Occasionally, the Drudge Report links to the most absurd stories—part of Matt Drudge’s knack for bringing in the masses through sensational tabloid headlines. Yet, the stories are real, and as such they reflect the utter idiocy of our society. When life becomes too easy in a civilization, I suppose that natural selection ceases to function properly.
Today’s link of lunacy is to a (mercifully) short editorial by a reporter for the Kansas City Star titled, “Shame on McCain and Palin for using an old code word for black.” The word in question is not even “community organizer” but rather “socialist.”
When I first read the article, I thought perhaps that it was a twisted joke. Then, I looked up the reporter, and he has been at the paper for over thirty years with a column there for more than twenty years. The sheer illogic of his argument is amusing but nonetheless surprising, even given the tolerated inaccuracy and asininity of the American press.
The writer argues that many American black leaders in the past were called socialists by their political enemies who attempted to rally the nation’s misgivings about Communism in order to keep the black man down. Therefore, socialist is now code speech aimed at black leaders to rouse up Americans’ recidivist racial animosity. McCain and Palin incur the wicked white stain of racism by labeling Obama’s proposed policies socialist.
I expect such perversions of argumentation with stand-up comedians, but “journalists” should know better. Perhaps the quotation marks of skepticism around an occupation are code for black, too.
That socialism has content on its own without a racial context does not seem to occur to the writer, and neither does the thought that opposition to socialism may be rooted in political principles rather than tribal impulses. The reporter, moreover, does not consider whether the charges of socialism against his beloved civil rights leaders are accurate. None of this matters to one if all that matters is the tribe.
Patrick Buchanan’s piece this week, “Tribal Politics,” discusses Colin Powell’s endorsement of Obama for president. In it, Buchanan quotes a Republican political strategist who worked on Bill Richardson’s presidential campaign. The fellow, who is Hispanic, explained his activity thus: “Blood runs thicker than politics.”
I suspect this tribal force to underlie much of the nonsense shouted from many corners—where opposition to Obama is taken to imply racism. Certainly, some of the noise is merely unprincipled campaign strategy. In American politics, all appears fair (at least to the Left, for which no price is too costly to usher in tomorrow’s utopia), and so if one can milk white guilt for more votes, then, by all means, make those folks at Starbucks celebrate their high-minded post-racial courage by voting for Barack Obama. However, the phenomenon goes beyond the party machine and seems to be readily believed by many if not most black Americans. I cannot explain away all of that conviction by noting that many black Americans have been useful idiots of Leftist demagogues for the last few generations and that they simply parrot the political opinions of the trickle down Marxism that has infected the black intelligentsia. Sure, what is decided at the D.N.C. will reach black pulpits and radio stations within weeks, but something larger than political manipulation is at work. I think that Buchanan is aware of it. Politics is naturally tribal—but the dominant white American culture has been indoctrinated otherwise. Indeed, it is part of American political principle that politics should transcend the tribe.
Since the founding of the republic, American civic mythology and religion have attempted to temper the natural human impulse toward tribalism. The old model of assimilation into “the American way” presupposed that such tribalism posed a risk for the unity of a representative democracy. The old model is surely right, and the founders themselves were quite concerned about the dangers of factionalism. The Federalist Papers address the basic political difficulty of competing group interests and propose various structural measures to manage (but never resolve) the problem. A bit later, Tocqueville remarked how Americans’ culture and value system helped to unify the diverse forces in the United States, and thinkers such as the perceptive Frenchman are correct to note how the regime written in the souls of the people steers the commonwealth more than any written constitution. How brilliant Plato was to see these truths about the human condition so long before . . .
Converging interests unite people (and divide them from others) in many ways, from class to trade to geographical origin to political philosophy to ethnicity to language to religion and so on. American society has dealt, and often stumbled, with these divisions with varying strategies. One, mentioned above, was to hold the old W.A.S.P. hegemonic order as the American standard to which all had to conform. Marxists (and their racial theorist progeny) claim that such social imposition is a form of control, and those controlled suffer from false consciousness when they assimilate. What does not occur to the Marxist is that such a unifying element might be a necessary control to maintain the viability of a diverse republic. The Roman empire maintained its integrity because the upper class from all over the empire shared adopted Roman culture and pedagogy. The caliphs buttressed their power with politico-religious support. The British spread their ways among the conquered peoples in their empire and anglicized the indigenous aristocracy. For a commonwealth to survive, it must have unity. In a monarchy or an oligarchy, the unifying element does not have to be widely spread. By contrast, in a democracy, the masses must be able to subordinate their particular allegiances to the republic as a whole. Democracy requires that tribal loyalty be directed toward all.
Such a feat is not easy, and you can look at the history of the contemporary world as Exhibit A. As democratic government spread, nationalism likewise spread. When the old aristocratic and imperial regimes were overthrown, separatist movements flourished and each tribe demanded its own self determination. The human being naturally craves the comfort of his tribe—or what he takes to be his tribe.
Hence, we see the trouble for the United States and the rest of the Western world where the majority population has recited as a mantra for generations that tribalism is quite unjust and dangerous (while diversity is good and to be encouraged). From Berlin to Birmingham, the typical Westerner has embraced the Kantian outlook where every man has an equal claim on every other man merely be being another rational being: Christian charity, German Enlightenment style. Americans, Canadians, Australians, and Europeans have been taught, with incessant cultural reinforcement, that their tribe is all mankind. Any allegiance to subsets, especially on the basis of ethnicity, is strictly taboo. The seeds of this view are, of course, in Christianity and Greek philosophy, but the real growth occurred in the Enlightenment. Yet, committed intellectuals could not move their fellow citizens away from tribal chauvinism until the world wars. The horrible consequences of nationalism were sketched into the consciousness of a civilization, and we have seen a reaction in revulsion against tribalism ever since.
Well, not quite . . . the swing has not been against tribalism but against my tribalism, if one is a Westerner. I think that a multitude of forces have contributed to the multicultural neurosis that is currently hemorrhaging Western societies in their own self-contempt, from Gramsci Marxism to Nietzsche’s critique of the Last Man. I plan to write of this topic again, but let it suffice for now to note that the neutering of the tribal impulse has not been applied to minority populations in the West for the last half century. Rather, tribal loyalties, tribal unity, tribal knowledge, and tribal obsession have been stoked repeatedly by the Left—the universalist, absolutist, damn all differences and particularity Left! Perhaps this has merely been Gramscian strategy, as John Fonte argues in “Why There Is a Culture War” in the Policy Review, where the Left utilizes base human tendencies to advance history’s progressive march toward the socialist omega point. Regardless of why the Left selectively advances tribalism that undermines liberal capitalist democracy, it is clear that such a situation has been unilateral disarmament by the majority population.
Indeed, even the slightest suggestion that this might be so incurs the wrath of the racial grievance hordes, who have convinced all the polite and gentile folks in white America that honest and independent thinking (by them, the oppressors) on race is taboo, while a forced diet of racialist indoctrination (by the “victims,” naturally) is an instrument of redemption (of whites from their ancestral colonialist, enslaving history). No Soviet weapons treaty was more effective.
Furthermore, potential black intellectuals are spoon-fed racial Manichaeism throughout their education and cultural formation, and as such, they do not provide a counterweight to the natural tribal impulse of the peasant masses but rather they have been conditioned to stoke such passions—to use such anger to “force the world to change.” Whereas true education and enlightenment ideally cultivate souls with a wider vision of reality—of its depth and complexity—and with a greater understanding of all the divergent forces at work in the world of human affairs, the activist-training of today’s so-called universities only serve as propaganda boot camps that churn out the foot soldiers of the forthcoming revolution.
So, humans naturally have tendencies toward tribal politics, and diverse democratic societies must employ their full cultural arsenal to deaden such clannish loyalties. However, the American cultural system for the last fifty years has encouraged blacks in particular to strengthen those tribal loyalties. Here, I propose, is the solution to the widespread perception among blacks that antipathy toward Obama has a racial impulse. For all their tribal centrality, men naturally project their self-understanding onto other men. Certainly, tribal animosity might lessen that identification, but nonetheless this understanding of the other through oneself serves as a basis for human relations. So, someone who puts his racial awareness and tribal adherence before everything else likely thinks that every other man does the same. The perception of McCain support as racist in origin is a reflection of Obama supporters’ awareness of their own racial allegiances.
Update: Jonah Goldberg’s “Racy Content” has fun with the Kansas City Star article.
For all my thinking years. the problem of evil has captivated my attention more than any other knotty issue. I have explored it somewhat more metaphysically in other posts, but on a simpler level, I wonder what really leads people to false opinions and immoral behavior. Does one of these unpleasant sets cause the other, and, if so, which leads to which?
When I was an undergraduate, a fine young Jesuit scholar told me once his rather controversial opinion on the matter. He believed that most people persist in error to justify their immorality. I did not accept his argument as I did not wish to diminish intellectual controversies to the level of psychoanalysis, but I have considered it many times in the years since. There may be truth to it. Obviously, human matters are complex, and the soul’s calculus in decision making undoubtedly has many non-rational and non-moral influences. Depending on one’s character, barely conscious or subconscious self-rationalization might skew one’s allegiance among the claims of competing beliefs. It is not flattering to think that some form of selfish cost and benefit analysis might be at work with matters of theology, morality, and metaphysics, but it might be accurate.
Another professor of mine is fond of characterizing human beings as agents of truth. It may be just as honest to say that we are self-justifying manipulators of ideas.
In my studies, I have come to the conclusion that false intellectual modesty has been disastrous for Western civilization. For when a society no longer believes that it is possible to arrive at truth—or that there is no truth—men are reduced to the level of irrational animals. Without the ability or the will to consult reason, force alone decides. Ignorant power rules through violence in the absence of science. In this unhappy state, we witness the transformation of human society into a savanna of beasts, where, as Thucydides states, the strong do as they may, and the weak suffer as they must.
Allow me to do a bit of violence myself in insufficiently surveying where such intellectual “humility” has surfaced in the West. This is a mere post, not a research paper; so, cut me some slack.
It seems to me that the possibility of denying truth or men’s ability to attain it waited until the advent of philosophical thinking in ancient Greece—it appeared alongside its opposing complement of affirming the existence of truth and the intelligibility of the world. Before this critical reflexion began, it seems like the Greeks were as any other pre-philosophical people. They experienced and reflected upon the world mythically. Having benefited from (or having been cursed by, depending on your point of view) critical analysis, we would call such a state primitive, naive, and superstitious. From the Homeric Greeks to the ancient Slavs, Celts, and Germanic peoples to the cultic civilizations of the East even unto the modern barbarians of the Americas, Africa, and the Pacific islands of the last centuries, we see a similar mythical world view. I think that this is the natural state of man—a pagan who understands the world symbolically in, by, and as expression of divine and human action.
I do not mean that pre-philosophical peoples have no understanding of what philosophy entails, such as the good, virtue, values in general, the beautiful, existence, knowledge, spiritual concerns, and the like. What I mean is best shown in an analogy with language. All human beings have language (insofar as they are raised and they live in a human community). All languages have a grammar. Hence, all mature, social human beings utilize grammar and have a working knowledge of it. Yet, as far as I know, no human group reflected systematically upon grammar until the Greeks. Every person has a working knowledge of a subject and a verb, but only human beings who have followed in the ancient Greeks’ steps of systematic and analytical thinking can explain the parts of language. An argument can be made for the appearance something akin to Greek philosophy in ancient Hinduism, but Indian philosophy and its progeny never broke free from its mythos. The Greek discovery—the birth of philosophy—occurs in stepping back from something intimately known and employed in life and in examining it rationally. Inspections, distinctions, conditionals, and other abstractions constitute this new form of analysis. The anti-rationalist may argue that this is the original sin of Western man, and from the Greeks, the infection has spread throughout the entire world in modernity. For such a philosophical enemy of philosophy may suspect that we are not up to the task of disfiguring and disassembling ourselves; that we have compromised natural wisdom and wholeness in the search for reality’s hidden secrets. We have heard many such prophets over the millennia, and they can easily point to the troubles that philosophy has brought into the world. For them, it is the forbidden fruit that does not even deliver knowledge but rather weakens us into a worse state of ignorance than before. It should be no surprise that the anti-rationalist frequently makes his jeremiad from the temple.
We see the development of philosophy in certain Greek cities leading up to the classical era. Early natural philosophers like Thales and Anaximenes attempted to find an underlying material element to everything. Anaximander proposed an early mechanistic theory to explain nature. Later pre-Socratic natural philosophers like Leucippus, Democritus, Empedocles, Anaxagoras developed atomism and more refined mechanistic theories. Heraclitus developed logic and taught that logos is the formative principle of the world, while the Pythagoreans and Eleatics advanced mathematics and sought the underlying reality of the world beyond materialist metaphysics—with them, the quest for being as such entered human awareness.
Other early Greek philosophers began to explore the distinction between nature and convention. What is true must be what is according to nature, and yet different cities hold different and contradictory beliefs and customs, where all cannot be correct. Xenophanes, for instance, is famous for attacking men’s anthropomorphizing of the gods:
But mortals deem that the gods are begotten as they are, and have clothes like theirs, and voice and form.
The Ethiopians make their gods black and snub-nosed; the Thracians say theirs have blue eyes and red hair.
Yes, and if oxen and horses or lions had hands, and could paint with their hands, and produce works of art as men do, horses would paint the forms of the gods like horses, and oxen like oxen, and make their bodies in the image of their several kinds.
Later on, the rise of the sophists throughout Greece pushed this relentless exposing of convention to the point of relativism. As Protagoras reportedly stated, “Man is the measure of all things; of the things that are, that they are, and of things that are not, that they are not.”
The sophists made philosophy the enemy of the city in the eyes of concerned citizens. They undermined the city’s religion, value system, and way of life. They educated the sons of the wealthy and instilled values in them quite opposed to the education in honor and civic valor that the tradition prescribed. Politicians and poets attacked philosophy as a Trojan horse that, if accepted, would ruin the city. Aristophanes—comedian, conservative, and defender of the city—frequently mocks the so-called wise in his plays. I myself am not aware of how the city’s religious cults reacted to philosophers in general and to sophists in particular, but I assume that they were not welcoming to this new class of wise men.
The dangerous questions initiated by the philosophical critique of tradition and the suspicion that what was held to be true by the ancestors may not really be true according to nature reveals the fragile relationship between philosophy and the city, as Plato, Aristotle, and their intellectual prodigy note. Leo Strauss wrote his entire life about this relationship, and the dispute reverberates across history. Yet, this type of questioning also raises our particular set of problems to the level of human awareness. Is there something to know, and are men able to know it? If one man can know something, is it possible for him to share that knowledge—is knowledge communicable? Or, is knowledge simply the mental state of one man with his experiences and judgments, without any reference to something beyond that mental state? Most early philosophers strove for knowledge that transcends custom, but the sophists largely dismissed that possibility. Certainly, some sophists attacked the possibility of knowledge according to nature due to its difficulty and perplexities. Human beings are often mistaken; why should we think that we are right when so many others who were wrong thought the same? Other sophists preached relativism for immoral reasons. If you are a wealthy young man with ambitions, why should you allow piety and social customs to hold you back; for these are mere human constructs? The sophists were there to counsel you to look beyond good and evil—for a fee, of course.
Every educated person in the West today should have to study the classics thoroughly. Such study is invaluable, as the Greeks and the Romans appear to have encountered all of our modern philosophical, social, religious, and political problems, debates, and solutions. We ignore them at our peril.
Well, the Socratic moment occurred as sophists were traipsing across Greece. Socrates was a type of sophist himself, but he never charged his interlocutors or disciples money for spending time with him. Like the sophists, he went around to people and undermined their confidence in the own opinions. Like the sophists, he spread skepticism and doubt about conventional belief. He did not, however, give up on the pursuit of wisdom. Just because the truth is hard, just because nature loves to hide, as Heraclitus stated, we are not thereby excused from pursuing the examined life. Socrates taught intellectual humility—he frequently admitted that he knew nothing—but he did not disparage knowledge or reason’s ability to obtain it.
Though following in the footsteps of his philosophical predecessors, Socrates, philosophy’s midwife, delivered unto the world the birth of all subsequent science. Among his students was Plato, and among Plato’s students was Aristotle. Later schools and movements sometimes hearkened back to the pre-Socratics but always and inevitably through the Socratic filter of Plato and Aristotle. I cannot overstate their importance, in substance or in history. Given our time’s unthinking belief in progress, we subconscious Hegelians might assume that twenty-three centuries would have vastly improved human understanding of man’s basic questions. I think that this is false. Even given the worthy successors of Plato and Aristotle, such as Plotinus, Thomas Aquinas, and Immanuel Kant, I do not think that they eclipsed Plato and Aristotle but rather that they explored certain problems better.
In their works, Plato and Aristotle defend philosophy from the accusations of the tradition and from the bad reputation of the sophists. They affirm the intelligibility of the world and the ability of the mind to know the world, and they grant a level of awareness to traditional and common opinion while also showing how such conventional opinion points to but falls woefully short of truth. Socratic wisdom demolishes human intellectual conceit without rendering the philosophical quest itself hopeless and vain.
I have spilt much ink (or spent bytes) on ancient Greece because I think that the debate can be seen in its totality. There is traditional wisdom (in law, in the poets, in the religion, and in the customs of the people) threatened by philosophy, which claims superior or exclusive access to truth. Then, there is a mutated philosophy that metastasizes into a relativism destructive of tradition, philosophy, and itself. As I stated above, this situation occurs again and again throughout history. As this new Greek culture inculturated the Mediterranean world and beyond, the same disputes arose. The Jews first tackled the conflict between Athens and Jerusalem, an argument that has affected all thinking Abrahamic peoples since. Indeed, Christian theology would not have been possible without Hellenic philosophy—no one would have been moved to question cultic teachings without such cross-pollination. Themes such as theodicy and purpose lay nascent in Homer, Hesiod, and the Hebrew scriptures, but philosophical thinking and its tools unleashed the potential of sacred texts. Despoiling the Egyptians of their treasures, Church fathers such as Justin, Clement, Origin, Gregory of Nazianzus, and Gregory of Nyssa took what they saw as valuable in pagan philosophy and used it in theology. However, others such as Tertullian, Augustine in his later years, and hordes of ascetics in the desert deplored human reason’s attempts at knowledge as useless or destructive vanity. When the followers of Muhammad began to read the Greeks, there were waves of controversy in the dar al-Islam, the fruits of which subsequently reentered the Greco-Roman-Christian tradition in the high middle ages as Western Christians began to read the works of Al-Kindi, Al-Farabi, Avicenna, Averroes, and Al-Ghazali. Again, the tensions between tradition and science, faith and reason, revelation and philosophy created a storm of intellectual activity in the scholastic world. Latin Averroists, traditional Platonists, new knowledge synthesizers like Thomas, and old fashioned ratioskeptics fought for the mind of the West in disputes that significantly altered Western Christendom ever after.
Hatching from these historical disputes, nominalism entered the world on behalf of Christian humility and piety. English Franciscans like William of Ockham no longer found realist arguments—that there were such things as forms, essence, or natures—convincing. I’ll address the birth of nominalism again, as I think that it is, historically speaking, the most significant intellectual development since classical times. Yet, it is clear that piety was an important influence if not a sufficient cause of nominalism. For William and like-minded thinkers thought that forms or essences restricted the omnipotence of God. Thus began the revolution of the West seven hundred years ago. I would boldly argue that all of modernity, qua modernity, traces back to this development.
From Socrates to the coming of nominalism, the West did not lose faith in its ability to know. The Academy after Plato was a center of philosophical skepticism, and skeptics such as Pyrrho played the Socratic gadfly among philosophers. Alone, skepticism would have been like toxic bleach, but enough other philosophical currents flowed in Hellenistic times that skepticism’s influence was diluted. In such a state, it provided a service of intellectual hygiene in philosophy. The traditionalists kept their old ways, the priests kept their rites, and the poets kept their wisdom. Rabinnical Jews hostile to philosophy felt secure in the Law, while Christians adverse to Athens found sure footing on Christ and his gospel. Even the early nominalists thought that human knowledge was possible. William and his associates developed an advanced logical and epistemological model to safeguard human knowledge, and they were devout followers of the trustworthiness of sacred scripture. Yet, in denying essences and the human ability to know them, William set the stage for the overturning of all knowledge. He is the distant patriarch of Luther, Calvin, Hume, pietism, Kant, Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, Protestant fundamentalists, and the much less respectable postmodern twits.
You can see how Calvinism rose out of nominalism; in Averroist language, the Reformation was the theological image of nominalist philosophy. As Luther said, reason is a whore and unable to attain knowledge. Our fall from grace destroyed the divine faculty of reason so greatly that we must depend on revelation for religious guidance. Sola scriptura then is a desperate grab for some steady post when the rest of the world crumbles after nominalism. Yet, why should one believe religion at all? If we cannot trust our mind’s ability in some matters, why should we trust its fideism in holy books? The Enlightenment was the response to this dilemma. With nominalism’s having rendered metaphysics impossible, or so they thought, philosophy’s task would consist in understanding physics, or at least how nature appears to us. Even if such knowledge does not arrive at a true understanding of the world, at least it can be useful in technology. We need not intellectually affirm or truly understand the existence of selves or substances in order to deliver a missile through a fortress wall. Intellectual pursuit, then, comes to aim after general laws—tendencies and relationships of actions that follow other actions. The “why” of earlier philosophers is replaced by the “how” of modern researchers. Contemplation of the whole and of the greater—the theoria of the ancients—is forgotten as the practical mastery of nature comes to drive the West’s intellectual development. We still live in this age.
The modern period of philosophy is admirable and impressive; Bacon, Descartes, Hobbes, Newton, Locke, Spinoza, Hume, Berkeley, Leibniz, Kant, and others are quite insightful and, at times, breathtakingly brilliant. Yet, with the partial exceptions of Descartes, Berkeley, and Leibniz, they more or less follow and yet thereby try to get beyond nominalism. If you throw out revelation and still want access to knowledge, how is such possible? Their epistemological models, explorations of empiricism and its limits, and attempts to unravel the implied knots provide an impressive edifice. Nonetheless, I suspect that such is a mighty castle built upon a cloud of unreason. Not only do I think that nominalism itself is unsupportable, but I also think that their efforts to get around it fail. For these thinkers generally do not critically start at the foundations but rather accept that they can have access to tools that their own principles remove from them.
Hume is an easy example. In An Enquiry concerning Human Understanding, Hume argues that all of our mental content comes from the senses, either of external things or emotions felt. When sensed, these impressions are vivid, but as time goes by, they fade into ideas. As ideas, they are so weak that the mind freely manipulates them into various combinations to give us our entire mental content. What, then, about essences—or definitional abstractions? What about our understanding of causality? He states that custom, ingrained in us throughout life, molds our mental landscape. We have no understanding of causality; we simply notice that certain actions always follow other actions. We have no understanding of a horse as such; rather, we have empirical information of different particular things that we call horses because they resemble each other. Reinforced experience makes such knowledge steadier and readier because it is based upon more impressions.
Hume is fun to read because he makes explicit arguments, uses clear language, and never asks you to rise beyond everyday thinking. However, his epistemology cannot address several problems. First, he notes that the principles of mathematics are simply known, but he does not explain how his system makes such possible. Indeed, he spends a considerable amount of time refuting the idea that the human mind has access to any knowledge that comes not through the senses, but he refutes himself and does not explain how such knowledge fails to undermine his theory. Likewise, his memorable argument about the missing shade of blue undercuts his own case, and he just passes it off as a peripheral matter. In the example of the missing shade of blue, Hume notes that people who have always been blind have no understanding of color, which helps his argument that all mental content must come from impressions. Yet, he admits that a man who has been shown a sequence of blue shades that he had never before seen would be able to imagine a particular shade missing from the sequence. Even if you could argue that our minds can separate blue and white qualities from those various shades and then recombine them in different ways to get the missing shade of blue, Hume would still have a problem. For Hume’s theory does not seem to allow for that sort of abstraction—color is so basic that we would have had to see each particular shade for it to be in our mental content. Were we able to dissemble the shades into constituent color parts that we had never seen before demands noetic powers that Hume denies us. We evidently can make unicorns by matching up disparate ideas in our memory, but no real abstraction takes place in such action. Abstraction, for Hume, is simply the fading of an idea so that its vagueness allows it to substitute for other faded ideas that it resembles. Such is not what would have to occur to analyze a shade of blue.
Moreover, Hume’s dismissal of universals relies on his principle of resemblance. Like all nominalists, he argues that the mind groups objects that resemble one another and calls them somewhat arbitrarily by the same name—hence, the nomina of nominalism. However, how can things resemble one another without in fact being the same in some respect? This is the retort to nominalism, and it is a problem that they cannot overcome. They fall to the level of image-thinking, as Plato writes, and make intellectual judgments based upon unreflective crude sense perception. How is it that X is a horse, Y is a horse, and Z is a horse, if there is no such thing as “horse.” For nominalists, “horse” is simply a mental placeholder in the mind of the person who groups together sets convenient to group. Yet, they cannot justify why such placeholders readily present themselves to the mind. Resemblance begs the question, “Resembling in what way?” At some point, a list of characteristics will be given, and such a list will be applicable to X, Y, and Z. If the nominalist protests that each horse’s characteristics merely resemble the characteristics of each other horse, then, we ask the same question at a new level. This process cannot go on interminably; things resemble each other because they share something. Our minds intellect that shared something somehow, and we group and categorize accordingly.
The most momentous philosophical revolution in thousands of years occurred without good reasoning. I find this improbable and shocking, and yet, it is so. I suspected that I would finally find a good argument for nominalism, rather than simply a thoughtlessly inherited opinion, in reading William himself. Yet, it is as if he could not see the basic, truly foundational problem. Once you keep the nominalist from getting away with resemblance on the cheap, his entire system’s raison d’être ceases to be.
Why should we care about some pedantic dispute from the middle ages, or why should the intellectual path of Western civilization bother our attention today? Well, to begin with, it is a matter of truth. Practically, as well, this matter of truth has had momentous civilizational consequences. The nihilism of the modern world, the crisis in the human sciences that Husserl articulated generations ago, the rampant relativism in the West today and the emasculating, soul crushing meaningless and despair that it engenders—these are signs of a disease that has slowly spread throughout the world. The pious might claim that such is the result of the West’s rejection of God, but it was the Western rejection of reason, ironically out of religious devotion, that led people to heathenism. For nominalism at its core denies the intelligibility of the world and the ability of man to know it. As mentioned above, the first nominalists and their philosophical successors attempted to salvage aspects of the world’s knowability and of the human mind’s powers. Yet, they were all insufficient to the task; once you make a part of the world necessarily unintelligible, you render the whole unintelligible. For a particular man might be ignorant of many things and still claim knowledge of other things. However, if you state that the world as such is unintelligible in certain aspects, you begin a destructive process of misology. For the claim that some part of the world is intelligible while another part is not is a claim about the world as a whole. For that claim to stand, it undoes the unintelligibility of the part about which it claims to know (that it is unknowable). An instability is thus built into nominalism, and it is simply human rationality at work when such a system self-destructs—its logical conclusion is an impossibility.
It is helpful to remember that many early opponents of philosophy were trying to protect what they thought to be good—the ways of their gods and fathers. In dismissing reason, though, they opened themselves up to a mighty river wherein they have no oars—and irrational religiosity is a difficult stream to navigate without drowning. Nominalism was a medieval variation of this stance. Christian logicians threw away their respect for human reason to know things because it was for them impious to affirm that the mind of man knows the mind of God or that the objects of man could be the objects of God. In their attempt to respect God, however, by debasing man, they have rendered man less than human. God creates man with mind, and that mind, though infinitely inferior to God, is meant to function as an image of the divine mind. The human mind working at its proper best understands the logos of the world, first seen among the pagans by Heraclitus and furthermore proclaimed by the prophets. To stop short of affirming the absolute intelligibility of the world and of our ability to know it is to kill reasoning. Man, robbed of reason, is a beast. Thus, it should be no surprise when we see what such a mindless beast does.
Philosophy literally means the love of wisdom, as everyone seems to know but then somehow quickly forgets once that small bit of etymological insight is mentioned. I think that we cannot forget that most basic definition, for philosophy involves a love, an intense love, for wisdom, for truth, and for the “real”, whatever that may be. Other further definitions and distinctions that university types commonly make are often misguided, in that they divide philosophy from the paths to truth and wisdom that do not fit nicely into their latest classification of human knowledge, academic methodology, and the human experience.
Philosophy is not only that phenomenon of critical thinking that has dominated Western thought for almost three millennia or what others may call various forms of east Asian religious and folk wisdom, but it is, I think, the love of truth and the most basic desire to understand and to commune with everything. It embraces inquiry into the most transcendent realities, wonder at the world around us, and inspection into the depths of our minds and souls. For its material, for its evidence, philosophy takes the whole and aims for the whole. The philosopher loves the whole of wisdom.
Now, to what extent critical thinking involves skepticism, the overturning and murdering of mythos, and the other specific characteristics of much of the history of Western thought is a mystery to me. The jury is evidently still out on that case. However, let us demand that it consider all the evidence rather than slipping into sloth and idiocy in attempts to narrow and bracket the tough questions.