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On Nature and the Artificial

A Philosophical Happy Hour against the Inversion of our Knowledge

What does it mean for something to be natural?  We find the word ubiquitous in today’s marketing: all natural bug spray, dog treats, body wash, shampoo, deodorant, laundry detergent, toothpaste, sunscreen.  Ironically, of course, none of these products occur by nature.  Each is a product of human agency, created through artifice.  Likewise, we will see food products advertise all natural flavors, while others admit their flavors to be artificial.  What, in truth, is the difference?  And why have we come to view nature vs. artifice through the lens of production?

Artificiality and the Operative Imperative

When was the last time you found yourself entirely removed from all products of human artifice?  In all likelihood: you never have.  Even trekking through the most-remote wilderness, it seems highly unlikely that you were entirely nude.  On the typical day, your activities—it seems highly likely—are positively saturated in the artificial, from the beds in which we sleep, to the computers and phones we use (all too often), to at-the-very-least the packaging containing our food, to the books we read: the “all natural” seems, in fact, something we never encounter.

This artificial saturation both shapes our own thinking and reflects the thinking that has become increasingly prevalent over the past several centuries: what Martin Heidegger called the “Enframing” (die Gestell) of technological thinking, or the technique of Jacques Ellul (“the totality of methods rationally arrived at and having absolute efficiency… in every field of human activity”).  Within these frames of thinking, nature disappears; the lens of technology or technique makes objects appear in terms of their productive potential, and obscures the beings themselves.

Edward Engelmann describes the emergence of this thinking as a shift away, begun in early modernity, from purely theoretical knowledge towards “operative knowledge”.  This form of knowledge principally takes on a kind of imperative mood: the knowability of an object is evaluated in terms of its operative functionality.  This inverts the relationship between our technical art (techne) and nature (physis).  As Engelmann writes:

with the rise of [the] operative imperative, the Aristotelian schema of techne and nature becomes, in a way, inverted: with operativism, it is nature that imitates techne.  Indeed, this was always a possibility, insofar as techne and nature are understood in terms of one another.  The theoretical inversion whereby techne becomes the schema for nature is not of course a simple substitution; rather, it is a transition involving fundamental changes in the very meanings of “techne” and “nature.” … With the artificial, the deep suppositions that nature is fundamentally operative and so knowledge of nature must also be so are revealed most fully.

Edward Engelmann 2017: Nature and the Artificial: Aristotelian Reflections on the Operative Imperative, 7 & 8.

Can we learn again to see the natural, in this age blinded by the operative imperative of artificial thinking?

The Meaning of Nature

It does not prove difficult to give an articulation of nature by which it may be contrasted against the artificial.  Nevertheless, it may prove difficult to understand (to which end, check out this upcoming seminar!).  Aristotle, the father of all Western science, writes the following:

Of the things that are, some are by nature, others through other causes: by nature are animals and their parts, plants, and the simple bodies, such as earth, fire, air, and water (for these things and such things we say to be by nature), and all of them obviously differ from the things not put together by nature.  For each of these has in itself a source of motion and rest, either in place, or by growth and shrinkage, or by alteration; but a bed or a cloak, or any other such kind of thing there is, in the respect in which it has happened upon each designation [i.e., that we call it a “bed” or a “cloak” instead of “wood” or “sheep’s wool”] and to the extent that it is from art, has no innate impulse of change at all.

Aristotle 330bc: Physics, II.1 (192b 8–20) in Sachs’ translation.

As often the case with Aristotle, what he writes makes a kind of obvious sense: we call natural those things having their own source of motion and rest, and artificial those which do not, but receive their proper ordination from an extrinsic source.  But many challenges have been and continue to be levelled against the common-sense answer of Aristotelian wisdom: what do we mean by motion and rest?  What are the causes by which things are?  Does it not, often, seem as though even natural things are by extrinsic causes?

We know and without needing rigorous discursive reflection that there exists a real difference between the natural and the artificial.  But the lines of their distinction have been blurred by the inverted thinking of the operative imperative.

Retrieving Knowledge

To bring clarity to the distinction, please join us this Wednesday (15 May 2024) for our Philosophical Happy Hour (5:45–7:15pm ET; latecomers welcome!) as we discuss the differences between the artificial and the natural!  For those wishing to dig a little deeper, we will be reading this article by Edward Engelmann—even if you cannot read the whole thing, it may help to orient our conversation.

Philosophical Happy Hour

« »

Come join us for drinks (adult or otherwise) and a meaningful conversation. Open to the public! Held every Wednesday from 5:45–7:15pm ET.

2024 Summer: A Thomistic Defense of Democracy

Can democracy be saved? Ours, on both the left and the right, seems to be a world viewed increasingly through post-liberal lenses.  Must we return to a strict hierarchy if we are to abandon the “liberal experiment” that has rendered increasing ailment in recent decades—if, that is, we are not to lapse into socialist totalitarianism?  These are not questions with simple or straightforward answers.  To answer them, we would be foolish both to ignore St. Thomas Aquinas and to caricaturize his thought to fit facile solutions.  Thankfully, though under the auspices of a somewhat different world, great Thomistic thinkers have already anticipated the question and can provide us guidance going forward. Consider these words of Jacques Maritain (1882—1973):

The famous saying of Aristotle that man is a political animal does not mean only that man is naturally made to live in society; it also means that man naturally asks to lead a political life and to participate actively in the life of the political community. It is upon this posulate of human nature that political liberties and political rights rest, and particularly the right of suffrage. Perhaps it is easier for men to renounce active participation in political life; in certain cases it may even have happened that they felt happier and freer from care while dwelling in the commonwealth as political slaves, or while passively handing over to the leaders all the care of the management of the community.  But in this case they gave up a privilege proper to their nature, one of those privileges which, in a sense, makes life more difficult and which brings with it a greater or lesser amount of labor, strain and suffering, but which corresponds to human dignity.

Jacques Maritain, The Rights of Man and Natural Law.

Many are familiar with Jacques Maritain, great Thomist author and figure of the twentieth century: a man who wrote on topics far and wide, and strove most of his life to bring a living Thomism into a broader public.  Fewer are familiar with the thought of Yves Simon, scion of Maritain’s approach to understanding St. Thomas, and an adept thinker and careful author in his own right.

Among Simon’s many contributions is his Philosophy of Democratic Government, a work which presents the core insights of Maritain concerning the nature of democracy in a more deeply-rooted scholarly appraisal of St. Thomas, and rife with many additional insights of Simon’s own.  Using this text as our basis, this seminar, taught by Dr. Francisco Plaza, will revisit these twentieth-century thinkers and discern how their thought can help address the troubles of our own times. Registration closes June 6.

Schedule

Discussion Sessions

11:15pm ET

(World times)
Study Topics &
Readings


Week I
 
06/02–06/08
Lecture 1: Christianity and Democracy
Readings:
» Jacques Maritain, Christianity and Democracy, pages 3 to 63
Week II
 
06/09–06/15
Lecture 2: General Theory of Government
Reading:
» Yves Simon, Philosophy of Democratic Government, pages 1 to 71.
Week III
 
06/16–06/22
Lecture 3: Democratic Freedom
Reading:
» Yves Simon, Philosophy of Democratic Government, pages 72 to 143.
Week IV
 
06/23–06/29
Lecture 4: Sovereignty in Democracy
Reading:
» Yves Simon, Philosophy of Democratic Government, pages 144 to 194.

BREAK
Week V
 
07/07–07/13
Lecture 5: Democratic Equality
Reading:
» Yves Simon, Philosophy of Democratic Government, pages 195 to 259.
Week VI
 
07/14–07/20
Lecture 6: Democracy and Technology
Reading:
» Yves Simon, Philosophy of Democratic Government, pages 260 to 321.
Week VII
 
07/21–07/27
Lecture 7: The Failure of Liberalism
Readings:
» Patrick Deneen, Why Liberalism Failed, pages 1 to 42; pages to 179 to 198.
Week VIII
 
07/28–08/03
Lecture 8: Freedom, Nature, Community, and Democracy
Readings:
» Yves Simon Reader, pages 134 to 148; pages 267 to 284; pages 289 to 298; pages 399 to 414; pages 433 to 446.

Registration

Lyceum Institute seminar costs are structured on a principle of financial subsidiarity. There are three payment levels, priced according to likely levels of income. If you wish to take a seminar but cannot afford the suggested rate, it is acceptable to sign up at a less-expensive level. The idea is: pay what you can. Those who can pay more, should, so that those who cannot pay as much, need not. Lyceum Institute members receive a further discount (see here for details).

One payment covers all 8 weeks.

If you prefer an alternative payment method (i.e., not PayPal), use our contact form and state whether you prefer to pay as a Participant, Patron, or Benefactor, and an invoice will be emailed to you.

Pricing Comparison

Standard priceBasic Lyceum
Enrollment
Advanced Lyceum EnrollmentPremium Lyceum Enrollment
Benefactor$200 per seminar$903 seminars included
$90 after
8 seminars included
$90 after
Patron$135 per seminar$653 seminars included
$65 after
8 seminars included
$65 after
Participant$60 per seminar$403 seminars included
$40 after
8 seminars included
$40 after

2024 Summer: Aristotle’s Physics

Join us on an intellectually rigorous journey through Aristotle’s conception of physics as a scientific discipline in our upcoming Lyceum Institute Seminar. Why study the physics of an ancient thinker? One might think (and many do) Aristotle’s scientific work obsolesced by the discoveries of modernity. In truth, while he may have been mistaken in particular conclusions, the insights produced by the Stagyrite pass the test of time; and persisting in ignorance of them undermines much thinking today. Through this seminar, we will demonstrate the perennial merits of the Physics and bring to light essential truths concerning the study and understanding of nature.

This study begins with a foundational examination of Aristotle’s logical methods, placing emphasis on discerning first principles, then turns to a structured analysis of pre-Socratic and Platonic challenges. With these preparations, participants will be primed to approach Aristotle’s Physics as proper hearers, equipped to grasp the profound depth of the Stagyrite’s scientific discourse in our rigorous examination of the scientific structure of the Physics.

It has often been a fault of philosophers—particularly in recent centuries, and sadly even among many who wish to retain the wisdom of tradition—that the natural world is not studied or understood, consigning its study to the sciences that investigate it through specialized means and instruments. But a philosophical grasp of nature is fruitful not only for the intellectual development of every individual: it is necessary for any scientist. Attaining insight into the meaning of natural phenomena cannot be achieved by the methods of modern science. Resolving their discovery into a coherent whole—seeing how the belong to the whole universe of experience—demands a higher study.

Challenge yourself. Registration closes June 6.

Registration

Lyceum Institute seminar costs are structured on a principle of financial subsidiarity. There are three payment levels, priced according to likely levels of income. If you wish to take a seminar but cannot afford the suggested rate, it is acceptable to sign up at a less-expensive level. The idea is: pay what you can. Those who can pay more, should, so that those who cannot pay as much, need not. Lyceum Institute members receive a further discount (see here for details).

One payment covers all 8 weeks.

If you prefer an alternative payment method (i.e., not PayPal), use our contact form and state whether you prefer to pay as a Participant, Patron, or Benefactor, and an invoice will be emailed to you.

Pricing Comparison

Standard priceBasic Lyceum
Enrollment
Advanced Lyceum EnrollmentPremium Lyceum Enrollment
Benefactor$200 per seminar$903 seminars included
$90 after
8 seminars included
$90 after
Patron$135 per seminar$653 seminars included
$65 after
8 seminars included
$65 after
Participant$60 per seminar$403 seminars included
$40 after
8 seminars included
$40 after

On Arguing God’s Existence

A Philosophical Happy Hour on the Unseriousness of Modern Objectors

It has become fashionable for analytic philosophers in recent years[1] to attack arguments for the existence of God.  These attacks, though their permutations are quite numerous, ordinarily attempt to show that the conception of God somehow entails a contradiction.  These might include some form of the problem of evil: namely, that if there is an infinitely good God, how can there be evil—or at least, “gratuitous” evils?  Another popular claim is that God’s omnipotence would contradict our freedom.  Others still might say that arguments for God fail because they presume a premise which is unproven or indemonstrable, against which some alternative can or might be proposed.

But are these objections serious?

To clarify the question, by “serious” I mean: consistently seeking an understanding of the truth in a way befitting our capacities as human beings.

Thus, to answer the question: no, I do not think so.  Why not?

Serious Inquiry

What makes an inquiry serious?  For a difficult and important question—one where belief in the answer not only has significant consequences for our behavior but which lacks an easy resolution—seriousness begins in humility.  To undertake an inquiry with humility requires a recognition of what one does not know and that it might influence the arguments at stake.

For instance, take the average person of today and ask him or her to read St. Thomas Aquinas’ five ways arguing for the existence of God.  Even most skeptics will doubtless admit that, absent prior extensive experience in philosophy and terminological clarifications, the arguments are not likely to be understood very well.  But just what does one have to know in order rightly to interpret Aquinas’ arguments?  Is it merely a matter of reading all of Aquinas’ works (no small feat)?  Of all of Aristotle’s works?  Augustine’s?  Albertus Magnus’?  Do we need the disputations of Scotus, the clarifications of Cajetan, the Iberian schools?  What of 20th century Thomism?

The point here is not that one need to read all of these thinkers to take seriously Aquinas’ arguments—but it is to say that the seriousness of the argument is manifestly indicated by the wide range of thinkers who have engaged with Aquinas’ thought.  These engagements, further—if examined closely in themselves—reveal that interpretation of Aquinas himself seldom proves straightforward.  Time, language, circumstance, and myriad other factors alter one’s interpretive disposition.  Absent careful and thoughtful consideration of these factors, we invariably import meanings into the argument that the argument does not itself contain and thereby turn it into a strawman.

No serious inquiry does this. 

Unserious Arguments

That modern objectors to the existence of God commonly (which is not to say universally) lack the requisite humility and therefore seriousness to undertake a serious inquiry can be seen through some common characteristics of these arguments.  Allow me to draw attention to five of these.

First, it does seem almost universally the case that modern analytic philosophers, to attempt handling such arguments, always translate them not only into anachronistic language (i.e., using modern terms with modern meanings for ancient or scholastic concepts) but further translate these into the artificial languages of symbolic logic.  While symbolic logic proves very useful for grasping the form and validity of arguments, it actively detracts from grasping the soundness and the significance of the terms.

Second, it is common for these arguments to rely upon presuppositions concerning time, matter, and causality, often deflecting responsibility for answering these questions onto idioscopic science or simply ignoring the necessity of their explicit investigation.  These presuppositions, being erroneous, lead naturally to erroneous conclusions.  This becomes doubly-problematic when these erroneous presuppositions are used to interpret arguments from antiquity—torturing their meaning by a Procrustean framework.

Third, many of the arguments against the necessity of a first cause affect their conclusions by subtly shifting claims’ intended significance—a kind of equivocation—to focus on parts rather than wholes.  For instance, in objecting to the first way, Schmid and Linford (2023: Existential Inertia and Classical Theistic Proofs, 22) read “everything” (or “whatever”; in Latin, omne) in Aquinas’ first way to signify “each and every single thing”, when it is said that everything moved is moved by another and that, since this cannot go on to infinity, there must be some first mover.  But had Aquinas intended “each and every single thing”, he would not have used the word omne, but, rather, quodcumque, quilibet, or the like, as he does seemingly everywhere.  Put otherwise, omne is not here used distributively but collectively.[2]

This leads to the fourth point of unseriousness: the objectors seem, by and large, not to themselves ask with intent to answer the questions put forward by defenders of God’s existence, but, rather, only to find possible refutations of them.  Subsequently, their intent seems not to be conviction but rather persuasion, whether or not conviction is a part of that persuasion.  Thus, one will often find a kind of moral outrage—“how dare your God commit such atrocities!”—without any consideration that it could be our understanding which is wrong, and not God.

Fifth and finally, though hard to notice or accurately summarize them, certain noetic presuppositions stand behind and shape the objections.  Because the objectors themselves do not state explicitly their presuppositions (and perhaps are not even consciously aware of them), they make themselves known primarily by a kind of absence.  Nominalism,[3] for example, or an effete empiricism[4] being quite common.  By such presuppositions, and by maintaining them as necessary conditions for any debate, a skeptical objector establishes the impossibility of any argument for God’s existence.

Conversation and Disputation

In describing why thinkers may adopt an absurd conclusion (and specifically in this case, those who deny the principle of non-contradiction), Aquinas writes the following:[5]

Some of these thinkers lapse into this position on account of doubt: for, since certain sophistical rationales occur to them, from which the aforesaid positions seem to follow, and they do not know how to solve these, they concede the conclusions.  Hence their ignorance is easily cured.  For one must not strive to meet or attack the rationales which they posit, but rather make appeal to their minds, so as to resolve the doubts through which their minds have fallen into such opinions.  And thus, from this, they will withdraw from those positions.

Others, however, pursue the aforesaid positions not because some doubt induces them to these opinions, but only for the sake of expression, that is, from a certain impudence, wishing to sustain these impossible arguments on account of their own sakes—because the contraries of these positions cannot be demonstrated.  And the treatment for these thinkers is argumentation or rejection of that which is expressed in speech and in words, that is, from the fact that the expressions of speech signify something.  For the signification of speech depends upon the signification of words.  And thus it is necessary to have recourse to the principle that words signify something.

Thomas Aquinas 1270/71: Super Sententiam Metaphysicae, lib.4, lec.10, n.663-664. Translation my own.

Now… I do not mean to suggest that the objectors here being identified are as sophistical and egotistical as those who would deny the principle of non-contradiction.  Nonetheless, it bears asking: what is it that truly they are expressing in speech and words?  Do they maintain their objections from a certain impudence?  Are they befuddled by sophistical rationalizations?

Join us this Wednesday to think and discuss (not to debate) how one seriously inquires into the existence of God. [Note: this Happy Hour will be recorded, but this recording will be kept strictly within the Lyceum Institute.]

Philosophical Happy Hour

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Come join us for drinks (adult or otherwise) and a meaningful conversation. Open to the public! Held every Wednesday from 5:45–7:15pm ET.


[1] I suppose this is true in much of the history of analytic philosophy, but the internet has renewed the trend’s interest and vigor.

[2] Oppy 2023: “Validity and Soundness in the First Way” in Revista Portuguesa de Filosofia, 79.1-2: 148-49 makes precisely the same mistake.  To be fair to Schmid and Linford, they are responding more directly to an interpretation of Aquinas—that by McNabb and DeVito—than to Aquinas himself.  But this in itself is a problem.  Reliance upon interpretations of translations (in this case, by those of Fr. Lawrence Shapcote OP and Anton Pegis), rather than directly addressing the proper signification of the Latin as used by Aquinas, will always be like fighting a shadow with a flashlight.

[3] We can identify both a positive and a negative form of nominalism: positively, as the belief that only individuals exist; negatively, as the denial that mind-independent relations exist or, what is functionally the same, that they can be known by us.

[4] That is, the belief that for a statement to be meaningful there has to be a concrete empirical object which fully instantiates that statement’s meaning.

[5] 1270/71: Super Sententiam Metaphysicae, lib.4, lec.10, n.663-664: “Quidam enim [aliqui incidunt in praedicas positiones] ex dubitatione.  Cum enim eis occurrunt aliquae sophisticae rationes, ex quibus videantur sequi praedictae positiones, et eas nesciunt solvere, concedunt conclusionem.  Unde eorum ignorantia est facile curabilis.  Non enim obviandum est eis vel occurrendum ad rationes quas ponunt, sed ad mentem, ut scilicet solvatur dubitatio de mentibus, per quam in huiusmodi opinions inciderunt.  Et tunc ab istis positionibus recedunt.

“Alii vero praedictas positiones prosequuntur non protper aliquam dubitatoinem eos ad hiuismodi inducentm, sed solum causa orationis, idest ex quaedam protervia, volentes huiusmodi rationes impossibiles sustinere propter seipsa, quia contraria earum demonstrari non possunt.  Et horum medela est argumentatio vel arguitio quae est in voce orationis et in nominibus, idest per hoc quod ipsa vox orationis aliquid significat.  Significatio autem orationis a significatione nomun dependet.  Et sic oportet ad hoc principium redire, quod nomina aliquid significant”.

On Listening

What immediate irony!  Reading about listening.  Indeed, we all tend to do far more reading, I suspect, than we do listening.  That often we read poorly does not take away from the fact that we read continually.  For a great many of us, the nature of work, study, and even distraction often involves a discernment of visual signs, and for most of that “great many”, the visual signs are written words.  We live primarily through our eyes—evidenced, even by the very fact of your reading this, and my announcing it to you in the written word, rather than my speaking and your listening.  As Aristotle writes in his Metaphysics, “even if we are not going to do anything else, we prefer, as one might say, seeing to the other sensations.” (980a 25-26).  He adds that sight, more so than the other senses, makes know “in the highest degree and makes clear many differences in things.”

But though sight truly is a wonderful gift, it may in a world of endless stimuli be greedily indulged.  We may see countless things, at truly mind-numbing speed.  In the words of Cardinal Sarah, “Images are drugs that we can no longer do without, because they are present everywhere and at every moment.”[1]  Rapacious addiction to visual novelty degrades our vision itself.

Simultaneously, I believe, it has atrophied our capacity for listening.

What is Listening?

Perhaps because we have adopted poor, mechanical metaphors, I believe we often misunderstand our senses: we tend to think of them as sensing or not; as “on” or “off”.  A little reflection, however, shows that our senses are, in fact, always active, so long as the organs are intact.  Right now, doubtless, you are touching several objects: clothing, the floor, your chair, your phone—and even if you were somehow to be suspended, floating naked in midair, you’d still be in contact with that air itself, even if the ambient temperature is so perfectly attuned to your own that you cannot detect it.  So too, you may shut your eyes, but even then, you have succeeded only in removing the object, light; you have not “turned off” the sense.

Hearing, too, is always present.  So common, in fact, are the ubiquitous noises of our world today that we remark mostly on their absence—“it’s so [too] quiet in here”.  But even in the quietest of rooms, in the quietest of homes, on the most noiseless property in all the world, one is very likely to hear something; even if naught else but one’s own breathing.  The volume of small noises (inhale-exhale; a ticking watch; a light breeze) grows conspicuous against the lack of anything louder.  It was just this point—the omnipresence of sound—that motivated John Cage’s (in)famous piece of “music”, 4’33”, during which a pianist sits at his piano and plays not a single note.  In the absence of music, one hears countless other sounds: creaks of chairs, rustling of clothes, passing vehicles, gusts of wind, yelling on the street—and so on.  We hear such things all the time.  Many, Cage included, have interpreted this to mean there is no such thing as silence.

Just as images have become drugs without which we cannot do, so too, for many, has sound: endlessly filling one’s ears with music as naught but background, or the dialogue of a television show, or a podcast, or anything which might keep our minds from roaming too far from whatever menial tasks we have before us.[2]  Oftener than not, such blasé auditory stimulation, rather than informing our minds of meaningful distinctions, provides us only an uncritical emotional response.  We listen to music to get into (or out of) moods.  The television show comforts us with its familiarity and lack of personal threat.  The podcast alleviates the boredom of a humdrum daily task.

That is, we do not listen because we do not attend to the objects signified through sound but acknowledge (or ignore) them only as received into (or rejected by) our own egotistical subjectivity.  And this egotism, I believe, reflects the noise of our own hearts and minds more than the ambient sounds of our environments.

Silence and Music

“Uncontrollable rivers flow through the heart,” says Cardinal Sarah, “and it is all a man can do to find interior silence.”[3]  We might believe these auditory stimuli, which “speak to us”, to calm the uncontrollable rivers.  In truth, they are naught but anesthetics, numbing us to the torrent.  We drown our ears and flood our hearts with noise: “Noise,” writes C.S. Lewis’ Screwtape, “the grand dynamism, the audible expression of all that is exultant, ruthless, and virile—Noise which alone defends us from silly qualms, despairing scruples and impossible desires.  We will make the whole universe a noise in the end.  We have already made great stride in this direction as regards the Earth.”[4]

Conversely, truly listening to anything requires that we first attain silence.  Indeed, the necessity of silence grows the more abundant noise has become.  In the words of Pope Benedict XVI:[5]

Silence is an integral element of communication; in its absence, words rich in content cannot exist… When messages and information are plentiful, silence becomes essential if we are to distinguish what is important from what is insignificant or secondary.  Deeper reflection helps us to discover the links between events that at first sight seem unconnected, to make evaluations, to analyze messages; this makes it possible to share thoughtful and relevant opinions, giving rise to an authentic body of shared knowledge.  For this to happen, it is necessary to develop an appropriate environment, a kind of ‘eco-system’ that maintains a just equilibrium between silence, words, images, and sounds.

How do we develop and maintain this “equilibrium”—that interior silence?  The corollary to the peace of silence is the joy of music—true music, that is, heard not as background but to which we listen and in which we move beyond and outside ourselves into something more.  It is a Scholastic adage that nihil est in intellectu quin prius fuerit in sensu: nothing is in the intellect that was not first in the senses.  Perhaps that our hearts have music and silence, we need first to unblock our ears.

Recovering the Art of Listening

That is, listening is a kind of work, an art, and one that we have lost.  We lack the cognitive endurance today, it seems, for the art of truly listening—as Christopher Blum and Joshua Hochschild note in their Mind at Peace: “The eye can take in a vast scene almost at once, but one must have patience to receive the fullness of a song or of a speech.”[6]  What then are the practical steps that we can take to recover this art?

I would challenge you all, before attending our Philosophical Happy Hour this Wednesday (1 May 2024) to listen to something—a symphony, an album, a lengthy speech—without other distraction.  Do naught but listen.  What do you find in the experience?  How did you attend differently to the songs or sounds, the words or thoughts?  What merit do you see in this focused listening?

Philosophical Happy Hour

« »

Come join us for drinks (adult or otherwise) and a meaningful conversation. Open to the public! Held every Wednesday from 5:45–7:15pm ET.



[1] 2016: The Power of Silence: Against the Dictatorship of Noise, §46.

[2] This accusation is not meant to be strictly universal, but to help us recognize a trend, whether one present in ourselves or those we know.

[3] 2016: Power of Silence, §48.

[4] 1942: Screwtape Letters, 120 (Letter 23).

[5] 20 May 2012: “Silence and Word: Path of Evangelization”.  The whole message is worth contemplation.

[6] 2017: A Mind at Peace: Reclaiming an Ordered Soul in the Age of Distraction, 72.

The Thomistic Concept of Truth

The Lyceum Institute will be co-hosting an inaugural X.com (formerly Twitter) Space, this Thursday (25 April 2024) at 2pm ET, with @Aquinas_Quotes. We will be discussing the Thomistic Concept of Truth. Anyone with an account can listen in! Link below. To facilitate our discussion, we will be considering Thomas Aquinas’ Summa contra Gentiles, 1.61 and De veritate, q.1, a.1, as well as an excerpt from Josef Pieper.

Here is a PDF of the two texts from St. Thomas. Texts from Pieper are attached below.

Evolution: Science, Religion, and the Truth

Questions concerning the nature of evolution—questions which find their way into discourse time and again—have cropped up yet again. This post will make an effort to outline some of these issues, with view to fostering a fruitful discussion for our Philosophical Happy Hour (24 April 2024) on how we ought to think of evolution. It is probably best, however, if we begin with a definition of evolution.

While the theory of evolution finds itself applied most often and most successfully within the field of biology, it has been extended to describe the advent of any new form or diversity of being arising by a gradual process of change throughout the entire cosmos. As described by experts during the 1959 Darwin Centennial Celebration:

Evolution is definable in general terms as a one-way irreversible process in time, which during its course generates novelty, diversity, and higher levels of organization. It operates in all sectors of the phenomenal universe but has been most fully described and analyzed in the biological sector.

1960: Evolution after Darwin, 107; cited in Nogar 1963: The Wisdom of Evolution, 30.

Thus, “evolution” so-understood signifies not only the unfolding of life’s variation, but of the whole cosmos.

In a way, this turn in terminology—a century after Darwin’s Origin of Species—returns the word “evolution” to the broader (if yet-more-specifically-applied) meaning that it had prior to the 18th century: for the word, from Latin ex- (out, from) and volvere (to roll, and thus, a rolling-out or unrolling, unfolding), can be conceived as a general description. Yet this return obscures a certain confusion. For the most difficult problem of biological evolution—considered precisely as a scientific theory—consists in identifying the means by which evolution occurs. But presumably, the biological mechanisms affecting a diversity of species will not apply to the differentiation of gasses, solids, galaxies, stars and planets, and so on.

The following sections elaborate on some of the particularly controversial issues.

Evolution, Science, and Scientism

To attain clarity in our understanding of evolution, therefore, let us ask a few further questions. First: is biological evolution scientifically decided? Many today treat it as a given. (It has always struck me that the philosopher John Searle, in his 2009: Making the Social World on p.4 writes “We need to show how all the other parts of reality are dependent on, and in various ways derive from, the basic facts. For our purposes the two most fundamental sets of basic facts are the atomic theory of matter and the evolutionary theory of biology.”) This treatment, combined with ignorance of the actual mechanisms or complexities involved, situates evolution as a matter of ideology. It takes little thought to comprehend the significance of the progression of figures in the image below. It takes far more to grasp the supposed explanatory principles at work, as it were, in the gaps.

The Science of Evolution

That said, scientists across multiple disciplines have collected much evidence in support of the theory of evolution. For instance: the fossil record, genetic similarities across species (common ancestors); biogeographical differentiation (variation between species in Africa and the Galapagos, for instance); adaptive homologous structures (comparable structures like arms and wings adapted to diverse functions in different species), embryological similarities (there being, e.g., aquatic-functioning structures such as gill-slits in land-bound vertebrate creatures while in an embryonic state); and adaptive organistic responses (bacterial antibiotic resistance, finch beak sizes). Some of these are clear indications of genetic variation in DNA across generations (genotypic variation that is evolution proper); others of epigenetic differentiation in how species behave (phenotypic variation). The relations between these two forms of differentiation remain unclear.

Put otherwise, strong evidence for biological evolution exists. Yet the mechanisms of how it actually unfolds remain in hypotheses far from verification. We know that genotypic variation occurs through mutations in the DNA sequence during replication or through environmental factors. Sexual reproduction shuffles genetic material (“recombination”), especially notable when migrating populations become intermingled (“genetic flow”). The greater heterogeneity in the genetic constitution of a population, the more likely that population is to develop adaptively to the environment, and vice versa (“genetic drift”). Yet the precise interplay of these factors hides from our view.

The Ideological Appropriation of Evolution

Throughout the 20th century and into the first quarter of the 21st, anti-religious thinkers have used evolution as a cudgel against faith. To exemplify this ideological appropriation, we can consider the works of Richard Dawkins and (may he rest in peace), Daniel Dennett—two figures prominent in the so-called “New Atheism” movement.

Dawkins, most famous for his 2006 book, The God Delusion, extensively employs evolution within this work as an argument against belief in God. At the heart of this argument, one finds the idea of “natural selection”. Succinctly defined, natural selection is held as the process by which organisms having traits better suited to their environments are more likely to survive and reproduce, leading to gradual evolutionary adaptation over long stretches of time. For Dawkins, natural explanation functions as a narrative device explaining the complexity and diversity of the universe, and that, through this principle, small changes over a long enough time can lead to improbable conclusions.

Dennett in his 1995 Darwin’s Dangerous Idea, comparably, considers natural selection as a kind of “background algorithm” to life as a whole, explanatory not only of biological evolution but cultural development. The random variation of genetic differentiation, given enough iterations, leads to greater successes over time.

In both thinkers, we see an explanation of complex phenomena by the interaction of mere vires a tergo: in other words, “forces from the past”. As I will explain below, this relies upon a Procrustean limitation of causality. But for now, we can say that the vis a tergo evolutionary conception posits the universe as deterministic. Armed with a deterministic theory, these ideologues hammer away at the uniqueness and specialness of human beings and religious belief as efforts at escaping the inevitable material strictures of our existence.

Evolution, Religion, and Opposition

Dennett and Dawkins, along with their atheistic cohorts and followers, realize an old opposition and exacerbate a reactionary posture already present in those opposed to the idea of evolution.  That is, in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, as Theodosius Dobzhansky put it, “Darwin’s theory of evolution seemed to many… offensive to human dignity and incompatible with their religious faith.” (Foreword to Nogar 1963: The Wisdom of Evolution, 12.) The idea of a universal evolution, as applied in denial that the human being possesses a unique spiritual soul, denies that the human being is made in the image and likeness of God.

It is important to realize, however, that the scientific theory of evolution itself unfolded within what could be called a philosophically bankrupt time.  Between the dominance of modern nominalistic theories of knowledge and the 18th and 19th century rejections of Scholastic thinking in the university generally (and specifically among Protestants), reconciling the idea of evolution with religious faith seemed not only problematic, but near-impossible.  Faith and its practice, in other words, became increasingly constrained to a position of supposed “subjective” opinion. 

Because truth cannot contradict truth, the apparent irreconcilability of belief in the literal truth of revelation and the theory of evolution led to believers outright denying the latter.  Some, such as Ken Ham or Henry Morris, adhere to the position that any purported science in contradiction to literal interpretations of scripture are, de facto, inaccurate.  Others, such as Michael Behe or William Dembski, advocate for intelligent design as an alternative, claiming that the evident complexity of the cosmos requires a cause independent of that cosmos itself. 

Within the Catholic tradition, Fr. Chad Ripperger authored a treatise on The Matphysics of Evolution: Evolutionary Theory in Light of First Principles which, taking up Aristotelian principles (see more below) argues that not only theological considerations but also philosophical ones contradict the theory of evolution.  For decades, the Kolbe Center for the Study of Creation has dedicated itself to dismantling evolution as a theory inimical to faith.

The Origins of Man

As aforementioned, the central difficulty concerns the development of the human being.  Long has it been the orthodox view of all Christian believers that God directly infuses the spiritual soul of the human person at conception, and that this infusion alone suffices to explain our uniquely spiritual mode of existence.  The theory of evolution, which explains the development of the human as a consequence of genetic mutations from simpler to more complex forms of life, proceeding through the line of primates and eventually resulting in homo sapiens, seems to contradict this Christian understanding.

Even the most ardent students of evolution must admit (so long as they are not caught in a converse ideology) that the evidence heretofore collected does not demonstrate such a development to have happened.  At best, it indicates its possibility.  That many of the remains purportedly demonstrating links between lower primates and advanced forms of human bodies have been proven hoaxes or mistakes undermines confidence in the theory as well.  Indeed, the empirical evidence—as is always the case—never demonstrates its own meaning, but always requires interpretation.  Under or through what narratives are we to understand the things we see and discover?

Interpretation and the Weaponization of Theory

On the one hand, we touch here upon matters clearly beyond our scope—such as, “how may one interpret the creation narratives of Sacred Scripture?”  On the other hand, we ought to note that opposition to theories proposed by modern science stemming from their contradiction to faith is to put the sources of revelation at odds with one another.  Thinkers like Dawkins and Dennett posit the same opposition, from the other side: opposing faith because it contradicts their senses.  If we accept the terms of this opposition we are condemned to choose a side, and, choosing a side, to divide and fragment our cosmos.

Others who have attempted to affect a cohesion between the science of evolution and faith in creation—including controversial figures like Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, SJ or Raymond Nogar, OP—have been met with criticism from both sides.  A figure seen as heterodox by either force will be grouped by them with the opposition and therefore seldom heard.  Those proposing a third way, most often, are challenging figures.

But such a challenge proves today most necessary.  So easily do many become seized in ideological commitments without realization.  Those held by opposed ideologies do naught to break this grasp, but, rather—for the most part—only strengthen it.

Evolution, Truth, and Aristotelian Philosophy

The resolution of this difficulty, it seems to me, can only be attained through a genuine philosophical habit.  (Note that a resolution of the difficulty is not the same as the solution to a problem.)  Most especially, we appear in want of a deeper and improved understanding of causality.  Those who weaponize evolution against faith do so with a Procrustean notion of causality: accepting only one kind of causal relation, namely, that between the efficient and the material.  Evacuating causality of the formal and final sets the debate in terms inescapably in their favor. But our understanding of any phenomenon, bereft of a full causal schema, proves incomplete.

By contrast, some—such as Fr. Ripperger—attempt rigorously to employ an Aristotelian causal model in denying the possibility of evolution.  Invoking principles of sufficient reason, proportionate causality, and finality, Fr. Ripperger argues that the notion is philosophically inadmissible from the Aristotelian-Thomistic perspective.  The first two—sufficient reason and proportionate causality—appear most central to his objection. 

Succinctly stated, these are, first, the principle that a sufficient reason must be established to explain how any thing (whether a separate being or an intrinsic principle) is responsible for another.  For instance, if a weak tap against a wooden wall results in the collapse of the wall, one will look for another cause—the tap being insufficiently forceful—and thus discover termite damage.  Second, proportionate causality holds that an effect cannot be greater than its cause.  If I throw a ball and it moves at a velocity greater than the force transferred to it by my arm, we would have to discover some other cause responsible for this.

Principles of Causality

Applying these two principles in argument against evolution does not prove difficult: how can a lesser prior generation give rise to a posterior generation which is greater (i.e., evolutionary development denied by proportionate causality)?  And how can a specifying form not in a prior generation come to arise in a later (i.e., speciation denied by sufficient reason)?

But this opinion, too, consists in a certain interpretation: not only of what Aristotle and St. Thomas mean in their conceptions of essence, existence, substance, accident, species, form, final cause, and so on, but also of the realities signified by these conceptions.  More poignantly, his conception of causality appears rather narrow: not only with respect to the specification of form but also with respect to the force of the final.  Put in other words, Fr. Ripperger no less than Dawkins or Dennett considers the theory of evolution solely on grounds of the vires a tergo.  He limits final causality to a thing’s pursuit of formal perfection. Likewise, he limits formal causality to the intrinsic and primarily substantial essence of things.

Questions to Pursue

This post could be expanded a hundredfold quite easily (but for the constraints of time).  But hopefully it has illustrated some of the difficulty that stands in need of resolution.  As such, we would like to propose the following questions for discussion:

  1. Does Aristotelian philosophy necessarily oppose the theory of evolution?  Are the principles of sufficient reason or proportionate causality genuinely opposed to the theory?
  2. Can facts definitively establish the truth or falsity of evolutionary theory?
  3. What is form as a principle of life?  How is form transferred from one generation to the next?  In what ways does material receptivity affect this generational transference of form?
  4. Do we need a more robust understanding of causality to interpret the proposed mechanisms of evolutionary development in light of Aristotelian philosophical principles?

We are open to these questions branching out into other areas!  Please join us this Wednesday.

Philosophical Happy Hour

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Come join us for drinks (adult or otherwise) and a meaningful conversation. Open to the public! Held every Wednesday from 5:45–7:15pm ET.

Science and Philosophy: In Dialogue?

Positivism and Science

A difficult and complex question in philosophy today concerns the discussion regarding the intersection and “boundaries” of the harder empirical sciences and the distinct activity of philosophical enquiry.  Given the success of scientific discovery, one temptation in the early 20th century was to claim that disciplines such as biology, chemistry, physics, and the like were (or would eventually become) exhaustive for understanding the world and nature.  This position, known as “positivism”, claimed that genuine inquiry into the world of nature either had to be reducible to empirical testing and measuring or was known to be true tautologically.[1]  Anything that did not conform to these modes of inquiry, such as classical metaphysics and theology, were considered pseudo-scientific in their mode of enquiry.  

Standing in contrast to this reductive position, the French Thomist philosopher Jacques Maritain argues in his Degrees of Knowledge that a bifurcation can be made between sciences as affirmative, to which he ascribes the empirical “hard” sciences and studies, and the more deductive science of proper “explication” or knowledge of and from first principles:[2]

Briefly, we can say that science in general deals with the necessities immanent in natures, with the universal essences realized in individuals in the concrete and sensible world.  The distinction has been drawn between the explicatory or deductive sciences, which attain to these natures by discovery (constructively in mathematics, and from without to what is within in the case of philosophy), and the affirmative or inductive sciences, which only attain these natures as signs and substitutes, blindly so to say.  These latter have assuredly a certain explicative value, without which they would not be sciences, but which consists in indicating the necessities of things by way of sensible experiment, not by assigning their intelligible reasons.

Maritain’s distinction between the two sciences of the “explicatory” and the “affirmative” does not distinguish entities as they exist in the world, but rather between different ways of grasping entities in the world.  It is this distinction that forms the basis of Maritain’s own investigation and his defense against positivism: namely, the three degrees of abstraction (by which we attain the natures of physical objects, mathematical objects, and metaphysical objects).  Even so, if all Maritain has done here is provide room for a study of metaphysics or a natural philosophy based upon principles, there remains the question as to how the two modes of enquiry interact with one another—if at all.  Are the affirmative sciences corrective of the explicatory?  Do the explicatory sciences have their own interpretive autonomy in relation to what can be measured and analyzed empirically?

The Cenoscopic and Idioscopic

Another distinction made in philosophy, taken first from Jeremy Bentham, but developed by C. S. Peirce is the distinction between cenoscopic and idioscopic sciences. The cenoscopic sciences are characterized by their study of what is common among the many and divergent, and the idioscopic is characterized by the specializing or the breaking apart of inquiry:[3]

In cenoscopy, things escape the eye not by being hidden by virtue of their tininess or hugeness, or their extension over eons of time or involvement in hyper-complexities of culture, but simply by their commonness. Their very obviousness requires a conscious direction of our attention, like that needed to notice the ticking of a clock that your ears were hearing all the while you conversed with someone, but which remained unperceived because you were otherwise occupied…The “idioscopic,” by contrast, is a “look” that is idios – “singular, special(ized)” – and that began to be cultivated in earnest only in modern times. It has become the very glory of modern science, and has brought countless blessings and maledictions into our contemporary biosphere.

Whereas cenoscopy offers us a “grand theory of everything” and seeks to unite the divergent modes of enquiry, idioscopic enquiry by its nature seeks to break apart, to isolate, to experiment upon, and to measure.  Neither science is necessarily wrongheaded in what it seeks to inquire, but both are deficient with regards to understanding the world and how we relate to it:[4]

In summary, these four areas of human knowing – the astronomically big and the microscopically small, the biologically compounded and the culturally complex – invite idioscopic science to don its instruments, mount its experiments, measure and hypothesize about the objects in question, and finally to fashion technologies that will hopefully more deeply integrate humankind with its environment, solve problems and cure diseases.  Still, the great ideal at the heart of all knowledge, namely, the desire to unify data and bring synthesis to multiplicity, floats temptingly over these four areas as it does over the divisions within each of them.  Knowledge by definition tends toward unity.

What philosophy offers the idioscopic (here I’m grafting roughly onto Maritain’s affirmative as roughly equivalent) is a unified whole of the diversity in the hard sciences.  While idioscopic science by its nature compartmentalizes and divides the study of the world, rightfully so within its respective subject-matter, it is at a loss in attempting to find unity within the multitude.  By contrast, the cenoscopic, in providing its own accounts and studies of the world based upon shared commonness, oftentimes misses the mark in its enquiry—one could think of the Eleatic philosophers and their cenoscopic inquiry concluding the impossibility of change and mutation and the eternal permanence to being.

A Habit Formed

Famously in the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle quipped that among the commonly identified virtutes, many of them go unnamed.  A virtue famously for Aristotle is taken to be a mean between two vicious extremes, being informed by the goods sought after deficiently or in excess in both vices:[5]

So, virtue, is a purposive disposition, lying in a mean that is relative to us and determined by a rational principle, and by that which a prudent man would use to determine it.  It is a mean between two kinds of vices, one of excess and the other of deficiency; and also, for this reason, that whereas these vices fall short of or exceeding the right measure in both feelings and actions, virtue discovers the mean and chooses it.

The question I would like to ask is: what sort of “unnamed” virtue must a person be formed in today if both the cenoscopic and ideoscopic sciences are to be retained?  Is it healthy to siphon off one habit of cognizing the world in the absence of the other?  Are there points where both scientific inquiries intersect, or one ought to claim priority, and if so, is there a habit needed to secure this intersection?  If there can be found such a habit, what kind of vicious extremes could be seen to impede the exercise of such a virtuous inquiry?

Join the Conversation!

We’ll be discussing these and more conversations in our Philosophical Happy Hour this Wednesday (17 April 2024) and we’d love for you to join. Use the links below!

Philosophical Happy Hour

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Come join us for drinks (adult or otherwise) and a meaningful conversation. Open to the public! Held every Wednesday from 5:45–7:15pm ET.


[1] Creath 2022: “Logical Empiricism”, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Winter 2023 Edition), Edward N. Zalta & Uri Nodelman (eds.).

[2] Maritain 1937: Distinguer pour unir ou Les degrés du savoir. Reference to the English translation by Bernard Wall, Degrees of Knowledge, 43

[3] Paine 2021: “On the Cenoscopic and Idioscopic and Why They Matter”, in Reality: a journal for philosophical discourse, online [PDF]: 5-6.

[4] Ibid, 12.

[5] c.335/34bc: Ἠθικὰ nικοάχεια in the English translation by J. Thomson, The Nicomachean Ethics, 42.

Being Realists

The first step on the realist path is to recognize that one has always been a realist; the second is to recognize that, however hard one tries to think differently, one will never manage to; the third is to realize that those who claim they think differently, think as realists as soon as they forget to act a part.  If one then asks oneself why, one’s conversion to realism is all but complete.[1]

Philosophical ideas have a way of winding themselves into the background of our conscious cognition without that conscious awareness itself recognizing the influences of those ideas.  Today, many of us still are possessed by implicitly idealist beliefs: that is, those beliefs which emerged consequent to René Descartes seventeenth-century philosophical revolution.  For instance, we tend to think of ideas as “in our minds”.  We use expressions like “thinking out loud” (when the truth is that most of our thinking is, in fact, “speaking silently”).  And yet, as the above quote from Étienne Gilson’s “Handbook for Beginning Realists” asserts, we cannot but act as though our cognition really is of things that really are.

Realism vs. Idealism

It has sometimes been claimed that the entire history of Western philosophy—or at least, going back to its two earliest systematic thinkers, Plato and Aristotle—has been one long debate between the positions of realism and idealism.  This claim, however, seems to make a fundamental mistake.  Plato seemingly believed in the reality of the Ideas.  But whatever the Ideas were, they did not exist within the mind.  Contrariwise, the idealism of modernity posits, in Gilson’s terminology, that our “thoughts” are the objects of our thinking.  In the expression of Leibniz, modernity follows the way of “ideas”.

By contrast, from antiquity (including Plato) through Latin Scholasticism, most philosophers held that things are our thoughts’ objects.  The English word “real” derives from the Latin reale, itself an adjective derived from the noun res: which we translate as “thing”.  A “thing” is what it is regardless of what we may think about it.  Thus, for the realist, all our knowledge is measured against things.

An Argument for Idealism

But idealism, counter-intuitive though it may seem, has a kind of argumentative advantage.  As Gilson writes:[2]

Most people who say and think they are idealists would like, if they could, not to be, but believe that is impossible.  They are told they will never get outside their thought and that a something beyond thought is unthinkable.  If they listen to this objection and look for an answer to it, they are lost from the start, because all idealist objections to the realist position are formulated in idealist terms.  So it is hardly surprising that the idealist always wins.  His questions invariably imply an idealist solution to problems.

Indeed, the idealist’s strongest argument against realism, it would seem, is to trap the realist in presupposing an idealist premise.  As Patrick Lee Miller begins his own argument, “If Idealism is not true, then there must be a gap between the subject and object of knowledge.”  This consequent—the claimed gap between subject and object—would indeed condemn us to no solution but idealism.  But do we have to accept this conditional premise?  If the object known is not within the subject (i.e., if it is not an idea), does that mean there exists a gap?

Gilson’s Critique

Throughout the “Handbook”, Gilson presents a multifaceted critique of idealist belief.  In many sections, he delivers concise and punchy objections.  But the most fundamental point, on which turns not only the critique of idealism but also Gilson’s advocacy for realism, concerns a distinction between thought and knowledge.  We will turn to this notion of knowledge momentarily.  In the meantime, let us note that thought, as customarily said even to this day, signifies something believed to belongs to a person.  I have my thoughts.  You have your thoughts.  My thoughts are not your thoughts, and vice versa.  To start with thoughts, therefore, is to start with one’s own thoughts; with thoughts belonging to the self.  Thus, Gilson:[3]

For the idealist, who starts from the self, this [namely, asking how he can prove the existence of a non-self] is the normal and, indeed, the only possible way of putting the question.  The realist should be doubly distrustful: first, because he does not start from the self; secondly, because for him the world is not a non-self (which is a nothing), but an in-itself.  A thing-in-itself can be given through an act of knowledge.  A non-self is what reality is reduced to by the idealist and can neither be grasped by knowledge nor proved by thought.

Put succinctly, Gilson here accuses the idealist of a vicious circle, stuck forever in himself.  Or, to paraphrase John Deely, “you cannot accept ideas as the base of knowledge and escape solipsism by any means.”[4]

Being Realists

But what does it really mean, “to be a realist”?  Does Gilson’s argument for realism persuade us that we should, indeed, be realists?  Does his distinction of knowing against thinking prove solid and true?  This lattermost might prove, in the final analysis of his “Handbook”, to be most problematic.  He defines knowledge as “an act of the intellect which consists essentially in grasping an object”.[5]  Does this seem sufficient to us?  Is it sufficiently distinguished from “thought”?

Join us this Wednesday (10 April 2024) as we discuss the entirety of Gilson’s “Handbook” [12 pages here in PDF] and whether we are or ought indeed to be realists—and, if we are, just what that means.

Philosophical Happy Hour

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Come join us for drinks (adult or otherwise) and a meaningful conversation. Open to the public! Held every Wednesday from 5:45–7:15pm ET.



[1] Gilson 1935: “A Handbook for Beginning Realists”, §1.

[2] Ibid, §2.

[3] Ibid, §7.

[4] Cf. 2007: Intentionality and Semiotics, xxiv.

[5] Gilson 1935, §3.

Meet the Columbanus Fellows: Bea Cuasay

Today we introduce another of our Columbanus Fellows—who are demonstrating their commitment and desire to grow in knowledge, wisdom, and understanding through a creative retrieval of the classic Western tradition and participation in genuine dialogical inquiry.

Bea Cuasay is an alumna of Saint Mary’s College in Notre Dame. She received a B.A. in Philosophy with a minor in Humanistic Studies (History and Literature). She was a few credits short of a Music minor in voice and organ. In addition to her studies at Saint Mary’s, she completed a minor in Constitutional Studies at the University of Notre Dame. Her academic interests, which are varied, include: relational and Trinitarian ontology; ancient, late antique, and medieval philosophy; the history of philosophy; philosophical anthropology; virtue ethics; political philosophy; patristics; and Byzantine and Roman liturgical, mystical, and historical theology. 

Bea’s interests at the Lyceum Institute are everything St. Thomas Aquinas, Latin and Greek, and gaining a deeper understanding of the Trivium, linguistics, philology, semiotics, and phenomenology. As a Columbanus Fellow, she enjoys the warm camaraderie of pursuing wisdom and truth in love. By practicing the virtue of studiositas in the contemplation afforded by true leisure, in both the hēsychia and scholē senses of the term, through her studies at the Lyceum Institute, she hopes, in the words of St. Thomas (and Josef Pieper), to become more capax universi… et in vivendum vita contemplativa contemplere et contemplata aliis tradere.

If you are able, please support Bea and the other Fellows with a donation to our Columbanus Fellowship fund.