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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”.

Where Philosophy and Sacred Theology Meet

On 20 May at 10am ET (see times around the world here), Dr. Victor Salas (Sacred Heart Major Seminary, Detroit MI) will present on “Where Philosophy and Sacred Theology Meet: The Case of John of St. Thomas (Poinsot)”. This presentation will be accessible via Zoom (details on recording availability forthcoming). Add it to your calendars!

This event is organized by our affiliates at the Institute for Philosophical Studies of the Faculty of Arts and Humanities of the University of Coimbra.

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

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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] 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

« »

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.

The Relationship between Logic and Rhetoric

Oftentimes, a student beginning in logic believes that this study will enable him or her to win arguments, convincing interlocutor and audience alike. But even after a great deal of study and many attempts, expectations and reality remain far apart. Others, particularly in this “post-truth” world where facts seem to account for little but favorable narrative for everything, may abandon logic in pursuit of rhetorical mastery. What need is there, it is asked, for logic, if rhetoric alone affects persuasion? Does it matter why you believe, so long as what you believe is truly good?

Yes: it does matter. Let us listen to John Deely.

From Logic as a Liberal Art:

The terms “convincing or unconvincing” here need to be carefully understood. As far as logic is concerned, what is at issue is intellectual or conceptual conviction, as distinct from persuasion, which may or may not be intellectually justified on strictly logical grounds. Rhetoric, which is also concerned with convincing people, studies persuasion in the broadest sense, as including, but not restricted to, logical persuasion. From the point of view of rhetoric, logic is one of the tools, but by no means the only one. Indeed, one of the ways through which, historically, rhetoric acquired something of a bad name was from treating logic not as an instrument, but as an obstacle to be gotten around in the interests of carrying the day independently of the intellectual merits of the position being advocated. Thus the convincingness of a discourse in its totality goes well beyond logic to mark out a much larger domain, that of rhetoric in the basic sense. We find something convincing often for reasons that have little to do with reason in any strictly logical sense, and, conversely, we find some statements put together in the most logical manner utterly unreasonable and wholly unconvincing. Ideally, we would agree that the truth of any given case deserves the clearest and most convincing formulation possible. But this is not something that “just happens” (i.e., a clear and convincing formulation is not a speculative truth in Aristotle’s sense), it is something that is up to us to make happen, to the extent it happens at all. Clarity of formulation is a matter of “practical truth”.

Coherence, consistency, and convincingness, then, are not all on a par in defining the subject matter of logic. They are part of a pattern, but the aspects of the pattern which make it coherent and consistent are what logic studies first of all, in order to ensure that “what we find convincing” about a given discourse is as rational as possible. The subject matter of logic—that which we study or investigate when we inquire into logic—is some kind of pattern immanent or “living within” our discourse, whereby that discourse has in any given case the properties of coherence and consistency especially, but other properties as well, as we shall see, on which coherence and consistency depend. Just what this pattern is can be seen from one of the simplest and, at the same time, most accurate statements of what logic is, a statement made by Charles Sanders Peirce in 1883 (2.710): “The very first conception from which logic springs is that one proposition follows from another.”

Logic studies the way one proposition follows from another: it is the study or doctrine of consequences in the broadest sense, but especially, as we shall see, those consequences which obtain among propositions in the context of argument. We may indeed take this as a first definition of logic, though it will take much of the following book to set out in something like an adequate way what the formula means. Logic is concerned with that part of “being convinced” which can be reduced to intellectual reasons clearly stated in relation to conclusions they support, in order to show that the conclusions in question truly follow from the reasons alleged. Thus logic in general can be defined as the doctrine of valid consequences drawn in the sphere of rational discourse. Logic is a part of rhetoric, to be sure, but that part leaves out of account as far as possible the emotional, psychological, sociological, political, and commercial factors, in order to concentrate on persuasion precisely inasmuch as it is or can be rooted in the purely intellectual consequences (the unavoidable consequences for understanding, let us say) of rational connections symbolically formed. Logic, thus, is concerned with the intelligible structuring of the way things are thought to be.

John Deely i.1985-2015: Logic as a Liberal Art, 3-4.

Consequences of Illogical Rhetoric

We may affect coherence, consistency, and convincingness in our rhetoric, that is, without logic: but we do so without the reasons why. To convince… without reason? Is this rightly human? Katherine Maher, the newly-appointed CEO of NPR, was recently much lambasted for her depiction of truth in a 2022 TED Talk. While many have needled the apparent relativism of her comments, I would highlight instead the elevation of the pragmatic over the true. In Maher’s own words, with my emphasis, “In fact, our reverence for the truth might be a distraction that is getting in the way of finding common ground and getting things done.”

And this “getting things done” is precisely what one may affect through a rhetoric absent logic. Your efforts may even produce truly good results. Attention to the truth and the why of their accomplishment—attention which requires logic—may slow down the production of such results.

Of course, without logic or tending to the truth it will not be known why such results are good.

Indeed: any coherence or consistency we produce through logic-devoid rhetoric will be the product of either chance or experience, but not of knowledge. As Deely puts this, “the aspects of the pattern which make it coherent and consistent are what logic studies first of all”. We are unlikely to maintain coherence and consistency for very long, that is, without such a study. Certainly, we may do so in a single argument. But over the years, decades, centuries? How are our thoughts to persist in convincingness if we cannot even articulate how one follows the next?

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.

How to Read Philosophy

Among the texts we pick up to read, some few will shape our thoughts and therefore our beliefs in ways much more profound than others. “No one opens a book on algebra with anxiety”, writes Brand Blanshard in his Philosophical Style, “as to whether the author is going to treat the binomial theorem roughly, or a book of physics with the feeling that hope will be blighted if Ohm’s law comes out badly.” So too, we might read histories of distant lands and foreign cultures with curiosity but no investment. On the other hand, when we read philosophy, we find ourselves faced with something of a personal nature. “But”, Blanshard continues, “people do feel that it is of importance whether their religious belief is honeycombed, or their hope of survival blasted, or even whether pleasure is made out to be the only good.”

Deadened Minds

Most of us are born inquisitive; we seek to know. Shortly after discovering speech, we learn to ask not only for things that we want, but what things are, and why they are the ways they are. But as we age, and mostly as we are subjected to modern methods of schooling, our inquisitiveness becomes curbed. In the words of Mortimer Adler:

What happens between the nursery and college to turn the flow of questions off, or, rather, to turn it into the duller chan­nels of adult curiosity about matters of fact? A mind not agi­tated by good questions cannot appreciate the significance of even the best answers. It is easy enough to learn the answers. But to develop actively inquisitive minds, alive with real questions, profound questions–that is another story.

Adler 1972: How to Read a Book, 270.

Much of modern education unfolds according to the pretense, held in unreflective consciousness, that knowledge is a possession; and that teachers hold it more than students, and students, in studying, dispose themselves to receive it. What, primarily, is learned by this model? Not to ask good questions. Good questions unveil our ignorance; they force us to search, again; they give the lie to knowledge as a possession!

Style and Philosophy

Often, when minds begin to wake from their unnatural, questionless slumber, they find authors whose answers stimulate thinking in ways unexpected, given the bland and rote education most have received. In recent decades, as the internet exposes a larger number of people to unorthodox thinkers, these writers ordinarily operate under the guise of deliberate provocateurs. Thus the popularity of some pseudonymous bloggers, such as Costin Alamariu, or the resurgent interest in writers like René Guénon. Their sway comes from the appearance of possessing special knowledge–deeper knowledge, knowledge that others don’t want you to have.

Writers of this sort, however, seem less interested in what might be properly called philosophy, but rather, the exercise of rhetorical persuasions toward their own beliefs. With talents of style, many fall under the spells they weave in words. Talented sophists have, since the days of Socrates, succeeded in making the worse appear as better, and vice versa. Further, they excel at making the wise seem foolish to the many, and their own foolhardiness appear as wisdom in its place.

Reading Philosophy against Sophistry

These points, scattered though they are, raise a question itself of pivotal importance in these our days of late modernity: how do we read philosophy, today, to distinguish what truly is wisdom from what merely persuades by style? How do we discern the true meanings of texts? Can we grasp abstruse reasoning from reading alone? What else is needed to pursue wisdom in the written word?

These, and many other questions, will obtain our attention this Wednesday at our Philosophical Happy Hour! Use the links below to join in the conversation.

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.

2024 Spring: Metaphysics – Discovery of Ens inquantum Ens

“Do we in our time have an answer to the question of what we really mean by the world ‘being’? Not at all. So it is fitting that we should raise anew the question of the meaning of Being.” With these words, published in 1927, Martin Heidegger reignited a question—tamped down by modern thought for the previous few centuries—that had dominated most of the previous two millennia. Since the provocative words of Being and Time first hit bookshelves, countless authors have taken up the question again, including many within the Aristotelian-Thomistic tradition. It was, after all, Aristotle who initiated the inquiry in the first place, and Scholasticism had much to contribute: most notably in its most-famous figure, Thomas Aquinas.

But, despite the frequency with which the question again was asked, misunderstandings have continued, as ever, to cloud our vision—just the sort of misunderstandings that left Kant frustrated at the apparent “lack of progress” in metaphysics and propose his constrained “epistemological” system as defining the bounds of inquiry.

Yet, the prevalence of misunderstandings in so abstruse a question as “what is being?” should not prevent us from continuing to inquire. It belongs to us to seek such knowledge, as intimated by the opening line of Aristotle’s Metaphysics, insofar as we are human. We may never answer the question with the kind of narrow certitude one obtains in mathematics. That we obtain such certainties, after all, follows form the narrowness of the inquiry. No object proves as broad and impossible to encompass as being. Nevertheless, Thomist and Aristotelian alike hold that we may discover its meaning truly, if incompletely. In this seminar, we will take up the Aristotelian-Thomistic tradition of inquiry into ens inquantum ens, and begin our entrance into the study of metaphysics. To undertake such a study will require a calm and disciplined mind.

…it is desirable for each thing to be united to its principle; for through this unity consists the perfection of anything whatsoever. For this reason as well is circular motion the most perfect, as Aristotle proves in book VIII of the Physics, for it conjoins the end to the principle. Now, the separate substances—which are the principles of the human intellect, and to which the human intellect is related from itself as the imperfect to the perfect—are not conjoined to the human being except through the intellect: and it is for this reason, too, that the ultimate felicity of the human being consists in this union. Therefore, the human naturally desires knowledge.

Nor is it a valid objection to this that some human beings do not pursue the study of this science: for often are those who desire some end held back from pursuing it by some cause: either on account of the difficulty of seeing the quest through to its conclusion or on account of other occupations. Thus although all human beings desire this knowledge, nevertheless not all can devote themselves to the pursuit of its study, because they are detained by other things: whether by pleasures, or the necessities of the present life, or even because they avoid the labor of learning out of laziness…

…[but] a natural desire does not exist in vain.

Thomas Aquinas 1270/71: Super Sententiam Metaphysicae, lib.1, lec.1, n.4.

The primary texts for this seminar are all available online for free (PDFs will be provided of both primary and supplemental readings) but it is recommended that one have physical copies of both Aristotle’s Metaphysics and Aquinas’ Commentary on Metaphysics. This latter is available in 2 volumes, including Greek, Latin, and English texts of Aristotle’s work, from the Aquinas Institute through the St. Paul Center for Biblical Theology [Volume I] [Volume II]. These large but handsome and sturdy volumes prove beneficial to a contemplative study of the works they contain (and the multi-language-facing layout allows for scholarly precision). The seminar will be conducted remotely through Microsoft Teams. Learn more about our seminars here. Discussions will be held each Saturday. Early access to the platform begins on 16 March 2024. Deadline to register is 4 April 2024. Download the Syllabus for more details.

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2024 Winter: Good and Freedom in Aquinas’ De Veritate

Why do we call a thing “good”?  We have been calling things good since childhood, but, as with any conception so fundamental, it is challenging to unfold its meaning.  Given the multifarious use of this name, “good”, is there even a unity of meaning to discover?  Is it just that we call anything good merely because it occasions feelings of a certain kind, or is there something in things themselves that justifies calling them good? 

Thomas Aquinas proposes that, indeed, the conception of the good has a central meaning –  “that which is perfective in the manner of a final cause” – and so approves the dictum of Aristotle, that “the good is that which all seek”.

Affectivity is thus relevant to this central meaning of the good, but affectivity understood, in those beings that have it, as essentially correlated with real possibilities, with the relationship of a thing to that which would perfect or fulfill it.  This is the order to an end, or final cause – a challenge to a reductive modern paradigm in which reality contains no real possibilities, but only “actual facts” of a mechanical kind. 

In this seminar, we will follow Aquinas’s treatment of the good in questions 21-26 of his great work known as De veritate.  Our considerations will include the metaphysics of the good, the divine will, and the human faculties that engage with the good, namely human will and the capacity for free choice, and human sensuality.  We will also touch on the connections between some important passages in De veritate and the topic of evil. 

Therefore, among these three things that Augustine affirms, the last one, namely order, is the relation which the name of goodness implies. But the other two, that is species and mode, cause that relation. For species pertains to the very notion of the species which, inasmuch as it has being in another, is received in some determinate mode, since whatever exists in another exists within it in the manner of the receiver. Therefore, every good thing, inasmuch as it is perfective with respect to the notion of species and being, as taken together, has mode, species, and order. It has species with respect to the notion itself of species, it has mode with respect to existence, and order with respect to the condition of what perfects.

Thomas Aquinas i.1256-59: Quaestiones disputatae de veritate, q.21, a.6, c.

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