Being Philosophical

Introduction

Philosophy is the systematic study of whatever the human mind is capable of knowing. That covers a great deal; in fact, it covers just about everything. To be a philosopher is to be a life-long student, someone whose curiosity is unquenchable, and who is continuously asking questions. The importance of asking questions, the right questions, for philosophy is beyond dispute, but we must be always mindful of the common-sense truth that the whole purpose of posing a question is to put us on the path of finding an acceptable answer to it. Simply to ask questions, as if it were an end in itself, is little more than an exercise in mental gymnastics, is to truncate the very process of intellectual inquiry. A question not ordered toward answers would be like stopping at inhalation, the first half of the vital exercise of breathing; if we do not follow it with exhalation the body will promptly put up a protest. The kind of answers the philosopher is most interested in serve, at a very basic level, to explain what things are and then, penetrating more deeply, why things are. The second question is concerned with origins. What accounts for the most rudimentary bit of knowledge we can know about anything is the fact that it exists.

The philosopher takes truth with the utmost seriousness. It is not to be toyed with, not something the reality of which or the practical attainability of which are apt topics for serious debate. To deny the reality of truth, to deny the capacity of the mind to arrive at truth, is not simply to undermine philosophy, it is to subvert the very purpose of human reason. Truth can at times be tryingly difficult to attain, but the prize goes to the persevering. If the very possibility of truth is denied, words lose their proper purposefulness, which is to convey meaning, to connect mind with mind, and thus provide foundation for community. Skepticism, the sickly attitude that habitually entertains doubts about the reality and attainability of truth, is the bane of philosophy. To subscribe to it would be like a runner who voluntarily submits to being hamstrung.

Philosophy, if we are to consider it rightly, should not be regarded as the narrow and exclusive province of only a few properly credentialed individuals, as if it were a profession the professing of which depended upon the approving say-so of established professionals. Philosophy does not have to be legitimized by academic degrees. If the habit does not necessarily make the monk, neither does the degree necessarily make the philosopher. There are but two rudimentary qualifications, the meeting of which can put one on the path to being a genuine philosopher: (1) a creative impatience with ignorance; (2) an unswerving commitment to truth.

This is a book on philosophy. That apparently self-explanatory statement requires explanation. Philosophy can be taken in several ways, but only two of which are pertinent here. The term can refer to one thing or to many. Philosophy as one thing is what was described in the first sentence of this Introduction: it is the discipline, the practice itself—the systematic study of whatever the human mind is capable of knowing. That is what we can call the inclusive or comprehensive understanding of philosophy; it covers, umbrella-like, all the many particular philosophies, the individual systems, that have been developed over the centuries, East and West, most of which are the brain children of individual thinkers. Not all philosophical systems are equal, in terms of the quality of the philosophy they embody, the specific ideas they propose and develop; some philosophies are brilliant, some are so-so, yet others are, it has to be said, decidedly unimpressive. As to the last, the world would not be the worse had they never gone public.

Many of the books on philosophy written for a general audience, as is this one, tend to be historical surveys of philosophy, describing and explaining a number of different philosophical systems. Books of this kind are valuable, for they give the reader an idea of the range and variety of philosophical thought, especially if, as some of these books do, they start with the very origins of philosophy and end with the contemporary philosophical scene. It is good to know a number of philosophical systems, it is better to know what to make of them, to be able to distinguish the brilliant, from the so-so, from the decidedly unimpressive. In order to be able to do that you need your own philosophical frame of reference, in the form of a particular philosophy of which you have a good knowledge and to which you are intellectually committed. The difference between being an historian of philosophy and a philosopher is that the latter is dedicated to a particular philosophical system, from the perspective of which the quality of other philosophical systems can be responsibly adjudicated. Sound philosophical judgments are grounded on a sound philosophy. If you do not have specific, concrete standards on the basis of which you make judgments, your judgments can be little more than whimsical.

This book is about a particular philosophy, which can be identified as Aristotelian-Thomism, or simply Thomism, or, less often now, Neo-Scholasticism. I favor the first, because it is the most fully descriptive of the philosophy itself, although I often use Thomism simply for the sake of brevity. This is the philosophy to which I am intellectually committed, for the simple reason that I am convinced that, taking it all in all, it is the soundest, most fertile philosophy that is available to us.

There are three general reasons for singling out Aristotelian-Thomism for special philosophical regard. The particular reasons for doing so are many and are to be found in the substance of the philosophy itself, which will be spelled out in the chapters which follow. The first reason has to do with the roots of the philosophy, the fact that it has its origins in, and is the richly developed expression of, the thought of four of the most impressive minds Western culture has given us: Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, of ancient Greece, and Thomas Aquinas, of the thirteenth century.

Second, Aristotelian-Thomism fosters a generously receptive attitude toward the truth, wherever it might be found, by whomever it might have been expressed. Apropos of the inequality of philosophical systems referred to above, there are some systems of philosophy which, because of the quality of the ideas they foster and promulgate, are not to be recommended, as systems. You would not want to accept the philosophy as a whole, but neither would you want peremptorily to reject everything that the philosophy has to say. If the philosophy contains some truth, that truth should be freely acknowledged and gratefully accepted. A philosopher should approach any philosophy that is new to him with unprejudiced openness of mind, with a wide-open eye to whatever is true in that philosophy. Aristotelian-Thomism can oppose a particular philosophical system, taken as a whole, while at the same time gleaning whatever truths might spring from the system’s soil. Truth transcends all systems.

Third, Aristotelian-Thomism is closely allied with, deeply embedded within, what is known as the perennial philosophy. The perennial philosophy is not itself a specific philosophical system; it is rather the sum total, the capacious depository, of those fundamental truths that have been expressed, East and West, down through the ages of human history, such as those, for example, found in this or that particular philosophical system. The perennial philosophy has the name it has because the truths it embraces are like perennial flowers: they bloom fresh and lovely year after year. Aristotelian-Thomism, because of its openness to the truth wherever it is to be found, can be regarded as the heart of the perennial philosophy.

Should you take my word for it that Aristotelian-Thomism is the best philosophy? I very much hope not. Should you, in a moment of weakness, do so, you would be getting off on the wrong foot toward becoming a philosopher. In philosophy, the weakest form of argument is the argument from authority. We would be swayed by such an argument were we to take X to be true simply because Professor Sage says that it is true; our only evidence for X’s truth would be the professor’s say-so. With respect to the worth of Aristotelian-Thomistic philosophy, the burden of proof rests very much on my shoulders. I cannot simply claim that it is the finest of philosophies; I have to show cause, to make a reputable case in support of that claim. And that is the reason for this book. My aim in writing it was to present as clear and complete an account of the basic tenets of the philosophy as I could, so that it then might, as it were, speak for itself. The book relies heavily on argument; I do not simply assert that a certain proposition is true, but give reasons to support the assertion. I must show that Proposition X is true, give evidence that supports its truth.

By following that procedure I will be meeting my basic obligations in writing a book on philosophy. But reading a book on philosophy comes with its own obligations. A book must be read, Henry David Thoreau argued, as deliberately as it was written. The practical application of that lofty ideal, as far as your relation to this book is concerned, is that you must be prepared to read it actively—think about it, question it, talk back to it. If you are bothered by a certain line of argument I develop, you should stop and explain to yourself why you find it bothersome. If you decide that the argument is faulty, then propose a counter-argument that you think corrects the matter. In that way you will be responding in a genuinely philosophical way to what you are reading. In philosophy, argument is not quarreling; it is the civil exchange of ideas by two parties, both of whom are concerned with getting at the truth.

The eight chapters of this book present the essentials of a full course in Aristotelian-Thomistic philosophy, covering all its basic ideas and principles, which are expanded upon as thoroughly as space limitations allow. The book begins with a chapter on logic, which is followed sequentially by chapters on the philosophy of nature, philosophical psychology, epistemology, ethics, political philosophy, and metaphysics; the book ends with a lengthy chapter devoted to natural theology.

Logic is the prerequisite for the study of philosophy, as it should be for the serious study of any science. That stands to reason, for logic is the science of clear and correct thinking, without which no serious study of anything at all can hope to be fruitful. The philosophy of nature studies the material world, the world which is most familiar to us. In philosophical psychology we look at a specific and altogether singular aspect of material being, when it is informed by the presence of life. Epistemology explores the realm of human knowledge. Ethics is the concentrated study of human behavior from the point of view of its moral quality. Political philosophy is ethics as applied collectively, studying the behavior of man as a member of a political community. Metaphysics is the most comprehensive of the philosophical sciences, for its subject is simply being, whatever exists in whatever way it is possible to exist. In natural theology, which is an extension and the culmination of metaphysics, we engage with what has often been described in philosophy, in an overly precautionary way, as the problem of God. This is the science of ultimate questions.

Chapter One

Clear and Correct Thinking: Logic

Begin with Thought

We human beings have been defined as rational animals. It is a flattering way to be identified, but we should not allow ourselves to be carried away by it. The definition requires proper construing. Its basic message is that we have the natural capacities to think and act rationally, but it offers no guarantees that we will do either. A natural capacity has to be developed, and then continuously exercised so as to keep it in a healthy condition. The sure sign that we have properly developed our natural rational capacities is that we actually do, on a continuous basis, think and act rationally.

The thinking of course comes before the acting, for actions follow thought, and the quality of the latter is prefigured by the quality of the former. The place to begin, then, is with thought. What is rational thought? We will get into the particulars soon enough, but for now it can be described in general as thought which is under control and heading in a definite direction so as to arrive at a precise destination. Rational thought is clear. Rational thought is correct, which means that it has what it takes to be able to arrive at the precise destinations toward which it is directed.

Logic is the science of clear and correct thinking. The knowledge which it provides is the means by which we can develop our natural capacity for rational thought. By learning logic and applying what we learn we become logical, and by becoming logical we measure up to the definition of ourselves as rational animals.

Logical Thinking as Directed Thinking

Think about day-dreaming. We have all done it, so it is an experience with which we are all familiar, although not one, I would hope, that we have become accustomed to. When we day-dream we are not asleep, and our mind is not a blank; we are thinking, but in a rather peculiar way. The thoughts that flow through our mind when we day-dream are not controlled, there is no obvious pattern to them, and they are not headed in any discernible direction. Often there is no clear connection between one thought and another, and it almost seems as if we are mere spectators to what is going on in our own minds, captivated onlookers caught up in a semi-hypnotic state.

Now, the principal feature of logical thinking is that it stands in marked contrast to the kind of thinking that is characteristic of day-dreaming. Day-dreaming is an excellent example of uncontrolled thinking, whereas logical thinking, by contrast, is the quintessential example of controlled or directed thinking. In the memorable phrase used by the logician Susan Stebbing, logical thinking is thinking to some purpose. When we think logically we are the conscious originators of our thoughts, and we are directing them toward a specific end where we intend that they find satisfactory resolution.

The specific ends toward which logical thinking is directed can be as numerous and diverse as the stars in the night sky, specific examples of which would be the solution to a mathematical problem, the successfully working out of a crossword puzzle, figuring out the quickest way to get from Morton, Minnesota to Musselshell, Montana. But there is a single, overriding purpose to which all logical thinking is directed, and that is truth. That is a point about which there must be no ambiguity. Logic is not a self-enclosed system, hermetically sealed off from the practical realities of the often confusing, sometimes messy everyday world in which we live. Logical thinking is not a matter of playing clever word games or manipulating bloodless symbols to arrive at sterile conclusions. Logic is about the real world, about your life and mine, and it is meant to arrive at real solutions to real problems.

The Science of Logic

Logic is a science, meaning that it is an organized body of knowledge, based upon first principles, and is dedicated to the discovery of causes. The first principles of any science are simply the foundational truths on which the science is built. An important feature of a first principle is that it is self-evident. It has to be, because a first principle is a truth with which any science begins, and so there can be no truths antecedent to it and having a more basic nature than its own. First principles can be regarded as the absolute starting points of a science. If we didn’t have them, as Aristotle once remarked, no science could ever take its first step. All we have to do in order to grasp a first principle is understand the words in which it is expressed. A first principle of Euclidean geometry is, A whole is greater than any of its parts. To understand those words is to grasp the meaning behind them. The statement requires no proof, for the self-evident speaks for itself. Every science begins with truths of this kind, and they provide the foundation for everything that follows in the science.

Logic is a unique science because it is the prerequisite for all the other sciences, and its first principles are applicable to all of them. In that sense we can say that the first principles of logic are universal; they govern human reasoning as such, to whatever it might be applied. When we are thinking straight, and thereby achieving the ends toward which our thought is directed, it is because we are guided by the first principles of logic.

First Principles

The first principles of logic, and of all human reasoning, are four in number. They are: (1) the principle of identity; (2) the principle of contradiction; (3) the principle of excluded middle; (4) the principle of sufficient reason.

The principle of identity tells us that a thing is what it is; it is identical with itself, and is thus distinguishable from what is other than itself. A tulip is a tulip, and not a turtle; and this tulip here is not to be confused with that tulip over there. The principle of identity underscores the separateness of being, the stark and inviolable individuality of each and every actually existing entity. The principle of identity calls attention to the uniqueness and independence of each individual being, and introduces us to the notion of substance: that which exists in and of itself. Identical twins are amazingly similar, but Susan is not Sarah, and Sarah is not Susan.

The principle of contradiction (also called the principle of non-contradiction), succinctly put, says that being is not not-being. A common, and more developed, way of stating the principle is as follows: it is impossible for any one thing to be and not be at the same time and in the same respect. Susan cannot be, as the undeniably existing Susan, physically in St. Paul and in San Bernardino at one and the same time. (She may have left her heart in St. Paul while a resident of San Bernardino, but in that case she would have been in two places in different respects, physically in San Bernardino, sentimentally in St. Paul.) The principle of contradiction is the reverse side of the principle of identity, for if every thing is what it is, it is impossible for it not to be what it is. This particular turtle, Tucker, cannot both be and not be Tucker at one and the same time. It would be contradictory to suppose otherwise.

The principle of excluded middle declares that either something exists or it does not exist. There is no middle ground between existing and non-existing, between being and non-being; here it is very much the case of all or nothing. Let’s go back to Tucker the turtle. Tucker cannot almost exist, or half-way exist, or just about exist. He is really there, or he is not really there; no third possibility is available for our consideration. But doesn’t the fact that Tucker undergoes change alter the picture somewhat? No. In order for change to take place there has to be a subject of change, an actually existing entity that does the changing. For Tucker to change he has to really be there in order to undergo the change.

The message conveyed by the principle of sufficient reason is this: absolutely everything that exists must have an explanation for its existence, as well as for the manner in which it happens to be existing at any given time. This is so even though we may not be able to come up with those explanations right on the spot which, in fact, is often the case. The idea here is that things do not just happen; they are made to happen. Nothing in the created world is the explanation for itself. A specific expression of the principle of sufficient reason, call it a sub-principle, is the principle of causality, which tells us that if the existence of a thing is not self-explanatory, there must be something other than that thing which explains its existence; that would be its cause. Beyond the explanation for the very existence of a thing, which is basic, there are innumerable causes that explain the way it exists, for example, as being in motion or at rest, or in this or that place, or having this or that color. In the following chapter we will have more to say about the important subject of causality.

It would be very surprising if anyone reading those descriptions of the four first principles of all human reasoning had the sense of being informed of something entirely new. These truths about reality are so basic that we all have a semi-instinctive knowledge of them; we take them as obvious, and rightly so. But we should also appreciate how foundational they are. It is with these truths as background that we begin all our thinking about the world in which we live, and about ourselves as well. Our thinking is sound if it is consonant with these principles; it is unsound to the degree that it strays from them.

The Word

Ideas can be considered as the basic building blocks of our thought. We are able to grasp the essence or nature of anything, know what any particular thing basically is, only through the medium of an idea. And the only way the human mind can communicate an idea to another human mind is through the medium of words. Think of a thing we see and recognize, let’s say a table, as enclosed within an idea, and the idea as enclosed within a word, table. In logic word and term are commonly used interchangeably. We distinguish between the comprehension and the extension of a word. The comprehension of a word is simply its meaning, the specific idea or ideas it embodies; the extension of a word is the breadth of its applicability, all of the things to which it refers. The comprehension of tree is clear enough, there is no need to consult a dictionary; the extension of tree is every species of tree to be found on the face of the earth. We can limit the extension of a word by the qualifying language we use, as when we say, Some trees are deciduous. We can also explicitly state the full extension of a word by saying, All trees are categorized as flora.

We need to make another important distinction regarding words or terms: that between univocal, equivocal, and analogous. A univocal term is one which has a single, unvarying meaning; animal, stone, bread would be examples of univocal terms. An equivocal term is one which has more than a single meaning, and those meanings can be quite at odds with one another. Every language has its store of equivocal or ambiguous terms, and the English language is no exception in this regard. The word bark has at least two different meanings; it can refer to the covering of the trunk and branches of a tree, or to a sailing vessel having at least three masts. Usually the context within which equivocal terms are used makes it quite clear what is the referent of the term. "The bark Jessica Sandy was tossing about in very rough seas, and Captain Watkins was reluctant to leave the bridge. If we were to read that sentence in a novel we would readily know what bark in the sentence is referring to. A term is used analogously when, in comparing two things, A and B, one intends to call attention to (1) how those two things are the same, and (2) how they differ. Being is very much an analogous term. Consider these two statements. John Smith is a being. A porcupine is a being." In comparing the subjects of those two statements what could we say they have in common? On the most basic of levels we could say that they both actually exist; they are both real entities. And how do they differ? Obviously, they differ in very many and radically significant ways. Whenever we think analogously, we are endeavoring, in making comparisons, to recognize both the likenesses and un-likenesses of what we are comparing.

Definition

Logic is the science, the art, of clear and correct thinking. Ideas are the building blocks of thought. The only way the human mind can come to know anything, to grasp the essence or nature of a particular thing, is through the medium of an idea. And the only way the human mind can communicate an idea to another human mind is through the medium of a word. The relation between idea and word is of the most intimate kind. Again, consider a thing we are thinking of as enclosed within an idea, and the idea in turn as enclosed within a word. The clarity of our ideas, and the reliability of the words by which we communicate our ideas, is best assured by relying on the important tool of definition. Described generally, definition is the means we use to identify and clarify the meanings of words. More particularly, there are three kinds of definition: nominal, descriptive, and logical or essential.

Nominal definition is what we commonly find in dictionaries. There a word is defined by providing verbal accounts, one or several, that serve to explain its meaning. Very often synonyms or near synonyms of the word to be defined are made use of. For example, if you look up the word ire in a standard dictionary you will read that it means the same thing as anger, or wrath. A descriptive definition can take three basic forms. (1) It identifies and discusses the key characteristics and features of the thing to be defined. For example, in defining man it will focus on rationality, or risibility (the capacity to laugh, as a property of rationality), and devote developed attention to them. (2) Descriptive definition defines something by identifying and discussing the causes of a thing. (3) A third way to define descriptively is though narration, by telling a story. Christ provided a powerful definition of neighbor by telling the deathless story of the Good Samaritan.

Logic, understandably, is most concerned with logical, or essential, definition. To define a term logically involves a simple two-step process. The first step is to put the definitum (the thing to be defined) in its proximate genus; the second step is to identify the specific difference of the definitum. In explaining those two steps we will use as a model Aristotle’s famous definition of man as rational animal. In the first step we put man in his proximate genus. A genus is simply a large group, class, or category of things. In this case we place man in the genus animal. That is the proximate genus of man because man is essentially the same as all the other members of the genus in the sense that he has the same basic, animal-identifying powers that they have: man is self-nourishing, he grows, and he reproduces; he has sensitive powers, as well as appetitive powers (he is naturally drawn towards what he perceives as positive and naturally shuns what he perceives as negative); he has the power of locomotion. Even so, man is obviously radically different from all other animals. How is he different from them? What is the specific difference that sets man apart from all the other members of the genus animal? Aristotle discovered that it is rationality. We have completed the process and we have our definition: Man is a rational animal.

The fact that Aristotle was able to cite only a single specific difference to arrive at a successful definite was unusual. In more cases than not it is necessary to discover several specific differences in order to be sure that you are clearly setting the definitum off from all other members of the genus. Often it is relatively easy to make the first step in defining something logically. For example, let us say we want to define empathy. We can be fairly confident that we are making a sound first step by saying, Empathy is a human emotion. Then what? How are we to clearly differentiate empathy from all the other emotions? It will require some hard thinking to come up with an adequate answer to the question. Perhaps in defining a term you make what you think is a solid first step but then are stalled, and you begin to doubt that you can come up with a logical definition of the term you are working with. And you might be quite right. Nonetheless, the fact that you were able to take the first step, putting the definitum into its proper category, has just in itself provided you with an important bit of knowledge. We call a logical definition an essential definition because, if successful, it reveals the essence of the definitum, the heart of its reality, the core of its basic what-ness. Powerful a tool though it be, logical definition has its limitations. There are many ideas, often the richest and most important we deal with in life, that do not lend themselves to the rigid demands of logical definition. How would one define love, or freedom, or beauty? In cases such as that, however, there is no need to give up. We can avail ourselves of the greater scope allowed us by descriptive definition.

The Statement

A statement is made up of two basic parts, a subject and a predicate. Statements can at times be very complex, but the basic structure remains the same in all cases; the complexity of a particular statement is to be found in either the subject or predicate, or in both. In logical terminology, a statement is commonly called a proposition. It is also referred to as categorical, which means that it states what is actually the case, and not just what is possibly the case. In grammatical terms, a statement is known as a declarative sentence. The subject of a statement is that about which something is said, or predicated, and the predicate does the saying or predicating, as in these two statements: The dog is in the bog, and The cat is not in the bag. Unlike other linguistic expressions, such as questions (Where is the library?), imperatives (Shut the door.), wishes (Oh, if only I were in Honolulu.), and exclamations (Holy smoke!), a statement takes a definite stand with respect to a given situation in the real world; it asserts, unequivocally, that something is actually the case or something is not actually the case, and that is why it must be either true or false. If the dog is in fact in the bog, then the statement making that claim is true; if the cat is in fact in the bag, then the statement that declares the feline is not there is false, and should be rejected without demur.

Inference

The heart of logical thinking is the mental activity we call reasoning, and the heart of reasoning is inference. Inference is the mental move by which, beginning with a true statement, we proceed either directly or indirectly to another statement which we accept as true because it follows from the truth of the initial and any intervening statement. When we move directly from one statement to another we are engaging in immediate inference; when we move from one statement to another indirectly, through one or more intervening statements, we engage in mediate inference. We will first consider immediate inference.

We have in mind two statements that we will label respectively A and B. I know statement A to be unquestionably true. As I reflect on it, I see that there is another statement that can be made, B, which is also true, and necessarily so, given how it relates to A. Because A is true it cannot be otherwise than that B is also true. That is an immediate inference. Using logical terminology, we say that the truth of A entails or implies the truth of B, and that the truth of B is inferred from the truth of A.

Now let us consider some real-life examples of immediate inference, stated in plain English. The statement that all dogs are vertebrates is true. From that we can make the obvious inference that some dogs are vertebrates is also true. We readily see the logic behind that move. If something is true of the entire membership of a class, it is necessarily true of a portion of that membership. No males are mothers is patently true, and allows us to make the immediate inference, also patently true, that some males are not mothers. If something is true of an entire class it is true of a part of that class, but no certain inference can be made about an entire class in terms of what we know about part of that class. Some women are college professors is true, but from that I cannot infer that all women are college professors. Consider the two following statements and how they relate to one another. Every man is mortal. No man is mortal. It is evident that they both cannot be true, but clearly the first statement is true; this permits us easily to infer that the second statement is false. Finally, we consider these two statements: All dogs are vertebrates. Some dogs are not vertebrates. This is a particularly interesting pair because together they illustrate the principle of contradiction, which we introduced above; also, they allow us to make sound immediate inferences in two different directions. All dogs are vertebrates is true, and from that we can infer that some dogs are not vertebrates is false. And, starting from the fact that some dogs are not vertebrates is false we can validly infer that all dogs are vertebrates is true. In dealing with two statements that contradict one another, if one is manifestly true, the other must be false; and if one is manifestly false, the other must be true.

Argument

Every instance of inference represents an argument, however modest it may be, for an argument is nothing else but the linguistic expression, simple or complex, of the inferential move. Argument is the core of logic, its paramount concern, that around which all of its lore has been developed. If you can argue well, you are being logical in a preeminent