Questions Raised by "The New Thinking"

In Franz Rosenzweig's essay, "The New Thinking" (Das Neue Denken, 1925), he distinguishes between the philosophical way of thinking about the essence of things and the unphilosophical way of thinking about their appearance in everyday reality. He calls the unphilosophical way of thinking "common sense" (das gemeine Denken), and he describes how the new (unphilosophical) way of thinking (the new philosophy) differs from the old (philosophical) way of thinking (the old philosophy).

      Rosenzweig says that while the old philosophy stands still and becomes fixed on the essence of things, the new philosophy "does nothing other than turn the "method" of common sense into the method of scientific thinking."¹ While "the old [way of thinking] poses the problem of whether God is transcendent or immanent, the new [way of thinking] tries to say how and when God turns from the distant to the near God and again from the distant to the near one."² While the old philosophy seeks timeless truths, the new philosophy knows "that it cannot know independently of time."³ 

      Can the difference between the new and the old philosophy be interpreted as the difference between the practical and the theoretical? Or as the difference between the scientific and the speculative? Or as the difference between the concrete and the abstract, the intuitive and the analytical, or the material and the spiritual? What other kinds of binary oppositions may possibly be established by the distinction between the new and the old philosophy, and what other kinds of issues may we have to resolve if we privilege one over the other?

      Perhaps we may also need to clarify how the distinction between the new and the old philosophy can be made more helpful than that between practical and theoretical philosophy or that (generally unhelpful distinction) between analytic and continental philosophy.

      We may also need to be very careful about the use of the term "common sense." What seems like common sense to one person may not seem like that to another. Just because an idea, attitude, or opinion is commonly shared doesn't mean it's true. Can common sense really be defined? What makes something a matter of common sense? Is common sense merely a matter of consensus or mutual agreement? What about false or spurious consensus in which people share inaccurate or false ideas due to their having cognitive, social, and cultural biases? What makes a matter capable of being resolved by common sense, and when does its resolution require critical thinking?

FOOTNOTES

¹Franz Rosenzweig, Franz Rosenzweig"s "The New Thinking", edited and translated by Alan Udoff and Barbara E. Galli (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1999), p. 83.

²Ibid., p. 82.

³Ibid., p. 83.

The Intentionality of Evil

Augustine, in the Confessions, (397-400 CE, Book VII), says that free will may be the source of evil, insofar as it may cause us to do evil things. Since God is good (and indeed is goodness itself), God is not the source of any evil. Everything that God created is good, but unlike God, every created thing is changeable and corruptible. God has created every substance, and every substance is good, but every substance is destructible or corruptible. Evil cannot therefore be a substance, because if it were, it would be good. Evil is rather a non-being of the good, and it has no being in anything that God has created.

      However, this theory (which describes evil as an absence of the good, and which is known as the privation theory of evil) doesn't seem to recognize that there is something active in evil, and that evil is something embodied, expressed, intended, or committed by a moral agent. Evil may therefore have some embodiedness, expressivity, intentionality, or capability of being performed or committed.

      To say that evil is the absence of good is like saying that hate is the absence of love or despair is the absence of hope. However, some people may be unloving without being hateful, and some people may be unhopeful without being despairing. Some people may be unloving by being indifferent, just as some things (like apples, oranges, or tomatoes) may be lacking in goodness by being indifferent. It also seems that some people or things may be neither good nor evil, neither loving nor hateful, neither true nor false, neither right nor wrong. So the absence of one doesn't mean the presence of the other (the absence of goodness doesn't mean the presence of evil, the absence of love doesn't mean the presence of hate, and so on).

      If evil were not something done by a moral agent or the evildoer had no moral agency, then we couldn't hold them morally responsible for the evil acts they committed.

      So-called "natural evils" (like earthquakes, hurricanes, floods, and diseases) are therefore misnamed. They may properly be called natural catastrophes, calamities, or disasters, but they're not properly moral evils. They lack intentionality, and they have no moral dimensions in themselves, unless they're caused by someone or something evil. Of course, they may have tragic and devastating consequences for their victims, but that doesn't make them morally evil, unless their causes can be traced to moral agents who can rightly be held responsible for them.

      Furthermore, all evils are moral evils. Evil is a moral category. There are no "natural evils," properly speaking. Describing natural events like hurricanes and earthquakes as disasters or misfortunes rather than evils isn't to try to reduce evil to disaster or misfortune, it's rather to distinguish between them. To describe natural events as natural evils may be to make a kind of category-mistake or to engage in a kind of naturalistic fallacy.

      The intentionality of evil consists in its being directed at persons or things, and in its being expressed in an agent's intentional states. Thus, it may be expressed in an agent's motives, desires, attitudes, actions, and the consequences of their actions. 

      An agent may have an intention to do evil and then actually do evil, but they may also have an intention to do evil and then do nothing. They may also do evil without having had a prior intention to do so. So the intentionality of evil isn't always expressed as intentionally evil actions. It may also be expressed as intentional states of mind (such as desires, attitudes, purposes, and goals) that are evil.

      Another way of describing the intentionality of evil may be to say that evil is willful or has a volitional character. Malevolence is involved in evil. This isn't to say that the evildoer always has some clearly defined goal toward which they are aiming or some clearly defined effect they intend to produce by their actions. But bad will (the will to do evil), as well as evil motives and intentions, and the lack of concern and empathy for others, are integral to acts of evil.

      This also isn't to say that evil is some kind of malevolent force that's engaged in a struggle with the forces of good or that there's some kind of Manichean struggle between good and evil that takes place in humanity and throughout the universe.

      But there couldn't be an "evil genius" (or for that matter, a criminal mastermind) anywhere in the world unless evil had a volitional or intentional character.

      For something to be evil is much worse than for it to be wrong. Wrong actions may not be evil, but evil actions are always wrong, and not merely wrong, but extremely or egregiously beyond the limits of morally acceptable behavior. Indeed, evil actions are so beyond the limits of morally acceptable behavior that the evildoer may seem to have ignored, subverted, rejected, or abandoned any accepted standards of right and wrong.

      Thus, it would be very callous and insensitive to say merely that "It was wrong for Robespierre to have sent thousands of innocent people to the guillotine," as if he merely made a mistake or tactical error, rather than "It was evil for Robespierre to have sent thousands of innocent people to the guillotine," recognizing his true moral depravity and culpability.

      Kant (1793) says that a person who is evil not only performs evil actions, but also performs actions with the conscious knowledge that they are evil and does so on the basis of evil principles. The capacity for evil may then be determined by weakness of the will to follow generally accepted moral principles, as well as by the propensity to mix immoral motives or values with moral motives or values, and the propensity to adopt evil principles.¹

      Kant, in discussing the origin of evil in human nature, says that we may originally be innocent and without any predisposition toward evil. However, the predisposition toward the good may be corrupted by the adoption of evil maxims or principles. There may be some hope of moral improvement for us, however, if despite having been corrupted, we still have some good will.

      Claudia Card (2002) describes evils as "foreseeable intolerable harms caused by culpable wrongdoing."² Thus, evils have two basic components: (intolerable) harm and (culpable) wrongdoing, neither of which is reducible to the other.³ The severity of the harm and the magnitude of the wrongdoing may determine the degree to which someone or something is evil. Culpability may take the form of intending to cause intolerable harm, being willing to cause harm in the course of pursuing some otherwise acceptable aim, or failing to attend to the risks involved in a particular action or mode of conduct.⁴ Culpability may also take the form of intentional ignorance or disregard of the possible effects of a particular mode of conduct.

      Marcus Singer (2004) argues that evil acts are so horrendously bad or immoral that no ordinary decent human being could conceive of themselves as doing them. Those persons who knowingly perform or order such acts are evil, as well as those who remain indifferent to such acts when they are performed by others, and who take no action when something could be done to stop or prevent them.⁵

      Singer also says that evil acts arise from evil motives or intentions.⁶ Thus, the intention to deliberately inflict unnecessary pain or suffering on others is evil. Acts of wanton cruelty, willful infliction of pain or suffering on sentient beings, and cruelty inflicted because the perpetrator enjoys inflicting it, are evil. And those who engage in a pattern of such conduct are evil.⁷ 

      The term "evil," according to Singer, may be applied not only to persons, intentions, motives, and conduct, but also to institutions, practices, arrangements, agencies, endeavors, and programs.⁸ The nature of the evil act may be determined by (1) whether the evildoer knows it to be evil and does it because it is evil, (2) whether the evildoer knows it to be evil and doesn't care that it is evil, (3) whether the evildoer judges it to be evil when it is inflicted on themselves or people whom they care about, but not when it is inflicted on others or people whom they don't care about, (4) whether the evildoer knows it to be evil, but does it anyway for the sake of convenience or expediency, (5) whether the evildoer knows it to be evil but considers it to be for the sake of some greater good, and (6) whether the evildoer doesn't believe it to be evil, but in fact believes it to be good. It may be difficult in practice to determine which of these motives predominate in a given evil act.⁹ 

      Literary personifications of evil include Dante's Satan, Milton's Lucifer, Goethe's Mephistopheles, Shakespeare's Iago, Hawthorne's Chillingworth, Melville's Ahab, Dickens's Uriah Heep, Stoker's Dracula, Stevenson's Mr. Hyde, and Wilde's Dorian Gray. Some of the traits shared by some of these characters include their deviousness, dishonesty, unscrupulousness, predatoriness, treachery, mercilessness, cruelty, and thirst for vengeance or retribution. Perhaps their most evil traits may also include their enjoyment of their immoral or criminal behavior and their lack of conscience or remorse. Thus, evil may be characterized by a focal cluster or generalized constellation of traits.

FOOTNOTES

¹Immanuel Kant, Religion within the Limits of Reason Alone, Book One, "Concerning the Indwelling of the Evil Principle with the Good, or, on the Radical Evil in Human Nature" [1793], translated by Theodore M. Greene and Hoyt H. Hudson, online at

https://www.marxists.org/reference/subject/ethics/kant/religion/religion-within-reason.htm

²Claudia Card, The Atrocity Paradigm: A Theory of Evil (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), p. 3.

³Ibid., p. 4.

⁴Ibid., p. 20.

⁵Marcus G. Singer, "The Concept of Evil,"in Philosophy, Vol. 79, No. 308 (April 2004), p. 196.

⁶Ibid., p. 196.

⁷Ibid., pp. 197-198.

⁸Ibid., pp. 189-190.

⁹Ibid., pp. 205-206.

OTHER RESOURCES

Augustine, The Confessions, translated by Maria Boulding (Hyde Park: New City Press, 1997).

Hume and Augustine, on the Problem of Evil

In Part 10 of Hume's Dialogues concerning Natural Religion (1779), Demea (a devout religious believer), Philo ( a sceptic), and Cleanthes (a philosopher) discuss the nature and existence of God by considering the problem of evil.

      Philo says that nothing brings us closer to a sense of religion than the presence of human misery and suffering (Part 10, paragraph 2).

      Demea, however, says that much of this misery and suffering is self-caused, since human beings themselves are responsible for such problems as oppression, injustice, violence, war, treachery, and fraud (Part 10, paragraph 12).

      Philo says that God's moral attributes, such as justice, benevolence, and mercy, cannot be inferred from human moral attributes. If God is omnipotent, then God has not willed that all human beings be happy, because so many are unhappy. He has also not willed that human beings be free of misery and suffering, since they are so often subjected to misery and suffering (Part 10, paragraph 24).

      Cleanthes replies that if God is willing to prevent evil but is unable to, then he is not omnipotent. However, if God is able to prevent evil but is unwilling to, then he is malevolent. But if God is both able and willing to prevent evil, then why doesn't he do so? (Part 10, paragraph 25).

      Demea replies that God may rectify present evil in the future (Part 10, paragraph 29).

      Phio says, however, that human happiness may always be exceeded by human misery. But why should there be any human misery at all? Is it God's intention that there be misery in the world? If it is, then God is not benevolent. If it is not, then why has God decided to allow misery and suffering to exist? (Part 10, paragraph 34).

      Philo concludes that there is no view of human moral attributes by which we can infer divine moral attributes There is no way to discover by reason the true nature of God's benevolence, power, and wisdom, which can only be discovered by faith (Part 10, paragraph 36).

      Augustine considers the problem of evil in "On Free Will" (391-395 CE), a dialogue between Augustine and his friend Evodius. He explains that God is good and therefore does not do evil. However, God may punish those who do evil.¹ God gave human beings free will, because without it, they wouldn't be capable of acting rightly or wrongly. If there were no free will, reward for right actions and punishment for wrong actions would be unjust.²

      Freedom of the will is good in itself, but it may be misused. Thus, evil may be caused by misuse of free will, and by the pursuit of evil ends.

      The natures of things created by God are good, but they may be weakened or corrupted by stronger or more corruptible natures. Human nature in itself is good, but it may become less good or be corrupted by vice.³

      Human beings are free to show good or bad will toward one another, and to act rightly or wrongly toward one another. They may (or may not) act in accordance with the common good. Evil may be caused by acting for a perceived private good, rather than for the public good. Good is a turning of the will toward the common and unchangeable good, but evil is a turning toward private and changeable goods.⁴ Good is also a turning toward God, but evil is a turning away from God.

      Pierre Masson (2000) examines Augustine's position on the problem of evil, noting that Augustine held that since God is good, evil does not come from God.⁵ Moral evil comes from human beings, because they have free will and therefore can do good or evil things.⁶ Natural evil may be caused by natural catastrophes, diseases, physical or psychological sufferings, and other natural phenomena, but the question of why God created a world in which there are natural evils is not fully answered by Augustine, says Masson.⁷

      Thus, some possible explanations for why God allows evil and suffering to exist may include:

1. God isn't omnipotent, and he doesn't have the power to end evil and suffering.
2. God, as a sign of his love, suffers with us when we experience pain and suffering.
3. God allows evil and suffering to exist because he gave human beings the power to end evil and suffering.
4. Good has the power to overcome evil, truth has the power to overcome falsehood, justice has the power to overcome injustice, and freedom has the power to overcome oppression.
5. God has enabled us to express our love and compassion for all who are experiencing pain or suffering.
6. If evil didn't exist, then good wouldn't exist. If falsehood didn't exist, then truth wouldn't exist. If injustice didn't exist, then justice wouldn't exist.
7. God loves us, but he doesn't control us. God loves the world, but he doesn't control the world. God is in charge of things, but he isn't in control of things. In order to resolve problems related to evil and suffering, we must seek God's help, support, guidance, grace, and redemption.

FOOTNOTES

¹Augustine, On the Free Choice of the Will, On Grace and Free Choice, and Other Writings, edited and translated by Peter King (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), p. 3.

²Ibid., p. 32

³Ibid., p. 99.

⁴Ibid., p. 70.

⁵Pierre Masson, "Augustine and the Problem of Evil," in The Problem of Evil: An Intercultural Exploration, edited by Sandra A. Wawrytko (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2000), p. 44.

⁶Ibid., p. 44.

⁷Ibid., p. 45.

OTHER RESOURCES

David Hume, Dialogues concerning Natural Religion, edited by Dorothy Coleman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007).

Aquinas's Proofs for the Existence of God

Thomas Aquinas says in "The Treatise on the Divine Nature" that God's existence can be known not only by faith, but also by reason. In order to show that God's existence can be known by reason, he gives five proofs.

      His first proof is that whatever is moved is moved by something else. The chain of movement must lead back to a first mover, and the first mover is God.

      His second proof is similar to the first. Nothing can be the cause of itself. Every cause may be caused by something else, so there must be a first cause of things, and the first cause is God.

      His third proof is that not all being can be merely possible, some being must be actual. But there could not have been any actual being without some other being necessary for it to become actual. The chain of necessary being must lead back to some being necessary through itself, and this necessary being is God.

      His fourth proof is that among all things, there can always be found one thing that is more true, more good, more perfect, etc than some other thing, but there must also be one thing that is the most true, most good, most perfect, etc. of all things, and which is the greatest in being. This being, which no other being can be greater than, is what we call God.

      His fifth proof is that everything is governed by something else and acts for the sake of some end. The end toward which things move is governed by something that is intelligent, and so there must be some intelligent being by whom all things are governed or directed toward an end, and this intelligent being is God.

      The first proof is called the argument from motion. The second proof is called the argument from causation. The third proof is called the argument from contingency. The fourth proof is called the argument from degree or gradation. The fifth proof is called the argument from design (or the teleological argument). 

      Aquinas's first three proofs are cosmological arguments (arguments regarding the nature of the universe). He is critical of the ontological argument (proposed by Anselm, whom he doesn't mention) that God is that than which nothing greater than can be thought, and that therefore God exists because if God existed only as a thought in the mind and not in actual reality, then something else could be greater than God, which would be impossible. Aquinas says it isn't self-evident that God is that than which nothing greater can be thought, and that some people may not necessarily think of God in this way. Furthermore, even if God were that than which nothing greater than can be thought, this would only confirm God's existence in the world of thought and not in the world of actual reality.

      All of Aquinas's proofs are based on the premise that the chain of movement, causality, necessary being, comparative quality, or intelligence cannot be infinite and must have an end, and that when we arrive at the end of the chain we arrive at God. But if the universe is infinite, then there may be an infinite number of movers, causes, necessary beings, comparative qualities, and intelligences, and by definition there isn't any place where infinity ends. Thus, to say that there is God, under the premises adopted by Aquinas, is to say that the universe ends somewhere, and that it is not infinite. And indeed, Aquinas says in Question 7 of the Treatise, on "Divine Infinity," that God is absolutely infinite, but no created thing is absolutely infinite.

      Whether the universe is actually finite or infinite may be both a metaphysical and a scientific question, and one for which we're still seeking an answer.

RESOURCES

Anselm, Proslogion, translated by M.J. Charlesworth (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1979.

Thomas Aquinas, "The Treatise on the Divine Nature," in Thomas Aquinas: Basic Works, edited by Jeffrey Hause and Robert Pasnau (Indianapolis: Hackett, 2014), pp. 36-49.

Weaknesses of Pascal's Wager

One of the most famous arguments for belief in God is Pascal's Wager. But it has several weaknesses that limit its persuasiveness and coherency.

      Pascal says that we're usually more persuaded by reasons we discover for ourselves than by reasons given by others to persuade us (Section I, 10). So his wager that we have more to gain from believing in God than from disbelieving in God is a rational argument that has an inherent weakness insofar as it's less likely to convince us than if we had discovered it for ourselves.

      He also says that we can know truth through reason or sensory experience, but the passions of the soul can sometimes disturb the senses and cause us to have false impressions (Section II, 84). Isn't his wager, to some extent, an appeal to emotion (and therefore to the passions of the soul), intended to persuade us to believe in God by making us fearful of what we might lose if we don't believe in God? He says that we should, by diminishing our passions, convince ourselves of the existence of God, but isn't he to some extent calling on us to be moved by our passions?

      At the same time, he claims that by faith we can know that God is (that God exists) without knowing exactly who or what God is. The existence of God cannot be proved by reason, because God is infinitely incomprehensible to us (Section III, 233). But if we can only know by faith that God exists, then why is Pascal trying to persuade us by rational (and perhaps emotional) argument? If knowledge of God is not within the power of human reason, then why should knowledge of the necessity of belief in God be within the power of human reason?

      Pascal also claims that if we accept his wager and believe in God, then we will be faithful, honest, humble, grateful, generous, sincere, and truthful. But he doesn't show why all these moral virtues should necessarily follow from belief in God, because we may truly believe in God and yet through our own faults and weaknesses fail to demonstrate many or all of these virtues fully and consistently.

      His argument for the necessity of the wager is that atheists and agnostics are inherently unhappy, because they are estranged from God (Section III, 194). He says that they are negligent in seeking the truth, and that when they attack religion, they are attacking something they know nothing about. They have also failed to recognize the importance of knowing what constitutes the immortality of the soul, and they have likewise failed to understand that this matter is of such supreme importance that no one can avoid confronting it. The refusal to seek the truth about God's existence is, in his view, to be content with neglectfulness and ignorance.

      Pascal holds it to be a moral duty for all those who doubt God's existence to seek the truth of whether God exists or does not exist. But he doesn't allow for the rationality of those who see God's existence as something that ultimately can be neither affirmed nor denied, and who regard God's existence as a mystery that cannot be objectively investigated. Nor does he actually show why the indifference of some individuals to the question of God's existence should leave them objectively any worse off than anyone else. He doesn't consider the possibility that they may be morally virtuous without believing in God, because from his standpoint, no one can attain salvation without having faith in God. Thus, his wager that God exists is subjectively justifiable, but objectively unnecessary.

RESOURCES

Blaise Pascal, Pensées [1670], translated by W.F. Trotter (New York: E.F. Dutton, 1958).

Thomas Aquinas and Martin Luther, on Human Understanding of God

Thomas Aquinas says in "The Treatise of the Divine Nature" (Summa Theologiae, Part I, Question 1) that theology is a philosophical discipline concerned with what can be known by reason about God. However, scripture inspired by God doesn't belong to the philosophical disciplines, because it concerns what cannot be known solely by reason. Our knowledge of theological truths may depend on reason, but our knowledge of sacred truths may depend on divine revelation. Revelation may also be necessary for our knowledge of some truths that can be investigated by reason, because our powers of reasoning may not always be dependable and may be susceptible to error (Article 1).

      While we may receive academic teaching through the philosophical and scientific disciplines, we may receive sacred teaching through divine revelation. Sacred teaching is not a science, insofar as it doesn't proceed from self-evident principles, but rather from articles of faith that aren't self-evident (since they're not accepted by everyone). On the other hand, sacred teaching may be called a science, insofar as it proceeds from principles known through a "higher science," "the science that belongs to God" (Article 2).

      Insofar as sacred teaching concerns itself with morality, it may also be called a "practical science." Thus, it may be both speculative (insofar as it concerns our knowledge of the divine) and practical (insofar as it concerns human action) (Article 4).

      Aquinas describes four senses (or methods of interpretation) of scripture: literal or historical, allegorical, moral or tropological, and anagogical (mystical or spiritual). Thus, any passage of sacred scripture may have multiple meanings or interpretations (Article 10). Aquinas may be preparing the ground here for biblical hermeneutics and the recognition that the meaning of scripture may be further clarified by an art or science of interpretation.

      I would say that his argument that sacred teaching is a science is rather weak. What exactly is "the science that belongs to God"? Aquinas doesn't really say. And what is "divine science"? Scientific truths or principles aren't articles of faith. Rather, they remain truths or principles only as long as they're verifiable by empirical testing. Moreover, God can never be made an object of scientific investigation. God is always a subject, never an object, because God transcends objective inquiry.

      He also says in Book I, Chapter III of the Summa Contra Gentiles ("In What Way It Is Possible to Make Known the Divine Truth") that there are some truths about God that can be known by reason, but others that surpass the capabilities of human reason. Thus, he explains in Book I, Chapter V ("That Those Things Which Cannot be Investigated by Reason Are Fittingly Proposed to Man as an Object of Faith") that those truths that surpass the powers of reason must be known by faith.

      In contrast, Martin Luther, in his Disputation Against Scholastic Theology (1517), which also includes arguments about human understanding of God, is less interested in what is within (or beyond) the powers of human reason than in what is within the capacity of divine grace. Luther says that God's grace is necessary for us to do anything good. Without God's grace, we can't do anything good, and we can only do evil (Thesis no. 7). By our very nature, we're unable to want God to be God, and we ourselves want to be God (Thesis no. 17). We aren't masters of our own actions, but rather servants (Thesis no. 39). We don't become righteous by doing righteous things, but rather by having been made righteous (by God's grace) we do righteous things (Thesis no. 40). Luther calls Aristotle, insofar as the latter describes virtue as arising from the habit of acting virtuously and happiness as arising from human reason, an enemy of this interpretation of divine grace (Thesis no. 41). No act of friendship can occur without God's grace. We fulfill divine justice through God's grace, and not through our own will (Thesis no. 68). Our own will would prefer to be free to do evil and to have nothing (and no law) imposed on it (Thesis no. 85). But if our own will, by God's grace, conforms to God's will, then we can attain salvation.

      Luther's Thesis no. 8, that the will is not by nature evil seems to be contradictory to his Thesis no. 9, that the will is "nevertheless innately and inevitably evil and corrupt."

      In his view, there isn't any "logic" of faith. Faith isn't "logical." If faith could be reduced to a syllogistic form of reasoning, then sacred truths would be demonstrable by reason, and faith wouldn't be necessary for knowledge of them. But faith is indeed necessary for knowledge of sacred truths that can't be demonstrated by reason.

RESOURCES

Thomas Aquinas, "The Treatise on the Divine Nature," in Thomas Aquinas: Basic Works, edited by Jeffrey Hause and Robert Pasnau (Indianapolis: Hackett, 2014), pp. 36-49.

Thomas Aquinas, "In What Way It is Possible to Make Known the Divine Truth," in Summa Contra Gentiles, Book I, Chapter III, translated by the English Dominican Fathers (London: Burns Oates & Washbourne Ltd., 1924), online at https://archive.org/details/summacontragenti0001unse/page/4/mode/2up

Martin Luther, Disputation Against Scholastic Theology, translated by William Roach, 2017, online at https://williamroach.org/2017/08/20/martin-luthers-1517-disputation-against-scholastic-theology/

Artscape, 2024, Baltimore

Aaron Hill Trio, with Mariah Ash

Navasha Daya, with her band

Grounded in Love

The following is based on a reflection that I shared at the 8 a.m. service at church on Jan. 15, 2012. "Faith at Eight" is usually a small gathering of 15-20 people, in which we read from the scriptures, have a reflection period to discuss the readings, and have holy communion.

In today's reading from Paul's Letter to the Ephesians (3:14-21), Paul says, "grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love."

      What then does it mean to be rooted and grounded in love? What defines a state of rootedness or groundedness? What does it mean for someone or something to be uprooted or ungrounded? How should we respond when we're confronted with a sense of rootlessness or groundlessness?

      Pema Chödrön (2011), a Buddhist nun, teacher, and writer, described her concept of groundlessness as signifying a state of questioning and searching for meaning. She used the term "spiritual materialism" (which is an oxymoron, but that's the term she used) to describe a kind of misguided response to the experience of groundlessness. She said, 

"My understanding of spiritual materialism is using...spiritual teachings to build up your...ego...[and] as a way to get ground under your feet, rather than seeing spiritual teachings as stepping into groundlessness. Groundlessness keeps opening up as the teachings evolve...sometimes you see people...they're proclaiming their spirituality by how they're walking and dressing and things like that...That's what I think of as spiritual materialism. To avoid [this] would be to keep your mind open and always question and explore, be inquisitive, [and] curious...Materialism usually means material things. People use clothes and furniture and cars and everything you can think of to comfort themselves or to feel secure. Spiritual materialism is using spirituality the same way as materialism, instead of spirituality being something that introduces you to the true nature of reality, which is...impermanent and changing."¹

      In a televised interview with Bill Moyers in 2006, Pema Chödrön also said,

"if we could learn not to be afraid of groundlessness, not be afraid of insecurity and uncertainty, then it would be calling on an inner strength that would allow us to be open and free and loving and compassionate in any situation...What is groundlessness? Well, you experience it all the time...When my husband told me that we were breaking up, you know, he was having an affair and he wanted a divorce, that was a big groundless moment for me. [On 9-11] When the planes flew into the towers, everyone felt groundlessness. It was like our reality as we knew it wasn't holding together."²

      So I think that Pema Chödrön's concept of groundlessness is similar in some ways to the poet John Keats's concept of "negative capability." Keats, in a letter to his brothers in December 1817, said that negative capability is a state in which an individual "is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, [and] doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason." Thus, negative capability is a capacity to live with ambiguity and paradox, to be open to the world, to be receptive to new impressions, and to reconcile ourselves to doubt and uncertainty.

      Existentialist philosophers like Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir also emphasize the importance of being able to reconcile ourselves to doubt and uncertainty. De Beauvoir, in The Ethics of Ambiguity, says that "Existentialism is a philosophy of ambiguity,"³ and Sartre, in Being an Nothingness, says that our awareness of our capacity to make choices may result in anxiety, because we become aware of our responsibility for our own free choices, and of the possibility of meaninglessness and nothingness.

      Thus, we may face that same ambiguity and uncertainty in whether we should embrace or avoid groundlessness. Being grounded in love doesn't necessarily mean that we must always strive to avoid groundlessness as a source of doubt and uncertainty. It may in fact help us to respond to situations in which we're confronted with ambiguity and uncertainty.

      I think that our desire to avoid the state of groundlessness may be seen in our rejection of statements that we consider to be unfounded, baseless, unsupported by adequate evidence, or presented without sufficient reason.

      Why do we experience such anxiety when we feel the ground shifting beneath our feet? Our fear of groundlessness may be a sense of impending catastrophe or a feeling that something unpredictable may happen. It may also be our fear of actions that we perceive as irrational, such as acts of vandalism, mass shootings, suicide bombings, and other acts of violence or terrorism.

      Another example of our fear of groundlessness may be our use of the term "ground zero" to describe the site of an earthquake, explosion, or natural disaster.

      Thomas Crum (1998), an expert in the field of stress management and conflict resolution, says we will always face struggles and conflicts in our lives, but that it's our relationship to those struggles and conflicts that can be changed. The feeling of groundlessness can be a feeling of uncertainty, a feeling of the rug being pulled out from under us. But Crum says that "instead of seeing the rug...pulled out from under us, we can learn to dance on a shifting carpet. The stumbling blocks of the past [can] become the stepping stones to the future."⁴

      The apostle Paul, in his Letter to the Ephesians (3:17-19), tells the Ephesians that he bows before God so that "Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have power...to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God."

      Thus, the answer to our feelings of groundlessness may be to let ourselves be grounded in love, and to let love become the ground of our being. If we do this, then we will recognize that our redemption through Christ is the ground of our hope and salvation.

      The feeling of being groundless may be a feeling that we have no adequate grounds for our beliefs, and that we aren't rationally justified in holding the beliefs we have about the world. It may also be a feeling that there is no God, no apparent reason or purpose in our lives, and no reason why things are as they are.

      Thus, the theologian Paul Tillich describes the term "God" as a term for the ground of our being. He says that "the religious word for what is called the ground of being is God," and that God is not only the ground of being, but also the ground of revelation. The mystery of revelation is its depth, its limitlessness, and its ineffable and inexhaustible character.⁵

      The solution to the problem of groundlessness may therefore be to find our ground in God's love, and to remember that another way of looking at groundlessness may be to see it as an opportunity to reorient ourselves toward the world of change and to be more open to the world of possibility.

      Thomas Merton, a Cistercian monk, writer, poet, and social activist, says,

"If the deepest ground of my being is love, then in that very love itself and nowhere else will I find myself, and the world, and my brothers [and sisters] in Christ. It's not a question of either/or--but of all in one...of wholeness...and unity...which finds the same ground of love in everything."⁶

      We might also consider the meaning of the slang expression, "rock my world." If  someone or something rocks your world, then you may have a feeling that your world has become unstable, that you have had groundless preconceptions of things, and that you need to change your way of thinking about the world. What kinds of things can rock your world? Has someone's kindness and generosity ever rocked your world? Has an unexpected word of encouragement from a parent, teacher, or friend ever rocked your world? Why do we so often feel a need to have our feet on the ground and to have a clear sense of direction? What then does it mean to be grounded in love?

FOOTNOTES

¹Pema Chödrön, "Stepping into Groundlessness: Interview with Pema Chödrön," by Monty McKeever, Tricycle, December 13, 2011.

²Pema Chödrön, "Bill Moyers on Faith & Reason" (Public Affairs Television, August 4, 2006), online at https://www.pbs.org/moyers/faithandreason/print/faithandreason107_print.html

³Simone de Beauvoir, The Ethics of Ambiguity, translated by Bernard Frechtman (New York: Philosophical Library, 1948), p. 9.

⁴Thomas Crum, The Magic of Conflict: Turning a Life of Work into a Work of Art (New York: Simon & Shuster, 1998), p. 15.

⁵Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology, Volume I (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951), p. 156.

⁶Thomas Merton, Contemplation in a World of Action (New York: Doubleday, 1971), pp. 155-156

The End of the World

Are we the generation that's witnessing

The end of the world

The end of democracy

The end of voting rights

The end of "all men are created equal"

The end of truth

The end of rational discourse

   in American politics

The end of the typewriter

The end of the telephone book

The end of the phone booth

The end of Brooks Brothers 

The end of Kinney Shoes and Borders Books

The end of Sports Authority, RadioShack, and Toys R US

The end of shopping malls

The end of audio cassette players

The end of VHS tapes

The end of five-and-dime stores

The end of the lunch counter

The end of racial and religious bigotry

The end of lawn jockeys

The end of FOR WHITES ONLY

The end of Uncle Ben and Aunt Jemima

The end of sexism and misogyny

The end of "boys will be boys"

The end of homophobia and transphobia

The end of xenophobia

The end of everything that's backward, 

                     outdated, or obsolescent?

Hegel on Self-Consciousness

According to Hegel, self-consciousness (Selbstbewusstsein) is being-for-itself (Fürsichsein), but as an object for another self or consciousness, it is also being-for-another (für-ein-Anderes-Sein). But this "other" is inessential to self-consciousness. The essential reality of that which has being-for-itself is not in an "other," but in self-existence (Fürsichsein). The self-consciousness that is for-itself is independent, but the self-consciousness that is for-another is dependent.

      Hegel likens the relation between independent and dependent self-consciousness to that between Lordship and Bondage or between Master and Servant. The Lord or Master (der Herr) is the consciousness that exists for itself and is independent of being determined by an "other," but the Bondsman or Servant (der Knecht) is the consciousness that is held in subjection by the Master and depends on being determined by an "other." The consciousness of the "other" is inessential to independent self-consciousness (selbständige Selbstbewusstsein), but it's a determining factor for dependent self-consciousness (unselbständige Selbstbewusstsein).The self-consciousness that is conscious of being divided between the self and the "other" is described by Hegel as "the unhappy consciousness" (das unglückliche Bewusstsein), because it can't reconcile the self and the "other." The undivided consciousness, on the other hand, is a dual self-consciousness that reconciles and unifies the self and the "other." Thus, the object of this undivided consciousness is its own essential being, which is the immediate unity of being-in-itself (Ansichsein) and being-for-itself (Fürsichsein).¹

      The "unhappy consciousness" experiences itself as internally contradictory and inwardly disrupted, because it's divided between independent and dependent self-consciousness and hasn't yet realized that their unity is its essential nature.

      Could other causes of unhappiness, such as personal loss, frustration, disappointment, anger, guilt, social rejection, and stressful personal relationships also be seen be seen as resulting from internal conflicts between a self that recognizes its true reality and a self that doesn't? Perhaps the freedom of independent self-consciousness may also be a freedom from such causes of unhappiness. Thus, Hegel describes Stoicism as an example of the freedom of self-consciousness. He also describes Scepticism as the actual experience of what is involved in freedom of thought.

      Hegel further delineates the relation between independent and dependent self-consciousness by saying that self-consciousness exists in and for itself when it so exists for another self-consciousness.²

      (This delineation might lead one to think that another's self-consciousness could become an object for one's own consciousness, and that one's own self-consciousness could become an object for another's self-consciousness. But at the same time, one's own self-consciousness couldn't be experienced by another in exactly the same way that one oneself experiences it, nor could another's self-consciousness be experienced by oneself in exactly the same way that they experience it.)

      Consciousness may have moments (or stages) of being-in-itself (insofar as it is in-itself), being-for-itself (insofar as its essence is unconditioned universality),³ being-in-and-for-itself (insofar as it so exists for another), and being-for-another (insofar as it's conscious of another). These moments may take the form of Notions (or Concepts) of modes of Being. Being-for-self and being-for-another may have a reciprocal relation, but they may be unified by the Understanding (that the unconditioned universal is the true object of consciousness). Being-in-itself and being-for-another are actually the same,³ insofar as being-for-another becomes (or returns to the mode of) being-in-itself when consciousness becomes itself as the essential being of all reality.

      For Hegel, consciousness is spiritual. Self-consciousness is the Notion (Begriff) of Spirit (Geist), which knows itself to be all reality. Reality is also spiritual. Spirit is the inner being of the world, which may assume an objective, determinate form as an object of consciousness and enter into relations with itself.

      The spiritual is that which has being-in-itself, and which may have determinations of being-for-itself and being-for-another. In its external relations to itself, it is being-in-and-for-itself.⁴

      Consciousness is also rational. Self-consciousness is Reason (Vernunft), and Reason is the certainty of consciousness that it is all reality.⁵ Reason is Spirit, and it's conscious of itself. (We can reason about our reasoning, and Reason will reveal the self of self-consciousness.) Consciousness, self-consciousness, Reason, and immediate Spirit that is not yet self-conscious are moments of the totality of Spirit.⁶

      Sense-certainty (sinnliche Gewissheit), perception (Wahrnehmung) and understanding (Verstand) are moments (or stages) of consciousness. Sense-certainty is a pure immediacy of knowledge (that something is). Pure being constitutes the essence of sense-certainty.⁷ Perception is an awareness that an object is universal and unconditioned by sensation. Understanding is a recognition that the unconditioned universality (unbedingte Allgemeinheit) of the true object of consciousness transcends sensation and perception.

      Consciousness is the simple substance of Spirit, and Spirit is (or becomes) conscious of itself as Spirit. The self-knowing Spirit is, in its consciousness of absolute Being, its own pure self-consciousness.⁸ The representation of the Absolute as Spirit is the most sublime Notion.⁹ Absolute Being is the self-consciousness of Spirit.¹⁰ The Spirit that knows itself as Spirit is Science, and the coming-to-be of this Science is what is described by the Phenomenology of Spirit.¹¹

FOOTNOTES

¹G.W.F. Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit [1807], translated by A.V. Miller (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977), p. 120.

²Ibid., p. 111.

³Ibid., p. 104

⁴Ibid., p. 14.

⁵Ibid., pp. 139-140.

⁶Ibid., pp. 412-413.

⁷Ibid., p. 59.

⁸Ibid., p. 411

⁹Ibid., p. 14.

¹⁰Ibid., p. 410.

¹¹Ibid., pp. 14-15.

Some Objections to the Simulation Hypothesis

My first objection to the version of the simulation hypothesis described by David Chalmers (2022), that we are and always been living in a computer simulation of a world,¹ is that if we can't prove we're not living in a computer simulation, then that doesn't necessarily mean we're living in one. If Chalmers wants to convince us that we're most likely living in a computer simulation, then it's up to him to provide sufficient evidence for that hypothesis (and I don't think he does). The burden of proof is on him, because he's proposing something that isn't intuitively evident and that in fact contradicts what we'd assume from our daily experience (that the world we inhabit is the actual world, and not a computer simulation).

      If Chalmers wants us to entertain the possibility that we're living in a computer simulation, then it's up to him to provide sufficient evidence that this is the case (and I don't think he does). Merely describing the lack of proof that we're not living in a computer simulation isn't sufficient to prove we're living in one (and in fact he admits he can't prove it). Indeed, it's no more sufficient than saying that anything that can't be proven not to be the case may actually be the case (which is true, but trivial and doesn't account for how unlikely that case may be).

      My second objection to his version of the simulation hypothesis is that he says we're living in a computer simulation of a world, which could be taken to mean any world, virtual or actual. So we might only be living in a simulation of a simulation (or even a simulation of a simulation of a simulation, ad infinitum), which is rather implausible. His version of the simulation hypothesis doesn't say anything about the actual world or even that there is an actual world (perhaps because he's asking us to consider the possibility that the world we're actually living in is a simulation). However, a simulation of a world could be a simulation of any world at all, no matter how impoverished or bereft of possibility, and no matter how unlike the world of daily human experience. (Although, of course, the simulation would indeed be like the world of daily human experience if that world is in fact impoverished and bereft of possibility, as it may be for many people who live in severe poverty. But then it would be rather callous and unfeeling to suggest that people living in severe poverty are merely living in a simulated or virtual world, and not the world of actual reality. So that exigency might be another reason for rejecting the simulation hypothesis.)

      We must also ask, "If we can neither prove nor disprove that we're living in a computer simulation, then is the question of whether we're living in a computer simulation still a meaningful question?" Perhaps it's only meaningful insofar as we understand it as an aporia. On the other hand, if we can prove that we're not living in a computer simulation, then it may merely serve to remind us of the limitations of computer simulations.

      I think the simulation hypothesis may be an act of mental gymnastics, a means of suggesting we can't know anything if we can't prove that the world we're living in isn't a computer simulation. But that rhetorical strategy doesn't preclude the possibility of our having genuine knowledge of some simulated or virtual world, if that's the world we happen to be living in at the moment. And it doesn't preclude the possibility of a simulated or virtual (or even imaginary) world that seems as real to us as the actual world. Some simulated or virtual worlds may seem or may perhaps even be as real to us as the actual world, and I think we may draw meaningful conclusions from inhabiting them.

      Aside from my objections to the simulation hypothesis, I found Chalmers's Reality + (2022) to be a very enlightening and entertaining book, and it's a brilliant exposition of virtual worlds and the problems they pose for philosophy. Chalmers describes the approaches of Eastern and Western philosophy to the question of the difference between appearance and reality, and he shows how the Knowledge Question ("Can we know whether or not we're in a virtual world?"), the Reality Question ("Are virtual worlds real or illusory?"), and the Value Question ("Can you live a good life in a virtual world?") correspond to three of the central branches of philosophy (epistemology, metaphysics, and value theory).²

FOOTNOTES
¹David J. Chalmers, Reality +: Virtual Worlds and the Problems of Philosophy (New York: W.W. Norton, 2022), p. 29.

²Ibid., p. 17.

This is My Church

Below is a reflection I shared at the "Faith at Eight" service at church on Sunday, May 12, 2024.

This past Thursday, I tuned into a webinar on Zoom that was attended by about 160 people. It was a follow-up to the "It's All About Love" festival of The Episcopal Church that was held in Baltimore last summer. The webinar was entitled "Empowering People of Color in Diocesan Life," and it was led by three Episcopal priests from the diocese of Washington State. One of the priests, the Rev. Rachel Taber-Hamilton, who's of indigenous and First Nations ancestry, spoke about how at various times in her ministry she's had to confront the Church's apparent lack of interest in promoting inclusiveness with regard to people of color. One thing she said that I found very meaningful was that when she had confronted exclusion in the past, she had responded by saying, "This is my Church."

      I think "This is my church" can be a very powerful, as well as empowering statement. At the same time, it's a reminder that being a member of a church shouldn't mean being disempowered because of your race, gender, ethnicity, age, socioeconomic status, or sexual orientation. 

      "This is my church" means that I'm just as much a member as you are, and that we're equally members of the church. It means that this is my church, just as it's your church, and that we both share in a community of faith, hope, love, and fellowship. It means that it's no more my church than your church, and no more your church than my church. It means that it's a church for everyone who wants to find a place of acceptance, fellowship, and belonging. It means that I have a right to speak and have my voice heard, just as you do. It means that I have a ministry within the church, just as you do, because every member of the church has a ministry by virtue of being baptized. It means that I feel I belong here, and that if the church hasn't yet empowered all its members to feel this sense of belonging, then it has work to do. It means that if this is my Church, then I should be able to fully participate at every level in the life of the church--in its mission, governance, stewardship, evangelism, and leadership.

      But "This is my church" is a statement that also entails a lot of responsibility. If this is my church, then I'm responsible for recognizing, telling the truth about, and responding to any instances in which the church has failed to promote equity, peace, and justice, as well as any instances in which the church has failed to acknowledge and respect the dignity of all human beings. If this is my church, then I'm also responsible for trying to heal the breach between the church and any of those whom it has ignored, shunned, disrespected, or marginalized. If this is my church, then I'm also responsible for trying to heal the brokenness and conflicts within myself, as well as within my local community and the broader society.

      Being able to say "This is my church" means that if I want the church to listen, then I must listen. If I want the church to be kind and welcoming, then I must be kind and welcoming. If I want the church to feed the hungry and protect the needy, then I must feed the hungry and protect the needy. If I want the church to promote fairness and justice, then I must promote fairness and justice.

      In a church with mostly white members, and in which the perspectives of its black members haven't always been fully taken into account, I've sometimes asked myself in the past whether I belong here. But my maternal great-grandparents had their children baptized in an Episcopal church, so being an Episcopalian is something that's been passed along through generations of my family and is in some ways my birthright. If I don't belong in this church, then where do I belong? This is the church where I've found acceptance, kindness, friendship, and community.

      I think I've asked others a few times in the past whether Memorial Episcopal Church thinks of itself as a white church or some other kind of church, and I think I've come away with the feeling that we're some other kind of church. But I think the correct, and perhaps the only viable, answer to what kind of church we are is that we're not a white church or a black church--we're God's church. And we all belong here.

Some of Plato's Views on the Art of Medicine

In Plato's Laws (Book 4, 720a-720e), he describes the differences between two types of doctors: the free-born doctor and the slave doctor. He says that both types of doctors acquire their art under the direction of their teachers or masters, by observation and practice, rather than by the study of nature. However, a free-born doctor is mostly engaged in visiting and treating the ailments of free people, and he does so by listening to their complaints, not prescribing any treatment without their consent. A slave doctor, on the other hand, is engaged in treating slaves and doesn't listen to any account of their ailments. He simply prescribes treatment based on his own experience and on what he thinks is best. He does so with the confidence and assurance of a tyrant or autocrat, then rushing off to see some other sick slaves so that his master won't be bothered by having to attend to them.

      In the same way, the Athenian lawgiver has a choice of two kinds of methods, persuasion or compulsion. The lawgiver has it in his power to use both methods, but he may mistakenly think that his legislation can be enacted by force alone. To ensure that those who are governed by his laws will actually obey them, the lawgiver must offer those whom he governs some kind of persuasion, just as a free-born doctor must offer his free-born patient a persuasive rather than despotic prescription.

      Plato's medical analogy has several implications for our current views of biomedical ethics. It indicates the need for doctors to listen to their patients, and to fully inform them about their conditions, as well as about possible diagnostic modalities, therapeutic options, and possible side-effects of treatment. It also indicates the need for doctors to obtain informed consent from their patients for treatment, and to fully engage and coordinate with their patients in order to ensure their compliance with treatment. It also indicates that the efficacy of treatment may depend on clear and effective communication between patients and providers, as well as on coordination of care, timeliness and appropriateness of care, compassionate care, respect for patient privacy and autonomy, respect for patient dignity, collaboration between patients and providers, and other components of the patient-provider relationship.

      In Plato's Republic, Socrates says that the physician studies only the patient's interest, and not his own (I. 342). Socrates also says that Asclepius treated patients by means of drugs or the knife in order to enable them to go on living as usual, but would not try to prolong the lives of those with advanced disease whose existence was miserable (III. 407). Socrates agrees with Glaucon that the best physicians may be those with the widest experience in treating healthy and sick patients, but he adds that physicians who have themselves suffered from various illnesses may be even more capable of treating those illnesses (III. 408).

Galen, on the Physician as Philosopher

Claudius Galenus (Kλάυδιος Γαληνός, 129-216 CE) was a Greek physician and philosopher who was born in Pergamum (now Bergama, Turkey). He traveled widely, to Smyrna, Corinth, Crete, Cyprus, and Alexandria, before becoming physician and surgeon to the gladiators in Pergamum (from 158-161 CE) and settling in Rome (in 161-162 CE), where he eventually became court physician to the Roman emperors Marcus Aurelius (161-180 CE), Commodus (180-192 CE), and Septimius Severus (193-211 CE). He died in Sicily in 216 CE.

      Galen combined the practice of medicine and philosophy, and he wrote an essay entitled Ὅτι Ἄριστος Ἰατρός καὶ Φιλόσοφος  ("That the best physician is also a philosopher"). In this essay, he argues that a physician must be practiced in logic in order to discover the nature of the body, as well as to know the differences between diseases and the indications for treatment. A physician must also be practiced in ethics in order to best serve his patient's best interests, rather than his own personal interests or financial gain. A physician must therefore know all the parts of philosophy: the logical, the scientific, and the ethical. If a physician doesn't put his own wealth before his moral virtue, then he won't put his own financial gain before his patient's benefit. If a physician despises money and practices temperance, then he will possess all the other moral virtues as well, since they all go together. Galen therefore asks: What grounds are left for any doctor not to be a philosopher?

      While Galen rightly explains that the pursuit of financial gain may be a corrupting influence on a physician and on the practice of medicine, some of the obvious defects in his argument that the best physician is also a philosopher include: (1) logic doesn't necessarily yield understanding of the physical nature of the body (although it may serve to promote consistency in thinking about the physical nature of the body), (2) he doesn't recognize ignorance as a cause of wrong actions on the part of a physician, (3) greed and intemperance aren't the only possible sources of wrong actions. Other vices, such as arrogance, carelessness, indifference, and bigotry may also act as sources of wrong actions, (4) possession of one moral virtue (at one moment or in one situation) doesn't necessarily guarantee possession of all the other moral virtues (at some other time or in some other situation), and (5) philosophy includes not only "the logical, the scientific, and the ethical," but also the metaphysical, the epistemological, the aesthetic, and the political, as well as other fields or domains.