, Thomists, et al.  The obscurity of such fundamental  concepts as form, matter, act, potency, substance, and others is, however, troubling. Let's see if we can make sense of the relation between form and matter in an artifact such as a bronze sphere. Now those of you who are ideologically committed to Thomism may bristle at an exposure of difficulties, but you should remember that philosophy is not ideology. The philosopher follows the argument to its conclusion whether it overturns his pet beliefs or supports them, or neither. He knows how to keep his ideological needs in check while pursuing pure inquiry.  If the inquiry terminates in an aporetic impasse, then so be it.

1. Although it perhaps requires arguing, I will here take it for granted that form and matter as these terms are used by Aristotle and his followers are items 'in the real order.' 'Item' is a maximally   noncommittal term in my lexicon: it commits me to very little. Anything in whatever category to which one can refer in any way  whatsoever is an item. 'Real' is that which exists whether or not it is an intentional object of an act of mind. So when I say that form and matter are items in the real order I simply mean that they are not projected by the mind: it is not as if bronze spheres and such have  form and matter only insofar as we interpret them as having form and matter. The bronze sphere is subject to hylomorphic (matter-form) analysis because the thing in reality is made up of form and matter.   'Projectivism' is off the table at least for the space of this post. I am thus assuming a version of realism and am viewing form and matter as distinct ontological constituents or 'principles' of compound   substances.

2. The foregoing implies that the proximate matter of the bronze sphere,  namely, the hunk of bronze itself, is a part of the bronze sphere.  After all, 'ontological constituent' is just a fancy way of saying  'ontological part.'  But an argument I now adapt from E. J. Lowe ("Form Without Matter" in Form and Matter: Themes in Contemporary  Metaphysics, ed. Oderberg, Blackwell 1999, p. 7) seems to show that  the notion that the proximate matter of a compound material substance is a part of it is problematic.  The argument runs as follows.

A. If the hunk of bronze composing the sphere is a part of the sphere, then either it is a proper part or it is an improper part, where an improper part of a whole W is a part of W that overlaps every part of   W.

B. The hunk of bronze is not an improper part since it is not identical to the bronze sphere. (One reason for this is that the persistence conditions are not the same: the piece of bronze will still exist if the sphere is flattened into a disk, but the sphere cannot survive such a deformation. Second, the two are modally discernible: the hunk of bronze is a hunk of bronze in every possible world in which it exists, but the hunk of bronze is not a sphere in every possible world in which it exists.)

C. The hunk of bronze is not a proper part of the bronze sphere since there is no part of the bronze sphere that it fails to overlap.

Therefore

D. The hunk of bronze is not a part of the bronze sphere.

Therefore

E. The composition of form and matter is not mereological. (Lowe, p. 7)

This raises the question of how exactly we are to understand form-matter composition. If the proximate matter of a substance cannot  be a part of it in any sense familiar to mereology, the form-matter composition is 'unmereological,' which is not necessarily an objection except that it raises the question of how exactly we are to understand this unmereological type of composition. This problem obviously extends to essence-existence composition.

3. Now let's look at the problem from the side of form. Could the spherical form of the bronze sphere be a part of it? A form is a principle of organization or arrangement, and it is not quite clear how an arrangement can be a part of the thing whose other parts it arranges. Lowe puts the point like this: ". . . the arrangement of certain parts cannot itself be one of those parts, as this would involve the very conception of an arrangement of parts in a fatal kind of impredicativity." (p. 7)

4. In sum, the difficulty is as follows. Form and matter are real 'principles' in compound substances. They are not projected or supplied by us. We can say that form and matter are ontological constituents of compound substances. This suggests that they are parts of compound substances. But we have just seen that they are not parts in any ordinary mereological sense. So this leaves us in the dark as to just what these 'principles' are and how they combine to constitute compound material substances.

Hell

Over at The Constructive Curmudgeon I happened upon this quotation which is relevant to recent concerns:

The magnitude of the punishment matches the magnitude of the sin. Now a sin that is against God is infinite; the higher the person against whom it is committed, the graver the sin—it is more criminal to strike a head of state than a private citizen—and God is of infinite greatness. Therefore an infinite punishment is deserved for a sin committed against Him.
--Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, Ia2ae. 87, 4.

 

How Could an Impassible God be Offended or Know Any Contingent Fact?

Earlier (here and here) I asked how an all-good God could sentence a human agent to sempiternal punishment, punishment that has a beginning but no end.  If the punishment must fit the crime, and the crimes of finite agents are themselves finite, then it would seem that no one, no matter what his crimes, would deserve sempiternal punishment.  To make this a bit more precise we ought to substitute 'sin' for 'crime.'  They are different concepts.  Sin, but not crime, implies an offense to God.  If there is no God then there cannot, strictly speaking, be any sin.  But there could still be crime relative to an accepted body of positive law.  And if there is no positive law, but there is a God, then there could be sin but no crime.  (Positive law is the law posited by human legislators.) 

So let us say that the punishment must fit the sin.  My claim, then, is that no sin or sins committed by a human agent is such as to merit sempiternal punishment.  To put the point more sharply, a God who would condemn a finite human agent to unending misery is a moral monster, and not God.  (I am assuming that the agent in question has come to admit the error of his ways and is truly sorry for them. I have no problem with the unending misery of a recalcitrant rebel.) 

In response, Leo Mollica said that the offense to God, as an offense to a being of infinite dignity, is itself infinite and so deserves sempiternal punishment.  This prompted me to ask how an impassible God could be offended, which is the topic of this post.

Impassibility.  To say that God is impassible is to say that nothing external to God can affect God.  As Brian Leftow points out in his SEP article, impassibility is not the same as immutability.  He gives two reasons, but all we need is one: a God who induces a change in himself is not immutable but still could be impassible.  Now if God is impassible, then he cannot be offended by the antics of the Israelites as when they fell to worshipping a golden calf, etc.  He cannot be offended by sin.  And if he cannot be offended by sin, then he cannot be 'infinitely' offended by it.  Or so I maintained.

In response Mollica made a clever move.  He pointed out, rightly, that a person could be offended (wronged, slandered, calumniated, etc.) without knowing that he is.  Such a person would be offended without being affected.  I took the suggestion to be that God too could be offended without being affected.  Thus impassibility does not rule out God's being offended.

To this my reply was that God is omniscient.  He knows everything there is to know. So although it is true that a finite person could be offended without knowing it, and so not affected by the injury that was done to him, God could not be offended without knowing it. Good Thomist that he is, Mollica came back at me with the notion that God is not affected by what he knows.  So when the creature sins, God is offended; but his being offended in no way affects him:  he is not affected 'cognitively' by his knowledge that he is being offended, nor is he affected or injured  'morally' by his being offended.

Very interesting, but very problematic, as problematic as the Thomist line on divine knowledge.  If God is God, then he must be a metaphysical absolute and the pressure is on to say that he is both impassible and immutable.  (An immutable being is one that cannot undergo 'real' as opposed to 'mere Cambridge' change.)  After all, a decent absolute is not the sort of thing that could change or be affected by other things. If it underwent change or affection it would be relativized. But how could such an unchanging  God know anything contingent?  If God is unchanging, then his knowledge is unchanging: it cannot vary over time, or from possible world to possible world.  Here is an argument adapted from  Hartshorne.

1.  If p entails q, and q is contingent, then p is contingent.
2. *Tom sins at time t* is contingent.
3. *God knows that Tom sins at t* entails *Tom sins at t*.
Therefore
4. *God knows that Tom sins at t* is contingent.
Therefore
5. The property of knowing that Tom sins at t is an accidental (not essential) property of God.
6. God has no accidental properties: it is no part of his unchangeable essence that he know any contingent fact, any fact that could have been otherwise.
7. (5) and (6) are contradictories.  So one of the premises must be rejected.  (6) is the premise most plausibly rejected; but then impassibility and immutability go by the boards.

The challenge for our resident Thomist is to explain how an impassible and immutable God can know any contingent fact.

Posits or Inventions? Geach and Butchvarov on Intentionality

One philosopher's necessary explanatory posit is another's mere invention.

In his rich and fascinating article "Direct Realism Without Materialism" (Midwest Studies in Philosophy, 1994), Panayot Butchvarov rejects  epistemic intermediaries as "philosophical inventions." Thus he rejects  sense data, sensations, ways of being appeared to, sense experiences, mental representations, ideas, images, looks, seemings, appearances, and the like. (1)  Curiously enough, however, Butch goes on to posit nonexistent or unreal objects very much in the manner of Meinong!  Actually, 'posit'  is not a word he would use since Butch claims that we are directly acquainted with unreal objects.  (13) Either way, unreal objects such as the proverbial hallucinated pink rat  are not, on Butchvarov's view, philosophical inventions.

But now consider the following  1961 passage from Anscombe and Geach's Three Philosophers, a passage that is as if directed against the Butchvarovian view:

But saying this  has obvious difficulties. [Saying that all there is to a sensation or thought of X is its being of X.] It seems to make the whole being of a sensation or thought consist in a relation to something else:  it is as if someone said he had a picture of a cat that was not painted on any background or in any medium, there being nothing to it except that it was a picture of a cat.  This is hard enough: to make matters worse, the terminus of the supposed relation may not exist -- a drunkard's 'seeing' snakes is not related to any real snake, nor my thought of a phoenix to any real phoenix.  Philosophers have sought a way out of this difficulty by inventing chimerical entities like 'snakish sense-data' or 'real but nonexistent phoenixes' as termini of the cognitive relation. (95, emphasis added)

Butchvarov would not call a nonexistent phoenix or nonexistent pink rat real, but that it just a matter of terminology.  What is striking here is that the items Geach considers chimerical inventions Butchvarov considers not only reasonably posited, but phenomenologically evident!

Ain't philosophy grand?  One philosopher's chimerical invention is another's phenomenological given. 

What is also striking about the above  passage is that the position that Geach rejects via the 'picture of a cat' analogy is almost exactly the position that Butch maintains. Let's think about this a bit.

Surely Anscombe and Geach are right when it comes to pictures and other physical representations.  There is a clear sense in which a picture (whether painting, photograph, etc.) of a cat is of a cat. The intentionality here cannot however be original; it must be derivative, derivative from the original intentionality of one who takes the picture to be of a cat.   Surely no physical representation represents anything on its own, by its own power.  And it is also quite clear that a picture of X is not exhausted by its being of X.  There is more to a picture than its depicting something; the depicting function needs realization in some medium.

The question, however, is whether original intentionality also needs  realization in some medium.  It is not obvious that it does need such realization, whether in brain-stuff or in mind-stuff.  Why can't consciousness of a cat  be nothing more than consciousness of a cat?  Why can't consciousness be exhausted in its being by its revelation of objects? 

Bewusstsein als bewusst-sein.  Get it?

But this is not the place to examine Butchvarov's direct realist conception of consciousness, a conception he finds in Moore, Wittgenstein, Heidegger and Sartre, and contrasts with a mental- contents conception.

 

Aquinas on Intentionality: Towards a Critique

Yesterday I quoted Peter Geach in exposition of Aquinas' theory of intentionality.  I will now quote Anthony Kenny in exposition of the same doctrine:

The form is individuated when existing with esse naturale in an actual example of a species; it is also individuated, in quite a different way, when it exists with esse intentionale in the mind of a thinker.  Suppose that I think of a crocodile.  There seem to be two things that make this thought the thought that it is: first, that it is a thought of a crocodile and not, say, of an elephant; second, that it is my thought and not yours or President Bush's.  Other things may be true of thoughts -- e.g. that they are interesting,  obsessive, vague -- but these seem to be the two things essential to any thoughts: that they should be someone's thoughts, and that they should be thoughts of something.  The theory of intentionality is meant to set out both  these features.  The form of crocodile when existing in nature is individuated by the matter it informs; when existing intentionally, it is individuated by the person in whose mind it exists. (Aquinas on Being, Oxford 2002, p. 169)

The idea, then, is that one and the same form is both in the thing outside the mind (the crocodile in Kenny's example) and in the mind of the person who is thinking about the crocodile.  It is this self-same form that makes the thought a thought of a crocodile as opposed to a thought of something else.  But the form exists in mind and in thing in two different ways.  It exists in the mind with esse intentionale (intentional be-ing), but exists in the thing with esse naturale (natural be-ing).  (My use of 'be-ing' to translate esse is not for the sake of being cute but to underscore the crucial distinction between the infinitive esse (to be) and the present participle ens, both of which can be translated with 'being.')

The distinction between the two modes of be-ing is needed in order to avoid the consequence that a mind thinking about a crocodile either has a crocodile in it or is itself a crocodile.  A thought of a red sunset is not a red thought, and a thought of a crocodile does not have the properties characteristic of a crocodile.

I now pass over to critique.  Let's first note a distinction that I fudged yesterday for the sake of brevity, brevity being the soul of blog.  Reverting to yesterday's example, it is the distinction between thinking of  a cat (some cat or other) and thinking of a particular cat such as Max Black.  It is one thing to explain how my thought of a cat is a thought of a cat (as opposed to a dog or a kangaroo), and quite another to explain how my thought of Max the cat is a thought of Max. The Thomist theory may well be up to the first task.  But I'm not sure it is up to the second.

Matter is the principium individuationis.  What makes  a cat an individual cat numerically distinct from other cats is its signate or designated matter (materia signata).  In extramental reality, then, Max's individuality is bound up with his signate matter.   But when Max's form exists in my mind with esse intentionale, it is exists in an immaterial way.  What then individuates Max's form as it exists in my mind with esse intentionale?  And if nothing individuates it, then what makes my thought of Max the cat a thought of Max (as opposed to a thought of some cat or other)?

I hope to expatiate further on this tomorrow.

Esse Intentionale and Esse Naturale: Notes on Geach on Aquinas on Intentionality

A theory of intentionality ought to explain how the objective reference or object-directedness of our thoughts is possible.  Suppose I am thinking about a cat, a particular cat of my acquaintance whom I have named 'Max Black.'  How are we to understand the relation between the mental act of my thinking, which is a transient datable event in my mental life, and its object, namely the cat I am thinking of?  What makes my thinking of Max a thinking of Max?

Here is what Peter Geach has to say, glossing Aquinas:

What makes a sensation or thought of an X to be of an X is that it is an individual occurrence of that very form or nature which occurs in X -- it is thus that our mind 'reaches right up to the reality'; what makes it to be a sensation or thought of an X rather than an actual X or an actual X-ness is that X-ness here occurs in the special way called esse intentionale and not in the 'ordinary' way called esse naturale.  This solution resolves the difficulty.  It shows how being of an X is not a relation in which the thought or sensation stands, but is simply what the thought or sensation is . . . .(Three Philosophers, Cornell UP, 1961, p. 95) 

But what the devil does that  mean?  Allow me to explain.  The main point here is that ofness or aboutness is not a relation between a mental act and its object.  Thus intentionality is not a relation that relates my thinking of Max and Max.  My thinking of Max just is the mental occurrence of the very same form or nature -- felinity -- which occurs physically in Max.  Max is a hylomorphic compound, a compound of form and (signate) matter.  Old Max himself, fleas and all, is of course not in my mind.  It is his form that is in my mind.  But if felinity informs my mind, why isn't my mind a cat?  Here is where the distinction between esse intentionale and esse naturale comes in.  One and the same form -- felinity -- exists in two different modes.  Its mode of being in my mind is esse intentionale while its mode of being in Max is esse naturale.

Because my thought of Max just is the intentional occurrence of the same form or nature that occurs naturally in Max, there is no problem about how my thought reaches Max.  One could call this an identity theory of intentionality. 

What if Max were, unbeknownst to me, to cease to exist while I was thinking about him?  My thinking would be unaffected: it would still be about Max in exactly the way it was about him before.  The Thomist theory would account for this by saying that while the form occurs with esse intentionale in my mind, it does not occur outside my mind with esse reale.

That in a nutshell is the Thomist theory of intentionality.  There is more to it of course, and it is open to some very serious objections.  These will be discussed tomorrow perhaps.

Total Dependence and Essence/Existence Composition

Anthony Flood has done metaphysicians a service by making available John N. Deck’s excellent, St. Thomas Aquinas and the Language of Total Dependence. This is an essay that Anthony Kenny, no slouch of a philosopher, saw fit to include in his anthology, Aquinas: A Collection of Critical Essays (University of Notre Dame Press, 1976).

Mr. Flood finds Deck’s argument to be "unanswerable" to such an extent that it broke the hold of Thomism on him. Although I am not a Thomist, I believe I can show that Deck’s argument is not compelling.

This essay divides into two parts. In the first, I state what I take to be Deck’s argument; in the second, I show how it can be answered from the position worked out in my A Paradigm Theory of Existence: Onto-Theology Vindicated (Kluwer Philosophical Studies Series #89, 2002).

Deck’s Argument Entdeckt

On classical theism, divine creation is creatio ex nihilo, creation out of nothing. Of course, this does not mean that God creates out of some stuff called ‘nothing’; it means that it is not the case that there is something distinct from God out of which God creates. Thus divine creation, classically understood, is not the forming of a pre-given matter, or any sort of operating upon something whose existence is independent of God. Creation out of nothing thus implies that created entities (creatures) are totally dependent on God. By comparison, when I make a sandwich, the product is only partially dependent on me: I merely assemble pre-given ingredients. Human 'creations' are out of something distinct from their 'creators.' Divine creations are out of nothing distinct from their Creator.

Love Your Opponent

"We should love both: those whose opinion we follow, and those whose opinion we reject. For both have applied themselves to the quest for the truth, and both have helped us in it."  St. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on Aristotle's Metaphysics, Book XII, Lecture 9.

Ontological Analysis in Aristotle and Bergmann: Prime Matter Versus Bare Particulars

Hardly anyone reads Gustav Bergmann any more, but since I read everything, I read Bergmann. It is interesting to compare his style of ontological analysis with that of the great hylomorphic ontologists, Aristotle and Aquinas. The distinguished Aristotelian Henry B. Veatch does some of my work for me in a fine paper, "To Gustav Bergmann: A Humble Petition and Advice" in M.S.Gram and E.D.Klemke, eds. The Ontological Turn: Studies in the Philosophy of Gustav Bergmann (University of Iowa Press, 1974, pp. 65-85)

I want to focus on Veatch's comparison of Aristotle and Bergmann on the issue of prime matter/bare particulars. As Veatch correctly observes, "all of the specific functions which bare particulars perform in Bergmannian ontology are the very same functions as are performed by matter in Aristotle . . . ." (81) What are these functions?

Scholastic Realism and Predication

This post continues our explorations in the philosophy of The School. What is a scholastic realist? John Peterson (Introduction to Scholastic Realism, Peter Lang, 1999, p. 6) defines a scholastic realist as follows:

S is a scholastic realist =df i) S is a moderate realist and ii) S believes that universals exist in some transcendent mind, i.e., the mind of God.

A moderate realist is defined like this:

S is a moderate realist =df i) S denies that universals exist transcendently and ii) S affirms that universals exist immanently both in matter and minds.

A universal exists transcendently just in case it exists "independently of matter and mind." One who holds that universals exist independently of matter and mind is a Platonic or extreme realist. A moderate realist who is not a scholastic realist Peterson describes as an Aristotelian realist. Such a philosopher is a moderate realist who "denies that universals exist in some transcendent mind."   In sum, and interpreting a bit:

Platonic or extreme  realist:  maintains that there are universals and that they can exist transcendently, i.e., unexemplified (uninstantiatied) and so apart from matter and mind.

Moderate realist:  denies that there are any transcendent universals and maintains that universals exist only immanently in minds and in matter.

Scholastic realist: moderate realist who believes that there is a transcendent mind in which universals exist.

Aristotelian realist:  moderate realist who denies that there is a transcendent mind in which universals exist.

The Aporetics of Divine Simplicity

Thomist27 e-mails: 

Thank you first of all for a spectacular blog. I discovered Maverick Philosopher a few years ago and have been reading it regularly ever since. Through your blog, I learned that you wrote the SEP's article on divine simplicity, among similar things; I think, then, that you are qualified to answer my questions.  My questions concern divine simplicity and divine knowledge, two nuts that I've lately been making every effort to crack. First, do you think that theism can be salvaged without absolute divine simplicity? I know that there are many theists who don't believe that God is simple, but is such a concept of Deity coherent? I believe a case can be made, pace Alvin Plantinga and other theistic deniers of divine simplicity, that to deny the absolute ontological simplicity of God is to deny theism itself.  For what we mean by 'God' is an absolute reality, something metaphysically ultimate, "that than which no greater can be conceived." (Anselm)   Now an absolute reality cannot depend for its existence or nature or value upon anything distinct from itself.  It must be from itself alone, or a se.  Nothing could count as divine, or worthy of worship, or be an object of our ultimate concern, or be maximally great, if it lacked the property of aseity.  But the divine aseity, once it is granted, seems straightaway to entail the divine simplicity, as Aquinas argues in ST.  For if God is not dependent on anything else for his existence, nature, and value, then God is not a whole of parts, for a whole of parts depends on its parts to be and to be what it is.  So if God is a se, then he is not a composite being, but a simple being.  This implies that in God there is no real distinction between: existence and essence, form and matter, act and potency, individual and attribute, attribute and attribute.   In sum, if God is God, then God is simple.  To deny the simplicity of God is to deny the existence of God.  It is therefore possible for an atheist to argue:  Nothing can be ontologically simple, therefore, God cannot exist. A theist who denies divine simplicity might conceivably be taxed with idolatry inasmuch as he sets up something as God that falls short of the exacting requirements of deity.  The divine transcendence would seem to require that God cannot be a being among beings, but must in some sense be Being itself . (Deus est ipsum esse subsistens:  God is not an existent but self-subsisting Existence itself.)  On the other hand, a theist who affirms divine simplicity can be taxed, and has been taxed, with incoherence.  As an aporetician first and foremost, I seek to lay bare the problem in all its complexity under suspension of the natural urge for a quick solution. Second, if my understanding is correct, then according to the doctrine of divine simplicity, God has no intrinsic accidents. How is that compatible with divine freedom? I know it's trite, but I haven't seen a good answer to the question of how God could have properties such as having created mankind or having declined to create elves without their being just as necessary to Him as His benevolence and omnipotence (especially if He is what He does). This is indeed a problem. On classical theism, God is libertarianly free: although he exists in every metaphysically possible world, he does not create in every such world, and he creates different things in the different worlds in which he does create.  Thus the following are accidental properties of God:  the property of creating something-or-other, and the property of creating human beings.  But surely God cannot be identical to these properties as the simplicity doctrine seems to require.  It cannot be inscribed into the very nature of God that he create Socrates given that he freely creates Socrates.  Some writers have attempted to solve this problem, but I don't know of a good solution. Even if there's a solution to that problem, what's to be said about God's knowledge? Isn't His knowledge an intrinsic property of His? But, since the truth of a proposition like the planet Mars exists is contingent, isn't God's knowing it an accidental property, and, furthermore, an intrinsic accidental property? Well, this too is a problem.  If S knows that p, and p is contingent, then S's knowing that p is an accidental (as opposed to essential) property of S.  Now if God is omniscient, then he knows every (non-indexical) truth, including every contingent truth. It seems to follow that God has at least as many accidental properties as there are contingent truths.  Surely these are not properties with which God could be identical, as the simplicity doctrine seems to require.  Now there must be some contingent truths in consequence of the divine freedom; but this is hard to square with the divine simplicity.  And if it is in fact the case that God's knowledge is the cause of things, then how are we to understand His knowledge of the free actions of creatures? I know that God is supposed to be the final cause of these actions, as well as their ultimate efficient cause, but the issue is still unclear to me. This is also a problem.  The simplicity doctrine implies that God is identical to what he knows. It follows that what he knows cannot vary from world to world.   In the actual world A, Oswald shoots Kennedy at time t.  If that was a libertarianly free action, then there is a world W in which Oswald does not shoot Kennedy at t.  Since God exists in very world, and  knows what happens in every world, he knows that in A, Oswald shoots Kennedy at t and in W that Oswald does not shoot Kennedy at t. But this contradicts the simplicity doctrine, according to which what God knows does not vary from world to world.  The simplicity doctrine thus appears to collide both with divine and human freedom. I sincerely look forward to your addressing these questions. Thank you in advance for your consideration of these weighty matters. I have addressed them, but not solved them.  Solutions have been proffered, but they give rise to problems of their own -- something to be pursued in future posts.

Edith Stein on Cognitio Fidei: Is Faith a Kind of Knowledge?

One finds the phrase cognitio fidei in Thomas Aquinas and in such Thomist writers as Josef Pieper. It translates as 'knowledge of faith.' The genitive is to be interpreted subjectively, not objectively: faith is not the object of knowledge; faith is a form or type of knowledge. But how can faith be a type of knowledge? One ought to find this puzzling.

On a standard analysis of 'knows,' where propositional knowledge is at issue, subject S knows that p just in case (i) S believes that p; (ii) S is justified in believing that p; and (iii) p is true. This piece of epistemological boilerplate is the starting-point for much of the arcana (Gettier counterexamples, etc.) of contemporary epistemology. But its pedigree is ancient, to be found in Plato's Theaetetus.

It is obvious that on the standard analysis mere belief is inferior to knowledge since if I believe what is false I don't have knowledge, and if I believe what is true without justification I don't have knowledge either. How then can mere belief be a form or type of knowledge? It is rather a necessary but not sufficient condition of knowledge. Or so it seems to the modern mind.

Another puzzle has to do with certainty. Whether or not knowledge entails certainty, it seems to the modern mind that belief definitely does not entail certainty: what I believe but do not know I cannot be certain about since if I believe but do not know, then either truth is lacking or justification is lacking or both. How then can mere belief be said to be certain? And yet we read in Aquinas that "It is part of the concept of belief itself that man is certain of that in which he believes." (Quoted from Pieper, Belief and Faith, p. 15).

Is easy to understand how one who believes but does not know that p can be subjectively certain that p; but it is difficult to understand how such a person can be objectively certain that p. Objective certainty, however, alone has epistemic value.

We now turn to the remarkable Edith Stein (1891-1942), brilliant Jewish student of and assistant to Edmund Husserl, philosopher, Roman Catholic convert, Carmelite nun, victim of the Holocaust at Auschwitz, and saint of the Roman Catholic church. In the 1920s Stein composed an imaginary dialogue between her two philosophical masters, Husserl and Aquinas. Part of what she has them discussing is the nature of faith.

One issue is whether faith gives us access to truth. Stein has Thomas say:

. . . faith is a way to truth. Indeed, in the first place it is a way to truths — plural — which would otherwise be closed to us, and in the second place it is the surest way to truth. For there is no greater certainty than that of faith . . . . (Edith Stein, Knowledge and Faith, tr. Redmond, ICS Publications 2000, pp. 16-17)

Now comes an important question. What is it that we as philosophers want? We want the ultimate truths about the ultimate matters. If so, it is arguable that we should take these truths from whatever source offers them to us even if the source is not narrowly philosophical. We should not say: I will accept only those truths that can be certified by (natural) reason, but rather all truths whether certified by reason or 'certified' by faith. Thus Stein has Aquinas say:

If faith makes accessible truths unattainable by any other means, philosophy, for one thing, cannot forego them without renouncing its universal claim to truth. [. . .] One consequence, then, is a material dependence of philosophy on faith.

Then too, if faith affords the highest certainty attainable by the human mind, and if philosophy claims to bestow the highest certainty, then philosophy must make the certainty of faith its own. It does so first by absorbing the truths of faith, and further by using them as the final criterion by which to gauge all other truths. Hence, a second consequence is a formal dependence of philosophy on faith. (17-18)

But of course this cannot go unchallenged by Husserl. So Stein has him say:

. . . if faith is the final criterion of all other truth, what is the criterion of faith itself? What guarantees that the certainty of my faith is genuine? (20)

Or in terms of of the distinction made above between subjective and objective certainty: what guarantees that the certainty of faith is objective and not merely subjective? The faiths of Jew, Christian, and Muslim are all different. How can the Christian be sure that the revelation he takes on faith has not been superseded by the revelation the Muslim takes on faith?

Stein's Thomas replies to Husserl as follows:

Probably my best answer is that faith is its own guarantee. I could also say that God, who has given us the revelation, vouches for its truth. But this would only be the other side of the same coin. For if we took the two as separate facts, we would fall into a circulus vitiosus [vicious circle], since God is after all what we become certain about in faith. [. . .]

All we can do is point out that for the believer such is the certainty of faith that it relativizes all other certainty, and that he can but give up any supposed knowledge which contradicts his faith. The unique certitude of faith is a gift of grace. It is up to the understanding and will to draw the practical consequences therefrom. Constructing a philosophy on faith belongs to the theoretical consequences. (20-22)

So there you have it. There are two opposing conceptions of philosophy, one based on the autonomy of reason, the other willing to sacrifice the autonomy of reason for the sake of truths which cannot be certified by reason but which are provided by faith in revelation. It looks as if one must simply decide which of these two conceptions to adopt, and that the decision cannot be justified by (natural) reason.

My task, in this and in related posts, is first and foremost to set forth the problems as clearly as I can. Anyone who thinks this problem has an easy solution does not understand it.  It is part of the tension between Athens and Jerusalem.

Aquinas on Why Being Cannot Be a Genus

At 998b22 of his Metaphysics, Aristotle argues that being cannot be a genus. Thomas Aquinas gives his version of the argument in Summa Contra Gentiles, Book I, ch. 25, para. 6. I find the presentation of the doctor angelicus clearer than that of the philosophus. After quoting Thomas' argument, I will offer a rigorous reconstruction and explanation of it. The argument issues in an important conclusion, one highly relevant to my running battle with the partisans of the 'thin' conception of being.

The Anton C. Pegis translation reads as follows:

Now, that being cannot be a genus is proved by the Philosopher in the following way. If being were a genus we would have to find a difference to contract it to a species. But no difference shares in the genus in such a way that the genus is included in the notion of the difference, for thus the genus would be included twice in the definition of the species. Rather, the difference is outside what is understood in the nature of the genus. But there can be nothing that is outside that which is understood by being, if being is included in the concept of the things of which it is predicated. Thus, being cannot be contracted by any difference. Being is, therefore, not a genus. (127)

Quod autem ens non possit esse genus, probatur per Philosophum in hunc modum: Si ens esset genus, oporteret differentiam aliquam inveniri, per quam traheretur ad speciem; nulla autem differentia participat genus, ita scilicet quod genus sit in ratione differentiae; quia sic genus poneretur bis in diffinitione speciei. Sed oportet differentiam esse praeter id quod intellegitur in ratione generis. Nihil autem potest esse quod sit praeter id quod intelligitur per ens, si ens sit de intellectu eorum de quibus praedicatur; et sic per nullam differentiam contrahi potest. Relinquitur ergo quod ens non sit genus.

I think it best to reconstruct the argument as a reductio ad absurdum. In such a style of proof one attempts to derive a contradiction (a logical absurdity) from an assumption together with premises that are believed by the producer and the consumers of the argument to be incontrovertible. The emergence of a contradiction shows that the assumption is false.

Are the Souls of Brute Animals Subsistent? Considerations Anent the Unity of Consciousness

We have been discussing the view of Thomas Aquinas according to which (i) the soul is the form of the body, and (ii) the souls of some animals, namely rational animals, are subsistent, i.e. capable of an existence independent of matter. I have registered some of my misgivings. Here is another. If our souls are subsistent forms, then why are not the souls of non-human animals also subsistent? If that in us which thinks is a life-principle and the substantial form of our bodies, and subsistent to boot, by what principled means do we not ascribe subsistent souls to all living things or at least to many non-human living things?

Aquinas discusses this question in Summa Theologica, Q. 75, art. 3. He attempts to navigate a middle course between a form of materialism according to which sense and intellect are both "referred to a corporeal principle," and the view he takes to be Platonic according to which both sense and intellect are "referred to an incorporeal principle." On the Platonic view, both sensing and understanding "belong to the soul as such." Thomas points us to Theaetetus 184 c. This is a fascinating passage which, according to Paul Natorp, anticipates Kant's transcendental unity of apperception.

In this passage, Socrates puts the following question to Theaetetus: ". . . which is more correct — to say that we see or hear with the eyes and with the ears, or through the eyes and through the ears?" Theatetus obligingly responds with through rather than with. Socrates approves of this response:

Yes, my boy, for no one can suppose that in each of us, as in a sort of Trojan horse, there are perched a number of unconnected senses which do not all meet in some one nature, the mind, or whatever we please to call it, of which they are the instruments, and with which through them we perceive the objects of sense. (Emphasis added, tr. Benjamin Jowett)

The issue here is the unity of consciousness in the synthesis of a manifold of sensory data. Long before Kant, and long before Leibniz, the Plato was well aware of the problem of the unity of consciousness. (It is not for nothing that Whitehead described Western philosophy as a series of footnotes to Plato.)

Sitting before a fire, I see the flames, feel the heat, smell the smoke, and hear the crackling of the logs. The sensory data are unified in one consciousness of a selfsame object. This unification does not take place in the eyes or in the ears or in the nostrils or in any other sense organ, and to say that it takes place in the brain is not a good answer. For the brain is a partite physical thing extended in space. If the unity of consciousness is identified with a portion of the brain, then the unity is destroyed. For no matter how small the portion of the brain, it has proper parts external to each other. Every portion of the brain, no matter how small, is a complex entity. But consciousness in the synthesis of a manifold is a simple unity. Hence the unity of consciousness cannot be understood along materialist lines.

This argument from the unity of consciousness, which of course needs to be more rigorously developed, is present in nuce in Plato in the passage cited. According to Aquinas, if this argument is sound, ". . . it follows that even the souls of brute animals are subsistent." This seems to be a correct inference.

Aquinas hopes to block the inference with the help of Aristotle's De Anima 429 a 24. Thomas gives an argument that I interpret as follows:

1. Although understanding alone is performed without a corporeal organ, as Aristotle maintains, sensation and the operations of the sensitive soul are accompanied by changes in the body at our sensory receptors.

Therefore

2. The sensitive soul has no per se operation of its own, and every operation of the sensitive soul belongs to the soul-body composite.

Therefore

3. The souls of brute animals, having no per se operations, are not subsistent.

Unfortunately, I cannot see that this is a good argument. The gist of the argument is that while there are specific corporeal organs for seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, and touching, namely, eyes, ears, etc., there is no corporeal organ for understanding. From this it is concluded that there is a crucial difference between sensing and understanding: it is broadly logically possible that there be understanding without a body; but it is not broadly logically possible that there be sensing without a body. And since we alone among animals are rational, or capable of understanding, we alone have subsistent souls.

What this ignores is that sensing is not merely a mechanical or material process. When my cat simultaneously sees, smells, and tastes her food (or my food as she much prefers) there is a unity of consciousness in her no less than there is one in me when I lay into my food. There is no specific corporeal organ that does this unifying of sensory data, neither in me nor in my cat. The unity-of-consciousness argument against materialism can be 'run' both for man and cat. If it works for me it should work for her. So if the possibility of my disembodied existence follows from there being no physical organ that unifies my consciousness, then we get the same result for my cat, and the difference between man and brute in respect of subsistence of souls cannot be maintained.

To sum up. Thomas wants to say that men, but no brutes, have subsistent souls. This is because men, but no brutes, understand. But sensing is a form of consciousness, and consciousness cannot be understood in materialist terms. Sensing is not a mere collision of atoms in the void. Sensory consciousness, besides displaying unity across its several modalities, reveals qualia. And qualia are a well-known stumbling block to materialism. It is difficult to see why, if understanding supports the possibility of disembodied existence, sensing should not also support this possibility. There is after all only one soul which both senses and understands. The phrases 'sensitive soul' and 'intellective soul' are not to be taken to refer to distinct souls.

Imago Dei in Relation to Aquinas and Christology

This just over the transom from Will Duquette:

 A fool rushes in...

In your comment on Peter Lupu's guest post, you say

> Man was not created in God's material image, since he has none; he 
> was created in God's spiritual image.  But this implies that what is 
> essential to man is not his animal body which presumably can be 
> accounted for in the naturalistic terms of evolutionary biology, but 
> his spirit or consciousness.

However, St. Thomas would say that it is man's nature to be a
rational animal, and hence man's animal body most certainly is
essential.  I appreciate that you might be working in a broader
theistic context rather than an explicitly Christian context; but
given that Christ is God Incarnate, and now dwells in eternity,
it seems to me that man now just is created in God's image, body
and soul both.  From the standpoint of eternity God created the
universe, man in it, and become incarnate as a man as one single
act.

I enjoy your blog; it's part of my continuing education.  Thanks
for providing it.

You're welcome, Mr. Duquette.  Your comment is pertinent and raises a number of difficult and important questions. 

Conceivability, Possibility and Per Impossibile Reasoning

Here is an example of per impossibile reasoning from Thomas Aquinas, De Veritate, q. 1, art. 2:

Even if there were no human intellects, things could be said to be true because of their relation to the divine intellect. But if, by an impossible supposition [per impossibile], intellect did not exist and things did continue to exist, then the essentials of truth would in no way remain. (tr. Mulligan)

Retortion and Performative Inconsistency Once Again

This post continues my meditations on the probative reach of retortion.  See the category Retortion for more on this intriguing topic.

1. If a number of us are sitting silently in a room, I cannot say 'We are silent' without in some sense contradicting myself.  In what sense, exactly?  In the performative sense.  Were I to say 'We are silent,' my performance (Vollzug in E. Coreth's terminology) -- in this case my utterance -- would be 'inconsistent' with its content.  Now contents are propositions, while utterance events are not, the reason being that contents are truth-valued (either true or false assuming Bivalence) while utterance events, like all events, are not truth-valued.  It follows that performative inconsistency is not identical to, or a species of, logical inconsistency.  Logical consistency/inconsistency is a relation between or among propositions.  Two propositions are consistent iff they can both be true, and inconsistent iff they cannot.  A single proposition is self-consistent iff its logical form is such as to admit some true substitution-instances.  Clearly, there is nothing logically self-inconsistent about 'We are silent.'   The sentence is not logically self-contradictory.  But I would contradict myself were I to say, in the situation described, 'We are silent.'  Curiously, I cannot say in this situation what I know to be true.  If I were to say it, I would falsify it.  Therefore, the proposition that I know to be true is unassertible salva veritate in the situation in question. No doubt I have the ability to assert the sentence-type 'We are silent'; but I cannot assert it in a way that preserves truth.  But this does not show that the proposition is false, or that its negation -- We are not silent -- is true. 

The Reach of Retortion

Tony Flood e-mails:

Bill, when you distinguish retorsive arguments that work from those that don't, I'm not clear about what you mean by "working." You haven't said that some retorsive arguments are fallacies, but if they're not, then what is their defect?  A "performative contradiction," e.g., "I cannot write a sentence in English," may not be, as you noted, a contradiction between propositions, but to expose its untenability is certainly effective and therefore "works."  Do you exclude performative contradictions from the class of retorsive arguments? If you do and if you're right, my celebration of that "point of connection" was misplaced. (I've modified that paragraph to include the link to your post.)

I will try to answer Tony's question by giving an example of a retorsive argument that does not 'work.'  In Retortion and the Existence of Truth I gave an example that did seem to 'work.'

A Hylomorphic Solution to the Interaction Problem?

Interactionist substance dualism in the philosophy of mind is supposed to face a devastating objection, the interaction objection. In the first part of this post I will present this objection in its traditional form and suggest that it is not all that serious. In the second part, however, I take the objection seriously and consider whether Aristotelian- Thomistic hylomorphism has the resources to counter it.

Aquinas on Intellect's Independence of Matter: Summa Contra Gentiles, II, 49, 8

In an earlier post on hylomorphic dualism, I said that

Aquinas cannot do justice to his own insight into the independence of the intellect from matter from within the hylomorphic scheme of ontological analysis he inherits from Aristotle. His metaphysica generalis is at war with his special-metaphysical insight into the independence of intellect from matter.

To help nail down half of this assertion, the half that credits the Common Doctor with insight, let's look at one of the arguments Aquinas gives for the intellect's independence of matter, the one at Summa Contra Gentiles, Book II, Chapter 49, Paragraph 8:

Also, the action of no body is self-reflexive. For it is proved in [Aristotle's] Physics[VIII, 5, 256a2-33] that no body is moved by itself except with respect to a part, so that one part of it is the mover and the other the moved. But in acting the intellect reflects on itself, not only as to a part, but as to the whole of itself. Therefore, it is not a body.

One will be tempted to dismiss this quaint verbiage as just so much medieval mumbo-jumbo, but I think there is an argument here that has a serious claim on our attention. Taking some minor liberties, I would present the argument as a nice, neat syllogism: