The Limits of Knowledge

The Limits of

KNOWLEDGE

Paul O’Hara

Copyright © 2010 by Paul O’Hara.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2010910353

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Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1:  Matter and Form

Chapter 2:  Actuality and Potentiality

Chapter 3:  Unity and Multiplicity

Chapter 4:  Homogeneity and Heterogeneity

Chapter 5:  Principle of Individuation

Chapter 6:  Of Relations

Chapter 7:  Of Abstract Ideas

Chapter 8:  Of Judgement

Chapter 9:  Analytic and Synthetic

Chapter 10:  Language and Logic

Chapter 11:  The Limits of Knowledge I

Chapter 12:  The Limits of Knowledge II

Chapter 13:  Truth and Reality

Chapter 14:  Universals and Particulars I

Chapter 15:  Universals and Particulars II

Chapter 16:  On Personal Identity

Chapter 17:  On Topology

Chapter 18:  Nature and Art

Chapter 19:  Time and Space

Chapter 20:  Space and Matter

Chapter 21:  Creation, Destruction and Formation

Chapter 22:  On the Meaning of a Universal Spirit

Introduction

Since the dawn of time, philosophers have found themselves divided over the question concerning the source of our knowledge—is this something that springs from our senses or is this something that springs from our minds? Plato painted the picture of a supersensible world aloof from the shadowy quagmire of our lives. Democritus, unlike Aristotle, believed that matter was composed of particles that he called atoms. For a whilst, and during the Middle Ages, it appeared that the Aristotelian approach had gained the upper hand. Scholars such as St Thomas Aquinas, Suarez and St Anselm rigorously debated the questions concerning ‘accident’ and ‘essence’, ‘body’ and ‘soul’ and ‘quality’ and ‘quantity’. Due to the influence of thinkers such as Descartes however and the monumental achievements of Newton, by the eighteenth century and well and truly by the nineteenth century, there was a definite change in the air. Today, and in the twenty-first century, our world is dominated by the scientific point of view. Design has become a dirty word, teleology has become a dirty word and Kant’s Critique of Teleological Judgement has become an idle curiosity. But the question still remains—in what sense is knowledge the product of our minds just as much as it is of our ability to organize and regulate the world in which we live?

We begin our journey in an Aristotelian spirit by reaffirming some of the stock concepts that have become part of our everyday vocabulary: the relation between matter and form, actuality and potentiality, unity and multiplicity, but of course, making them conformable to our present-day requirements. The first five chapters are especially important, since they lay the groundwork for a great deal that follows or at least inform many of the topics that are later taken up for discussion. At this point however, a word of warning may be in order. Some of the terms that appear in these early chapters are not, it is true, the sorts of things you are likely to find in contemporary literature (viz. specific and numerical identity, immanent and final causality). The point however is that they can be very useful in providing the context or the setting from which our enquiries proceed. Philosophy it must be remembered was not invented yesterday (even if linguistic analysis was) and we need, to some extent, to acknowledge the wisdom and achievements of those who have come before us.

Woven into this general fabric, there are discussions about more traditional problems, e.g. the problem of universals and something of more recent interest, the analytic-synthetic distinction. With respect to the latter, there are two issues we are concerned with: (a) whether this supports a kind of psychologism and (b) whether there is any genuine knowledge that could be described as synthetic a priori. So far as it concerns the first, a case could be made for saying that a judgement is not the same as a proposition, or at least that it is a mental construct, whereas a proposition is both a composite and what is real. With respect to the second, the question could be asked why there are not propositions both analytic and a posteriori, which tends to fuel our suspicion that this is not something genuine but rather spurious in its nature.

As a general observation, the logical content of this work could be said to be something that spans a wide divide, but there is no suggestion that what we are doing here is in any way precise or methodological. Certainly we deal at length with the basic laws of thought, but that it is only to indicate the kind of restraints that must be placed on the way we judge and deliberate. Our treatment of the law of identity is perhaps a little novel—not being of a monistic cast of mind, I have opted for something called the ‘identity of coefficients’ to encapsulate the meaning of unity in the face of a world that is essentially quite diverse. For the most part however we tend to canvass the work of a wide variety of logicians without supporting any particular approach.

One of the chief characteristics that needs to be noted is the more dynamical approach that we taken to the question of space. In ‘Homogeneity and Heterogeneity’, it is important to note the way that space is conceived of is not as an addendum to matter, but rather as a substance in and of itself. I say ‘substance’, but what I really mean is something self-sustaining. This is reflected in the fact that we always treat space and matter as if what they embodied were reciprocal properties and, thus in a sense, were but one and the same. Of course it is true that space and matter are not coordinated in the same way as are space and time, but the intuitive idea is that they should at least be some latitude in the way we might treat of the former. Thus material parts are conjunctive with cavernous parts; the puncturing of space is conjunctive with the puncturing of matter; a proper whole as a scattered whole is conjunctive with a proper part as a solid part, etc. And although this may seem a little odd, it does enable us to develop certain concepts in a way that is consonant with our aims. The way we treat the meaning of a ‘proper whole’ also has implications for the meaning of a part that is either exclusive or inclusive. Since the whole is not really an encompassing whole, there will be a double meaning for what is inclusive or exclusive in itself. That is, it will depend on whether we are talking about an inclusive or exclusive part of space (that is, the ‘whole’ of space or a hole in space) or an inclusive or exclusive part of matter (that is, the whole as the sum of its parts). Where space is concerned, what we start with is something necessarily inclusive. Where matter is concerned, what we start with is something necessarily exclusive. This needs to be kept in mind in our treatment, for instance, of a compound judgement.

Another issue that we seek to address is the relation between organisms and mechanisms. Given that we are living in a post-Darwinian age, it behoves us to give a more credible account of the way the world was formed, in both a physical and an ecological sense. Since earliest times, philosophers have been somewhat remiss in this regard, preferring a set of assumptions to any active or constant engagement with the facts. Invariably this account begins with an ‘act of God’ or some ‘creative essence’ and then moves on to a description of man as the image or the embodiment of His Maker. This in turn leads on to a spurious kind of causality and the claim that in order to be vital something must also be the cause and effect of itself, hence both ‘immanent’ and ‘final’ causality. We have attempted to debunk this by suggesting that versatility concerns both the obsolescence of any part in relation to the durability of any whole and the obsolescence of any whole in relation to the durability of any part. And so in our chapter on personal identity, we have endeavoured to make clear that the identity of any person is not the same as the identity of any thing. It has often been said that the identity of any thing concerns its persistence throughout space and time and that if you can map the coordinates of an object as it moves from place to place, then undoubtedly you would consider it to be one and the same. But there is a problem about this so far as it concerns the identity of a person, since consciousness may sometimes take us in one direction and sometimes take us in another. So far as time is concerned, the impressions we form of ourselves are also the source of what we are, our memories remind us of who we were and what we have become. But this may be very different so far as it concerns the space that we occupy or, at least, the particles of matter that through their movement coalesce to form us as we are. A cripple who is confined to a wheelchair would hardly be aware of how the parts were vitally connected to any whole. Hence his consciousness of what he is in one respect could be very different from what it was in any other. He may indeed have an active and vivid memory, but we would not say he had an active and energetic life.

The chapter called ‘Creation, Destruction and Formation’ is an attempt to provide a reasonably cogent account, within limitations, of the relation between these primitive and primordial forces, paying particular attention to the way that destruction may be viewed in both a transitional and terminal way. Traditionally philosophers have been reluctant to deal with the issue of disorder, largely because of their desire to keep the world in a tidy and manageable state, that is, as they would wish it to be but not as it really is. The idea that everything persists in its own being and that there is no conflict from without is a common theme amongst seventeenth-century thinkers and it appears that Darwin could see something in nature they had not the slightest inkling about. This is especially so in the case of Spinoza, whose seamless system is completely intolerant of any forces that may not support the general design. What I have attempted to do here, if only in a small way, is rectify this appalling omission.

The last chapter concerns one of the perennial questions of philosophy, the meaning of a universal soul or the meaning of a universal spirit. We take Leibniz’ classic essay called ‘Reflections on the Doctrine of a Single Universal Spirit’ (1702) as our starting point and then incorporate within this a range of elements both ancient and modern (e.g. the Platonic conception of a supersensible realm and the Jungian conception of a collective unconscious). For Leibniz although the soul is different from the body, it always retains within it certain material organs, which in turn supports its connection with what is preformed and what is post-formed, or what is dormant and yet not gone. That physical existents are born and die is merely an illusion, since what we understand by birth is really only a kind of augmentation and what we understand by death is really only a kind of diminution. For our own part, we have taken the view that a universal spirit can only be conceived of as a certain kind of individuality and that what the ‘self’ is in its universal guise is ultimately only what the ‘self’ is in its more concrete expression.

Chapter 1

Matter and Form

In addressing the issue at hand, the relation between matter and form, we do not do so on the assumption they may be compared in any strict or unconditional way. Nor do we do so on the assumption of any gradation or hierarchy of being. What is, quite simply is, and what is not, quite simply is not. What we can discern through our senses exists in a purely concrete or corporeal way. What we can discern through our mind or imagination exists in a purely chimerical or incorporeal way. Thus, what we would suggest is that form may be prior to matter or that matter may be prior to form, but not that the one is conditional upon the other or the cause of the other in any way that may be construed. Form appears in the absence of matter and matter appears in the absence of form, but also in the case of the latter, under the species of quality, quantity and kind. Thus, in absolute terms we might describe matter as what is determinate or indeterminate and form as what is embodied or disembodied, although of course we are more likely to connect what is concrete with what is determinate and what is ideal with what is not.

Let us consider in the first place what we might mean when we say it is form that is prior to matter. There is the kind of matter that may be impressed or imposed on, as for instance when a piece of wax becomes a seal, a piece of clay becomes a brick or a piece of bronze becomes a statue. These are good examples of what might be termed ideal form, because the matter is inert and different influences may be brought to bear from without. Such may also be described as a versatile whole, since we have a definite product, but in conjunction with a nebulous backdrop or base. Another illustration of this is when what we have could be called an elemental form, when the form is derived exclusively from a part but expressed in the manner of a whole. We might consider the properties of something such as fire and water where there is a constant state of flux but cohesiveness nonetheless. What we mean by an extensive whole is something that can undergo a change in its parts, but which nonetheless retains the same basic shape, as in the case of a river or a flame that is passed from stick to stick. On the other hand, when we consider how or in what sense it is matter that supersedes form, then this will occur when there is a certain complexity in the relation between whole and part. That is, when the parts are articulated, when the parts can be separated or when there is diversity in their function or use. If the parts can in any sense have an existence in themselves or if a whole can be assembled from them, then it is the whole that is potential and the parts that are what is real. We can see this in the case of both artificial and living things. Certainly a living thing does not have appendages which we can remove and replace (or at least not easily), nor can it ever be reconstituted as a whole, but there is nonetheless a certain capacity in each of its parts and this should not be confounded with the meaning of a functioning whole or at least a whole that is dependent upon all its parts. Thus what we mean in both instances is what could be described as heterogeneous in its kind.

So far however as it concerns the relation between any object and its motive power, or what is indispensable and what is not, in no way would we consider that there is any logical precedence of the one with respect to the other. Matter is neither indispensable to form nor form to matter and there is no ‘actuality’ in the one and ‘potentiality’ in the other, if what this implies is that the one is only cognizable through and by means of the other. It should be clear that since as we will later argue the basis for creation is inexplicable, there is no more a being as the cause of what is than there is a being as the consequence of what was. We can only conceive of potentiality in two respects: first, where it concerns a change in quality, quantity or relation, and secondly, so far as something has the potential to desist from being, or at least a necessary outcome of the law that what grows and diminishes, what waxes and wanes, must ultimately take leave of all these changes. What we mean by actuality on the other hand, or the reality and necessity of being, requires a more detailed treatment and this we might pursue in terms of the relation between existence and essence.

If you take the view that all the things that occupy a world must be quite different, then what is inessential in one respect may yet be quite essential in another. That is, if what we mean by a subject is just this particular set of attributes, then what is proper to the individual will be incidental to any species and what is proper to any species will be incidental to any member. Here we can see that it is numerical identity that is subordinate to specific identity, since the number of such things may be illimitable, but the classes or groupings that divide them will remain constant throughout. On the other hand, we might take a different standpoint to this and argue that it is really specific identity which is contingent upon numerical identity. To the extent that a class or a species is exclusive of any coordinate group, one might suppose that its members are too, and that for every type will there be just one member that is exclusive to that type. The implication is that although all the attributes of a species are not common to the genus, separate species may yet be linked through the differentiae so that where there is a greater diversity in number, this will be mirrored by a greater diversity in detail. The only problem with this and what it assumes is that the differentiae can be added to the genus, which, if it were true, would enable us to generate different individuals merely through the discernment of some minimal difference in the kind of thing that they are.

The conception that we have of a living organism or at least at the highest level is that it is a composite of two things: the purely physical on the one hand and the mental or spiritual on the other. What we mean by the mind is what is original in both its operation and its being, whereas what we mean by the body is merely an instrument in the hands of this prodigious power, something that can be acted on but cannot return it in kind. The body, and the organs that belong to the body, can be influenced by the things that engage them. It can respond to stimuli from without, but it is the mind that has its own source of change (the will) and its own source of being (the imagination). And so if there is a reflexive sense of our own being, then so also can there be a reflexive sense of our own movement, that is, not only what exists outside and apart from but also what is the cause of itself. For if we know that we are when we are and are aware of our surroundings, then so also do we know that we are mobile when we move and that by a physical change do we mean something more than just the interaction of physical things. What we mean by volition or the will is consistent with the view that our ‘doing’ must proceed from within and not from without and that we have a strong sense of the division between the desire to do something and those physical means that will be needed for its attainment. We tend to think that a radio or watch, for instance, will continue to operate so long as there is a battery to sustain it, but that in living organisms what pervades them is something self-sustaining and self-restoring, that is not what arises from without, but rather what arises from within. Thus we tend to connect the idea of what becomes with the idea of what is, much as we connect the instrument with its maker so that it is always self-consciousness on the one hand that mirrors our goals and our objectives on the other.

In order to address the question then of how something may be considered a ‘cause in itself’, or the cause of its very most being, we need to distinguish between two very different types of causality: what on the one hand could be called efficient and what on the other hand could be called immanent. Where it concerns the idea of efficient causality, we need to consider only the relation between an instrument and its end, that is, in what the action terminates but not necessarily whence it proceeds. We need only know what does what to what, not what the reason is that something is done or what directs the means to such and such an end. An earthquake for instance may have devastating effects on the surrounding inhabitants, a bush fire may rip through a wheat field and lay it to waste, but this is in no way different from the way that any means may conspire to such and such an end. Where however it concerns the question of immanent causality, then there is something more to be discerned and that is the ultimate source or the ultimate ground from which such action proceeds. What we are dealing with here is the question of both an origin and an end, or the initial conception of an end and its realization over such and such a time.

And in broad terms, there may be two ways this could be viewed. In the first place, when it is the intention or purpose behind the act that guides it towards such and such an end, and in the second, when the origin is reflected in the instrumental value of the end. Let us consider this in a little more detail. In taking up the daily habit of walking or jogging the reason a person may give is to overcome an injury or the simple improvement in his general state of health. At another level, we tend to see this idea in the purpose or the function of a thing. Why for instance does the builder construct a house? So that it may serve as a fit place for occupation. Why does the engineer design and build a bridge? So that it may serve as a fit means of transportation. Why does the potter make a jug? So that it may serve as a fit means for holding certain contents. And in the same way, we may consider the parts of an animal as pertaining to such and such a use, only here where there is a deeper and more radical connection between the parts and the end that they are meant to subserve. What therefore we might understand by an immanent cause involves the connection of three basic ideas. Firstly we have the conception of a thing as its formula or its function; secondly, we have the realization of a thing or its production through such and such a means, thirdly, we have the materials or ingredients from which such a thing will be made.

So far as it concerns the question of any general critique, then there are two basic issues to be addressed: first, whether the relation between matter and form is such that the former must always be subordinate to the latter, and secondly, whether we are entitled to treat a final cause as commensurate with what is original or primordial in itself. In the first place, it should be clear that the relation between potentiality and actuality is such that it is not the former that is subordinate to the latter but that latter that is subordinate to the former. That is, to be means to have the potential to change, but in order for that to occur must there also be something from which it is changing, that is, from potentially what is not as well as what is (e.g. a bud is not only potentially a flower but also potentially not a bud). And so what is in one state at one time may well be in another at some other, but that is not to say that what becomes is merely the realization of what was but is no more, and what is, is the realization of what must be but is not yet. In the second place, what we mean by a ‘final cause’ is really only the loose description of an action or the intention behind the action, not something of a truly portentous or prevalent kind. We may in many instances provide a reason for the way we behave, but that is not the same as stating the causes for the way we behave. And in a similar vein, we may provide the definition of a thing or state the use and purpose of a thing, but we cannot say how something will be until it exists and becomes available or ready to hand. In what sense for instance could a house ever be occupied if it had not first attained existence or in what sense must it always be occupied rather than potentially be occupied as such? Or in what sense could there ever be the use of a cupboard or a shelf if there were not first the sawing of wood or the hammering of nails? Quiet clearly then, the existence of a thing must be deemed prior to the purpose of a thing and the purpose of a thing prior to the definition of a thing, since we do not make things using the simple building blocks of our mind.

And the tenor of these remarks will apply equally when we consider what is the purpose or intention behind our acts—as if the body were merely the instrument of the will and had no potency or efficiency in itself. Of course it is true that our actions ought not to be regarded as entirely automatic, that we are often conscious of what we are doing before we have done it and that the batting of an eyelid is very different from the aiming of a dart. On the other hand, it will make a considerable difference to a person’s capacity for movement if he suffers a spinal injury, since no matter what the strength or determination of his spirit this will not allow him to raise his legs and walk around.

In terms of the relation between form and function, we might approach this in the following way: (a) where there is a perfect coincidence between the two and this is reflected by the relation between whole and part, (b) where there is a chance connection and this reflected in the meaning of contingent being and (c) where there is complete disjunction and this is reflected in the absence of any whole or the absence of all its parts. So far as it concerns the last of these, we have already discussed this in terms of what is artistic, ideal or elemental in its kind. As for the first two, we need to address this in conjunction with a comparison of living and inanimate things, or organisms and mechanisms as such. In comparing art or engineering with nature, we need to consider the degree of organization or utility exhibited in the former and compare this to the organization or utility exhibited in the latter. What we mean by the form or function of an artefact is something that results from a purely extrinsic connection between the parts, but beyond that only indistinctly as concerns the meaning of such a whole. Efficiency could be described as a quantum or a sum of diverse powers, but it is not the parts that are dependent upon the whole rather is it the whole that is dependent upon the parts. A living organism however is not merely an aggregate of parts, it is also a unified whole, and since this form is not qualified it pervades the whole of the body and resides in each and every part.

Or at least this is the traditional view—might it not also be a controvertible one? Let us for instance consider the parts that compose a combustible engine—say the pistons, the spark plugs, the valves—can there be any doubt that what these evince is the most sparing and thrifty deployment of all the parts? Or consider the components of a bridge (the suspenders, the cables and the towers)—again, is there anything lacking or wasteful in all this? Or consider the purpose of an engine or a bridge. Is there anything more evident than what these are for? Certainly the whole and the parts are not essentially just the same, the latter have a ‘use’ that is peculiarly their own, but is there here not a unified whole just as much as there is