IV
RELIGION AND THE MYSTICAL REMAINS OF PHILOSOPHY
„Überall suchen wir das Unbedingte, und finden
nur Dinge.“
[In everything we seek the unconditioned, and
what we find are only things.]
Novalis
The aim of philosophy, abstractly formulated,
is to understand how things, in the broadest possible sense of the term hang together
in the broadest possible sense of the term.
Wilfried Sellars
Why are Kant and Hegel almost inevitably designated as “philosophers,”
while the same title does not attach with equal naturalness to Marx—whom Isaiah
Berlin regarded as the true founder of sociology?[1]
After all, Marx’s work, as history has shown, is profoundly speculative and
remains resistant to consensus about what within it may be considered true.
The answer lies in scope.
Whereas the systems of Kant and Hegel are all-encompassing, seeking to resolve
a single philosophical question by addressing all others, Marx’s thought is
more narrowly situated within political and social philosophy, shaped by economic
reflection and the empirical realities of the Industrial Revolution. Unlike
Hobbes, Marx stands at once as a political philosopher and a sociologist,
though the claim that his sociology is scientific is now widely regarded as
overstated. Many similar cases could be cited.
At this point, another aspect
of philosophy must be considered: comprehensiveness. The systems of
Plato, Aristotle, Kant, and Hegel are universal in their ambition. They proceed
from the premise that the human mind is, by nature, oriented toward grasping
the whole. But whence comes this impulse?
The foregoing case suggests
that, although philosophy may be conceived in general terms as a conjectural
enterprise marked by the absence of definitive answers, this characterization
does not exhaust its distinctive features. Certain elements remain
insufficiently explained in historical accounts of philosophy: the pursuit of
wisdom, the primordial sense of wonder, the recurrent appeal to explanatory
principles whose validity is cognitively contested, and the impulse to integrate
experience into a comprehensive vision capable, at least to some extent, of
“convincingly resolving our great questions concerning reality and the place we
occupy within it.”[2].
It was precisely this impulse that inspired the construction of the great philosophical
systems, from Plato to Hegel. None of this can be adequately understood if
philosophy is reduced merely to public knowledge that resists authentic consensus,
or to a cognitive enterprise serving as a precursor to science, as discussed in
the previous chapter.
In this chapter, I will show
that the answer to such questions can be found when, instead of investigating
the property of philosophical inquiry of not reaching an authentic consensual
public knowledge, as occurs in science, we inquire into how philosophy originated.
This approach leads us to compare philosophy with another of its close relations,
namely religion.
1. PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION: A GENETIC APPROACH
Philosophy shares several essential characteristics with religious
thought. First, there is comprehensiveness, understood as the attempt to
embrace and integrate the most diverse elements and aspects of reality. Second,
depth, referring to the level of reflection and analysis involved.
Third, elevation, which points to the spiritual, intellectual, and moral
ascent that such inquiry can inspire. Fourth, the orientation of human
life, often accompanied by a motivational trace called faith, which is defined
as belief without sufficient reasons or, in the words of St. Thomas Aquinas,
“an act of the intellect assenting to the truth at the command of the will.”[3]
These five traits can be clearly
discerned, in varying forms, in the works of religious philosophers such as
Plotinus, Eriugena, St. Augustine, and St. Anselm. Though difficult to separate
neatly, they remain deeply interrelated. Yet even in non-religious thinkers
like Hume and Wittgenstein, echoes of these characteristics can be found,
suggesting that philosophy and religious thought, while distinct, often converge
in their pursuit of meaning and orientation for human existence.
Monotheistic religions, particularly within the Judeo-Christian
tradition, pursue attributes such as comprehensiveness, depth, elevation, and
guidance through the invocation of a transcendent God—conceived as existing
beyond the realm of experience yet mysteriously understood as a personal being,
the efficient cause and sustainer of reality. In this way, such religions
achieve a remarkable comprehensiveness: the concept of God stands at the center
of a doctrine that seeks to integrate our understanding of the world and
humanity’s place within it, while also providing norms to guide human conduct.
Historically, philosophy has often preserved similar aspirations to
comprehensiveness, depth, elevation, and guidance, though it has typically
sought to realize them without recourse to a transcendent personal God. This
parallel underscores both the kinship and the distinction between religious and
philosophical modes of thought.
Traditional philosophers were
driven by the pursuit of comprehensiveness, which led many of their exponents
to construct broad philosophical systems aimed at explaining reality as a whole
and, often, at deriving general guidelines for human conduct, as exemplified
most notably in Spinoza’s system. Even if the aspirations of twentieth‑century
philosophy are not as ambitious, elements such as breadth of purpose, depth, elevation,
and level persist as evaluative criteria, as seen in Wittgenstein’s work.
As for the alleged depth and
elevation, although philosophy does not appeal to the supernatural in the same
way as religion, it frequently invokes metaphysical principles of explanation that
remain beyond the concrete possibilities of experience and understanding. Even
if such principles are not spiritual beings like the gods of religion, they are
often difficult to distinguish from them. Like the gods, they cannot be fully
comprehended by human understanding; they possess some mental attribute, and
they relate to the sensible world in an obscure and mysterious manner. To grasp
the immense relevance of these metaphysical principles, one needs only consider
the central place they have always occupied in the history of philosophy. Here
is a brief list, from Thales to Wittgenstein:
- Water (Thales); the Unlimited (Anaximander); air (Anaximenes); earth
(Xenophanes); thought (Anaxagoras); reason (Heraclitus); being (Parmenides);
atoms (Democritus); number (Pythagoras); the four elements and the forces of
love and hate (Empedocles).
- Ideas, especially the Idea of the Good (Plato); being as being, or
substance, or God (Aristotle); the One (Plotinus); nature (Scotus Eriugena);
the Omni-God (Thomas Aquinas and other medieval philosophers).
- Finite and infinite thinking substance (Descartes); substance-nature-God
(Spinoza); monads (Leibniz); ideas (Berkeley); the noumenal ocean with its
thing-in-itself and its transcendental Ego (Kant); the Pure Ego (Fichte); the absolute
spirit (Hegel); the Will (Schopenhauer); the will to power (Nietzsche); Being
(Heidegger); the unsayable (Wittgenstein).
The relationship between philosophy and religion can be approached,
historically and genetically, through the consideration of principles or
principle‑entities – beings that generally function as foundations capable of
producing, determining, or sustaining things. It is widely recognized that
Western philosophy emerged from the soil of Greek mythology and religion. Around
600 BCE, beginning with Thales of Miletus, Greek thinkers grew dissatisfied
with mythological explanations of phenomena in nature and human life, replacing
them with philosophical ones.
Some historians of philosophy
have suggested that contact with other cultures, with their distinct gods and
values, may have contributed to weakening the Greeks’ belief in their
mythological accounts. Yet this factor alone does not seem sufficient to explain
the rise of philosophical speculation, since many cultures were equally exposed
to external influences without developing any form of philosophy. Some even reacted
to such exposure by strengthening their own beliefs; consider, for example, the
survival of Judaism throughout its two thousand years of diaspora.
A more plausible explanation
for the birth of Western philosophy was proposed by W. K. C. Guthrie: the
discovery of abstract science among the Greeks suggested to the human mind the
use of generalization.[4]
However, this factor alone would not suffice to account for the emergence of
philosophical thought, since common-sense generalizations about ordinary
phenomena have always existed, for instance, that the Sun rises every day or
that the addition of two objects to two others invariably results in four. Such
generalizations are so evident that they have always been known without requiring
philosophical reflection.
In my judgment, the most comprehensive
reason for the birth of Western speculative philosophy, while incorporating
Guthrie’s accepted explanation, would be the following: the Greeks, largely as
a consequence of their exposure to other cultures, developed scientific
advances in arithmetic, geometry, physics, and astronomy. Yet, whereas other
people regarded such knowledge merely as instruments for practical ends, the
Greeks were the first to consider them apart from those purposes, that is, as
scientific generalizations in their own right.
This attitude enabled them to
recognize the intrinsic characteristics of this type of generalization. They
realized that scientific generalizations possess an explanatory power that extends
far beyond what is openly observable, reaching into the hidden nature of
phenomena, unlike common-sense generalizations. In this context, they understood
that the scientific mode of explanation is grounded in the existence of
regularities, both empirical and formal. Such regularities not only manifest themselves
in generalizations but also allow, when empirical, the explanation of facts and
the formulation of predictions (as demonstrated by astronomical forecasts),
and, when mathematical, the justification of inferences (as in the proofs of
theorems), in a procedure that is to some extent analogous.
By recognizing the possibility
of abstract generalizations – grounded in regularities observed in experience
and extended through explanations, predictions, or the demonstration of
theorems derived from axioms – the early Greek philosophers arrived at what we
could call the idea of science, both empirical and formal. This idea
encompassed procedures of inductive inference leading to general laws,
accompanied by explanation and prediction, as well as inferential syllogistic
structures, both of which were later systematized and formalized in Aristotle’s
Organon. It marked a new mode of explaining facts, radically distinct
from the religious anthropomorphism that had previously dominated thought.
In light of this, the question
that arises is whether the mere discovery of the possibility of replacing
religious explanations with those grounded in principles or laws, applicable
even to what was unobservable or hidden in nature, was not the spark that
ignited the flame of philosophical speculation in the minds of the Pre-Socratic
Greek thinkers. The underlying idea that must have emerged in the minds of
these early philosophers, who were scientifically educated, was simply that the
entire world could be explained not by appealing to the arbitrary will of the
gods, but through regularities akin to those revealed by science.
It is evident that none of the broad questions
they addressed could be approached in a truly scientific manner. Nevertheless, they
lent themselves to speculative inquiry through conjectures supported by the
idea of science, as well as results which, although not capable of achieving
consensual agreement, were intellectually stimulating. The practice of this
speculative procedure, arising from a kind of intellectual hedonism in an elevated
sense of the expression, constituted the most distinctive feature of Pre-Socratic
philosophy.
Given the influence of the
scientific model, whether empirical or formal, it is not surprising that at the
dawn of Greek philosophy, the first philosopher of the Western tradition,
Thales of Miletus, was also an astronomer and mathematician of notable
competence. He is said to have predicted the year of a solar eclipse and to
have developed the theorem that bears his name. His hypothesis that water was
the principle, the arché (ἀρχή) that is the origin, the beginning, the
efficient and sustaining cause of all things, was the first attempt to replace
explanations grounded in the will of the gods with approaches more closely aligned
with a non-anthropomorphic account provided by science.
Certainly, such an explanation
could not have been formulated in strictly scientific terms, for it lacked the
kind of consensual agreement that we have seen to be distinctive of science.
Neither Thales nor his successors were in a position to achieve a scientific
understanding of so comprehensive a question as the ultimate constituents and
determinants of nature, since such consensuses depend on the performance of
sophisticated observations that were inconceivable at the time. Even so, the Pre-Socratic
thinkers were at least capable of philosophically speculating about such
questions, offering conjectural glimpses into the nature of things.
Their suggestions, though indeterminate, incomplete, and in some cases
profoundly mistaken, were nonetheless able to order, guide, and even deepen our
understanding of reality.
What philosophers such as
Thales, and with greater refinement and depth, Heraclitus and Parmenides, were
producing were schematic ideas, explanatory sketches, vague and suggestive conceptions,
in other words, embryonic forms of theories concerning what often assumed the
role of efficient and sustaining causes of the world we experience. Initially,
these were sensible things, such as water or earth, but soon such
entities became more elusive, like the invisible air of Anaximenes, and,
later on, were consistently replaced by principles inaccessible to the senses—such
as Anaximander’s unlimited (ἄπειρον), Pythagoras’s number,
Heraclitus’s logos, and Parmenides’s being. These entities were inevitably
succeeded by countless other hypostases that permeated the history of philosophy.
I shall deepen the analysis of these principles, but before doing so, it is
necessary to consider certain ideas of Auguste Comte, which, if properly
understood, may offer us valuable guidance.
1. COMTIAN’S LAW OF THREE STAGES
The historical consideration that philosophy arose as a substitute for
the explanations offered by mythology and religion brings to mind the so‑called
“law of the three stages,”[5]
formulated by Auguste Comte as an ordering of the long journey of the human
mind from superstition to science.[6]
I intend to draw upon this law later. However, since I believe this law is of
considerable relevance, I propose to update it at certain points and, in the following
section, address some of the most influential objections raised against it.[7]
The law of the three stages may
be understood on three distinct levels:
(a) the level of the development of human culture in its various
branches;
(b) the level of the development of the individual mind;
(c) the level of the development of human society as a whole.
At the most comprehensive level, as a general law governing the
development of human culture, the law of the three stages is of particular
importance. According to Comte, in connection with the emergence of the
fundamental sciences (see chap. III, sec. 3), human culture passes through
three successive phases: the religious or fictitious stage, the metaphysical
or abstract stage, and finally, the scientific or positive stage.
The following schema may serve as a guide:
Substages:
Stages
(i) animist
(1) 
religiose ou fictive
(ii) politeist
Levels:
(iii) monoteist
a) cultural (2) metaphysical or absolute
(3) scientific or positive
Law of
three
b) individual
(1), (2), and (3)
stages
c) social
(1), (2), and (3)
The religious or fictitious stage constitutes the necessary point of
departure for human cultural evolution. It is dominated by anthropomorphism:
the human mind projects its own characteristics onto the external world in an
attempt to account for the anomalies of nature. Natural phenomena, especially
those that deviate from the ordinary, are explained as manifestations of the
will of beings endowed with supernatural powers—the gods or God. The knowledge concerning
these supernatural beings, supposedly acquired at this stage, is regarded as
absolute. Yet such purported knowledge is merely illusory, not the product of
reason but solely of imagination.
The religious stage unfolds into
three substages, each representing a higher level of abstraction. In the first,
the animistic substage, physical objects such as trees, animals, and
celestial bodies are vaguely conceived as possessing life, passions, will, and
understanding. In the second, the polytheistic substage, these objects
are replaced by gods: living beings similar to humans, though immortal and
supernatural, often invisible, who intervene arbitrarily in the course of
nature, including human life (in Greek mythology, as we know, men were seen as
the toys of gods). Finally, in the monotheistic substage, the divinities
of polytheism are condensed into a single Omni-God, characteristic of the
Judaeo-Christian tradition.
Comte regarded this movement as
a cultural progress of the mind within the theological order, tending toward a unifying
abstraction of the explanatory causes of phenomena. At this stage, the mind
begins the process of substituting imagination with reason. (On the individual level,
the religious stage corresponds to childhood; in it, we are like children who
believe in the existence of a magical world, still incapable of fully
distinguishing the real from the imaginary.)
The second stage, called the
metaphysical stage (which I consider extendable to the philosophical tradition
in general), is, for Comte, merely transitional. Even so, it represents a
notable advance, since explanatory principles cease to be attributed to
supernatural divinities and begin to be sought within nature itself.
Nevertheless, although these principles are usually presented as belonging to the
natural order, they manifest themselves in a hidden manner. They are referred
to as natural powers, essential properties, or abstract
entities.
Examples of such principles,
for Comte, were phlogiston, which preceded modern chemistry, and ether,
in the early stages of physics. According to him, such concepts possess an
essentially equivocal character. They were supposed to provide a natural
explanation of phenomena as scientific principles, that is, as regularities maintained
among phenomena, but they fail in this purpose. On the other hand, they cannot
be conceived as personal agents without a relapse into the theological stage.
They are, therefore, what Comte very conveniently called personified
abstractions (abstractions personnifiées), an expression that reveals
the internal tension of these concepts.
Later on, we shall test this
idea by applying it more broadly to the entities-principles evoked by
the philosophers. (On the individual level, the metaphysical stage corresponds to
adolescence, when we construct the most implausible ideations, generally
critical, yet lacking sufficient grounding in reality.)
Comte held a rather critical
view of the value of the first two stages – the theological and the metaphysical
– for knowledge of the real world. For him, both are essentially dependent upon
imagination, and neither the explanations nor the predictions derived
from them can be regarded as genuine. For him, their utility lies chiefly in
the sociopsychological effects they produce, insofar as they contribute to the
structuring of society and of thought, while also encouraging us to confront
difficulties and alleviate anxiety in the face of what escapes our control.
Beyond this, there is a
practical consequence of immense importance: it is only through these illusory
conceptual constructions that the path toward the scientific stage is prepared.
The human mind, Comte believed, cannot investigate without being guided by some
theory. The theological and metaphysical stages provide ideas and theories which,
though mistaken, enable reason to begin its inquiries and, driven by the
illusion of knowledge, to persevere in the cumulative observation of facts – an
effort that ultimately leads to science.
The most striking example of
this process was the transition from astrology to astronomy: the long,
persistent, and systematic observation of celestial bodies, motivated by the
desire to predict human destiny, gave rise to mathematical measurements which,
in turn, created the conditions for the emergence of astronomy as a science.
For Comte, the metaphysical stage represents
an intermediate and provisional phase, serving merely as a laborious
preparation for the emergence of the positive stage. It is only in this latter
stage that science establishes itself as the sole legitimate mode of inquiry,
while the former theological and metaphysical questions are abandoned and
anathematized as unanswerable and sterile.
In the positive, or scientific, stage,
knowledge ceases to pursue absolute truths and is understood as relative,
acknowledging the inherent fallibility of all human inquiry.[8]
The ambition to explain the world as a whole is recognized as an illusion; we
can only grasp its more fundamental constituents, a task entrusted to the basic
sciences. After all, how could concepts devised to classify the elements of the
world be meaningfully applied to the world in its entirety? Moreover, phenomena
are no longer explained through imagination but are instead comprehended
essentially through reason. Reason, in turn, abandons the search for hidden
essential causes and focuses on the discovery of laws, that is, verifiable
regularities among phenomena. Knowledge of these regularities enables us to
realistically explain the associations between phenomena and to infer the occurrence
of others, thereby enabling prediction. This predictive power leads to an
effective, and not merely imaginary, mastery over nature. Explanation in terms
of “why” is here replaced by explanation in terms of “how.” (On the individual
level, the positive stage corresponds to the maturity of the adult human being,
who perceives things as they truly are and is scarcely swayed by imagination.)
It is important to recall that the
transition from the metaphysical to the scientific stage occurred at different
times across the basic sciences and in diverse forms. This produced a staggered
progression, reminding us that much of our knowledge still remains, in many
respects, at a “metaphysical” stage, despite Comte’s excessive optimism.
For Comte, the law of the
three stages also manifests itself in the development of the individual mind,
thereby revealing its biological roots. As he observed, we are all theologians
in childhood, inhabiting an imaginary world populated by mythical beings such
as fairies and witches. In adolescence, we become metaphysical, believing
ourselves capable, through reason alone and without sufficient mastery of facts,
of elaborating unfounded explanations and embracing them with conviction.[9]
Finally, in adulthood (to the extent that we truly reach that stage), we
become, in his words, “physicists,” accepting only positive knowledge,
established and confirmed by scientific means.
Ultimately, the law of the three stages also
manifests itself in the domain of social organization and its practices.
Yet such manifestation depends upon the effective consolidation of the stages
within the sphere of culture. Since the basic sciences were necessarily
constituted in successive epochs, given that the development of a more complex
and less comprehensive science presupposes, to a large extent, the advancement
of another that is simpler in principles but broader in application, and
considering that the technical progress required for social transformation
usually follows from the theoretical development of science, it is reasonable
to suppose that the social impact of the formation of the basic sciences upon
the “positivization” of economic and social organization would be, in fact, a
belated phenomenon.
Comte suggested that, at the level of social
organization, the theological stage endured until the end of the Middle Ages,
characterized by an authoritarian and militaristic society dominated by
religious ministers and monarchs. With the Protestant Reformation, metaphysical
ideas came to guide society, inaugurating the reign of laws and abstract
rights. Only after the French Revolution and the Industrial Revolution, at a
time when all the basic sciences had either attained their “positivization” or
were already in the process of doing so, did it become possible to affirm the
positive or scientific stage in the sphere of social organization. This new
period would be marked by the emergence of a peaceful society, in which the
economic life of individuals occupied center stage. In such a society, science
would be destined to assume a decisive role, leading to a social structure
organized and regulated by an elite of scientists entrusted with applying
positive knowledge to the administration of collective life.
It matters little that this vision
was born of wishful thinking, for he nevertheless pointed toward a direction.
Even if that direction were
indeed the right one, as I believe, the tree of sciences has revealed itself to
be far more intricate than the simplifying framework of positivism could ever
encompass. After all, it is not unreasonable to imagine
that the full development of sciences emerging from all that today still belongs
to philosophy might uniquely contribute to the making of a better Society.
3. A
CONCISE EVALUATION OF COMTE’S LAW
The law of the three stages
has long been the object of criticism. Some charges, such as its rigidity and
dogmatism, the excessive dismissal of non‑positive forms of thought, and
distortions like exaggerated optimism or the reductionism typical of positivism,
seem to me well justified. Others, however, are prejudicial and of little real
value, as in the case of objections rooted in religious bias. In any event,
none of this undermines the geniality of Comte’s vision. To reject it in
totum would be to throw out the baby with the bathwater. My aim here is to
engage only with those objections that help us refine and carry forward what is
most persuasive in the law of the three stages.
The first of these, raised by Jürgen
Habermas,[10]
maintains that the law of the three stages is itself metaphysical, insofar as
it was formulated a priori, without support from observational facts. This, however,
can be shown to be false. Comte explicitly affirmed and demonstrated in his
writings that his law results from a careful examination of the facts
concerning the evolution of human culture and the emergence of the basic
sciences, articulated alongside consistent reflections on human nature.
Equally easy to address is the complementary
objection that the law itself cannot be adequately inferred, since it rests
upon a single historical instance, that of our own civilization, which is
itself unfinished. The law of three stages may be justified as the result of an
inductive inference, more specifically, IBE: inference to the best explanation.
This is the only approach capable of bringing together, within a single
interpretive framework, a myriad of sociocultural facts throughout their
historical evolution. Indeed, it is precisely because this law confers greater
coherence upon the historical progression of human culture, and because such
coherence is corroborated by our understanding of that trajectory, that it
tends to impress itself upon our minds as an explanation at once plausible and
natural. Moreover, since the law may be gradually confirmed, refuted, or, more
likely, corrected and refined through careful investigation of
historical‑cultural facts, both past and future, it may ultimately prove no less
susceptible to empirical validation than, for example, the theory of biological
evolution.
Another objection is that, when applied to
the explanation of the three stages at the social level, Comte’s law is unable
to account for the order in which the sciences emerged. After all, mathematics
had already arisen among the Greeks during the theological stage, and astronomy
and physics had likewise emerged while society was still situated within the
metaphysical stage.
As
with the first objection, Comte explicitly addressed this criticism. According
to him, each basic science can only be born once the theological and
metaphysical stages have been completed within its respective domain. However,
given that there exists an order of presupposition among these sciences, they
cannot attain their respective positivizations simultaneously. Consequently, at
the social level, the stages are expected to consolidate only at the end, as
the cumulative result of partial transformations occurring in different fields
of knowledge – transformations that must also entail changes arising from the
application of those sciences.
This idea may be illustrated by means of an analogy:
a child may anticipate certain traits of the adult mind, just as the adult may
preserve aspects of adolescence and even of childhood itself, without thereby
confusing their identities. (Unfortunately, Comte was excessively optimistic
regarding the pace of evolution: the stages overlap one another, and if more
than the basic sciences remain pending, which is obvious, then the scientific
stage of society is still far from consolidation even today.)
A third and more important objection concerns
Comte’s use of the word law, which, for many, is abusive and misleading.
The singularity of the events under analysis, together with the vagueness and
uncertainty of the processes involved, does not warrant our employing this
venerable term; as Karl Popper observed, perhaps the best we can do is to speak
of sociocultural trends.[11]
The response to this objection consists in
recalling Aristotle’s words when considering ethical inquiry: “It is the mark
of an educated man to seek precision in each class of things only so far as the
nature of the subject admits.”[12]
In other words, each kind of knowledge requires a form of exactness appropriate
to its nature. Within the domain of human sociocultural history, what we call a
“law” must assume a tendential character, unless we are overtaken by a
precisionist tic that leads us to demand from the explanation of great
sociocultural movements the same degree of exactness as that of the hard
sciences.
It is certain that Comte did not discover
laws in the sense of the natural sciences, but rather tendencies, valid in
vague and probabilistic terms. His contribution, therefore, was the
identification of a natural tendential rule, perfectly acceptable as a law
within the conditions of vagueness that characterize the social science he
envisioned. The proper form of a socio‑historical‑cultural law must,
inevitably, be that of a generic tendency.
It would be unreasonable to expect that a
law of this nature should possess the same precision and absence of exceptions
as the laws of the natural sciences. Its formulation can offer no more than a
probabilization of certain outcomes, given the immense number of variables that
may intervene in the process. The same applies to major sociological insights,
such as Max Weber’s notion of the disenchantment of the world: its scope within
a complex terrain renders it as vague as it must be. To think that vagueness
compromises the scientific status of a social law is nothing more than
prejudice.
What
most distinctively characterizes the formulation of a law is not absolute
precision – for no statistical law could ever satisfy such a criterion – but rather
our assumption that the generalization expressed in its formulation is of a
non‑accidental nature. The supposed non‑accidental character of the
regularity affirmed by the generalization may be admitted as the sole feature
common to any kind of law. Science, in this sense, requires a term to encompass
all forms of generalization that we presume not to result from mere chance, and
the word ‘law’ remains the most appropriate to fulfill this function.
From this point of view, the law of the
three stages comes to meet the condition of a law with scientific pretension.
It seems reasonable, for example, to predict that in another possible world inhabited
by human beings biologically identical to ourselves and subjected to similar circumstances,
the process of becoming a society in full scientific and technological
development would follow a similar order of stages in the evolution of its
branches and forms of knowledge, rather than, for instance, leaping directly to
the scientific stage. Thus, we must acknowledge that we are dealing with a law
in the liberal sense: a necessary sociocultural tendency. In the same
way, it is plausible to admit that civilizations, at a given stage and under appropriate
conditions, might set themselves to build pyramids. Such a
socio‑anthropological law could, for example, be vaguely formulated as follows:
“Societies that reach a certain degree of economic, political, and symbolic
complexity tend to construct large pyramidal monuments as expressions of
power, religiosity, and cosmic order.”
I therefore conclude that, under a
sufficiently tolerant and flexible interpretation, the claim that human
civilizational progress must unfold through the three stages outlined above
remains defensible. The next step, then, is to revisit traditional philosophy
with these newly acquired insights to explore the possibilities it may offer.
4. PHILOSOPHY
AS A TRANSITIONAL INVESTIGATION BETWEEN RELIGION AND SCIENCE
If we substitute what Comte
termed metaphysics with the word ‘philosophy’, applying it to the philosophical
tradition, which we inevitably associate with a largely conjectural enterprise,
we may then summarize the position of traditional philosophy between religion
and science through the following scheme:
RELIGION PHILOSOPHY SCIENCE
(explanation (explanation (explanation
by
gods) by principles) by laws
Despite the evident metaphilosophical appeal of this idea, Comte did not
apply it comprehensively to the central domains of philosophy, surely owing to
a deficient knowledge of that history.[13]
His examples of metaphysical principles belonging to the pre‑history of the
positive sciences, such as phlogiston in early chemistry and the ether in nascent
physics, are correct. Yet, such examples could easily have been extended to
thinkers as remote as the pre‑Socratics.[14]
To place the evolutionary
perspective suggested by the law of the three stages at the service of an
analysis of metaphysical principles, the first step is to make explicit the
most distinctive properties of the mental entities that religion claims as
supernatural or divine. These properties, which I designate as theomorphic,
will here be reduced to four:
(i)
Transcendentality: Mental entities
constituted by a substance essentially distinct from ordinary physical matter,
endowed with extreme superiority. (The Cartesian God, for instance, is an
infinite thinking substance);
(ii)
Hypermentality: The mental powers of
these entities are altered and extended, perhaps infinitely (they may predict
the future, some are omniscient, etc.);
(iii)
Hyperphysicality: The physical powers
of these entities are altered and may be extended, perhaps infinitely (they may
change human fate, contradict natural laws, or accomplish feats impossible to
ordinary matter);
(iv)
Mental–Corporeal Idiosyncrasy: Such entities,
generally mental in nature, are not necessarily associated with physical bodies,
or, when they are occasionally associated with them, this occurs neither
necessarily nor in the usual ways known to us (they may lack a perceptible
physical body, inhabit non-living beings, freely transit between bodies, or
inhabit many simultaneously).
Typical of the theomorphic properties is that they are not accessible to
our ordinary experience, whether physical or mental. Nevertheless, with the
exception of physical transcendence, it seems possible to conceive of them
secondarily, through the expansion and modification of concepts
derived from our common experience.
These properties may be
understood as conditions of identification, enabling us to describe and,
eventually, to recognize the supernatural or divine. It is important to note
that not all of them need be present simultaneously.
Materialist-atomist philosophers
always found themselves in trouble when it came to explaining the gods or God,
for, in their view, such an explanation had to be physical. For Democritus, an
early agnostic who flourished around 400 BCE, the gods were eidola
(εἴδωλα), namely, extremely fine and light physical atoms, capable of
penetrating our minds and producing religious delirium and ecstasy. For him,
life did not exist after death, since the subtle atoms of our minds would
disperse. For Epicurus, a less audacious atomist who lived during the difficult
Hellenistic period, life likewise did not exist after death; yet the gods did
exist, composed of subtle atoms, living eternally in a state of perfection and
serenity, without any concern for human affairs. His gods, at least, satisfied
the condition of hyperphysicality. And for Hobbes, a modern mechanistic
materialist educated by a Calvinist minister, God was the purest, simplest, and
most invisible corporeal spirit. For him, if God acts upon the world, He
must also be made of matter – thus excluding the property of physical
transcendence.[15]
Por outro lado, filósofos dualistas, de Platão a Descartes, tinham,
nesse aspecto, uma liberdade conceitual muito maior: ao admitir a transcendência
física, podiam aceitar com mais naturalidade todas as demais propriedades teomórficas.
If, following Comte, we wish to conceive of metaphysical entities-principles
as “personified abstractions”, namely, as something that hovers between
supernatural divinity and the regularity of scientific laws, then we must understand
them as consisting of something situated in between:
A. That which is theomorphic,
that is, that which possesses one or more of the four theomorphic properties
previously described.
B. That which is natural,
that is, that which possesses physical, psychological, or even formal
properties (such as those of mathematical objects), ordinarily recognized by
common sense and, possibly, also by science. After all, science may itself be
understood as an extension of common sense, provided that this is of the kind we
have called modest (Moorean).
Once this characterization is accepted, we are now prepared to
distinguish some basic types of metaphysical entities-principles. The first is:
(a) [+A+B]: A hybrid (or inflated) metaphysical entity-principle.
The formulation of a metaphysical concept intended to designate such a
principle is semantically dependent, albeit in an elusive manner, upon two
orders of properties: theomorphic and natural. On the one hand, it involves
theomorphic properties, constitutive of the supernatural; on the other, it
incorporates natural properties—physical, mental, or formal, accessible to
ordinary experience, whether through common sense or through science (which, in
turn, may provide us with access to scientific laws). It is within this context
that we find genuine “personified abstractions”.
Spinoza’s Deus sive Natura may serve as an example of a hybrid
metaphysical entity-principle. For this philosopher, what exists is God, or
substance, which is simultaneously nature. As nature, this substance is accessible
to us through its essential attributes: extension (through the
experience of the physical) and thought (through the experience of the mental).
This confers upon it, apparently, the status of a natural principle-entity
[+B]. Yet this conception is not as free from anthropomorphism as it might
seem. Since every finite mode of extension must be accompanied by a
corresponding mental mode, it follows that all physical things (such as a
circle, a stone, or a broom) are also mental, supposedly endowed with some
degree of sentience. This demonstrates that Spinoza’s Nature harbors a certain
degree of mind-body idiosyncrasy.[16]
Moreover, nature, as “God,” is hypostasized as capable of loving itself with
infinite love, which means that Spinoza’s God also possesses a kind of theomorphic
property of hyper-mentality [+A], even if not transcendent. The result is,
therefore, seems to be a principle-entity of the type [+A++B].
Another example of a hybrid
first principle, rich and multicolored, can be found in the Periphyseon
(On Nature) of John Scotus Eriugena (IX century). For this philosopher,
nature unfolds through four divisions. The first is nature that creates and
is not created. This is God, the most perfect and unknowable being, the
origin of all things. The second is a created nature that creates. These
are the archetypes of divine wisdom – the eternal forms that function as
efficient causes of all things. The third is nature as the world that is
created and does not create. It corresponds to the sensible world, that is,
everything generated within space and time. Although it lacks creative power,
God manifests within it through theophany. Finally, we arrive at nature that
is neither created nor creates. This is God as the ultimate term of
creation, when nature is reintegrated into its source.
Considering the concept of nature in John
Scotus Eriugena, we perceive that, on the one hand, it identifies itself with
the personal Christian God, with Platonic forms, and with the final union of
all things with God at the end of time [++A]. Yet created nature that does not
create is the sensible world [+B]. The result appears to be of the type
[++A+B], since God does not cease to be transcendent. If we admit a unity within
the concept of nature, Eriugena’s exuberant hybridity becomes so conspicuous
that it seems to entail an inconsistency, namely, a conceptual tension so
insuperable that it has always impressed critics and contributed to the book’s
condemnation by the Church, on suspicion of polytheism.
Another mixed entity–principle that, in some respects, recalls
Eriugena’s notion of natura is Hegel’s concept of spirit (Geist).[17]
Spirit is hyper-mental, insofar as it is the origin of all reality [+A], and it
exhibits a mind–body idiosyncrasy, since all reality belongs to it [+A]. At the
same time, spirit must unfold itself through a dialectical process governed by
impersonal laws [+B], generating theses, antitheses, and syntheses. In this
movement, nature appears as “slumbering spirit” [+B], which, through human
consciousness, is rediscovered as subjective spirit, objective spirit, and
finally absolute spirit. Yet because the Hegelian spirit is not transcendent, I
would classify it as [+A++B]. Absolute idealism, therefore, is less religious
than it might initially seem.
Another example of entities-principles
with a hybrid element, though essentially mental, would be Leibniz’s world of monads.
For this philosopher, the real world is composed of an infinite number of mental
points, called monads. Each monad contains its own impersonal laws, and
although it is “without windows,” it relates to all other monads in the
universe through spatio-temporal appearances, understood as phenomena bene
fundata, capable of reflecting the real structure of the universe [+B?]. On
the other hand, each monad is a living force, possessing some degree of perception
and consciousness, which perspectivally extends, to a greater or lesser extent,
to the entire universe of monads. Consequently, monads also possess theomorphic
traits, such as a mind–body idiosyncrasy (since material objects are merely
phenomenal appearances resulting from aggregates of monads) and hyper-mentality
(because monads are always mental, omniscient, and in themselves transcendent,
even when their omniscience is unconscious, as in the case of bare monads)
[+++A]. The result thus appears to be [+++A+B?].
Finally, it must be observed that element B need not belong exclusively
to the physical or to the mental domain; it may also be of a formal nature
(although a naturalist philosopher might argue that the formal is, in some
sense, reducible to the empirical). A paradigmatic example is the number
conceived as an entity-principle in Pythagorean philosophy. For the
Pythagoreans, as for us, the number is a natural entity whose properties are
ordinarily accessible [+B]. Yet number is also immaterial and endowed with
hyperphysical powers: from it derive good and evil, male and female, among
other fundamental polarities.
As we have seen, the relative proportions
of [+A] and [+B] may vary considerably and depend largely on interpretation.
Spinoza’s Deus sive Natura is almost naturalistic [+A++B], whereas the
monads are distinguished by their theomorphic properties [+++A+B?]. The enriched
conception of nature in John Scotus Eriugena appears to occupy a middle
position [++A+B], which likewise occurs in Pythagorean mysticism, for if we add
to it the doctrine of metempsychosis, the result seems to be [++A+B], depending
on the interpretation.
The majority of entities-principles
in speculative metaphysics are, moreover, of an inflated type, insofar as they
simultaneously allude to theomorphic and natural properties.
The next type of metaphysical principle takes the form:
(b) [–A–B]: Elusive (or deflated) entity-principle.
The formation of a metaphysical concept intended to designate a
principle of this kind is explicitly conceived as devoid of any semantic
dependence upon theomorphic or natural properties (whether physical, mental, or
perhaps formal), as these are ordinarily experienced and recognized by common
sense and by science.
As a consequence of this explanatory
strategy, the entity-principle becomes, as such, incognoscible. Indeed,
either the conceptual word employed to name it is entirely devoid of meaning,
or (as is usually the case) some meaning is attributed to it externally,
through context, or equivocally, by way of an inconsistent elimination of its
original references.
Historically,
the first example of an elusive metaphysical entity-principle appears to have
been Plotinus’s the One (τὸ ἕν), conceived as the ineffable, wholly
inaccessible to our cognitive powers, situated beyond thought and language. Yet
the One may be approached through negation, through what it is not, since
it corresponds to nothing that can be known, except by the order and beauty of
the world, which point toward something higher, and by the rare mystical
experience of union of being with its origin.
The most notorious example of
an elusive entity-principle, however, is Kant’s noumenal world,
which underlies the world of phenomenal appearances. Among its most distinguished
inhabitants are the thing-in-itself, reflected in the external pole of our
cognitive apparatus, and the transcendental I, reflected in its internal pole.
In the first half of the
twentieth century, other examples of elusive principles emerged, such as
Wittgenstein’s concept of the unsayable (das Unaussprechliche),
which points to that which cannot be spoken but only shown (the mystical), and
Heidegger’s concept of Being, understood as that which grounds all that
is (das, was allem Seienden zugrunde liegt), accessible only through the
metaphorical means of poetic language. Heidegger, as well, produced a kind of social
anthropology in the form of quasi-religious homilies, in which the term ‘Being’
could be easily replaced by ‘God’.
The deflationary type of
principle has the advantage of not running the risk of being shown to be
internally inconsistent. Yet the price of this security is high: it ceases to
be properly a concept, which renders its very intelligibility objectionable.
This semantic vacuity may, in turn, contaminate the remainder of philosophical
discourse with rhetorical vacuity, as Heidegger’s work, to a considerable extent,
ultimately demonstrated.
There are, however, ways in
which inflationary and deflationary strategies may be combined in the process
of constituting metaphysical concepts. Consider Schopenhauer’s concept of Will
(der Wille). In principle, it is equivalent to the thing in itself
(Dinge an sich), which Kant had established as an unknowable X
sustaining the world of sensible appearances. In this case, the supposed designatum
of his concept could only assume the form [–A–B].
Nevertheless, this alone would
not suffice to satisfy Schopenhauer’s philosophical intentions. According to
him, through bodily experience, we perceive that behind sensible appearances,
what truly exists is the Will: a blind, constant, and destructive force that
manifests itself directly in our inner experience of the will to live. This
will, in turn, must be understood as capable of expressing itself throughout the
entirety of the world, both organic and inorganic.
Schopenhauer’s strategy makes
it possible for the thing-in-itself, initially innocuous, to manifest as a
perverse cosmic will that permeates all of nature and constitutes the true
source of unending human suffering. Thus, what was at first to be conceived in
the form [–A–B] acquires properties that transform it into a principle endowed
with the character of a universal natural law [+B], while at the same time, in
its manifestation as a will to live, it incorporates theomorphic traits, namely,
a mind–body idiosyncrasy and a certain kind of hyper-mentality [+A].
This occurs even when Schopenhauer resorts to
the old philosophical expedient of denying what he has already done after
having done it. For this reason, his concept of Will may be understood as
resulting from a conceptual composition of the form [+A(–A–B)+B] (the
parentheses serving to delimit the original core of the process of conceptual
constitution).
In seeking alternatives between
[+A+B] and [–A–B], between hybrid and elusive principles, we still encounter
two further fundamental conceptual possibilities:
(c) [+A–B]: Theological entity-principle.
The constitution of a concept intended to designate a principle of this
type depends, semantically, upon theomorphic properties unaccompanied by
natural ones.
This combination seems improper for philosophy, since it leads us directly
back into the domain of religion: entities-principles that are physically
transcendent and/or hyper-mental and/or endowed with a mind–body idiosyncrasy,
without any appeal to naturalistic explanations, correspond precisely to spiritual
entities such as gods, totems, and the like. Even so, we may think of medieval
philosophers such as Anselm of Canterbury and Thomas Aquinas as thinkers who,
in their religious capacity, appealed to God as an entity-principle of the type
[+A–B].
But would not an immaterialist
such as Bishop Berkeley be a philosophical defender of this combination? After
all, for him, all that exists are spirits and their ideas. I believe not. In
his conception, ideas sufficiently intense and permanent are not distinguished
from the perceptible nature that surrounds us, which, according to him, is
confirmed by common sense. In this interpretation, such sufficiently intense
ideas would be natural entities of the type [+B][18],
which, together with divine ideas and spirits, would form the type [+A+B].
There remains yet one final alternative, which consists simply in the
refusal of the theomorphic element:
(d) [–A+B]: Naturalistic entity-principle
The constitution of a philosophical concept intended to designate a principle
of this type depends, semantically, upon natural properties recognized by
common sense and, eventually, by science, whether physical, mental, or formal.
The distinction between a naturalistic principle and a scientific law
lies solely in the philosophical-speculative character of the former. This
difference rests on the impossibility of reaching consensus on the results of
naturalistic philosophical principles, which are often vague and intangible.
Pre-Socratic speculation is
rich in examples of this kind, such as Anaximander’s thesis that the Earth is
suspended in the void, and Empedocles’s proposal that human beings evolved from
animals, both already discussed in Chapter III.
The most famous example of a
natural principle is the atomistic theory of the materialist philosophers Leucippus
and Democritus, according to which concrete things are constituted by eternal
and invisible portions of matter. For Democritus, atoms (ἄτομα) possess
distinct shapes, which account for the different properties of matter. Although
atoms may be “theoretically” divisible, since they have forms, sizes, and
weights, they remain physically indivisible.[19]
Certainly, given that the atomists’ hypothesis results from reflection based on
our ordinary experience of physical things and lacks any appeal to theomorphic
elements, the philosophical concept of the atom among the Greeks – much like
its modern scientific counterpart – belongs to the type [–A+B].
Naturalistic principles are those that most readily reveal their
proto-scientific character, since they occur more frequently in the earliest
anticipations of the natural sciences, now well developed. In the case of atomism,
its model of development follows the same pattern discussed in the examples of
Chapter III: the ancient atomists could not identify the properties of their
atoms, measure them, or observe their features to reach consensus about their
results, as contemporary physicists do with elementary particles. Even so, they
could speculate about their existence, formulating theories that assumed the
common structure of atomic theories. After all, the idea that matter is not
continuously divisible but composed of discrete units of many forms is shared by
both the atomistic conceptions of Antiquity and modern theories.
It seems that the more distant
from its scientific realization the idea sought by the philosopher is, the more
theomorphic the explanation tends to become. Yet the Greek atomists
demonstrated that there are exceptions. Materialism, as we have seen, does not
exclude the possibility of material gods. Materialism and atomism do not
necessarily contradict theism, but the tension between these positions becomes evident
when we consider that matter is generally defined as that which has rest mass
and occupies space, which renders transcendence inexplicable. An invisible Omni-God
is, in this context, very difficult to reconcile with materialism.
Another example of a
naturalistic principle is Parmenides’ concept of Being, since it is devoid of
theomorphic characteristics. For Parmenides, the “path of truth” is the path of
that which is. By substantivizing what is as Being (τὸ ὄν), he
attributes to it the predicates of unity, eternity, immutability,
indivisibility, homogeneity, roundness, and limitation, treating it as
belonging to physis (φύσις), although accessible only to thought and not
to the senses. Moreover, since thinking the non-being is, for him,
absolutely impossible, Being becomes the only object of thought, “for the same
thing that is for thinking is Being” (τὸ γὰρ αὐτὸ νοεῖν ἐστίν τε καὶ εἶναι).
Parmenides’ idea of
hypostatizing the word ‘Being’ was a formidable conceptual invention, the
definitive arché, since it could occupy the place of any other. Being
would henceforth function as a “universal metaphor,” capable of substituting
for anything the philosopher wished to suggest, but for which he did not yet have
adequate words.
Parmenides’ strategy
exemplifies the non-determinative semantic suggestiveness that seems inevitable
in philosophical discourse: the vagueness and polysemy of the argument,
together with the suspicion of inconsistency among the different properties
attributed to Being, the openness to an indefinite number of interpretive keys,
none of them entirely satisfactory.
My interpretive conjecture,
unusual as it may be, is that the Parmenidean being might be better understood
if identified with what we would today call the totality of conceivable
thoughts (propositions), both true and false. After all, Parmenides never
wrote that falsehood cannot be spoken, nor that false thought does not exist or
cannot exist, as Plato and others later interpreted him.[20]
My interpretation, implausible though it may seem, at least satisfies the
principle of charity by preserving the greater portion of Parmenides’
assertions concerning being, as I shall demonstrate.
Let us consider, first of all,
the totality of conceivable thoughts, true and false alike. Even formal
thoughts belong to the natural world, in the sense that they do not exhibit theomorphic
characteristics.[21]
This totality of propositions is, assuredly, everything that can be
thought—that is, “what there is to be thought.”
As Frege has shown,[22]
this totality of thoughts is likewise eternal (or timeless), immutable,
imperceptible, and, in a certain sense, indivisible and homogeneous, in
contrast with the changeable world accessible to the senses. But then, what
remains as an attempt to articulate the impossible non-being (μὴ εἶναι)? Only
those sentences that cannot be thought: nonsensical sentences (such as
“Saturday is in bed” and “My brother died after tomorrow”) and contradictory
ones (such as “All squares are round”). This distinction makes it possible to
justify Parmenides’ famous dictum: “one cannot think what is not.”
Finally, according to this interpretation, the “path of truth” allows that
false thoughts may indeed be thought, rendering Parmenidean being immune to
Plato’s objection that Parmenides could not speak the false.[23]
Assuming this paraphrase is
correct, Parmenides’ notion of being may be conceived as a non-transcendental
anticipation of what Plato sought to achieve with his hypothesis of a world of
ideas; of the Stoics with their doctrine of the lekton (the incorporeal
matter conveyed by linguistic signs); of C. S. Peirce with his category of Thirdness;
and of Gottlob Frege with his realm of timeless and immutable thoughts (Gedanken:
the senses of assertoric sentences, whether true or false).
If this reading is correct (and
probably no less so than others), we have before us a remarkable example of
speculative anticipation of themes that later philosophers attempted to develop
in more sophisticated ways, albeit with rather limited success. Even though all
these doctrines differ from one another, we are not entitled to dismiss the hypothesis
that there may exist relevant intuitions which, in the final outcome of
inquiry, might allow us, perhaps in quite unexpected ways, to reach sufficient
consensual agreements.
Should this interpretation
prove tenable (and arguably no less so than competing readings), it would
constitute a striking case of speculative anticipation of themes that
subsequent philosophers endeavored to refine within more elaborate conceptual
frameworks, though often with only modest success.
Despite
the considerable divergences among the doctrines, we are not warranted in
dismissing the possibility that they harbor intuitions of genuine relevance.
Such intuitions, in the ultimate trajectory of philosophical inquiry, may
enable us, perhaps in ways wholly unforeseen, to arrive at a measure of
conceptual convergence sufficient to ground consensual agreement.
Another example of the type
[–A+B] is Comte’s theory of the three stages and, more difficultly, his fetishistic
“religion of humanity” [–A(+A)+B]. (After all, it seems that we do care about
what happens to strangers living in distant, almost unknown places, or who will
live in the future.)
Naturalistic conceptions are
particularly interesting, since they can, in certain cases, be shown to be
anticipatory speculations of science, without having to include any deceptive
theomorphic intention. They are conceptual constructions aimed exclusively at
satisfying our speculative curiosity about questions that go beyond our present
possibilities of consensual evaluation. These cases suggest that Comte’s
depreciative position, according to which “metaphysical” inquiry is merely a
product of imagination, with no consequence other than preserving, through hope
and illusion, the disposition for investigation, was overly pessimistic and
philosophically uninformed.
It is worth noting, finally,
that the naturalistic strategy can also be combined with others throughout the argumentative
process of establishing a philosophical principle and its corresponding conceptual
constitution. This seems to be the case with Plato’s concept of idea or form.
To make this concept conceivable, Plato had to resort to analogies drawn from
ordinary experience, beginning with an innovative use of the word idea (ἰδέα),
which in ancient Greek meant form, appearance, aspect, and derived from ideîn
(ἰδεῖν), meaning “seeing”. (Something quite distinct from the contemporary
psychological concept of idea.)
This resource could suggest a
naturalistic addition [+B], but Plato’s assumption that the world of ideas is
completely independent of the visible or sensible world [+A] makes this
impossible. Moreover, Platonic ideas do not exhibit the theomorphic characteristics
of hyper-mentality and hyper-physicality. Nevertheless, they still possess the feature
of transcendence: although they are not mental, they are situated beyond
the sensible world. There is also an equivalent to idiosyncrasy which, if not
mental-bodily, is at least transcendental-bodily. For they are also understood
as causes of the sensible world, which has reality only by participating
(μέθεξις) in these ideas or by imitating them (μίμησις). There is,
therefore, a theomorphic element in the doctrine of ideas, which allows us to
believe that they may be better conceived as principles of the type [+A–B].
5. CONCLUSIONS
The recognition of these possibilities reveals, especially in the
examined case of Parmenides’ being, that vagueness and obscurity may be
justifiable in philosophy, above all when a philosopher attempts to hint at
something that goes beyond the available conceptual resources. Thinkers such as
Parmenides, Heraclitus, Kant, Hegel, and Wittgenstein, among others, faced this
challenge. As H. H. Price observed, in a rather suggestive passage:
There
may very well exist some things which, in the terminology available at a given
time, can only be said obscurely; either in a metaphor or (what is even more
disturbing) in an oxymoron or in a paradox – that is, in a sentence that breaks
with the existing terminological rules and which, in its literal sense, is
absurd. The man who says them may, of course, be confused. But it is possible
that he is saying something important. In that case, his successors may be able
to guess what he was trying to suggest. The terminological rules may, in the
end, change. And the wild metaphor or the outrageous paradox of today may
become the platitude of the day after tomorrow.[24]
It would be unreasonable to believe that philosophers can conceive
something precise or adequate that they are unable to express in a sufficiently
precise and adequate language, for language is always flexible enough. However,
it seems evident that philosophers often have significant intuitions that are
so imprecise and conceptually insufficient that can be formulated only in
equally imperfect language.
The lesson here is that,
however contradictory, poorly conceived, or even implausible the strategies
constructed from inflationary and deflationary entities or principles may be,
they can nonetheless gesture toward something important still concealed beneath
the veil of our ignorance. Suggestive philosophical ideas, even when incorrect,
function as signposts along the way, capable of pointing us in a direction.
A final word on comprehensiveness:
philosophy’s breadth, carrying with it the density proper to what is profound, derives
from a motivation also central to religion, namely the desire to find an
integrated explanation of the world as a whole, and of the place the human
being may occupy within it. Yet this aspiration toward breadth is all too human
not to be regarded as the legacy of an impossible quest. As Kant demonstrated
in his doctrine of the ideas of reason, such an aspiration nonetheless might fulfill
an indispensable guiding function.[25]
Moreover, when we consider that
the central questions of contemporary philosophy are, to some extent,
interrelated, it becomes plausible to think that comprehensiveness, when
preserved within reasonably appropriate limits (however difficult these may be
to determine), constitutes a legitimate aspiration. Even when philosophy is
understood as an anticipatory effort in the direction of science, the
orientation toward the whole, the impulse toward greater breadth, depth,
elevation, and direction, the search for what Wittgenstein called a panoramic
representation remains justified, for science itself (in our broad sense)
may, in principle, also lay claim to such rights.
[1] “The true father of modern economic
history and, indeed, of modern sociology, insofar as a single man can claim
that title, is Karl Marx.” Isaiah Berlin: Karl Marx, p. 151.
[2] Nicholas Rescher: Philosophical Dialetics, p. 11.
[3] Summa theologiae,
II/II, Q. 4, art. 5.
[4] Guthrie, W. K. C.,
A History of Greek Philosophy, vol. I, p. 36 ss.
[5] I prefer to translate ‘état’ in a
non-literal way as ‘stage,’ so as to convey the impression of progression.
[6] A law of the three stages was first proposed
by A. Turgot in his Réflexions sur la Formation et la Distribution des Richesses
(1750). However, for Turgot, it was directed toward material and economic development,
having nothing to do with Comte’s cultural stages, his most original idea. Auguste
Comte, Cours de Philosophie Positive, Oeuvres, vols. I and V. See also, Discours
sur l’esprit positif, chap. I.
[7] The development of the so‑called law of
the three stages by Comte has too often been misunderstood and unfairly
criticized. A good defense of its plausibility is Warren Schmaus's “A Reappraisal of Comte’s Three-State
Law.”
[8] Karl Popper observed that we could not
recognize absolute truth, were we to encounter it, since everything we know is,
in principle, falsifiable. See Objective Knowledge: An Evolutionary Approach,
chap. 2.
[9] According to Jean Piaget, hypothetical-deductive
reasoning with the use of propositional logic typically occurs in the stage of
formal operations from the age of 11 or 12, although educational factors may today
hasten this development.
[10] J. Habermas, Erkenntnis und Interesse, p. 92.
The irrelevant criticisms are countless.
[11] Ver K. R. Popper, The Poverty of Historicism,
cap. IV.
[12] Nicomachean Ethics, book 1, chap. 3, 1094b.
[13] The history of
philosophy was much less understood in the nineteenth century than it is today,
since there was no critical literature, no reliable translations, and no
standards of interpretive rigor to be followed.
[14] The philosophy of the Presocratics, which
could perfectly exemplify the scope of Comte’s ideas regarding what he called metaphysics,
could not be directly addressed by him. In his time, only specialists were familiar
with the lost fragments, scattered across ancient quotations. It was only with
Hermann Diels’s monumental work, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, published
in 1922, in which the citations of the lost texts were gathered and enumerated,
that the philosophical community gained access to them. It is possible that today
we know more about the Presocratics than Aristotle himself knew in his time.
[15] Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan, Part IV, chap.
25, XXXIV.
[16] Ethics Demonstrated in Accordance with
the Geometrical Order, Book V, Proposition 35.
[17] Spirit can be understood as the central
concept, unfolding dialectically from subjective spirit (subjektiver Geist)
to objective spirit (objektiver Geist) and ultimately culminating in
absolute spirit (absoluter Geist).
[18] It should be noted that for Berkeley, being
(esse) is not only percipi but also percipi possi. As he wrote:
“If we say, for example, that the table at which I write exists, this is merely
to say that if I were in my study I could perceive it, or that some other spirit
presently perceives it.” Principles of Human Knowledge, sec. 3.
[19] For a discussion,
see W. K. C. Gutthrie, A History
of Greek Philosophy, vol. II,
p. 396).
[20] The suggestion that, for Parmenides, it is
not possible to speak falsehood is due to a later interpretation, based on the
idea that falsehood is what is not, and that one cannot think what is not. See
Plato,
Sophist, 236e-264c.
[21] I suspect that they
may be reducible to something mental and, ultimately, to something physical, such
as numerical thought‑tropes or any tropes equinumerous with them.
[22] Gottlob Frege, “Der Gedanke”.
[23] An acceptable objection
would be that propositional contents are not natural, as they are neither physical
nor psychological. This objection would be justified in a Platonist
interpretation of the nature of these contents, such as Frege's. But it does
not apply to a nominalist interpretation. If propositional content is analysed,
say, as a spatio-temporally given mental representation (a trope in
Donald Williams sense) or anything else qualitatively similar to it, then it
can be reduced to a physicalist conception.
[24] “Clarity is not Enough” in, H. D. Lewis (ed.),
Clarity is not Enough, p. 40.
[25] Ideas of reason are in Kant three directive concepts pointing (i) to a synthesis of
all reasonings about the external world, (ii) to a synthesis of all reasonings
about the internal world, and (iii) to a complete synthesis of both worlds. These
concepts can direct our reasoning but cannot be objects of our intuitions, since
only infinite reasoning could fulfill them. Cf Kritik der reinen Vernunft
B 389. (Here I exclude from Kantian Ideas their religious overtones.)
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