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On the Evolution of the Soul: Descartes Versus Aristotle & St. Thomas Aquinas

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CHAPTER 1

ARISTOTLE, THOMAS, AND DESCARTES’ MEDITATIONS

In his Discourse on the Method of 1637, Descartes ridicules the Aristotelian/Thomist maxim, “there is nothing in the intellect that is not previously in the senses.” Descartes intended to expose the logical absurdities that follow from giving sense perception priority in the rational soul’s operation of understanding:

The reason for this is that they never raise their minds above things which can be perceived by the senses: they are so used to thinking of things only by imagining them (a way of thinking specially suited to material things) that whatever is unimaginable seems to them unintelligible. This is sufficiently obvious from the fact that even the scholastic philosophers take it as a maxim there is nothing in the intellect which has not previously been in the senses [Ce qui est assez manifeste de ce que mesme les Philosophes tienent pour maxime, dans les Escholes, qu’il n’y a rien dans l’entendement qui n’ait premierement este dan le sens]; yet it is certain that the ideas of God and the soul have never been in the senses.

According to Descartes, the soul knows neither itself, nor God through sense images because it is not the substantial form of the human body— certainly not in the Aristotelian/Scholastic sense of the soul as the form of the body. Descartes’ methodological doubt furnishes him with the requisite conditions for dispensing with the Aristotelian theory of knowledge that asserts the primacy of sense images in matters of rational intelligibility. If the soul knows nothing through sense-images, the only available avenue for indubitable knowledge of the existence of God and the soul is via “separation of the mind from the senses” [abducere mentem a sensibus] to discover the innate knowledge of the existence of God and the separabilty of the mind from the body.

Like his Regulae, Descartes’ Meditations become intelligible when read as a conversation with Aristotle and his Scholastic descendents, such as Scotus, Ockham, and above all, Aquinas. When Descartes broaches the question of the nature of the soul in his prefatory letter to the Sorbonne in the Meditations, he has nothing other than the opening of Aristotle’s De anima in mind, writing, “As regards the soul, many people have considered that it is not easy to discover [non facile investigari] its nature…” Aristotle’s procedure for inquiring into the soul in De anima begins with what is perceptible and moves to the underlying principle or mechanism that makes objects intelligible to the mind: “…in the order of investigation the question of what an agent does [movement] precedes the question, what enables it [i.e., the soul] to do what it does.”

The completely separable and independent essence of the mind, Descartes argues, involves two modifications of the Aristotelian/Thomistic account of man as a rational animal. First, Descartes rejects the Aristotelian/Thomistic conception of the rational soul, whose mode of understanding is “through an intelligible species,” or “turning toward phantasms” [se ad phantasmata)]. Second, Descartes rejects the Aristotelian/Thomistic conception of the substantial union of rational soul and body by denying not only the verity of the knowledge of species gained through the senses, but also entertaining the possible non-existence of all bodies. The two latter steps are necessary for Descartes to affirm the superior epistemological status of “the thinking thing” [res cogitans] over extended things [res extensia]. Only the “thinking thing” distinguishes the true from the false and uncovers the ontology of the soul in an intuitive, self-reflexive act (Descartes’ cogito). Only when the mind is free of sensory interference can it apprehend the innately contained ideas of the existence of God and the separability of the mind from the body.

On the contrary, Aristotle and Thomas assert that the soul is the mover of the body. The soul/mind, according to Descartes, is not responsible for the movement of the body; rather, the mind’s only operation is thinking. That is the reason why, after rejecting the Aristotelian/Thomistic account of the soul as the mover of the body, Descartes’ chief problem in the Meditations is demonstrating how the soul or mind is connected to the body. The circulatory system, Descartes argues, is responsible for the movements of the body; the mind is only aware of the body in respect to the sensation of pain, or other corporeal necessities, such as the body’s sensation of hunger or thirst. Aside from the rational mind’s embodiment in the human animal, the mind, so to speak, owes nothing to the body, and vice-versa. Hence, the mind, Descartes, argues, has no need of the bodily senses to grasp the essential nature of objects. The senses do not think, only the mind does. Thus, the mind’s innate ideas of concepts such as the existence of God, the ego, or the essence of wax need no corresponding tie to objects in the material world (which, for Descartes, may not even exist). Accordingly, the ego’s act of existence cannot be said to depend on the beginning or end of the body to which it is somehow attached. The very nature of the Cartesian mind is found through foundational ideas that have no exact correlative in the material world, such as the existence of God and the separability of the mind from the body.

Like Descartes, Thomas Aquinas’ obligation to abide by the Catholic Church’s dogma of the soul’s immortality required demonstrating that the soul, as the form of the human body, is separable from the body. Reckoning Christian doctrine with Aristotelian philosophy necessitated Thomas’ modification to Aristotle’s account of the soul in De anima. Because the question of the immortality of the intellective soul is left open in the Aristotelian account, Thomas argues for the substantiality of the rational soul per se. On the other hand, Descartes’ theory of cognition presupposes the body and senses as being obstacles to the mind’s knowledge of the truth. The mind can continue all of its cognitive operations independent of any contribution from the body’s sense organs because the objects of cognition do not come without, but from within the mind (“only the mind inspects” [inspectum mentus; or alternately, sed solius mentis inspectio]). Descartes seeks to demonstrate that the mind alone understands, and that only knowledge contained innately in the mind is indubitable. Confirmation of this fact is stated explicitly by Descartes: “…it is certain that I am really distinct from my body, and can exist without it.” The “soul as the form of the body” [anima corporis forma] of Aristotle and his Scholastics descendents is eradicated by the first act of Cartesian doubt— calling the reliability of the senses into question. The only operation of the Cartesian mind, thinking, does not require a substantial union with a particular kind of body, or a body at all. In spite of his claim that the soul forms a substantial union with the body, Descartes broke the substantial union.

CHAPTER TWO

DESCARTES’ ANTI-ARISTOTLEIANISM IN THE DEDICATORY LETTER TO THE SORBONNE

To gain the commendation of the Sorbonne for his Meditations, Descartes required a subtle method of aligning his ostensibly anti-Aristotelian conception of God and the human soul with the views upheld by the conservative Aristotelians of the Sorbonne faculty:

…I have noticed both that you and all other theologians assert that the existence of God is capable of proof by natural reason, and also that the inference from Holy Scripture is that the knowledge [cognitional] of God is easier to acquire than the knowledge we have of many created things…”

Descartes presents his conception of man’s knowledge of God’s existence and the immortality of the soul in an attempt to persuade the theologians that his metaphysics does not diverge from the main topics of prior systems, but serves to reckon together and codify all “arguments that have been put forward on these issues by the great men.” Descartes praises his predecessor’s arguments as having “the force of demonstrations.” But Descartes’ claim of upholding orthodoxy in his dedicatory letter should be considered further alongside the claim he makes in his Letter to Voetius. In his letter, Descartes argues that Thomas’ proofs for the existence of God have all been found to contain invalid conclusions, and are therefore inconclusive, if not faulty proofs. If anyone is guilty of Atheism, Descartes declares, Thomas is the more culpable, pointing out that Thomas’ proofs for the existence of God have been disproven, whereas his never can be.

In his prefatory letter to the Sorbonne, Descartes strategically combines established doctrines of the Church with the traditional Scholastic endeavor to generate proofs for the existence of God and the immortality of the soul. However, in his Meditations, he ingeniously modifies the purpose of speculative philosophy and natural theology to support the practical ends of science. It is noteworthy that the Sorbonne letter only contains one passing mention of science, when in fact, the purpose of the Meditations is an attempt to establish a firm foundation upon which to raise the sciences.
Because Descartes’ physics derives entirely from his metaphysics, he is able to sidestep the fact that his speculative metaphysics overturns the speculative physics of Aristotle. The two main points Descartes addresses in his dedicatory epistle to the Meditations are proving the existence of God and demonstrating the immortality of the soul. He frames the latter problems in terms of the historical search for definitive philosophic proofs. If the existence of God and the immortality of the soul are provable, then atheism and religious skepticism can be combated with the assurance of victory. Descartes’ project of providing a firm metaphysical foundation for the sciences is carried out according to the established template of the Scholastic philosophers, and consists of a synthesis of speculative metaphysics and Christian theology. But by taking a reductionist approach to the history of philosophy and, indeed, to the act of philosophizing itself, Descartes is able to critique and sweep aside the writings of his Scholastic predecessors with his claims of logical soundness and indubitability for his proofs in the Meditations.
Descartes’ conception of one universal science, whose “roots are metaphysics, the trunk is physics, and the branches emerging from the trunk are all the other sciences…,” requires that the method used for augmenting the sciences be single, in order for truth to be demonstrated in a systematic order. The indemonstrability of Aristotle’s first principles for reasoning is transformed, under the auspices of the Cartesian method, into the test of indubitability for arriving at epistemological certainty in derived propositions. Descartes’ synthesis of speculative metaphysics and Christian theology differs from the Scholastic’s metaphysics and theology in the respect that the aim of discovering a method to derive indubitable metaphysical principles to augment the sciences was never present for Scholastic philosophers. For Descartes, the theological imperative to demonstrate the existence of God and the immortality of the soul developed out of a rationale opposed to the Aristotelian/Scholastic concept of theoria (the contemplation of truth) as the utmost goal of philosophizing.

The philosophers of Antiquity commonly divided human activity into two spheres derived from two modes of understanding: the active life, derived from “opinion,” or subjective experience, and the contemplative life, derived from the mind’s rational faculty to apprehend objective concepts and objects. For Aristotle, life begins in the sphere of practical activity and ends in the act of philosophic contemplation of the unmoved Divine. For Aristotle as well as Thomas, metaphysics is the most logical and objective of the sciences, and crowns the investigation of being as being. The other sciences, which take practical activity as their end, are naturally inferior to metaphysics, and form a basis for the rational investigation of the Diving.

Descartes accepts the premise that metaphysics is superior to all the other sciences. Yet metaphysics is, as he calls it, the roots of his system, and not the speculative crown that metaphysics represents to Aristotle and Thomas. Philosophy, for Descartes, need no longer be speculative; first principles need no longer be sought for their own sake. The tradition of speculative philosophy is no longer viable in the scope of a theoretical philosophy with practical ends. For Descartes, the end of philosophy is not the science of the search for first principle— or, the speculative exploration of Divine attributes. Rather, the practical end of philosophy is the project of applying indubitable principles to formulate and discover practical aids to remedy the ills of human existence. In his Discourse on the Method, Descartes states that raising the sciences on a rational and indubitable foundation will recapture for man the position he once owned in the Garden of Eden— “master and proprietor of nature.”

By replacing speculative philosophy with practical philosophy, Descartes rejects not only the contemplation of truth as the goal of philosophic activity, but takes religious and philosophical skepticism as his chief enemy from the beginning, rather than the thought of Aristotle and the Scholastics. Descartes held that the proofs found in the writings of the Schoolmen for the existence of God and the immortality of the soul failed to attain their objective, and amounted in the end to a mere demonstrations that the truths of faith and the truths of reason do not lie in opposition to each other. Such demonstrations, Descartes held, were insufficient to combat the tendency in the 17th century toward atheism and religious skepticism. The only sufficient criterion for the test of indubitable knowledge is the mind’s perception of a truth that impresses itself with such force and vivacity that the mind cannot help but assent to the validity of the proposition (e.g., that God exists). According to Descartes, such truths are what the mind perceives “clearly and distinctly.” All other families of propositions fall within the realm of Aristotle’s indemonstrable first principles and Thomas’ secondary causes.

In his Dedicatory Letter to the Sorbonne, Descartes presents his Meditations to the Dean and Doctors as a work of Christian apologetics. However, he is not forthcoming about his incendiary goal of demolishing the whole of the Aristotelian metaphysics, physics, and psychology. Descartes’ principle of “methodological doubt” [rationem dubitandi] functions as a tool for overturning what Aristotle and his Medieval Scholastic followers took for granted — the reliability of the rational soul’s knowledge of the material world acquired through the senses. In the 17th century, Aristotelianism and Thomism predominated among the faculty members of the Sorbonne. According to the prevailing Aristotelian doctrine in the Schools, the first principle of man’s knowledge is the sensible apprehension of objects in the material world. The sensible apprehension of objects depends upon the sensible object received by the agent intellect via the phantasm, or image. Without the sensible object, neither the agent nor the possible intellect could be, in a sense, activated. Without the particulars of sense knowledge, the intellect’s abstraction from particular objects to grasp the intelligible species could never take place. Cognition as such would be impossible for Aristotle’s man. Except as a peripheral question, neither Aristotle nor any Scholastic philosopher prior to Descartes ever took seriously the question of the reliability of sense perception as a conduit of genuine knowledge.

Descartes begins his Meditations by inquiring into whether the rational mind is capable of a type of purely rational mental activity comparable to Aristotle’s conception of contemplation [theoria]. To do so, however, Descartes reverses Aristotle’s procedure for inquiring into the nature of the soul. To see how this is done, it is necessary to point out that Aristotle does not begin his inquiry into the nature of the soul with cognition, since thought itself is neither perceptible, nor is it an intelligible species that takes itself as its own object. In other words, Aristotle’s account of the rational soul does not begin with a demonstration of rationality. Philosophy begins, according to Aristotle, by setting out principles that, for the rational mind requiring material particulars to abstract universals from, are indemonstrable principles. The famous principle of non-contradiction is one example of Aristotle’s indemonstrable “first principles.”

In the Sixth Meditation, Cartesian philosophy’s crowing project of the “mastery of nature” ends up where Aristotle’s philosophic project (in De anima) begins. Descartes’ last chapter in the Meditations gives an account of the movement and activity of the animal possessing a rational mind. The purpose of his account is twofold: first, to developing cures for the infirmities of the body to which the mind is attached as “a pilot in his ship”; second, Descartes hoped to raise man through the development of the sciences to the status of the “master and proprietor of nature.” Descartes’ theory of the separability of the mind and body stands in opposition to his theory of the substantial union of the mind and body, which, he writes, is not merely the relation of mover to the thing moved, but a relation where the mind and body are “very closely joined” so as to “form a unit.” Translated into the Aristotelian vocabulary, the Cartesian theory of cognition states that the universal or essential nature of an object is known prior to, and more easily, than the particular material object in the world grasped through the corporeal senses. The first principle of knowledge, according to Descartes, is not objects in the material world or concepts that abide the principle of non-contradiction. Rather, the first principles of knowledge are contained in the innate ideas that the mind has of all objects, including God and the self, independent of all sensory perceptions. These principles, Descartes holds, are indubitable, and therefore more logically consistent than Aristotle’s indemonstrable first principles that seem to assert the priority of the objects of knowledge over the knower.
In the Dedicatory Letter of the Meditations, Descartes’ argument from the Bible regarding the mind’s intuitive or innate knowledge of the existence of God implicitly corroborates the argument given in the Meditations for why the soul’s nature is easily discovered. The mind’s innate idea of God is demonstrable from the essence of the mind itself, which, as an incorporeal thinking substance, is entirely distinct and separable in its operations from the body and its senses. Descartes’ celebrated phrase, sed solius mentis inspectio, or “the mind alone inspects,” reverses the Aristotelian order of operation by which the rational soul understands external objects. To meditate, according to Descartes, is to detach the mind from the senses, because the sensory-dependent body is an obstacle to knowing the truth.

Descartes sought to align his proofs for the existence of God and the immortality of the soul with the long-accepted proofs of his Scholastic predecessors. In his dedication, Descartes calls his addressee’s attention to the fact that his project of proving the existence of God and the immortality of the soul corresponds to the traditional Scholastic enterprise. Further, Descartes cites the eighth session of the Lateran Council held under Pope Leo X (Apostolici Regiminis, 1513) to legitimize his philosophical investigation into the existence of God and the human rational soul. By adopting Leo X’s mandate for Christian philosophers to refute the arguments of irreligious philosophers who hold “that the soul dies along with the body,” Descartes hoped to gain the commendation of the Sorbonne’s Aristotelian/Thomist faculty members.

Be that as it may, Descartes’ mission as a philosophical apologist for the truth of Christian doctrine involved more than simply upholding the tenets of the Faith with rational arguments, as there was nothing innovative in doing so. The sense that Aristotelian philosophy was a stagnant body of knowledge prompted Descartes to look afresh at the foundations of philosophy. In making Thomas Aquinas its representative theologian, the Church had implicitly “Christianized” the thought of Thomas’ master, Aristotle. Descartes considered the alliance of Christian and pagan philosophy to be hazardous to the central doctrines of Christianity. Making Christian philosophy dependent in crucial ways on the philosophic principles and reasoning of a pagan philosopher left the Faith vulnerable to the attacks of atheist and religious skeptics. In his Meditations, Descartes hoped to free Christian philosophy from the bonds of Aristotelian philosophy by abrogating its epistemic foundations. By framing the traditional questions of philosophy in a Christian context, Descartes hoped to secure an indubitable foundation for the two main tenets of Christian philosophy: that God exists and that the soul is immortal. Descartes demand for an undiluted foundation for religion set the stage for a new philosophy that depended on neither sense perception, nor the dogmas of Aristotelian Scholasticism.

CHAPTER 3

DESCARTES’ CONCEPTION OF MIND VERSUS THE ARISTOTELIAN
CONCEPTION OF THE SOUL

The publication of Gilbert Ryle’s The Concept of Mind (1949) originated the analytic approach to Cartesian thought. Unfortunately, analytic commentators of Descartes’ writings take little account of the historical background of the 17th century in formulating their interpretations; nor do they give little more than a sign of acquaintance or interest in the writings of Thomas or the Scholastic philosophers. Such interpretations have little to offer the historian of philosophy. Commentary that ignores the anti-Aristotelian/Thomist position of the Meditations arrives at conclusions that are conceptually dazzling, but ultimately refer only back to themselves, rather than the historical sources of Descartes’ writings. The validity of Descartes’ arguments have been borne out or disproven according to the whims of History’s mistress, lady Fortune. The internal logical consistency or inconsistency of Descartes’ Meditations does not illuminate the main themes or reason for his writing the book. No does the analytic approach consider for whom Descartes wrote the book. An historian of philosophy might fruitfully beg Aristotle’s question, “were the Meditations persuasive to Descartes contemporaries?” Descartes aimed to construct a metaphysics that did not depend on the Aristotelian account of material reality or the speculative metaphysics and dogmas of the Schools. To do so, he had to contend with the prevailing thought of the Schools, which happened to be principally Aristotelian/Thomist. Reducing the status of Cartesian metaphysics to a sterile series of mental acts of consciousness misses Descartes’ dual point that a metaphysical foundation must first be in place in order to generate indubitable scientific principles. Only after a system of metaphysics is in place can the programme originating in the writings of Francis Bacon, viz., making man “the master and proprietor of nature,” be realized.

In the Sixth Meditation, Descartes’ demonstration of the separabilty of the mind/soul from the body consists precisely in the clarity and distinctness of the perception of what belongs to the essence of thinking things [res cogitans]. Regarding extended things [res extensia], the same clarity of perception does not apply. Extended things are perceived only distinctly, which is to say, not essentially. The meditator’s essence consists in “absolutely nothing else” than that he is “a thinking thing…” Descartes cancels Aristotle’s formulation of the soul as the form of the body, which assumes the givenness of the objects of perception, in his demonstration of the incorporeal existence of mind/soul as being more clearly and distinctly known than the existence of objects extended in space and perceived by the corporeal senses. In Aristotelian teleological thought, the difficulty in giving an account of the soul lies with the process and methods of investigation: beginning with sensible perception of particulars, the faculty or ordering principle (soul) is abstracted from observing the respective activities of sentient beings. Conversely, in order to determine the existence and nature of the soul, the Cartesian method bypasses the information gathered through the senses and inquires instead into the origin of the mind’s ideas, which are divided into three types: adventitious, composite, and innate.

Turning to the Aristotelian conception of the soul, in De anima II, Aristotle formulates his doctrine of cognition through abstraction as, “the soul never thinks without an image.” In other words, the intellect, whether human or animal, is activated by sense images, and neither cognizes nor wills prior to the mind’s reception of sense data. Like the sensitive soul of animals, Aristotle’s third type of soul, the rational soul, is dependent on the image, or phantasm, gathered by means of the senses. The rational soul’s faculty for abstract cognition is activated by sense images and impressions. Considering the operations of the rational soul (movement, sense perception, abstraction), the cognizing activity of the potential intellect called abstraction cannot take place without the object of thought having first passed through the agent intellect, whose activity is the passive reception of sense data. However, for its abstract cognitive operations, the rational soul is exempt from further dependence on sense impressions. Insofar as the rational soul neither grows nor senses as such, its operation of abstraction from sense images does not dependent on further contribution from the body’s sense organs.

Aristotle’s proof for the soul begins with evidence derived from motion in the order of corporeal being, such as the fact that animals possess the power of self-movement and growth. The empirical fact of motion is requisite to all of Aristotle’s claims about the soul. If nothing were in motion, as in the static world of Parmenides, the senses would have no purpose for existing, as there would be nothing to sense. Thus Aristotle states that the sense’s primary reason for existing is to convey images of objects in motion to the passive intellect. Abstraction of images from the passive intellect are understood by the active intellect, the faculty of the mind responsible for rational thought. On the basis of movement, Aristotle causally deduces the formal principle from the material principle. For example, creatures that grow and reproduce must themselves be animated by some kind of mover, which Aristotle tells us is the soul. Moving creatures are animated by two of Aristotle’s three types of soul: the nutritive and sensitive. The existence of the soul proven from the evidence of motion in the sensible world is a naturalized account of the soul. Because objects are intelligible, sense perception has, for Aristotle, the nature and value of a principle of knowledge. Consequently, to gain any certain knowledge of what the essential nature and properties of the soul are, the operations of the senses must be considered.

In response to Aristotle and his Scholastic followers, Descartes’ treatment of the soul in the Meditations begins with the question of what, if anything, can be known with any epistemological certainty, and proceeds by applying the methodological doubt to everything dubitable by the light of valid reasoning (propter validas & meditates rationes). The possibility of material objects serving as the source of the first principle of metaphysical knowledge is rejected, and the project of discovering a source of indubitable knowledge on which to found the sciences is directed toward the discovery of the innate cognitive perceptions of God and the ego. The methodological doubt and the hypothesis of the malin génie, detailed in the first two Meditations, furnishes Descartes with the necessary conditions for abrogating any theory of knowledge that asserts the primacy of sense images in matters of rational intelligibility. Descartes’ argument against the soul as the form of the body reverses the Aristotelian/Scholastic axiomatic sense of the soul as the form of the body [anima corporis forma]. According to Descartes, information or data derived from sense-images is subject to the methodological doubt precisely because the soul is understood to be something other than the substantial form of the body. Hence, any dependence on the senses to confirm the truth or falsity of ideas must be forsworn at the outset if the criterion for telling the true from the erroneous has premises more robust than a posteriori. If the soul cannot know anything through sense-images, the only available avenue for indubitable knowledge, particularly indubitable knowledge of the existence of God and the immortality of the soul, is through “separating the mind from the senses.”

In the Second Meditation, Descartes’ phrase, “the mind alone inspects” represents a kind of pastiche of Aristotle’s definition of the soul in De anima II, where the soul defined as “the form of a natural body having life potentially within it” (or capable of living). Aristotle’s formulation precludes the question of “whether the soul and body are one”— which question, he concludes, is as meaningless as inquiring “whether the wax and the shape given to it by the stamp are one.” The view of the wax as inseparable from the stamp given to it assumes, by analogy, that that which organizes (soul), and that which is organized (body) cannot be distinguished. In two ways the Aristotelian rational soul is inseparable from the body: first, because the soul is the form of the body; and second, because the soul depends on the corporeal sense faculties in order to satisfy the goal, or telos toward which its operations of growth, nutrition and reasoning tend.

When Descartes exposes a quantity of beeswax to fire, the intention is to distinguish two separate modes of perception, sensuous and cognitive, and thus argue for why the demonstration of the distinction between the soul/mind and the body is necessary. The perceptible “stamp” of the beeswax remains even once its recognizable qualities have been altered by exposure to the fire; viz., its taste, fragrance, odor, figure, sound, &c., are not done away with because the essence of the beeswax is not contained in any of its innumerable accidental properties. Descartes states, “the perception I have of it [wax, or any material object] is a case not of vision or touch or imagination — nor has it ever been, despite previous appearances — but of purely mental scrutiny [sed solius mentis inspectio]…” Objects, such as the beeswax, can be “sensed”; but the corporeal senses do not “think.” Hence, the ideas of objects perceived by the mind cannot bear any relation to the properties of objects perceived by the corporeal senses: “perception derives not from their [objects] being touched or seen but from their being understood.”

Moving from the idea that the mind alone inspects the essence of objects, Descartes is in a position to inquire into the essence of the rational soul. If the mind alone knows objects through their essences, the mind can presumably inspect itself, or perceive its own essential nature. “I know plainly that I can achieve an easier and more evident perception of my own mind than of anything else,” Descartes concludes. He then overturns the common sense opinion that “the bodies which we touch and see” are perceived aright by the senses. The mind or soul grasps the essential nature of material objects without the aid of the corporeal senses. Thus, a question considered by Aristotle to have a self-evident answer, namely, whether the soul and body are joined in an interdependent relation, is considered in Descartes’ inquiry into perception to have been given a less than satisfactory answer.

In the case of man, according to Aristotle, rationality is not a superficial addition to animality, but rather comprises a substantial union proper to man alone. Aquinas’ account of the soul follows Aristotle’s on this point, maintaining that, “it is with respect to the intellective soul that we are said to be men; to the sensitive soul, animals; to the nutritive soul, living beings.” Descartes’ attack on Aristotle in the Meditations first addresses, and then overturns specific Aristotelian doctrines with the intention of starving out the roots of Aristotelian first philosophy by destroying its branches — namely, the somatic and psychic doctrines associated with Aristotle’s conception of man. Aristotle’s doctrine that states, “the soul never thinks without an image” is connected in every respect with the doctrine of the soul as the form of the body, and with his conception of man as a rational animal.
Descartes does not recognize the validity or the self-evident empirical nature of Aristotle’s first principles. On the contrary, his refutation in the Second Meditation of the Aristotelian doctrine that the soul never thinks without an image sets up a reductio ad absurdum chain of reasoning that destroys Aristotle’s conception of man by calling into question the reliability of the senses to convey any true knowledge to the understanding. If Descartes rephrased Aristotle’s doctrine of cognition, it might have read something like, “the soul knows nothing through the medium of an image.” Indeed, the meditator discovers that the mind’s essential understanding of objects only resembles the world of material objects. Accordingly, Descartes infers that “what is called ‘having sensory perceptions is strictly just… thinking.”

In the First Meditation, Descartes’ hypothesis of the ‘evil genius” [malin genie in the French edition] raises Pyrrhonian skepticism to a new pitch of intensity. If it were the case that all knowledge, and the faculties for acquiring and judging knowledge, were under the influence of some malicious deceiver “of the utmost power” [summe potens], the mind’s criterion for examining its ideas, and the source of its ideas is open to question on every conceivable level, and at every point. The force of Descartes’ argument lies in the fact that it would be impossible for the mind to know or tell if it were under the control of a most powerful deceiver. The Aristotelian theory of cognition, which emphasizes the primacy of the individual senses and their particular objects in the process of “coming to know,” has no defense against Cartesian skepticism. Descartes’ cogito necessarily has neither a basis in, nor any reference to the world of material particulars. In the Second Meditation, Aristotle and his 17th century adherents are parodied by Descartes in such questions as, “What then did I formerly think I was? A man. But what is a man?”, “what is an animal?”, and “what is rationality?” Descartes concludes that he “does not now have the time to waste on subtleties of this kind.” Under Descartes’ hypothetical circumstance, grounds for discovering any epistemological certainty are theoretically impossible.

CHAPTER 4

THE PROBLEM OF DESCARTES’ TERMINOLOGY AND THE ATTACK ON THOMAS AND SCHOLASTICISM IN THE MEDITATIONS

In the Meditations, the doctrine of the cogito, flanked by the doctrine of “the mind alone inspects,” represents a thoroughgoing epistemic critique of the Aristotelian empiricist doctrine of “the soul never thinks without an image.” That Descartes overturned centuries of philosophical reliance on Aristotelian physics and metaphysics is well documented in the literature of the history of ideas. What is less obvious is whether Descartes’ attack on the philosophy of Aristotle in the Meditations was meant as a covert attack on the philosophy of St. Thomas. We can ask whether Descartes’ self-professed intention of offering the Meditations to the Dean and Doctors of the Sorbonne as work in the grand Scholastic tradition of giving demonstrative proofs for the existence of God and the immortality of the soul can be taken at face value.

In both the Meditations and the Discourse on the Method, Descartes’ attack on Aristotelian realism is waged, in part, through the terminology he adopts to undermine the claims of Aristotelian philosophy. For example, certain recognizable Aristotelian phrases and terms occur in the Meditations, such as “rational animal,” “power of self movement,” “common sense,” “nutrition,” and “imagination.” Descartes’ technical use of these terms and phrases were no doubt adopted for either one or both of the following reasons. First, the term “imagination” and the phrase “rational animal” are characteristic of the language of the Scholastic opponents Descartes is attempting to refute. By employing the Aristotelian language, Descartes caricatures his opponent’s views. The second reason that Descartes adopts the Aristotelian terminology, particularly in the Second and Sixth Meditation, is likely because of the fact that no other terminological apparatus was available in the 17th century. Moreover, the philosophical tradition frowned upon the invention or introduction of novel terms for the sake of novelty. As previous commentators have noted, Descartes’ terminology in the Meditations contains next to nothing in the way of novelty. Only his unique redefining of the battery of pre-existing Ancient and Scholastic terms can be said to be original. Descartes’ acceptance of what the primary goals of philosophy are, as well as the standard array of terminology, as handed down from both the Ancients and their Scholastic descendants, is explicitly present in the Meditations.

Even Descartes’ earliest commentators and critics recognized his subversive use of Aristotelian/Scholastic terminology in the Meditations. When Descartes topples Aristotelian realism in the Second Meditation by demonstrating that the nature of the soul/mind can be asserted as an object of knowledge prior to the knowledge of bodies, he is attacking the classic Aristotelian doctrine of “the soul never thinks without an image.” As a close reader of the writings of Aristotle, Descartes was likely acquainted with the phrase, “the soul never thinks without an image.” However, when the Meditations and the Discourse on the Method are searched for the classic Aristotelian phrase, one finds that Descartes never uses the phrase as it occurs in Aristotle’s writings. In the fourth partition of the Discourse on the Method, Descartes has instead rendered into French a Scholastic variant of Aristotle’s phrase:

“…there is nothing in the intellect which has not previously been in the senses [qu’il n’y a rien dans l’entendement qui n’ait premierement este dan le sens].” Again, in the Sixth Meditation we find it worded thus: “In this way I easily convinced myself that I had nothing at all in the intellect which I had not previously had in sensation [facile mihi persuadebam nullam plane me habere in intellectu, quam non prius habuissem in sensu].”

In the latter two examples, Descartes employs what previous commentators have noted to be a Scholastic variation on Aristotle’s phrase. As these commentators indicate, a likely source for the variation used by Descartes is the writings of St. Thomas.

In Thomas’s writings we find a variation on Aristotle’s phrase that silently introduces the terminological and verbal modifications that Descartes was to later adapt into his writings: “There is nothing in the intellect that is not previously in the senses” [nihil est in intellectu quod non sit prius in sensu]. Although Thomas nuances the phrasing of the established idiom, he does so without corrupting Aristotle’s empirical doctrine. The question arises: if, in his Discourse on the Method and the Meditations, Descartes’ use of the phrase as it occurs in Aquinas’ writings is deliberate, is it meant as a shrewd critique of the Doctor angelicus? Does Descartes inadvertently strike a blow at the foundation of Catholic orthodoxy by refuting Aristotle via the doctrines of Thomas?

To the extent to which Thomas’ conception of the soul agrees with or derives from Aristotle’s account of the soul, this is the conception of the soul Descartes attacks in the Second Meditation. However, Descartes’ proof for the separabilty of the mind from the body, or of the mind’s self-subsisting nature, agrees with Thomas’ account of the separable soul, on the point that both are an affirmative answer to the Christian theological imperative to uphold the doctrine of the immortality of the soul. We may point out, however, that the theological imperative to argue for the soul’s immortality was not present for Aristotle as it was for Thomas. While there are passages in De anima that seem to promote the idea of the rational soul possessing an immortal nature, other passages clearly associate the mortality of the body with the mortality of the soul. Yet in De anima Aristotle states that, “that while the faculty of sensation is dependent on the body, mind is separable from it.” It was a matter of dispute among the Scholastics whether Aristotle meant that the intellect only engages in operations in which the body has no part, as when he writes that, “…some [parts of the soul] may be separable because they are not the actualities of any body at all.” Also open to dispute among the Scholastic philosophers was Aristotle’s opinion on whether the rational soul could be classed as a substantial form: “When mind is set free from its present conditions it appears as just what it is and nothing more: this alone is immortal and eternal… mind in this sense is impassable… and without it nothing thinks.”
In any case, the question whether the soul survives the body’s death, and whether the rational or intellectual soul is mortal or immortal necessitated Thomas’ chief modification to the Aristotelian conception of the soul. Indeed, Thomas’ modification involved altering the ontological status of the rational soul, thus disengaging it from the questions of mortality and substantiality. The soul, according to Aristotle, is a faculty of thought that makes up a substantial form only when united to the matter of the human body. In Thomas’ account of the rational soul, he argues that the soul itself is a substantial form in its own right. That is, the intellective soul is non-destructible, self-subsisting and immortal by definition. Yet the conversion of a rational faculty of thought into an intellectual substance does not resolve the inherent difficulties in how the separable soul operates after the death of the body, since Thomas retains the Aristotelian doctrine that “there is nothing in the mind that was not previously in the senses.” In sum, the active and possible intellect, and the bodily sense organs on which the soul depends for the delivery of its proper object are inseparably connected.

CHAPTER 5

DESCARTES’ CONCEPTION OF MIND VERSUS THE SCHOLASTIC CONCEPTION OF THE SOUL

The question of the soul’s immortality in Descartes’ Meditations is a reiteration of a long-standing theme of the Scholastics. The means by which Descartes goes about proving the immortality of the soul constitutes a departure from the accepted convention of either lending ultimate support and authority to a rational proof of the soul’s immortality. In his Sorbonne letter, Descartes cites relevant passages from Scripture and rejects the teaching that no rational proof of the soul’s immortality is available to the natural light of reason alone, as did Duns Scotus and William of Ockham. In any case, no Scholastic discussion of the soul’s immortality ever sought to supplant the doctrine of immortality that the Church maintained is revealed through the Scriptures, and held as a verity of religion by faith alone. Scholastic proofs adduced for the existence of God or the immortality of the soul were “demonstrated” a posteriori to the belief that God exists and that the soul is indeed immortal — that is, these proofs assume the validity of what they have yet to prove.

Descartes’ demonstration of the existence of God in the Third Meditation is an a priori proof that precludes the presupposition of any “long-standing opinion that there is an omnipotent God,” and proceeds from the starting point that “everything said about God is a fiction,” including his existence. Similarly, Descartes’ proof for the separability of the mind from the body in the Second Meditation begins with the meditator’s categorically doubting the existence of all extended bodies in order to uncover, in the order of being, the nature of the soul per se.
The investigation of the soul, under the respective considerations of Aristotle and his Scholastic followers, had traditionally begun with sensible particulars, applying an inductive method of examination to such phenomena as the perceptible self-movement of living things, and proceeding to inquiring as to the cause of movement. The somatic psychology of Aristotle and the Scholastic philosophers offers a naturalized account of the soul. As the form of the body, the soul of man is a rational faculty that depends on the sense’s apprehension of material particulars in order to operate. Knowledge, in this sense, is essentially embodied, and in De anima, Aristotle writes that the soul has been justly referred to as “the place of forms,” on account of the fact that the rational intellect has no organ, and hence no operation apart from the medium of the phantasms intuited by the sense organs.

According to Aristotle’s account of the soul, the nature of the substantial union of the soul and body is a union of such a kind that the corruption of the instantiated soul cannot occur without corruption coming to the body as well, and vice-versa. Plato’s celebrated metaphorical image of the relation between the soul and body as a sailor in a ship is a negative example in Aristotle’s usage, for the union between soul and body is not such that the soul directs the movements of the automaton body in which it is emprisoned. What connects the soul and body in Aristotle’s account, and in Thomas’ account as well, is the fact that the intellectual soul requires the faculties of imagination and sensation in order to operate, and imagination and sensation are carried out through corporeal organs; hence, as Thomas puts it, the formal principle, the soul, and the material principle, the body, are “joined together in the unity of one act of being.”

CHAPTER 6

THOMAS’ CONCEPTION OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL

For Descartes, the emphasis in the Sixth Meditation is on the problem of how the soul is joined to the body, and stands in contrast to the operations of the pure understanding (Meditation Two), where the mind is shown to function independent of any attachment to a body, and is thus by definition separable. For Thomas, the soul is joined in a substantial union with the body, and the existence of bodies is self-evident, and therefore indubitable. Regarding the question of the soul’s immortality, Thomas emphasizes the issue of the soul’s separability from the body. The intellectual soul first needs to be demonstrated as substantial per se. Substantiality, according to Aristotle, is tantamount to self-subsistence and impassibility, and the status of substantiality that Thomas grants to the intellectual soul provides the gateway for his proof of the soul’s immortality.

Generally, then, the difference between Descartes’ revival in the Meditations of the question of immortality addressed by Thomas and other the other Scholastic philosophers is the question of how the soul’s immortality can be demonstrated. Descartes agrees with the Scholastic philosophers about the immortality of the soul. The point at which Descartes diverges from Thomas and the Scholastics is in method rather than principle. The meditative exercise of withdrawing the mind from the senses is an epistemological method that neither Aquinas nor any other Scholastic philosopher ever employed to arrive at the conclusion that the intellectual soul is separable from the body, and that God exists.

The efforts of Thomas Aquinas to solve Aristotle’s open question of the immortality of the soul involved modifying two notable doctrines of Aristotle. The first point, that the soul is the form of the body, argues that the soul and the body form a substantial composite that cannot be split apart or corrupted without destruction coming to the whole. Hence, neither the body nor the soul is self-subsisting, due to the function of each being wholly dependent on the other part for its respective operation. Briefly then, the rational soul that animates the human body, and the sense organs of the human body that supply the rational soul with phantasms, from which operation all intellectual knowledge derives, are co-constitutive. Man, in the last analysis, is human on the condition that he comprises a particular substantial combination of rationality and animality.

It follows from this that decay in the function of the sense organs, or the total demise of the body, erects an insuperable barrier between the operation of the rational soul, and the sense object upon which its operation depends. There is indeed nothing for the rational soul to think without the senses first receiving the phantasm of a sensible object. On two counts, then, it would seem that the soul could not legitimately be a substance by definition; first, by virtue of the material nature of the sense organs, and second, by virtue of the phantasm’s origination in corporeal objects.

Thomas begins to resolve the question of the soul’s apparent mortality by establishing the soul’s subsistence thus:
I answer that, it must necessarily be allowed that the principle of intellectual operation, which we call the soul of man, is a principle both incorporeal and subsistent. For it is clear that by means of the intellect man can know all corporeal things. Now, whatever knows certain things cannot have any of them in its own nature, because that which is in it naturally would impede the knowledge of anything else… Now every body has its own determinate nature. Therefore it is impossible for the intellectual principle to be a body. It is also impossible for it to understand by means of a bodily organ, since the determinate nature of that organ would likewise impede knowledge of all bodies…

A number of important points are asserted here. First, Thomas writes that the substantial composite of the body and soul (the soul being the form of the body) is separable. Second, he asserts that this separation does not impede the action of the intellective operation of the soul. Last, it follows from this that the operation of the bodily senses that the gathering of phantasms is not essentially prior to the operation of the intellectual soul. Following Aristotle, Thomas proceeds to elaborate the separability of the intellectual soul from the body by making a crucial distinction between the operations of the soul that are dependent on the senses, and those operations of the soul in which the corporeal sense organs have no part, such as understanding and willing:

Therefore the intellectual principle, which we call the mind or the intellect [mens vel intellectus], has essentially an operation in which the body does not share. Now only that which subsists in itself can have an operation in itself. For nothing can operate but what is actual, and so a thing operates according as it is… We must conclude, therefore, that the human soul, which is called intellect or mind, is something incorporeal and subsistent.

Sense images are the first principle of the intellectual soul’s knowledge, but the action of the intellectual soul is rendered neither substantial nor mortal according to the mode by which it wills and understands; rather, this is precisely the point by which the intellectual soul is known to be separable and self-subsisting after the death of the body. Thomas likens the per se mode of understanding in the separated soul to a similar mode of understanding found in separate substances. The separated soul, like the separate substance, receives a “more abundant influx” of those objects known only by the pure understanding, and furthermore, Thomas asserts that,

…the more the soul is freed from preoccupation with its body, the more fit does it become for understanding higher things… Consequently, when the soul shall be completely separated from the body, it will be perfectly likened to separate substances in its mode of understanding, and will receive their influx abundantly.

This fragment provides an outline of the intellectual soul in a state of separation from the body; but a disembodied state is not the existence proper to the intellectual soul, defined as such, and Thomas points out that the existence of the intellectual soul neither predates its being united to a body, nor will it subsist apart from the body without end, but it will instead be clothed once more with an imperishable body; and in this is the separated soul wholly distinctive in its mode of being from separate substances.

CHAPTER 7

THE MIND’S SEPARABILITY VERSUS THE SOUL’S IMMORTALITY

Concerning the survival of the incorporeal soul after the dissolution of the body, Aristotle does not give a consistent opinion in De anima, except on the point that the rational soul is “capable of existence [i.e., functioning] in isolation from all other psychic powers [i.e., those faculties of the soul involving such things as nutrition and sensation].” The demonstrable fact that the rational soul engages in operations such as calculation, speculation and contemplation, in which the body has no share, is not tantamount to the Thomistic claim that the soul has an existence — not merely an operation — entirely independent of the body that it is the form or actuality of. If the human intellectual soul, as the actuality of the human body, possesses operations that are in no way dependent on the body’s operations, then it follows that the intellectual soul is capable of continuing its operation of intellectual apprehension (intelligere corrumpitur) after the dissolution of the body.

In his Summa Contra Gentiles, Thomas arrives at conclusions about the human intellectual soul that are contrary to the views of Aristotle. Thomas iterates Aristotle’s conception of the soul that has no operation apart from the body:

Further, if the soul were something subsistent, it would have some operation apart from the body. But it has no operation apart from the body, not even that of understanding; for the act of understanding does not take place without a phantasm, which cannot exist apart from the body.

Thomas offers two solutions to the problem of how the soul in a state of separation from the body operates. Thomas’ first answer situates the problem in a specifically Christian context: the resurrection of the body and the reuniting of body and soul is a tenet of the orthodox Christian faith, and Thomas was bound to uphold its truth. The second answer, also supporting the resurrection of the body, is found in Thomas’ demonstration:
…the soul is naturally united to the body, for in its essence it is the form of the body. It is then contrary to the nature of the soul to be without the body. But nothing which is contrary to nature can be perpetual. Perpetually, then, the soul will not be without the body. Since, then, it persists perpetually, it must once again be united to the body; and this is to rise again. Therefore, the immortality of souls seems to demand a resurrection of bodies.

Considering that the dubitability of the evidence obtained through the senses calls into question the validity of any proof presupposing the reliability of the senses (such as Thomas’ proofs for the existence of God and the immortality of the soul), Descartes considered finding indisputable proofs for the existence of God and the separability of the soul from the body of particular importance. Descartes maintains that such a posteriori proofs are inconclusive because man’s knowledge of ontological objects is made to depend on the perception of the fallible senses as the first principle of knowledge.
In his letter to the Dean and Doctors of the Sorbonne, Descartes claims that the existence of God and the immortality of the soul “are prime examples of subjects where demonstrative proofs ought to be given with the aid of philosophy rather than theology;” and further,

…that the only reason why many irreligious people are unwilling to believe that God exists and that the human mind is distinct from the body [mentemque humanam a corpore distingui] is the alleged fact that no one has hitherto been able to demonstrate these points.

That no prior proof for the existence of God and the immortality of the soul is immune to contradiction or refutation is precisely what Descartes is claiming to be the case, stating that, “I would add that these proofs are of such a kind that I reckon they leave no room for the possibility that the human mind will ever discover better ones.”

However, a rational proof for the existence of God and the immortality of the soul would invalidate the necessity for God’s participation in revealing Himself to man. Nor would the soul’s survival or salvation require God’s grace or intervention after the death of the body. Aquinas was particularly aware of the fideistic dimension to the question of the soul’s immortality. If the self-subsistence of the soul could be conclusively demonstrated, then God’s act of preserving the soul after the body dies would be rendered unnecessary, since the soul would invariably be immortal, and would not need divine support to secure its subsistence.

In the dedicatory epistle to the Sorbonne, Descartes maintains that man’s rational knowledge of the true distinction of the mind and body is an antecedent evident enough to validly deduce the soul’s immortality as a consequent, without any further recourse to the Scriptures or the teaching of the Church. In a letter to Mersenne on December 24, 1640, roughly four months before the Meditations received its finishing touches, Descartes responded to Mersenne’s disappointment at not finding the immortality of the soul demonstrated as promised in the proofs of his Meditations:

You say that I have not said a word about the immortality of the soul. You should not be surprised. I could not prove that God could not annihilate the soul, but only that it is by nature entirely distinct from the body, and consequently it is not bound by nature to die with it. This is all that is required as a foundation for religion, and is all that I had any intention of proving.

As a theological matter, the immortality of the soul is guaranteed by an act of faith in what the divinely revealed Scriptures declare to be true, rather than reason’s discovery that the soul persists after the death of the body. Descartes’ statement that a philosophical demonstration that the operations of the mind are distinct from the mechanical operations of the body does not violate or infringe upon the domain of the soul’s immortality as a religious doctrine held by faith. As the doctrines of the Church command the faithful to believe without rational or visible proof, Descartes’ reproach of Mersenne for his improbable expectation that the Meditations would contain a certain proof “that God could not annihilate the soul” is in accord with the doctrinal mystery of the soul’s immortality.

Philosophically, Descartes justifies the consequent that the soul “is not bound by nature to die” with the body with his demonstration in the Second Meditation of the mind’s separability from the body. Descartes is not ignorant that since the soul’s immortality is a religious question of fundamental doctrinal importance. However, the issue of whether God can or cannot annihilate the soul is ultimately a theological concern that goes beyond what is “required as a foundation for religion.” According to Descartes, a foundation for religion is simply no more than adherence to the tenets and doctrines as established by the Church. In his letter to Mersenne in December 1640, Descartes addresses a charge regarding “to what extent the immortality of the soul can be demonstrated in light of man’s necessarily incomplete knowledge of the infinite will and mind of God”:
…you [Mersenne] go on to say that it does not follow from the fact that the soul is distinct from the body that it is immortal, since it could still be claimed that God gave it such a nature that its duration comes to an end simultaneously with the end of the body’s life. Here I admit that I cannot refute what you say. For I do not take it upon myself to try to use the power of human reason to settle any of those matters which depend on the free will of God.

The consideration given so far to those features of the Cartesian doctrine of the mind’s separability from the body, and the fact that the doctrine was a reaction to Scholasticism, open up the question of whose conception of the separated soul Descartes’ account better corroborates. Aristotle claims in De anima that mind is separable from the body, but what status it holds after the death of the body is ambiguous. Thomas deduces the immortality of the soul from the fact that it is separable from the body. The answer to this question does not lie in the novelty of the idea of the soul’s separability from the body, for this idea is common to Aristotle, Aquinas and Descartes. The answer lies in Descartes’ hesitancy to attach to his doctrine of the mind’s separability from the body the immortality of the soul as a necessary or a logical consequent.

Even though Descartes’ account of the soul in the Meditations agrees with Aquinas’ account of the soul on the point that the Church’s dogma of the immortality of the soul established a necessary starting point for both philosophers, the vision of the human soul in the Meditations is a secularized one, stripped of its sacred origins and theological definition. Under Descartes’ considerations, the beatitude of the soul is not a necessary consequence of its separability from the body any more than that the soul be the individuating or animating principle of any specific kind of body. The rational mind could just as easily be housed in the body of an ass, as in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses.
Descartes’ proof for the separability of the mind from the body contains a nominalistic tendency wholly lacking in Thomas’ account of the separated soul. In the Synopsis of the Meditations, Descartes maintains that “the premises that lead to the conclusion that the soul is immortal depend on an account of the whole of physics,” which, in Aristotle’s and Thomas’ minds, includes final causes. In the Fourth Meditation, Descartes states,

For since I know that my own nature is very weak and limited, whereas the nature of God is immense, incomprehensible and infinite, I also know without more ado that he is capable of countless things whose causes are beyond my knowledge. And for this reason alone I consider the customary search for final causes to be totally useless in physics; there is considerable rashness in thinking myself capable of investigating the [impenetrable] purposes of God.

If we read the fragment from the Synopsis into the passage from the Fourth Meditation, it becomes apparent why a demonstration of the immortality of the soul is impossible. The nature of such a demonstration would mean answering the question of why the soul is not by nature bound to die with the body, which would be the same as grasping the final cause, or end, of the soul separated from the body.

In the Second Meditation, the soul’s separability from the body is accounted for from within the order of essential causality in a way strikingly similar to the means by which the meditator in the Third Meditation proves the existence of God from the essential order of causation. This in turn accounts for the reason why the meditator is able to “perceive that likeness, which includes the idea of God, by the same faculty which enables me to perceive myself.” Descartes pays no mind to the reasons for why the soul is separable from the body, only the means of how it is, or can be known to be separable, which he demonstrates in the Second Meditation with the example of the wax. In his thought experiment, the essential nature of the wax is perceived by detaching the mind from the senses (abducere mentem ad sensibus), and the experiment concludes with the doctrine that the mind alone inspects (sed solius mentis inspectio) the essential nature of objects as ideas.

However, there is no account in the Meditations of the final cause of the mind separated from the body. Descartes gives his reason: “I have tried not to put down anything which I could not precisely demonstrate.” The ideas innate in the mind are secondary to God, who is the first cause in the order of causes. Descartes characterizes all ideas as secondary causes throughout the Meditations. The case with Descartes’ proposition that the investigation of final causes in physics is useless covers the same ground as the inscrutable futures of Thomas’ separated soul. To give an account of final causes in physics would be probing into the infinite and incomprehensible nature of God. If man is incapable of accomplishing that, then his knowledge of how the soul will subsist in a future state can be illuminated no further.

Descartes regarded the defense of the dogma of the immortal soul of man as a theological responsibility more than a philosophical one. That the soul of man is imperishable is a teaching and dogma of the Church known by the light of Scriptural revelation, and held to be true by the light of faith alone. Descartes’ demonstrative proof in the Second Meditation that the soul “is not bound by nature to die” with the body can never amount to an indubitable guarantee that the soul is not bound by nature to die with the body. The rational soul is not necessarily immortal, but it is, as Descartes demonstrates, separable. Considered independent of its Scriptural and theological underpinnings, the doctrine of the separabilty of the mind from the body is a doctrine no more specifically Christian than the proof for the existence of God as an innate idea in the mind in the Third Meditation is the same God as that of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.

When confronted with the theological implications of his philosophic doctrines, Descartes expressed little more than diffidence towards spinning out the theological implications of the philosophic doctrines established in his Meditations. He was aware that he would have show how the principles of his philosophy could either establish that the truths of faith and the truths of reason are not mutually contradictory, or that his philosophy lends explanatory support to the type of theological issues “where it is notoriously difficult to reconcile philosophy to theology,” such as the doctrine of transubstantiation in the Eucharist. As a theological matter, the immortality of the soul is not guaranteed by the powers of reason’s discovery that the soul persists after the death of the body. The doctrine of the immortality of the soul is, properly speaking, an act of faith in what the divinely revealed Scriptures declare to be true. Descartes’ statement that a philosophical demonstration of the fact that the operations of the mind are distinct from the mechanical operations of the body does not violate or infringe upon the domain of the soul’s immortality as a religious doctrine held by faith. As the doctrines of the Church command the faithful to believe without rational or visible proof, Descartes reproach of Mersenne for his improbable expectation that the Meditations would contain a certain proof “that God could not annihilate the soul” is in accord with the doctrinal mystery of the soul’s immortality.

Philosophically, Descartes justifies the consequent that the soul “is not bound by nature to die” with the body with his demonstration in the Second Meditation of the mind’s separability from the body, reminding Mersenne that since the soul’s immortality is a religious question of foundational importance doctrinally. For Descartes, however, the issue of whether God can or can not annihilate the soul was ultimately a theological concern that goes beyond what is “required as a foundation for religion,” which is simply no more than adherence to the tenets and doctrines as established by the Church.
The Church’s doctrine of the soul’s immortality, as derived from the teaching of Thomas, underwent a radical transformation in the Cartesian synthesis of the Scholastic doctrine of the immortality of the soul with the epistemic critique of knowledge. In the Synopsis of the Meditations, Descartes asks his readers not to mistake his proof for the mind’s separability from the body as a demonstration of premises that he does not endeavor to prove. These premises are those “which lead to the conclusion that the soul is immortal,” and which depend for their validity on “an account of the whole of physics,” or, in other words, the clear knowledge “that absolutely all substances, or things which must be created by God in order to exist, are by their nature incorruptible and cannot ever cease to exist unless they are reduced to nothingness by God’s denying his concurrence to them.”

Descartes aimed to give an account of the whole of physics, and thereby establish the immutability of the laws governing the universe. However, in order to accomplish this, Descartes needed to prove, as he endeavors to do in the Meditations, that God, while not bound to abide by the laws that He has instantiated in creation, is not a deceiver, and therefore will not alter or change laws He has established. The clarity and distinctness of the mind’s perceptions of its own ideas is the benchmark for determining that not only does God exist, but also that the mind is separable from the body. Recalling Descartes’ letter to Mersenne in December 24, 1640, we can conclude that what is at stake in an irrefutable proof of the soul’s immortality is whether the soul is by nature immortal, and without any need for God to lend His concurrence for it to survive, or whether the soul does require God’s intervention to survive. Descartes concedes that the survival of the soul after the death of the body presents too large a task for philosophy to accomplish:

I could not prove that God could not annihilate the soul, but only that it is by nature entirely distinct from the body, and consequently it is not bound by nature to die with it.

CHAPTER 8

DESCARTES’ MIND AND THOMAS’ SEPARATE SUBSTANCES

Descartes’ doctrine of the mind’s innate knowledge of essences states that the mind or understanding knows or inspects those ideas that are innate within it. Accordingly, once the soul is separated from the body, its mode of understanding is not mediated or impeded by anything external to it. On the contrary, according to Thomas, the intellectual soul depends on intelligibles taken from sensible things in order to activate the understanding, or possible intellect. However, when in a state of separation from the body, the soul

will understand through itself, in the manner of substances which in their being are totally separate from bodies… And from those substances… the separated soul will be able to receive a more abundant influx, productive of a more perfect understanding on its own part.

Since Aristotle did not consider the rational soul to be a substance in its own right, it was a necessary precondition of Thomas’ ontology to demonstrate that the soul is a substance. Thomas accepted Aristotle’s doctrine of the soul as the form of the body, as well as his doctrine that the body and soul are united in a substantial union; the question that remained for Thomas was, how is it possible to divide an indivisible substantial union without corruption coming to the whole? Thomas’ answer was this: while the body is itself divisible, being a composite of matter and form with many accidental parts and qualities, the intellectual substance, which is not composed of matter and form, is indivisible since “all corruption occurs through the separation of form from matter.” When the intellectual soul is separated from the body, its substantial character, its per se unity, persists in the same respect that “roundness is in a circle through itself, but is by accident in a coin; so that the existence of a non-round coin is possible; whereas it is impossible for a circle not to be round.”

In Thomas’ Summa Contra Gentiles, the discussion of separate substances (angels) comes right after his considerations concerning the union of the human body to the intellective, or rational soul. Thomas’ discussion of separate substances treats the question of whether a form can exist apart from matter; and if so, what sort of nature that form would have:

That which is by itself [per se] must be prior, in the order of being, to that which is by accident [per accidens]; incorporeal intellectual substances [or separate substances] exist per se, while material being exists per accidens; there must exist intellectual substances, prior in nature to souls, which, by virtue of the nature of their being, enjoy a higher substantial form without participation in a lower material nature.

A comparison of Descartes’ rational soul to Thomas’ separate substances can be made under the following points. First, Descartes’ rational soul differs in the order of existence from Thomas’ separate substance in the respective degrees of perfection accorded them by their Creator. The rational mind of man is the highest grade of intelligence accorded to the sphere of corporeal nature. The intellect of separate substances is more perfect than man’s intellect, yet they are less perfect than the intellect of God in the sphere of intellectual nature. In the case of man, angels, and God, the difference in intellect is one of quantity as measured by infinity. Man’s rational mind is to an angel’s as a finite nature is to an infinite nature; and the intellect of angels is distinct from the intellect of God, again, magnified by an infinity. Hence, intellect in the order of existence can be measured on a scalar magnitude of perfection, from highest to lowest.

The second point of comparison of Descartes’ rational soul to Thomas’ separate substances comes from Descartes’ hypothetical consideration of an angel joined to a human body. Writing to Regius, Descartes states that, “if an angel were in a human body, he would not have sensations as we do…” The reason that an angel in a human body would no have sensation is because of the distinction between the rational soul and Thomas’ separate substance, namely, the respective mode of understanding that each enjoys, but does not share with the other. The nature of the act of understanding in rational soul and separate substance can be distinguished in terms of their respective objects. Separate substances apprehend intellectual things because they are intellectual natures; they do not uncover the intelligible buried in the sensible by means of abstraction, which is the mode of the rational soul inhering in a material nature. The respective mode of understanding of the rational soul and the separate substance is marked by the difference between discursive reasoning and a priori reasoning. An intellectual nature does not acquire a sensitive soul merely by means of accident, and vice versa. Sensation in the human body is a necessary component for the rational soul’s mode of understanding, because sensation is the means of the rational soul’s acquiring its object, viz., intelligibles, by means of phantasms. Accidental properties inhering in matter individuate things, and the task of the rational soul is to abstract from material particulars in order to make them intelligible to itself. The perception of a plenary of distinct objects does not amount to categorical knowledge; that is to say, knowledge of universals. Thus, sense perception is the first principle of human understanding, and via a series of channels, we come to knowledge of things per se, or free of matter. The mode of understanding for angels, on the other hand, is not discursive or subject to the vicissitudes of corporeal organs, but rather a perception of intelligibles per se. Thomas states that angels know material things, and further, that they know particular material things. But this scale of intellective competence is not vertical; rather it is descending. The higher species (i.e., a specific kind of intellectual nature) must contain in some way, and to a greater degree of perfection, what is contained in the lower (e.g., a form in material nature). Whatever exists in material substance in a material way is present to intellectual substance in an intelligible way. Accordingly, angels, and God for that matter, do not require corporeal sense organs in order to know particular material things. Because there is no principle in nature that unites an intellective nature whose mode of understanding is pure to an intellective nature whose mode of understanding depends on bodily senses, it is unnecessary, as it is impossible for an angel to dwell in a body.
Thomas’ rational soul in a state of separation from the human body does not make a good parallel to the embodied/disembodied Cartesian mind for the following two reasons. First, God must preserve the separated soul after the death of the body. Without Divine support to conserve it, the separate soul has no more way of existing than members of either the vegetative or the nutritive category of soul. Second, Thomas’ separated souls require “an influx of divine species” to understand. In other words, to know anything at all, separated souls require images that come from something besides material objects of perception. God must both conserve and feed images to the human mind after the death of the body. Consider Thomas’ own comparisons of separated souls to separate substances:
To exist apart from bodies is an accidental competence on the part of souls, since they are naturally the form of bodies — this indicates that intellectual substance is neither equivalent to the rational soul of man, since it does not inhere in any material form, nor, on the contrary, do souls, after the body dies, qualify as substance occupying a corresponding division of existence to that of intellectual substances.

The characteristic act of intellectual substances is the act of understanding; we can specify the nature of this act from its object: things can be grasped by the intellect insofar as they are free from matter. Separate substances apprehend intellectual things because they are intellectual natures; they do not uncover the intelligible buried in the sensible by means of abstraction.

Concerning the origin of the Cartesian mind, Thomas’ separated souls bear a certain likeness to Descartes’ concept of mind, but fail to explain many characteristic features of the Cartesian mind, such as the fact that the rational mind does not require external objects of perception to know anything. The noetic contents of the Cartesian mind are not activated by external objects of perception. The Cartesian mind understands all concepts per se, without mediation, and it does not cease to understand when in either a temporary or a permanent state of separation from the body.

We have shown that Descartes’ rational mind is comparable to something like Aristotle’s rational soul turned inside out. To find a likely source for the origin of the Cartesian mind, another source closely allied to Aristotle’s rational mind must be considered— Thomas’ separate substances (otherwise known as angels ). The superior correspondence of Thomas’ separate substances to Descartes concept of mind can be seen in Thomas’ contrast between the separated soul and the separate substance’s respective mode of understanding:

The operation of understanding exercised through a corporeal organ is an imperfect means by which to understand. The substance of a thing must be commensurate to its operation, and understanding is the only proper operation of an intellectual substance… intellectual substances have no need of a body to apprehend their object [i.e., insofar as intelligibles are taken from material things, the faculty of understanding is imperfect, as is the case with the rational soul]. The proper objects of intellectual substance are things that in their very nature are intelligible, or things that are intelligible in themselves. In contrast, objects grasped by rational souls are things known by the intellect through the intermediary means of phantasms [i.e., images of objects of sense perception] received through sense organs. So, things in this way are not known through themselves, but through abstraction [i.e., conceptually].

Accordingly, Thomas himself argues that his separate substances are not equivalent to Aristotle’s rational soul. Separate substances are not formed of a compound of soul and body, while the rational soul, as Aristotle defines it, is always the form of the human body. Thomas’ separate substances bear a far greater likeness to the Cartesian mind in the respect that separate substances understand all essences directly (thus, they know material things and singulars as well ), and they understand without Divine mediation. From here we can draw the further parallel of the Cartesian mind to the Divine mind.

CHAPTER NINE

THE CORRESPONDENCE OF THE MIND OF GOD AND THE RATIONAL MIND IN THE MEDITATIONS

In order to build a case in his letter to the Sorbonne for the proof for the existence of God he gives in the Third Meditation, Descartes draws on Biblical citations that assert man’s knowledge of the existence of God to be “manifest.” Indeed, Descartes’ proof for the separabilty of the soul from the body in the Second Meditation hinges dialectically on his proof for the existence of God as an innate idea of the mind in the Third Meditation. Descartes’ substitution of the Scholastic term “soul” with the term “mind” is present in the Sorbonne letter, and so too is his doctrine of innate ideas: “everything that may be known of God” through the Scriptures, including man’s knowledge of God’s existence, “…can be demonstrated by reasoning which has no other source than our own mind.”

Descartes’ curious phrase, “no other source than our own mind,” introduces a subtle shift in his argument to the Sorbonne Dean and Doctors. Man’s empirical knowledge of the existence of God, according to Thomas and his 17th century adherents at the Sorbonne, is derived from God’s sensible effects throughout His creation. Under the idealist auspices of the Cartesian method, Thomas’ empiricism is abrogated to the realm of a fiction of the mind. According to Descartes, the mind’s knowledge of God’s existence is not discursive. According to Descartes, the Aristotelian/Thomistic claim that the mind’s knowledge of the existence of God can be derived from His sensible effects is a fallacy in the order of knowledge. The corporeal organs of sense only sense what is sensible; and God, who is incorporeal, cannot be apprehended in His existence through the corporeal senses. The dubitability of the objects of sense perception undermines the validity of knowledge derived from the material world. If man’s knowledge of the existence of God is drawn from sensible effects, then the existence of God can be called into doubt through the same channels by which His existence was asserted. Famously, Descartes does precisely this in his Mediations. Yet what was taken as evidence of Descartes’ atheist-skepticism by his critics was in reality Descartes’ rejection of Aristotle and Thomas’ rational soul that understands itself though the senses in favor of the understanding of the undiluted rational mind. The question of how good a Catholic was Descartes becomes clear when it is realized that the answer has nothing to do with religion, and everything to do with competition between schools of thought. Competition between the Aristotelian and Platonist/neo-Platonist schools of thought was extremely wide-ranging in the 17th century. The Church’s shadow over intellectual life has been equally over-exaggerated by both commentators and historians of philosophy. In 1641, Descartes celebrated the birth of his mechanical man animated by William Harvey’s discovery of the heart that pumps blood. Such a conception of man represented a triumph over Aristotle’s rational soul animated by the fantasy of phantasia, not a victory over the claims of man’s revealed religion.

Of the three types of intellect treated in Descartes’ writings (Divine, angelic, and human), it is the Divine mind that most closely parallels the ego of the Meditations. Like the Divine mind, the Cartesian mind requires no medium, sensory or otherwise, to be activated. The ego, like the Divine mind, knows its essence directly. As opposed to the Aristotelian soul, the ego has no need of sensory or bodily organs to transmit images to the agent or passive intellect. Nor does the Cartesian ego require universal forms, as do Thomas’ angelic minds. Because no image is necessary to activate the Cartesian ego, it “does not ‘traverse,’ as do Thomas’ separate substances, the ontological distance from potentiality to actuality.” Nor is the Cartesian mind divided into the agent intellect and potential intellect. The Cartesian mind is always actual in the same way the Divine mind is, but in a finite, as opposed to an infinite sense. The ego is always, first and foremost, an act or intuition of existence, and is in act prior to any conscious mental act. The Cartesian mind, unlike the Aristotelian God that is thought thinking itself, is actualized before it thinks itself. One might ask what thought thinking itself was before it thought of itself. Finally, the Cartesian mind does not require a body (and therefore the external world) to be.

The nature of the ideas innate in the Cartesian mind (God, the ego, wax) are all encompassing, in the sense that the mind has an idea of all essences. In other words, the mind does not require the particulars of sense perception to grasp universal concepts. Logic, for instance, is not based on the particulars of sense, but on concepts reducible to mathematical or physical principles and properties. Cartesian man’s act of being— thinking— is not a bodily act. The self, or the mind, is not individuated by matter, whereas material objects are. The Cartesian mind knows the same universals as the Divine mind, but the difference is that the Cartesian mind is embodied, and thus subject to error:

..so long as I think only of God, and turn my whole attention to him, I can find no cause of error or falsity. But when I turn back to myself, I know by experience that I am prone to countless errors.

In terms of further limitation, the mind is created by God, as Descartes states in the Third Mediation; Cartesian man’s act of being is not an act of self-creation, but an intuition of the self and an understanding of the essential nature of all things (e.g., Descartes’ experiment with the wax in the Second Mediation). In this respect, Descartes’ proof for the existence of God from the principle of causality in the Third Meditation is the only way of measuring the powers of rationality and the contents of the mind that has a rational understanding of all things.
The approximate identity of the Cartesian mind with the Divine mind is further underscored by Descartes’ emphasis on the ease with which the existence of God is “thinkable.” To discover the existence of God, Descartes substitutes the chain of causes in the sensible order for the chain of causes in the order of ideas. That the existence of God, according to Descartes, is more self-evident than the existence of the sensible world contradicts the Aristotelian/Thomist conception of the intellectual soul, which apprehends its object via the simple class of objects that Aquinas refers to as “sensible by accident,” or objects which are intelligible in themselves. Thomas argues that man’s knowledge of the existence of God, deriving from the order of created things, points to the necessity of His existence as the first cause of the material world, and the requirement that there exist in the universe intellectual creatures that bear “a likeness to its source, according to its being and its nature, wherein it enjoys a certain perfection.”

In the Third Meditation, the necessity of the mind’s a priori knowledge of the existence of God is deduced from the infinite nature of God. Descartes argues that the rational mind possesses the idea of an infinite being; the rational mind is finite, hence the finite mind’s idea of an infinite being must have a source outside of itself. Because a finite mind cannot generate the idea of an infinite being, it stands to reason that God put the idea of Himself in the rational mind. There is no other means, Descartes argues, by which a finite mind could be in possession of the idea of an infinite being. Descartes maintains that,

…the mere fact that God created me is a very strong basis for believing that I am somehow made in his image and likeness, and that I perceive that likeness, which includes the idea of God, by the same faculty which enables me to perceive myself.

The proposition that the mind is made in God’s image and likeness rests upon the assumption that the mind possesses judgment, rationality, and will — in other words, those communicable attributes that God possesses infinitely and perfectly, and the human mind to a limited and finite degree. Because the meditator perceives both God and the ego through the same faculty (the understanding), what is predicated of God (infinity and perfection) is also predicated of the mind, but to a diminished degree of perfection. The intuitive assertion of the “cogito” is ego cogito, ego sum; je pense donc je suis; I think, therefore I am. The parallel of Descartes’ philosophical doctrine to God’s answer to Moses on Mount Sinai was probably not lost on him. After all, the title of his Le Monde de M. Descartes ou le traité de la lumière, too, was intended as a reference to the command of God Himself, on the first day of the world, “Let there be light!”

In the final analysis, the Cartesian mind is not identical to the Divine mind, but bears a similarity to it in the same respect that the mind’s idea of extension only bears a similarity to extended things. An analogous parallel can be found in the cognitive lacuna that divides Thomas’ Divine mind from his separate substances, the angels. We can formulate a tripartite ontological lacuna in Descartes’ distinction of the thinking thing as such, and extended things as such; second, his distinction between the mind’s ideas of extended things, and extended things as such; and third, his account of the mind’s idea of God, and God as such.

The rational mind is, as Descartes phrases it after Augustine, caught between “being and nothingness.” The lacuna between the mind’s ideas of essences and material objects existing in time and space is the same ontological lacuna that obtains between being and non-being. What commentators term the “similarity thesis” refers to the objects of sense experience bearing a similarity to the mind’s ideas of objects of perception; the two are not identical, and therefore not dependent on one another for their respective operations. The body is a mechanism that functions on the circulation of blood, performing all of the same movements even if there is no mind in it. Hence, the lacuna between the rational mind and the body-machine is identical to the lack of correspondence between being and non-being as such.

Like Thomas’ separate substances, the Cartesian mind is caused by the Divine mind, and reflects the Divine mind in an imperfect, finite way. The difference between the modes of being enjoyed by God, who possesses both an infinite will and mind, and the limited faculties and powers enjoyed by man is such that “no essence can belong univocally to both God and his creatures.” What can be predicated essentially of man depends, according to Descartes, on the rational clarity by which the truth is perceived by the mind. “No actions,” Descartes claims, “can be reckoned human unless they depend on reason.”

The distinction again applies in the case of the ontological lacuna between the rational mind and the Divine mind. What is predicated of the rational mind, such as the mind’s knowledge of the truth or falsity of ideas, cannot likewise be predicated of the Divine nature. The mind and will of God is free in the absolute sense, and beyond truth and falsity. Thus, the limitless will and power of God enjoys an indifference to the created and uncreated as such. God, considered as an infinite, perfect substance, determines the order of things to be such for no other reason than that He wills it to be so. In the Sixth Set of Replies Descartes states, “the way in which it [viz., the freedom of the will] exists in God is quite different from the way in which it exists in us.” Descartes’ admission that he could not demonstrate that God could not annihilate the soul stems from his conception of the absolute freedom of an infinite God.

God’s freedom derives from His absolute indifference, or in Descartes’ words, “it is impossible to imagine that anything is thought of in the divine intellect as good or true… prior to the decision of the divine will to make it so…there is no “priority of order, or nature, or… rationally determined reason [that] impelled him to choose one thing rather than another.” Lastly, the rational mind is distinguished from the Divine mind in the respect that the rational mind perceives concepts that are immutably true, while the Divine mind, the infinite, perfect, incomprehensible originator of all is omni potens, and above rationality. Rationality is by definition a property of finite creatures that observe rules and operate according to mechanistic laws. God’s essence, according to Descartes, is not identical to the universal laws of mechanics; God’s essence consists of a will of “inexhaustible power,” hence the “cause or reason why he requires no cause.”

WORKS CITED

Aquinas, Thomas, St. 1956. Translated from Latin and edited by James F. Anderson.

On the Truth of the Catholic Faith: Summa Contra Gentiles, 4 vols. (Image
Books, Garden City, New York).

Aristotle, 1956. Richard McKeon (ed). The Basic Works of Aristotle (Random
House, New York).

Boehner, Philotheus, O.F.M. 1990. William Ockham: Philosophical Writings: A
Selection, translated and edited by P. Boehner, O.F.M. (Hackett Publishing
Company, Indianapolis/Cambridge).

Copleston, Frederick, S. J., 1960. A History of Philosophy: Modern Philosophy:
Descartes to Leibniz, volume 4 (Image Books, Garden City, New York).

Descartes, Rene, 1964-71, Œuvres. Ed. by Charles Adam and Paul Tannery. New
edition 12 vols. (Librairie Philosophique J. Vrin, Paris, 1996).

—. 1984. The Philosophical Writings of Descartes. Translated by John Cottingham,
Robert Stoothoff, Dugald Mardoch, and Anthony Kenny. 3 vols. (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press).

Fowler, C.F., 1999. Descartes On the Human Soul: Philosophy and the Demands of
Christian Doctrine (International Archive of the History of Ideas, 160; Kluwer
Academic Publishers, Dordrecht, Boston, London).

Marion, Jean-Luc, 1986. “The Essential Incoherence of Descartes’ Definition of
Divinity, trans. by Frederick P. Van de Pitte, in Essays on Descartes Meditations,
ed. by Amelie Oksenberg Rorty (University of California Press, Berkley).

Popkin, Richard, 2003 (revised and expanded edition). The History of Skepticism:
From Savonarola to Bayle (Oxford University Press, New York, New York).

 

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Book Review of The Waning of the Middle Ages by J. Huizinga, The Civilization of the Renaissance In Italy by Jacob Burckhardt & The Individual and the Cosmos in Renaissance Philosophy by Ernst Cassirer

7-Farren_Duria Antiquior

In The Waning of the Middle Ages, Huizinga several times contrasts the democratic ideal of work– which he views as the ideal of modernity– to the aristocratic “true culture” of the Middle Ages. The reason for this contrast lies in the modern era’s conforming “of life to an ideal standard,” and not vice versa, which condition Huizinga views as a privation of culture. Man in the Middle Ages, by contrast, constructed his culture in accord with his conduct, customs, manners, costume, &c., and did not force himself to conform to an ideal, like the Modern ideal of the worker, but adapted and tailored the ideal to his singular and many-sided nature, or fancy. The comparison Huizinga makes between modern and Medieval times, usually to the disparagement of the former, underscores his thesis that it is the “overripeness” of Medieval culture that reveals it as an “epoch of fading and decay” — the adjective “overripe” indicating, in Huizinga’s analysis, the Medieval world’s highly mannered and overwrought use of symbol which, as he establishes through a wealth of examples, is effectively deployed throughout all religious and poetical forms of expression of the time. Thus, the features Huizinga assigns to the Middle Ages of self-containment and a perfection of attitude and expression in regard to all things, marks Medieval culture at the beginning of the 15th century as a culture at its limits, and one to be inevitably overtaken by Burckhardt’s “universal men” of the Renaissance, who are to melancholy Medieval man “as is the aspray to the fish, who takes it by sovereignty of nature.”1

The contrast made between the modern era and the Middle Ages is important to how Huizinga interprets aristocratic and feudal culture in Medieval France:

From the Thirteenth Century onward inveterate party quarrels arise in nearly all countries: first in Italy, then in France… Though economic interest may sometimes have been at the bottom of these quarrels, the attempts which have been made to disengage them often smack somewhat of arbitrary construction. The desire to discover economic causes is to some degree a craze with us, and sometimes leads us to forget a much simpler psychological explanation of the facts.2

With this claim, Huizinga disengages himself from the Marxist reorientation of history along economic and materialist lines. Ever since Marx reduced the driving force of social and political alterations to material and economic causes, and resolved the contemplative aim of traditional philosophy into the service of history, the tendency to interpret history on Marx’s terms is ever-present, since the materialist project is not comprised of mere fact-finding, but the criticism of history itself, which, as Marx, echoing Feuerbach, writes, “disillusions man so that he will think, act, and fashion his reality as a man who has lost his illusions… so that he will revolve about himself as his own true sun.”3

Huizinga situates the complex symbolism, aesthetic, and formalized chivalric conventions saturating the age at the center of the Medieval experience and does not seek out economic explanations regarding how Medieval culture came to be consumed by its own heavy opulence. If the development of such complex forms is not reducible to active economic causes, interpretive psychological explanations have more to offer in the face of the overwhelmingly foreign landscape of the Middle Ages, and this is the territory where Huizinga makes his case.

In spite of any economic conditions that may have prevailed at the time, the Medieval conception of chivalry is understood by Huizinga to be the manner by which Medieval nobles related to the servant class. This relationship was comprised of “the innate and immediate sentiments of fidelity and fellowship,” which is “a feudal sentiment at bottom.”4 Such a form of attachment is unthinkable six centuries later. Beyond any outward bond of sentiment between men from otherwise discrete social orders, the unequal relationship of men was put on momentarily equal footing, as Huizinga notes, by the omnipresent memento mori, which served as a potent reminder of human mutability, everywhere visible in a culture that freely amalgamated pessimism, subliminity, and despair. Many years later, in 1538, Hans Holbein the Younger, in woodcuts done for a German edition of the Dance of Death, was still making use of thoroughly Medieval motifs to demonstrate the same point about the transient nature of human life, regardless of social standing. In the Middle Ages, not only posthumous odds and ends, but poets as well, admonished the constituents of the nobility to attain to that curiously Medieval conception of equality, whose formulation is expressed in the Medieval conception of chivalry:

[T]he reason of these poetical admonitions on the subject of true nobility and human equality generally lies in the stimulus they impart to the nobles to adapt themselves to the true ideal of knighthood, and thereby to support and purify the world.5

Clearly the impetus for action is not found in the counting house, but, as Huizinga phrases it, in the “value of chivalrous ideas.” He notes that the nobility, the men who made the history of the Middle Ages, “were no romantic dreamers, but dealt in solid facts.” Chivalrous ideas represented far more than a mere “ornament of society,” having little practical efficacy or permanent value; chivalry in fact represented the highest and most complete formulation of social values to be found in the age.

Men in the Middle Ages also looked to Antiquity for models of virtuous conduct and political theory. Huizinga rejects Burckhardt’s claim (in The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy) that the Renaissance alone was the period when the rediscovery of Antiquity occurred. Huizinga situates his conception of history against Burckhardt’s by pointing out that Burckhardt insists on too sharp of a distinction between the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, and furthermore, that

The Middle Ages had always lived in the shadow of Antiquity, always handled its treasures, or what they had of them, interpreting it according to truly Medieval principles: Scholastic Theology, chivalry, asceticism, and courtesy. Now, by an inward ripening, the mind, after having been so long conversant with the forms of Antiquity, began to grasp its spirit… Europe, after having lived in the shadow of Antiquity, lived in its sunshine once more.6

The psychological interpretation of how the shift from what we call the Middle Ages to what we call the Renaissance occurred is worth noting, since this is the sort of explanation Huizinga favors. Rather than a sudden revival of cultural and literary forms long forgotten, which is part and parcel of the account one finds in Burckhardt, Huizinga points out that the differences between the Middle Ages and the Renaissance are not driven by the “classic expression and imagery” of Antiquity, as though it existed in one age and not the other, but that “the soul of Western Christendom itself was outgrowing Medieval forms and modes of thought that had become shackles.”

Burckhardt distills his understanding of the many figures and events that shaped the Renaissance from a distinction between theoretical activity and practical activity, i.e., a material understanding of the Renaissance as opposed to a psychological or philosophical one. Huizinga interprets the Middle Ages with an eye towards the soul, or spirit of the times, but he does not give a place to a discussion of speculative philosophy or theoretical activity in his account; yet one has the impression that the philosophical activity of the age underlies the psychological current of Huizinga’s account. Burckhardt is more explicit in the omission of philosophy from his account of the Renaissance, and places the narrative accent squarely on the practical, ethical, and religious life of men in the Renaissance as the mitigating factors of social construction and principles of individuation. This focus allows him to regard the speculative philosophy of the Renaissance as counting for very little — a move that Cassirer, in The Individual and the Cosmos in Renaissance Philosophy, takes him directly to task on. The many developments in the twin spheres of political and religious life in the Renaissance Burckhardt calls “the chief reason for the early development of the Italian,” which species of human for Burckhardt is synonymous with “the individual.” Through the transitions and evolution of the Italian State, the modern individual, as we now have him, was being shaped. Prior to the Renaissance, and especially in the feudal Middle Ages, man’s orientation towards himself was, as Burckhardt informs us, almost non-existent: “Man was conscious of himself only as a member of a race, people, party, family, or corporation — only through some general category.”7 How the individual was born and nurtured in Italy is Burckhardt’s main concern throughout The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy. He traces this process, first, through the early forms of the Italian State in the latter 15th century, which in its despotic form, foisted upon both the tyrant and his protectors “the highest degree of individuality” — some men became true individuals out of necessity. Only later, under the ideal conditions of the Italian Republic, was this new sense of the self channeled into the “rediscovery” of Antiquity, and ultimately, it was the monuments and intellectual luminosity of the Ancients that led to the redefinition in the period of the Renaissance of what it means to be human.

The advent of the Italian Republic is what Burckhardt credits with the rediscovery of Antiquity in the form of the arts, the Classics, the Greek and Latin languages, Classical philology, &c. The Church, ostensibly sovereign over all of men’s activities in the Middle Ages, is suddenly subordinated to the new influence of the Ancients on men’s activities and minds, thereby allowing the Italian Humanists to become influential “because they knew what the Ancients knew, because they tried to write as the Ancients wrote, because they began to think, and soon to feel, as the Ancients thought and felt.”8 Such an image gives the impression that the Italians of the 16th century were only distinguished from the Ancients by their mode of dress, and perhaps a few other contingencies of culture. Such an account is doubtful, as it was a palpable habit of historians and critics of the 19th century to associate and align their sentiments perhaps too vehemently with the objects and figures of the past, and effectively reinvent what chance and fortune had handed down as the remains of eclipsed civilizations. It is paradoxical that the men of the Middle Ages, who are closer in time to the Ancients then the men of the Renaissance, are often supposed to have possessed less of their forbearer’s spirit and learning than those men who took up the task of understanding and assimilating the wisdom of the Ancients at an even later point in time. It may be that the spin put on the interpretation of Antiquity, first by the Humanists in the Renaissance, and then by historical revisionists of the 19th century, is simply more compelling for us because of temporal proximity, and nothing more — men of the Renaissance are more like us than the men of the Middle Ages; and surely the Ancients must be to us the most shadowy and foreign of all. In any event, Huizinga’s suggestion that psychological explanations might provide us with a simpler account of the facts than materialist doctrines or historical sentiment might prove to be true. The Italians Burckhardt assigns the most elevated passions to, i.e., a more genuine experience of Antiquity than was accessible or necessary for the men of the Middle Ages, is due to the Italian’s “measureless devotion to Antiquity” — which statement can be re-read as the continued reinterpretation and assimilation of the treasures of Antiquity into the 16th century Italian’s own collective life and culture.

Refreshingly opposed to the one-sided worship of Classical Antiquity is the figure of Pico Della Mirandola, to whom Burckhardt only devotes no more than a few paragraphs. He deftly sketches a portrait of “the only man who loudly and vigorously defended the truth and science of all ages’9against the measureless devotion to Antiquity common at the time. This is one of the few instances where Burckhardt appears to give an assessment of Renaissance philosophy. He maintains that the grand possibilities of Pico’s reconciliatory attitude to philosophic, scientific, and religious differences was thwarted by the advent of the Counter-Reformation: “Looking at Pico, we can only guess at the lofty flight Italian philosophy would have taken had not the Counter-Reformation annihilated the higher spiritual life of the people.”10 Cassirer could not disagree more with the claim that philosophy foundered in the 16th century, and focuses his investigation squarely on the theoretic and philosophical works of the Renaissance to prove the opposite point. Cassirer’s move is a radical departure from the thesis of Burckhardt, which punctuates the practical activity of man in the Renaissance, or the material forces that shaped events and encompassed “the spirit of the age,” as opposed to theoretical activity, which Burckhardt does not view as having played a significant role, and thus considers an outdated continuation of Scholasticism.11

Cassirer understands the general shift in worldview that took place in the Renaissance in a fashion similar to Burckhardt. For both writers, the Renaissance was a time in which the gradual process of individuation became the project of all the forces of production, and this problematization of the individual is traceable within the applied practices of the artists, humanist thinkers, and the early despotic regimes, culminating in the Italian republics of Florence and Venice. Yet Cassirer goes much further than Burckhardt in the scope of his analysis of Renaissance thought — intellectual activity being the first distinctive feature of individuation amongst men — and appropriately reconfigures the break established by Burckhardt between theory and practice by reviving Hegel’s teleological demand that the diverse philosophic activity of an age must of necessity be gathered within a single “simple focal point.”12 The leading representitive of this philosophical convergence, for Cassirer, is the Italian Nicholas Cusanus, whose philosophy contains “the full consciousness and spiritual essence”13 of his age, according to Cassirer. Cusanus fulfills, as well, another theoretical premise of Cassirer’s, viz., the

history of philosophy… can only make responsible generalizations by immersing itself in the most concrete particulars and in the most subtle nuances of historical detail. What is needed is the universality of a systematic point of view and… orientation.14

Cassirer expends a great deal of energy in setting out in detail the neglected philosophic system of Cusanus, whose thought, at more than one point, seems to anticipate the Copernican Revolution of Kant. A probable parallel between the two thinkers is not lost on Cassirer, although he himself only alludes to no more than a contiguous, possibly accidental connection between the thought of the two men. Cassirer’s precondition that the scholar’s universal, systematic point of view “in no way coincides with the universality of merely empirical concepts”15 has something of a Kantian transcendental ring to it, and it is probably no accident that Cassirer discusses at length the subject/object problem in the Renaissance and how both ultimate and scientific/artistic objectivity is explored in the Neo-Platonic mysticism of Ficino, and Leonardo Da Vinci’s “necessity of nature,” where, “[r]eflection on human freedom, on man’s original, creative force, requires as it compliment and its confirmation the concept of the immanent ‘necessity’ of the natural object.”16

The explication Cassirer undertakes of the thought of Leonardo is one of the most rewarding portions of the book; whereas much obscure drivel has been published and pandered on the life and work of Leonardo, Cassirer succeeds in setting at a diaphanous distance the most significant aspects of Leonardo’s contribution to Renaissance philosophy:

Leonardo’s vision of nature proved to be a methodologically necessary transition point, for it was artistic ‘vision’ which first championed the right of scientific abstraction and paved the way for it. The ‘exact fantasy’ of Leonardo the artist has nothing to do with that chaotic surging and billowing of subjective feeling which threatens to coalesce all forms into an undifferentiated whole.17

In examining “the complete parallel” between the theory of art and the theory of science in the Renaissance, Cassirer manages to put into words the thought that must have crossed the mind of anyone who has explored the comprehensive attitude of the men of that time, to the effect that the parallel between the theory of art and the theory of science

reveals to us one of the most profound motifs in the entire intellectual movement of the Renaissance. One might say that nearly all the great achievements of the Renaissance are gathered here as in a focal point. One might say, furthermore, that these achievements are nearly all rooted in a new attitude towards the problem ofform, and in a new sensitivity to form.18

Interestingly, Cassirer links this “problem of form” to another way in which it is possible to distinguish (but not divide) the Middle Ages from the Renaissance. Like Huizinga, Cassirer acknowledges that the men of the Middle Ages both handled and were conversant with the intellectual and material treasures of Antiquity. But there exists a dichotomy of spontaneity in the way in which objects and ideas of Antiquity were understood between the two ages. Quoting Karl Borinski, Cassirer writes,

Certainly the Middle Ages… had enough ties to Antiquity. A complete rupture with Antiquity had never come about, thanks to the Church, the cultural power that replaced it…. On the whole, the influence of Antiquity on the Middle Ages was, as has been… pointed out, an influence of content… A change in the attitude of the personality towards Antiquity expressed itself in form —starting with the form of the individual with his feeling, thinking, and living, and going on to the renewal of Ancient and Classical forms in poetry and art, state and society.19

The matter of “artistic sensibility” is understood by Cassirer to have given “concrete determination to the concept of nature formulated by Renaissance science.” This notion is nowhere more apparent than in the antediluvian geology found in several paintings, and scores of drawings, by Leonardo’s hand. He does not set his Madonna’s and tacitly pagan figures of Saints in cloisters, nor does he depict them in settings dominated by forgettable landscape architecture. Rather, his Saints and Virgins inhabit a primordial wasteland where one is more likely to stumble over the corpses of giant saurians than encounter a flourishing grove. This conception of nature could only have come about through an intensification of Leonardo’s own theoretical perspective — “for [Leonardo]… the creative power of the artist is as certain as that of theoretical or scientific thought. Science is a second creation made with the understanding; painting is a second creation made with the imagination.”20 One could not ask for a better formulation of Leonardo’s scientific and artistic programme than that.

1 Shakespeare, Coriolanus, IV. Vii. 34-5.

2 J. Huizinga, The Waning of the Middle Ages (Edward Arnold Publishers, Ltd., London, 1963), p 13.

3 Karl Marx, in The Marx-Engles Reader, ed. Robert C. Tucker (W.W. Norton & Company Inc., 1978), p 54.

4 Huizinga, p 23.

5 Ibid., p 102.

6 Ibid., pp 307-8.

7 Jacob Burckhardt, The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy (Barnes and Noble Books, 1999), p 81.

8 Ibid., p 120.

9 Ibid.

10 Ibid.

11 In the synthesizing philosophic activities of Pico Della Mirandolla (namely, the marrying together Platonic and Aristotelian philosophy), there is the distinct aroma of Scholastic philosophy — particularly in the effort he devotes to defending and elaborating the Scholastic trinity — God, freedom, and the immortality of the soul.

12 Ernst Cassirer, The Individual and the Cosmos in Renaissance Philosophy, translated by Mario Domandi (University of Pennsylvania Press, 1972) p 7.

13 Ibid., p 1.

14 Ibid., p 5.

15 Ibid.

16 Ibid., p 153.

17 Ibid., p 158.

18 Ibid., p 159. Italics in original.

19 Ibid., pp 159-60.

20 Ibid., 161.

Review of “Scholasticism: Personalities and Problems of Medieval Philosophy” by Josef Pieper

ImageIn formulating his theory of the development of the modern man during the Italian Renaissance, Jacob Burckhardt presents the distinction between the men in the Middle Ages, who conceived of themselves “only as a member of a race, people, party,” and the “many-sided men,” the Humanists, who arose in the 14th century to take their place. Josef Pieper’s discussion of Scholasticism does not endeavor to disprove Burckhardt’s theory, but in presenting the great figures of Scholastic philosophy, Pieper takes care at the outset to establish that Anselm, Abelard, Aquinas, and their contemporaries, are better than specimens of a dogmatic and intellectually exhausted age.

The view of the Scholastics presented in the book is that “they are… partly ‘contemporary’ and partly ‘outmoded,’”1 yet unimpeachably relevant to the modern understanding of the writings of Antiquity, which the Scholastics labored so long to assimilate and codify in their theology and philosophy. Pieper’s reference points of “personalities and problems” bear out that no single figure or event can be said to properly represent the (many-sided) Scholastic or Medieval Christian spirit, and this is evidenced in times containing such radically dissimilar men as Peter Abelard and Bernard of Clairvaux — one man was seduced, first by Heloise, then by Greek logic; and the other, continually taxed by a kind of arduous mysticism. Thus, to reduce the main tenant of Scholasticism to the conjoining of faith and reason will not do, being in the end more a dualism of parlance than a definition.

Pieper propounds and elaborates the following thesis throughout the book:

We must realize how impossible it is to understand any Medieval author if we do not consider one of the fundamentals of his thinking about the universe and man: his utter conviction that the event of the Incarnation made accessible a truth which possesses a power to reveal reality transcending any human insight…2 

Indeed, this formulation can be applied to the entire range of issues, historical, biographical, and scholarly, that Pieper handles. Examining the condemnation of 1277 at Paris and Oxford, it is the resolute standard of truth set by divine Revelation that consequently made the Truths of Faith and the Truths of Reason ever more uneasy bedfellows. Thomas Aquinas, one of the most significant workers in the codification of Scholastic theology and philosophy, had but recently died when the controversy in 1277 arose, and Pieper notes that the opposition between fides and ratio was to grow only larger after that turning point — “the golden age of Scholasticism,” as Aquinas had known it, “the honeymoon of theology and philosophy,” as Pieper dubs it, was at an end.

Pieper’s discussion of the condemnation of 1277 acts as a fulcrum between the first phase of Scholasticism and the second, which was to bear witness to the radical thought of Duns Scotus and William of Ockham. Prior to these two thinkers, the philosophical “necessitarianism” implicit in the creative activity of God, articulated by Siger of Brabant and others, lurked just beneath the window of Scholastic Theology. What Pieper refers to as a form of extreme Aristotelianism was challenged first by Scotus, then by Ockham, each of who joined in rejecting the “Greek necessitarianism” condemned in 1277, to propounded a theory of God’s “unlimited freedom in the exercise of power.” Ockham, as Pieper suggests, was equally extreme, but in the opposite direction, as the necessitarianism that he disparages. Quoting Ockham, Pieper observes a hint of brutality in the way

Ockham envisages the various alternatives to the story of man’s redemption. He [Ockham] argues that God’s becoming man… was so little meaningful and necessary ‘in itself’ that God, if he had wished, might just as well have assumed the nature of a stone, a tree, or an ass.3

The story is somewhat different with Scotus, though, and the younger Ockham was already critical of his predecessor for “trying to prove too much” in areas of speculation where too little could be proved. Scotus’ standard of proof, nevertheless, was inscrutably high. Both Aquinas and Scotus “agreed on the point that human reason may never touch upon the secret of divine freedom,”4 yet for Scotus, and unlike Aquinas, this become a negative element in the possibility of conjoining faith and reason — absolute certainty was diminishing in strength before an existential resignation, due to the non-necessity of creation, man, and his destiny. Thus, faith and reason, rather than being conjoined, are split, and the troubling possibility of “double truths” — on one hand, God’s truth, on the other, a separate truth for the creation — arises.

One of the more startling points made in Pieper’s review of the Scholastics is the extreme youthfulness, not in the sphere of ideas only, but in the literal sense of the age of those philosophers and theologians that dominated the Middle Ages. Boethius, we are told, was a mere 20 years when he began to distinguish himself in scholarship; Anselm, only 30 when he became Prior of Le Bec; Scotus wrote his most renowned work, the opus Oxoniense, at 35; and William of Ockham, a seeming Rimbaud of Scholasticism, retired from the world of letters at 25.5  Observing this, Pieper points out that the vast project, over several centuries, of assimilating the objects of Antiquity, was largely undertaken by men possessing both youth and enormous energy.

From the outset of the book to the end, Pieper reinforces the notion that the men of modern times are the (often ungrateful) sons of the Medievals. To this end, he remarks that “the greatest Summa of the Middle Ages,” Aquinas’ Summa Theologica, did not remain just by chance uncompleted, “but because its author wished it so.”6  This is mentioned in light of the impossibility that now faces modern man — that of “attaining… a closed and rounded view of the world in any legitimate way.”7  The Scholastic conception of “natural reason” permitted, even encouraged, Christian theological and philosophical debate to range outside of itself, taking and considering things as they were presented, and not merely vanquishing the alleged opposition from the outset. This, as Pieper notes, was the objective method of that most comprehensive of the Scholastics, Aquinas; and Pieper finally recommends that such rational honesty and liberality be adapted and directed against the modern quarrel between faith and reason, i.e., faith and science.

1 Josef Pieper, Scholasticism: Personalities and Problems of Medieval Philosophy (St. Augustine’s Press: South Bend Indiana, 2001), p 158.

2 Ibid., p 18-19.

3 Ibid., p 148.

4 Ibid., p 144.

5 C.f., p 78-79.

6 Ibid., p 159.

7 Ibid., p 158.

Objective Reality: Descartes’ Debt to John Duns Scotus in the Third Meditation

Picture 433The Scholastic source of Descartes’ conception of “objective reality” has been a puzzling subject for Cartesian commentators. Calvin Normore summarily observes, “…almost all of the research on [the] Scholastic background of this aspect of Cartesianism has focused on Descartes’ debt to Thomas [Aquinas] or Francesco Suarez.”1 Arguing against a seeming discontinuity between Descartes and Suarez’s utilization of the doctrine of “objective reality, Timothy J. Cronin maintains, “one must grant that the objection is true if one is speaking of the origin and employment of this doctrine. In regard, however, to the essential nature of objective being, there is between Descartes and Suarez an identity of doctrine.”2 On the other hand, Norman J. Wells states that Descartes “co-opts the terminology” of “objective reality” from Caterus and Suarez, but maintains that Descartes’ doctrine of “objective reality” represents both an “original and unorthodox stand” in relation to his Scholastic predecessor’s treatment of “objective reality,” and “an original modification of the Suarezian perspective.”3

According to commentators, a connection to Scotus concept of “objective reality” in Descartes’ Third Meditation is no more or less definitive then the possibility that Descartes used the concept as he found it in Suarez or Caterus. On which Scholastic text Descartes modeled his own version of “objective reality” has remained inconclusive due to the number of possible candidates. However, a clue to Descartes’ source is implicit in his particular handling of the attendant concepts and images associated with the Scholastic concept of “objective reality,” or “degrees of perfection.” “Objective reality” is the concept that provides Descartes with a solution to the problem of how the “thinking thing” discerns the origin of its idea of the existence of an infinite God.

John Dun Scotus’ proof for the existence of God in his Treatise on God as First Principle and the Opus oxoniense is the likely source for Descartes’ apparatus of terms, concepts, and images in his proof for the existence of God in the Third Mediation. In his proof, Descartes appropriates Scotus’ images of the sun, the stone, and the father/son, as well as the terms “formal,” “eminent,” and “objective reality.” 4 The possibility that Descartes derived the concept of “degrees of perfection” from William of Ockham rather than from Scotus will also be considered.

In the Opus oxoniense, Scotus employs the image of the sun in his discussion concerning the reliability of knowledge gained through the senses:

But if the judgment of the different senses differs in regard to what is seen outside; for instance, if sight says that the staff which is partly in the water and partly in the air is broken, or if sight says, as it invariably does, that the sun is smaller in size than it really is, or in general, that everything seen from a distance is smaller than it is in reality, in all such instances we are still certain of what is true and know which sense is in error.5

Comparison of this passage with the relevant passage from Descartes’ Third Meditation shows a clear correspondence in both context and conception to Scotus’ discussion of the incongruity of the sense’s mistaken judgment of an object, and the real nature of the object. In Descartes’ discussion of the sense’s mistaken judgments, he divides ideas into composite, adventitious, and innate, and asks whether those ideas “resemble” external objects or not:

And finally, even if these ideas did come from things other than myself, it would not follow that they must resemble those things. Indeed, I think I have often discovered a great disparity [between an object and its idea] in many cases. For example, there are two different ideas of the sun which I find within me. One of them, which is acquired as it were from the senses and which is a prime example of an idea which I reckon to come from an external source, makes the sun appear very small. The other idea is based on astronomical reasoning, that is, it is derived from certain notions which are innate in me (or else it is constructed by me in some other way), and this idea shows the sun to be several times larger than the earth. Obviously these ideas cannot resemble the sun which exists outside me; and reason persuades me that the idea which seems to have emanated most directly from the sun itself has in fact no resemblance to it at all(AT VII, 39; CSM II, p. 27).6

In the first passage from Scotus, the rational soul arbitrates between the senses when the senses do not agree. In the case of a disparity between the evidence of one sense and another, the judgment of reason corrects the conflicting judgments of sense. Scotus’ example draws on perceptible objects (the staff, water, the sun) to account for particular sensory phenomena. Scotus maintains that the judgment of reason arbitrates between the conflicting senses “only as an occasion and not as a cause,”7 and concludes that the evidence of the senses is generally reliable.

Descartes, on the other hand, casts doubt on whether his ideas of objects, which he has always assumed to come from without him, do not actually come from within. For Descartes, the mind’s conflicting ideas of the size of the sun are not mediated by the rational mind’s judgment. In the above fragment from the ThirdMeditation, the two ideas of the sun (external and innateidea) are treated as modes of thinking that come from within. Descartes points out that between the mind’s two ideas of the sun no discernable inequality exists. As modes of thought, one idea of the sun is neither more true nor false than the other, even though they appear to contradict one another. The example of the sun is one parallel that indicates Descartes employed Scotus’ approach to the problem of the disparity between the evidence of the senses and the evidence of reason.

Turning to the second image of the stone in Scotus’ Treatise on God as First Principle, Scotus uses the image of a stone as an illustration in his discussion of the infinite and perfect causal power of God:

…since the divine essence alone is the reason for seeing the stone perfectly, it follows that the stone adds nothing of perfection to that essence. But this does not follow if it is the reason for producing the stone immediately, even as total cause, for the first cause is the complete cause of the highest nature. But since the latter is finite, you cannot infer that its first cause is infinite; neither is it proved that the first is the total cause of other things.8

Scotus argues that “the full causal power that each thing may have in itself the first being possesses even more perfectly than if it were formally present. Therefore its power is infinite in intensity.”9 Scotus uses the terms “formal” (formaliter) and “eminent” (eminenter) in treating the infinite power of the first cause. According to Scotus, “formal properties” apply to the first cause in the sense that God actually contains every possible effect, according to its definition, and conveys properties “formally” through causae per se. God generates the “degrees of perfection” inhering in essences through a chain of causal necessity. “Eminent properties” apply to the first cause in that “potential properties” inhering in effects are transmitted through causae per accidens. “Eminent properties” do not participate in “degrees of perfection” because the nature of “eminent properties” is non-essential, or not intended to produce a given effect. For example, a tool may be causing essentially when it is being used for the purpose for which it was made; however, if a tool made to drive nails was being used to turn screws, the effect of the tool is accidental to the nature of the cause for which it is used to achieve.

Scotus’ example of the stone is used in regard to the question whether the infinite first cause produces an infinity of things simultaneously, or only in succession. Scotus maintains that even if an infinity of “eminent properties” do not exist simultaneously, the first cause possesses all the power “formally” “to produce an infinite number at once.”10 For Scotus, the first cause is perfection in the highest degree, and possess all “formal properties” in actuality, though not individually, or potentially. The less individuation that exists between the first “essential cause” and the effect signifies the greater perfection inhering in an “essential order of causes.” Scotus adds that, “the more one can produce simultaneously, the greater the power in intensity,”11 and concludes his discussion with the point that God’s power must be infinite in intensity in order to create ex nihilo. Scotus’ example of the stone shows that anything, whether understood to be existing simultaneously with an infinity of things, or as a member of an infinite succession, adds nothing to the divine essence, since that thing (e.g., a stone) only exists by virtue of an infinite cause of infinite intensity. A stone itself cannot be a total cause, as only the first cause is a complete cause. A stone exists, like all things, on a scalar magnitude of essential perfections, and exists only in virtue of a prior cause that contains “formal” and “eminent” causal power greater than that inhering in the stone.

The context wherein the parallel example of the stone occurs in Descartes’ Third Meditationshows that Descartes owed much to his reading of Scotus:

Now it is manifest by the natural light that there must be at least as much [reality] in the efficient and total cause as in the effect of that cause. For where, I ask, could the effect get its reality from, if not from the cause? And how could the cause give it to the effect unless it possessed it? It follows from this both that something cannot arise from nothing, and also that what is more perfect — that is, contains in itself more reality — cannot arise from what is less perfect. And this is transparently true not only in the case of effects which possess [what the philosophers call] actual or formal reality, but also in the case of ideas, where one is considering only [what they call] objective reality. A stone, for example, which previously did not exist, cannot begin to exist unless it is produced by something which contains, either formally or eminently everything to be found in the stone… But it is also true that the idea of heat, or of a stone, cannot exist in me unless it is put there by some cause which contains at least as much reality as I conceive to be in the heat or in the stone. For although this cause does not transfer any of its actual or formal reality to my idea, it should not on that account be supposed that it must be less real. The nature of an idea is such that of itself it requires no formal reality except what it derives from my thought, of which it is a mode. But in order for a given idea to contain such and such objective reality, it must surely derive from some cause which contains at least as much formal reality as there is objective reality in the idea. For if we suppose than an idea contains something which was not in its cause, it must have got this from nothing; yet the mode of being by which a thing exists objectively [or representatively] in the intellect by way of an idea, imperfect though it may be, is certainly not nothing, and so it cannot come from nothing…12

In the latter fragment, Descartes assembles an impressive array of Scotus’ terminology: “infinite cause,” “degrees of perfection,” and “formal” and “eminent properties.” One exception is Scotus’ “accidentally ordered causes.”13 Descartes’ argument seems to incorporate different elements from two of Scotus’ texts, the Treatise on God as First Principle, and the Opus oxoniense. The example of the stone and “formal” and “eminent properties” appear together in Scotus’ Treatise. The concept of “objective reality” appears in both the Treatise and the Opus oxoniense. In the fragment from the Third Meditation where we find the image of the stone, Descartes invokes Scotus’ concept of an essentially ordered series of causes to argue that the mind’s “formal” idea of an infinite God cannot have originated in the mind. Descartes must suppose that an infinite God exists in order for the innate idea of an infinite God to possess a greater reality or perfection than the mind’s composite or adventitious ideas of things:“in order for a given idea to contain such and such objective reality, it must surely derive it from some cause which contains at least as much formal reality as there is objective reality in the idea.”14 To demonstrate how the mind came to possess an idea of God’s existence, Descartes argues that “formal properties,” or the mind’s innate ideas, pertain to a chain, however short, of “essentially ordered causes” that informs the mind with an idea of the existence of an infinite God. The idea of an infinite God allows Descartes to arrange ideas, and consequently things, on a scalar magnitude of “degrees of perfection.” Descartes’ example of the stone occurs in a conceptual context that mirrors Scotus’ discussion of an infinite first cause.

Correspondingly, in the Third Meditation, the third image, the “parent” (in Scotus, father/son) occurs in the context of Descartes’ discussion of “objective reality,” or “degrees of perfection.” Descartes’ example of the parent treats the relationship obtaining between the parent/meditator and God/meditator in an analogous way to Scotus’ proof for the existence of God in his Opus oxoniense. First, Scotus:

Per se or essentially ordered causes differ from accidentally ordered causes in three respects. The first difference is that in essentially ordered causes, the second depends upon the first precisely in its act of causation. In accidentally ordered causes that is not the case, although the second may depend on the first for its existence or in some other way. Thus a son depends upon his father for existence but is not dependent upon him in exercising his own causality, since he can act just as well whether his father be living or dead.15

Now Descartes:

…[I]t is not so easy for me to remember why the idea of a being more perfect than myself must necessarily proceed from some being which in reality is more perfect. I should therefore like to go further and inquire whether I myself, who have this idea, could exist if no such being existed. From whom, in that case, would I derive my existence? From myself presumably, or from my parents, or from some other beings less perfect than God; for nothing more perfect than God, or even as perfect, can be thought of or imagined… Lastly, as regards my parents, even if everything I ever believed about them is true, it is certainly not they who preserve me; and insofar as I am a thinking thing, they did not even make me; they merely placed certain dispositions in the matter which I have always regarded as containing me, or rather my mind, for that is all I now take myself to be. So there can be no difficulty regarding my parents in this context. Altogether then, it must be concluded that the mere fact that I exist and have within me an idea of a most perfect being, that is, God, provides a very clear proof that God indeed exists.16

In his proof for the existence of God, Scotus delineates how essences figure into any series of essentially ordered causes, or causae per se. Scotus reasons that accidentally ordered causes, or causae per accidens, depend on an “essential” order of causation, “since accidents do not have any order save in virtue of what is fixed and permanent.”17 The fixity of “essentially ordered causes” refers to immaterial reality; “accidentally ordered causes” refer to material things. Given the dual nature of Scotus’ treatment of causation, it is evident that he, unlike Descartes, never considers the existence of bodies as doubtful. Following Aristotle, Scotus maintains that all ideas owe their origin to the rational soul’s perceptions of physical objects. The existence of the material world, for Scotus, is an Aristotelian indemonstrable principle.

In the example of the father and son, Scotus examines two kinds of causation through the analogy of a son’s genetic and generic relationship to his father. Scotus argues that “accidentally ordered causes” are not by nature intended to produce a given effect. The “degree of perfection” inhering in the essence of the father is never dependent on, or the cause of, the “degree of perfection” inhering in the essence of the son. In the “essential” order of causation, the essential attributes of one individual are not inherited by another. If the father is taken to be the “essential cause” of the son, the son must, of necessity, be less perfect than the father. Because the son is not his own cause, his relation to the father is necessarily one of “formal” dependence, or the son depending on the father “in the exercising of his own causality.”18 The son takes his essential nature from the father in virtue of a relationship of “formal” dependence, but he is not a direct copy of the father. The necessity that obtains in the relationship of the father and son becomes clear when Scotus replaces the father with God, and the created essential natures of angels or the rational soul stand in for the son.

The similarity of context in Descartes and Scotus’ respective texts is striking. In the “parent” passage from the Third Meditation, Descartes employs Scotus’ example of the father/son in his discussion of “essential” and “accidentally ordered causes.” Descartes’ brief consideration of “accidentally ordered causes” as the origin of the mind’s idea of God’s existence never amounts to more than a hypothetical possibility. In the case of both Scotus and Descartes’ texts, the “accidental order” of causation applies only to the parent as the material cause of the son. Material existence, for Scotus, does not explain from where the son or the father derives their being or essence. The question of the origin of essences is answered when directed to the essential order of causation. “Essentially ordered causes” form a relation of dependence that goes back to God as the first cause.

In the Third Meditation, Descartes is searching for the cause of his idea of God, or what he understands as “a substance infinite, independent, most highly intelligent, most highly powerful, and by which [formal attributes]… is extant.”19 He summons Scotus’ concept of an “essential order of causes” to explore the possibility of God as the originator of the thinking thing (res cogitans). Descartes describes essences manifesting sub specia eternatatus in descending “degrees of perfection.” Descartes then uses Scotus’ example of parentage to demonstrate how the “accidental order of causes” that obtains between the parents and the meditator extends no further than parents as the cause of “certain dispositions in the matter [body] which I have always regarded as containing me, or rather my mind, for that is all I now take myself to be.”20 Being unable to posit a logical causal link to genetic parentage, Descartes surmises that the source of the contents of the mind cannot owe their existence to causae per accidens; the existence of the mind’s idea of God can only exist, and can only be explained through causae per se.

Descartes holds that the mind’s idea of the existence of God is innate, and that God deliberately created the mind with an idea of His existence. Accordingly, God endows beings, whether they are thinking things, extended, or both, with essential being. All beings created by God are secondary members of an “essential order of causes.” In the case of the meditator’s innate idea of God’s existence, the second member of an “essential order of causes” depends upon the first member, God, for its cause. Under Scotus’ consideration of “essentially ordered causes,” God is not involved in the direct causation of ideas. For Scotus, ideas originate in the rational soul’s perception of objects in the material world. Scotus’ separation of causes into accidental and per se emphasizes the radically free creative power of God:

…in the realm of beings something indeed exists which is simply first according to efficiency, and also that something exists which is simply first in the order of ends, and that something exists which is simply first by reason of pre-eminence.21

In 1300, Scotus originated the concept of “degrees of perfection” emanating out of “essentially ordered causes.” As a close reader of Scotus’ writings in the 17th century, Descartes remained largely faithful to Scotus’ handling of images and terminology in building his conceptual proof for the existence of God as an innate idea of the mind. Following Scotus, Descartes defines God as an infinite being that is the perfection of perfections. To prove the mind’s idea of God is an idea of a perfect and infinite being, Descartes applies Scotus’ method of proving God’s existence through the “essential order of causes.”

Despite similarities of image, context, and terminology, two important differences of method obtain between Scotus and Descartes’ use of “essential order of causes” in their respective proofs for the existence of God. First, Scotus never casts doubt on the existence of the material world in order to establish the existence of God through the “essential order of causes.” As an Aristotelian, Scotus is not concerned with the verifiability of the sciences as such, whereas Descartes’ primary concern after having rejected the Aristotelian cosmology is the very foundation upon which the sciences are built. Subordinating the world of “accidentally ordered causes” to the logically prior “essentially ordered causes” is necessary for Descartes to deduce the foundations of the new science from a single indubitable starting point. Secondary causes in the material world claim no essential connection to the essential nature of God. Descartes’ distinction between an accidental order of causation, such as the parent/son, and “essentially ordered causes” corresponds to his division between extended things (res extensa) and thinking things (res cogitans).

The second difference in method between Scotus and Descartes’ proofs for the existence of God involves the philosophic status of reason as such. In the Third Meditation, Descartes does not prove the existence of God from reason alone, as Scotus attempt to do. After discovering the mind’s origin in the mind’s a priori idea of God, Descartes notes that the mind’s perception of its ideas does not involve reasoning, but only a passive observation and delineation of its three types of ideas in relation to the causal principle of “objective reality.”22 According to Scotus, God, considered as infinite is only known through an “essential order of causes.” The finite “accidental order of causes” tells one nothing about the infinite. In the disembodied world of the Third Meditation, Descartes can dispense with contingent material bodies originating from the secondary qualities of substance and essence. For Descartes, the material world is not caused through the “essential order of causation.” The “essential order of causation” is linked to the material world by way of essence, or in other words, the rational mind’s innate idea of God’s existence.

In the respect of a difference of method, Descartes’ use of Scotus represents both an “original and unorthodox stand” in relation to his Scholastic predecessor’s treatment of “objective reality,” and “an original modification.”23Descartes utilizes the Scotus’ theoretical apparatus of “degrees of perfection,” and its attendant terminology and images, insofar as it is purposeful for him. There never occurs a wholesale transfer of Scotus’ concepts into the Cartesian framework. Yet significant correspondences between Scotus and Descartes’ respective theoretical apparatus indicate that Descartes found enough in Scotus’ philosophic thought to construct one of the hallmarks of his philosophy. Descartes’ proof for the existence of God in the Third Meditation is orthodox, however, in the respect that he continues the Scholastic tradition of generating a proof for the existence of God using conventional Scholastic terminology. It is doubtful such terminology came into Descartes’ hands from Renaissance sources; rather, Descartes likely read the Scholastic proofs for God’s existence first-hand, or in commentaries or textbooks. 24 Descartes never refers to Scotus in the Third Meditation,25 but Scotus’ fingerprints are on the blueprint of the Cartesian mind’s innate idea of God. The possibility that Descartes read Scotus’ writings firsthand is not a far-fetched. In Descartes and the Last Scholastics, Roger Ariew notes that, “Descartes could have become aware of Scotist doctrines from a number of disparate sources.” Ariew lists several possible sources without proposing that Descartes could have directly read works written by Scotus. Nevertheless, Ariew observes that, “Descartes leans toward Scotism for every one of the Scotist theses, as long as they are all relevant to his philosophy.” 26

In the Third Meditation, Descartes’ borrowing from the philosophical writings of the Scholastic philosophers is akin to the Scholastic philosopher’s practice of borrowing both terminology and images from writings of the Ancients. The textual sources of the images and terms used by Scholastic philosophers are sometimes named, sometimes not, and the decision seems almost arbitrary. 27 Descartes, in his philosophical writings, only mentions a handful of his contemporaries and predecessors in passing, leaving a more-or-less cold trail behind him as far as the sources of his own philosophic thought are concerned.28 Yet the use of well-established images, for the Scholastics, serves the purpose of either invoking the authority of a particular Ancient writer with whom the Scholastic philosopher shares an intellectual kinship, or simply because the pre-established image serves the purpose better than one they might invent. Descartes’ use of Scotus’ terminology and images in the Third Meditationwere probably apparent to his contemporary readers,29 being that Descartes’ use of terms and images is in line with the Schoolmen’s long tradition of borrowing terms and images from the Ancients. 30

We now examine the possibility that Descartes derived the terminology and images of “degrees of perfection” from the writings of William of Ockham, rather than the writings of Scotus. It is just as likely that Descartes derived the example of the “parent” from Ockham, as it is that he derived it from Scotus. The image, in the context of “degrees of perfection,” is found in both the writings of Ockham and Scotus. In his critique of Scotus’ concept of “degrees of perfection” in Qusetiones in lib. I Physicorum, Ockham cites Scotus’ example of the father/son. To illustrate Scotus’ point about “accidentally ordered causes,” Ockham reprises Scotus’ example of the father/son in a division whose heading reads, “Scotus answers this question in the affirmative,”31 thus indicating that what follows concerning “degrees of perfection” can be taken to be the views of Scotus, and not those of Ockham.32

Ockham, investigating the question, “Whether in essentially ordered causes the second cause depends on the first,” writes:

To this question I answer: There is a difference between essentially ordered causes and accidentally ordered causes, and partial causes concurring in the production of numerically the same effect. For in essentially ordered causes the second cause depends on the first for its first existence; not, however, for its conservation. For instance, Socrates depends on Plato, since he cannot be naturally caused without Plato, his father; but he is not conserved by Plato, because Socrates lives on when Plato is dead.33

Ockham’s example of Plato/Socrates is simply a reformulation of the concept of dependency between causes that he later clarifies with the example of the father/son when reviewing Scotus’ concept of “degrees of perfection.” Descartes does not employ Ockham’s example of Plato/Socrates in the Third Meditation. If Descartes derives the example of the parent and the concept of ‘Degrees of “perfection” from Ockham, we must ask why Descartes employs the example of the father/son, and not the example of Plato/Socrates. Or, why does he not use both? Ockham’s Qusetiones in lib. I Physicorum, when considered as the source of Descartes’ example of the parent, raises more questions than it answers.

In the Third Meditation, the intricacy of Descartes’ handling of the concept of “degrees of perfection” reflects Scotus’ equally intricate handling of the concept. Without directly referring to Scotus’ writings, it is unlikely that Descartes could gather elsewhere the full range of images and terminology found in Scotus’ argument for the “degrees of perfection,” or Scotus’ several types of causation. Nor could Descartes extract what he needed from simply reading Ockham’s summary of Scotus’ concept for two reasons. First, there is the brevity of Ockham’s overview of Scotus’ ideas. Second, there is the fact that Ockham maintains, on nearly every point in his summary, a position in opposition to Scotus’ conclusions about an infinity of “degrees of perfection.”34 It is unlikely that Descartes would have found in Ockham’s writings what he needed to construct his proof for the existence of God from Ockham’s truncation of Scotus’ argument for “degrees of perfection.” Moreover, what incentive would Descartes have had to resurrect what only appears in Ockham’s account to be a slight and slighting notice of Scotus’ ideas? In the writings of Scotus, Descartes found the ready-made technical vocabulary and illustrative imagery to accomplish what he envisioned for his proof for God’s existence in the Third Meditation. Based on how fully Descartes treats Scotus’ concept of “degrees of perfection,” the diluted form of the theory that Ockham puts together would not have served Descartes’ purposes well. As a close reader of Scholastic philosophers, Descartes found more efficient uses for Ockham’s philosophic thought than for what he aimed to prove in the Third Meditation.

1 Calvin Normore, “Meaning and Objective Being: Descartes and his Sources,” in Essays on Descartes Meditations, Amelie Oksenberg Rorty, ed. (University of California Press, 1986), p. 231, brackets mine. Some further relevant articles addressing the subject of the relation between Scholasticism and Descartes’ Meditations and the rôle of “objective reality” in Cartesian philosophy are: Roland Dalbiez, “Les sources scolastiques de la théorie cartésienne de l’être objectif. A Propos du ‘Descartes’ de M. Gilson,” in Revue d’Histoire de la philosophie 3, 1929, pp. 464-72: “Le milieu intellectuel scolastique que nous avons essayé de reconstituer en partie: attribution scotiste d’une quasi-réalité a l’esse objectivum, définition vasquezienne de la vérité par l’accord du conceptus objectivus et de la chose, affirmation suarezienne de la possibilité absolue de la sensation d’un objet inexistant, ce milieu intellectuel permet de comprendre historiquement la genèse de la théorie cartésienne de l’être objectif ;” Jean-Luc Marion, The Essential Incoherence of Descartes’ Definition of Divinity, trans. by Frederick P. Van de Pitte, in Essays on Descartes Meditations, ed. by Amelie Oksenberg Rorty (University of California Press, Berkley, 1986); Roger Ariew, Descartes and the Last Scholastics (Cornell University Press, Ithaca and London, 1999); Marco Forlivesi, “La distinction entre concept formèl et concept objectif: Suarez, Pasqualigo, Mastri,” in Les Études Philosophiques, Nr. 1, 2002; Jean-Francois Courtine, “La doctrine cartésienne de l’idée et ses sources scolastiques,” Les catégories de l’être: Etudes de philosophie ancienne et médiévale (PUF: Paris, 2003).

2 T.J. Cronin, S. J., “Objective Being in Descartes and Suarez,” Wisdom In Depth: Essays in Honor of Henri Renard, S. J., eds. V.F. Daues, S.J., M.R. Holloway, S.J., L. Sweeney, S.J. (Milwaukee: Bruce, 1966); p. 79.

3 Norman J. Wells, “Objective Reality of Ideas in Descartes, Caterus, and Suarez,” in The Journal of the History of Philosophy (University of California Press, Berkeley; Los Angeles, 28:1, pp. 33-61, January, 1990), p. 61.

4 The main references in Descartes’ Third Meditation to the sun are as follows: AT VII, 38: CSM II, p. 26; AT VII, 39: CSM II, 27. The main references to the stone are as follows: AT VII, 40: CSM II, 28-9, 30. The main references to the parent are as follows: AT VII, 48, 50: CSM II, 31-33, 35. Hereafter all citations of Descartes’ works are as follows: references to Charles Adam and Paul Tannery (eds.), Oeuvres de Descartes, 11 vols. (Librairie Philosophique J. Vrin, Paris, 1996), are abbreviated as AT. References to the English edition of Descartes’ philosophical works, The Philosophical Writings of Descartes, 3 vols., John Cottingham, Robert Stoothoff, Dugald Mardoch, and Anthony Kenny (eds.), (Cambridge University Press, 1984), are abbreviated as CSM.

5 John Duns Scotus, Philosophical Writings, translated by Allan Wolter, O.F.M. (Hackett Publishing Company, 1987), p. 114; Iohannis Duns Scoti, Opera Omnia, vol. 3, pp. 123-172 (Vaticana, 1950). The passage in Latin runs as follows: “Si autem diversi sensus habeant diversa judicia de aliquo viso extra, puta visus dicit baculum esse fractum cujus pars est in aqua et pars est in aere, visus semper dicit solem esse minoris quantitatis quam est, et omne visum a remotis esse minus quam sit, in talibus est certitudo quid verum sit et quis sensus erret per propositionem…” References to the two editions of Scotus’ writings edited by Allan Wolter, O.F.M., are as follows: John Duns Scotus, Philosophical Writings is abbreviated as PW; John Duns Scotus, A Treatise on God as First Principle, translated by Allan Wolter, O.F.M. (Franciscan Press, 1983), is abbreviated as TGFP. The critical edition of Scotus’ works cited is abbreviated as DSOO. References to the Duns Scotus:Opera Omnia list, in the following order, volume, page, and paragraph number.

6 Third Mediation, AT VII, 39: “Ac denique, quamvis a rebus a me diversis procederent, non inde sequitur illas rebus istis similes esse debere. Quinimo in multis saepe magnum discrimen videor deprehendisse: ut, exempli causa, duas diversas solis ideas apud me invenio, unam tanquam a sensibus haustam, & quae maxime inter illas quas adventitias existimo est recensenda, per quam mihi valde parvus apparet, aliam vero ex rationibus Astronomiae desumptam, hoc est ex notionibus quibusdam mihi innatis elicitam, vel quocumque alio modo a me factam, per quam aliquoties major quam terra exhibetur; utraque profecto similis eidem soli extra me existenti esse non potest, & ratio persuadet illam ei maxime esse dissimilem, quae quam proxime ab ipso videtur emanasse.” Cf. Third Meditation, AT VII, 38: CSM II, p. 26, for an earlier reference to the sun: “Among my ideas, some appear to be innate, some to be adventitious, and others to have been invented by me. My understanding of what a thing is, what truth is, and what thought is, seems to derive simply from my own nature. But my hearing a noise, as I do now, or seeing the sun, or feeling the fire, comes from things which are located outside me, or so I have hitherto judged.” Cf. Richard Mckeon, ed., The Basic Works of Aristotle (Random House, New York, 1941), p. 588; 428 b, 1, ff., for a likely source for the sun image in both Scotus and Descartes: “But what we imagine is sometimes false though our contemporaneous judgment about it is true; e.g. we imagine the sun to be a foot in diameter though we are convinced that it is larger than the inhabited part of the earth…”

7 John Duns Scotus, PW, p. 115: “And so when reason judges that the senses err, it does so in

virtue of two kinds of knowledge. The first is a knowledge for which the intellect requires a

sense only as an occasion and not as a cause — a knowledge in which it would not be

deceived even if all the senses were deceived. The other is a knowledge acquired by the oft

repeated testimony of one or more senses which are known to be true by reason of the

proposition so frequently quoted, viz., ‘Whatever occurs in most instances, etc.”’

8John Duns Scotus, TGFP, p. 132. The Latin text (p. 133) runs as follows: “Ad secundum obiectum supra dico quod quia essentia divina, sola est ratio videndi lapidem perfecte, sequitur quod lapis nihil perfectionis addat illi essentiae. Non sequitur hoc, si est ratio causandi lapidem immediate, etiam ut tota causa: nam respectu supremae naturae prima causa est totalis causa.” Cf. John Duns Scotus, PW, p. 25, where Scotus also uses the example of a stone: “We would have no more reason to conclude that God is formally wise from the notion of wisdom derived from creatures then we would have reason to conclude that God is formally a stone. For it is possible to form another notion of a stone to which the notion of a created stone bears some relation, for instance, stone as an idea of God. And so we could say formally, ‘God is a stone,’ according to this analogous concept, just as we say, ‘He is wise,’ according to another analogous concept.’” The context of this passage, treating of the supposed attributes of God, differs from the passage referring to the example of the stone cited above, and further, this passage differs from Descartes considerations where he uses the example of the stone.

9John Duns Scotus, TGFP, p. 130: “…I prove infinity as follows: if the first being at one and the same time formally possessed all causal power, even tough the things which it could cause could not be given simultaneous existence, it would be infinite because — as far as it is concerned — it has power enough to produce an infinite number all at once, and the more one can produce simultaneously, the greater the power in intensity. But if the first being possessed such power in an even more perfect way than if it had formally, its intensive infinity follows a fortiori. But the full causal power that each thing may have in itself the first being possesses even more perfectly than if it were formally present. Therefore its power is infinite in intensity.”

10 John Duns Scotus, TGFP, p. 130.

11Ibid., TGFP, p. 130.

12 Third Meditation, AT VII, 40, CSM 2, pp. 28-29; brackets and italics in original. The original Latin text runs as follows: “Jam vero lumine naturali manifestum est tantumdem ad minimum esse debere in causa efficiente & totali, quantum in ejusdem causae effectu. Nam, quaeso, undenam posset assumere realitatem suam effectus, nisi a causa? Et quomodo illam ei causa dare posset, nisi etiam haberet? Hinc autem sequitur, nec posse aliquid a nihilo fieri, nec etiam id quod magis perfectum est, hoc est quod plus realitatis in se continet, ab eo quod minus. Atque hoc non modo perspicue verum est de iis effectibus, quorum realitas est actualis sive formalis, sed etiam de ideis, in quibus consideratur tantum realitas objectiva. Hoc est, non modo non potest, exempli causa, aliquis lapis, qui prius non fuit, nunc incipere esse, nisi producatur ab aliqua re in qua totum illud sit vel formaliter vel eminenter, quod ponitur in lapide; nec potest calor in subjectum quod prius non calebat induci, nisi a re quae sit ordinis saltem aeque perfecti atque est calor, & sic de caeteris; sed praterea etiam non potest in me esse idea caloris, vel lapidis, nisi in me posita sit ab aliqua causa, in qua tantumdem ad minimum sit realitatis quantum esse in calore vel lapide concipio. Nam quamvis ista causa nihil de sua realitate actuali sive formali in meam ideam transfundat, non ideo putandum est illam minus realem esse debere, sed talem esse naturam ipsius ideae, ut nullam aliam ex se realitatem formalem exigat, praeter illam quam mutuatur a cogitatione mea, cujus est modus. Quod autem haec idea realitatem objectivam hanc vel illam contineat potius quam aliam, hoc profecto habere debet ab aliqua causa in qua tantumdem sit ad minimum realitatis formalis quantum ipsa continet objectivae. Si enim ponamus aliquid in idea reperiri, quod non fuerit in ejus causa, hoc igitur habet a nihilo; atqui quantumvis imperfectus sit iste essendi modus, quo res est objective in intellectu per ideam, non tamen profecto plane nihil est, nec proinde a nihilo esse potest…”

13 Another distinguishing mark of Descartes’ debt to the writings of Scotus is in Descartes particular use in the Third Meditation of the long-established phrase, “ex nihilo nihil fit.” In both Descartes and Scotus’ texts, the superiority of the first cause to its effects is the topic wherein the phrase is invoked. The phrase, “nothing comes from nothing” is found in Scotus’ proof for the existence of God in the Ordinatio. The first two extracts are from Descartes’ Third Meditation:

“It follows from this both that something cannot arise from nothing, and also that what is more perfect — that is, contains in itself more reality — cannot arise from what is less perfect” (AT VII, 40: CSM II, p. 28);

and,

“For if we suppose than an idea contains something which was not in its cause, it must have got this from nothing; yet the mode of being by which a thing exists objectively [or representatively] in the intellect by way of an idea, imperfect though it may be, is certainly not nothing, and so it cannot come from nothing…” (AT VII, 41: CSM II, p. 29);

and now Scotus:

“Proof: Some being can be produced. Therefore it is either produced by itself or by nothing or by something other than itself. Now it cannot be produced by nothing, for what is nothing causes nothing. Neither can it be produced by itself…” (PW, p. 39; DSOO, 2, 151, 43);

and,

“Proof: From the first reason adduced here, viz., that nothing can come from nothing, it follows that some nature is capable of causing effectively…” (PW, p 44; DSOO, 2, 161, 55).

14 Third Meditation, AT VII, 41; CSM 2, pp. 28-29.

15 John Duns Scotus, PW, pp. 40-41; John Duns Scotus, DSOO, 2, 154, 48-49. The Latin text runs as follows: “Et differunt causae per se sive essentialiter ordinatae a causis per accidens sive accidentaliter ordinatis in tribus. Prima differentia est, quod in per se ordinatis secunda in quantum causa dependet a prima; in per accidens non, licet in esse vel aliquo modo alio dependeat. Filius enim licet secundum esse dependeat a patre, non tamen in causando, quia patre mortuo potest agere sicut ipso vivo.”

16 Third Meditation, AT VII, 48, 50; CSM 2, 31-33, 35. The Latin original runs as follows: “Nempe a quo essem? A me scilicet, vel a parentibus, vel ab aliis quibuslibet Deo minus perfectis; nihil enim ipso perfectius, nec etiam aeque perfectum, cogitari aut fingi potest… Quantum denique ad parentes attinet, ut omnia vera sint quae de illis unquam putavi, non tamen profecto illi me conservant, nec etiam ullo modo me, quatenus sum res cogitans, effecerunt; sed tantum dispositions quasdam in ea materia poseurunt, cui me, hoc est mentum, quam solam nunc pro me accipio, inesse judicavi. Ac proinde hic nulla de iis difficultas esse potest; sed omnino est concludendum, ex hoc solo quod existam, quaedamque idea entis perfectissimi, hoc est Dei, in me sit, evidentissime demonstrari Deum etiam existere.”

17 John Duns Scotus, PW, p.43.

18 John Duns Scotus, PW, p. 41.

19 Third Meditation, AT VII, 45: CSM 2, p. 31. Brackets mine.

20 Third Meditation, AT VII, 50-51; CSM, 2, p. 35. Brackets mine.

21 John Duns Scotus, PW, p. 38; DSOO, 2, 149-50, 41.

22 “Third Meditation, AT VII, 42; CSM 2, p. 29: “So it is clear to me, by the natural light, that the ideas in me are like [pictures, or] images which can easily fall short of the perfections of the things from which they are taken, but which cannot contain anything greater or more perfect.”

23 Norman J. Wells, “Objective Reality of Ideas in Descartes, Caterus, and Suarez,” in The Journal of the History of Philosophy, p. 61.

24 Cf. Calvin Normore, “Meaning and Objective Being: Descartes and his Sources”: “In the Third Meditation Descartes is conjuring with the stock-in-trade of late Medieval metaphysicians… This suggests a Descartes firmly rooted in a Scholastic tradition which is deeply in debt to Duns Scotus and closely allied with fourteenth-century developments in epistemology and in the theory of meaning. This makes the problem of Descartes immediate sources and the question of his originality even more puzzling” p. 240.

25 To my knowledge, the sole mention of Duns Scotus to issue from Descartes’ pen occurs in the Objections and Replies accompanying the Meditations (AT VII, 120). Descartesrefers to Scotus by name in his reply to the objections of Caterus against his distinction between the mind and body. However, Descartes’ reference to Scotus is itself made in reference to Caterus’ citation of Scotus’ “formal” and “objective” distinction.

26 Roger Ariew, Descartes and the Last Scholastics, pp. 56, 55.

27 In the section of the Discourse on the Method that corresponds with the Third Meditation, Descartes makes an explicit admission that the terminology employed in his proof for the existence of God derives from the Scholastics: “To this I added that since I knew of some perfections that I did not possess, I was not the only being which existed (here, by your leave, I shall freely use some Scholastic terminology)…,” AT VI, 34: CSM I, p. 128. Richard Kennington cites this latter passage in connection to Descartes’ Scholastic vocabulary in his erudite article, “The ‘Teaching of Nature’ in Descartes’ Soul Doctrine,” in Review of Metaphysics, 1972, vol. XXVI, p. 92. Descartes’ free usage of Scholastic terminology constitutes what Kennington calls “small indications of the borrowed character of his terminology,” and notes several instances where Descartes qualifies and editorializes the terms he introduces, as if he himself were slightly incredulous as to the validity or efficacy of the language he adopts or revises for his own purposes: “We find that in the Meditations he uses little or no traditional terminology until in Meditation III he addresses himself to the first part of his apologetic intention, the proof that God exists. Abruptly a group of Scholastic terms is introduced, scarcely defined and devoid of supporting explanation — “objective reality,” “formal or actual reality,” “eminent reality”… He prefaces his introduction of “objective reality” with a “so to speak” (ut ita loquar, in the French version, “pour ainsi parler”). He speaks of “that reality that the philosophers call actual or formal” and “the reality that they name objective…,” italics in original(cf. AT IX, 31-32 for Kennington’s quotations). Two additional examples might be added to this list. First, a passage from Descartes’ treatise, The World: “To express myself in scholastic terms, they will be able to have a priori demonstrations of everything that can be produced in this new world” (AT XI, 47; CSM 1, p. 97); second, a passage from Principles of Philosophy: “Hence the term ‘substance’ does not apply univocally, as they say in the Schools, to God and to other things…” (AT VIII A, 24; CSM 1, p. 210).

28 For an insightful comment on Descartes’ possible attitude toward exploiting the work of his predecessors, see Etienne Gilson, God and Philosophy (Yale University Press, New Haven & London, 1969),p. 83: “Of the many things which had been said by his predecessors [concerning the origin of the idea of God], a large number appeared as being at least materially true, and Descartes never hesitated to repeat them when it suited him to do so… Where the truth value of an idea is so wholly inseparable from its place in the order of deduction, why should one worry about its origin? There is but one place where a true idea is fully true; it is the very place it finds in Descartes’ own philosophy.”

29 Cf. Descartes and the Last Scholastics (Cornell University Press, Ithaca and London, 1999), for Ariew’s examination of 17th century Scotism.

30 The following is an example of the Scholastic practice of anonymous borrowing. The example begins with Aquinas’ borrowing an image from Aristotle and ends with Descartes borrowing the same image from either Aristotle or Aquinas. In Aristotle’s De Anima (413a 8) we find this image: “Further, we have no light on the problem whether the soul may not be the actuality of its body in the sense in which the sailor is the actuality of the ship.” Richard Mckeon, ed., The Basic Works of Aristotle, p. 556.In SummaContra Gentiles II, 57:2, Aquinas invokes the image of a sailor and a ship to illustrate a point in his discussion of the soul. Aquinas, rebutting Plato’s claim of the divisibility of body and soul, writes: “Accordingly, Plato and his followers asserted that the intellectual soul is not united to the body as form to matter, but only as mover to movable, for Plato said that the soul is in the body “as a sailor in a ship” (Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles: Book 2: Creation, trans. by Vernon Bourke andJames F. Anderson (University of Notre Dame Press, 1992), p. 169). Descartes, too, harkens back to both Aristotle and Aquinas when he reprises this example of the sailor and the ship: “Nature also teaches me, by these sensations of pain, hunger, thirst, and so on, that I am not merely present in my body as a sailor is present in a ship, but that I am very closely joined and, as it were, intermingled with it, so that I and the body form a unit” (Sixth Meditation, AT VII, 8: CSM II, p. 56).

31 William of Ockham, Philosophical Writings: A Selection, translated and edited by Philotheus Boehner, O.F.M. (Hackett Publishing Company, Indianapolis/Cambridge, 1990), pp. 118-19: “[Question 4:] Whether a first efficient cause can be sufficiently proved from production as opposed to conservation?… Scotus answers this question in the affirmative in the first question of the second distinction…” Ockham proceeds to give eight summary answers to the question, according to the views of Scotus, then gives eight of his own replies to both the question, and to Scotus before replying in the end to the main argument, and passing on to the next question.

32 Cf. Ockham’s Philosophical Writings, p. 119-20: “In the seventh place: Otherwise, an infinity of accidentally ordered causes would be impossible; for such an infinity cannot exist simultaneously, but only successively, one thing after another, so that the second cause is caused by the first cause, without, however, depending on the first cause in causing; for a son generates in the same way whether his father be still living or dead.”

33 Ockham, Philosophical Writings, p. 115.

34Cf. Ockham, Philosophical Writings, pp. 119-22.

The God Of The Medieval Mystics

ImageThe main stream of the philosophical tradition, whose headwaters were the Greek pre-Socratics, largely occupied itself with accounting for the order observable in the natural world. The purpose in doing so was to uncover a causal connection between the order of nature and the underlying principle or principles constituting the kosmos. The supposition is that the order observable in nature, which is intelligible to rational beings, reflects the ordering principle itself. Thus, rational beings can apprehend, to a limited degree, the purposive nature of the ordering principle, and thereby render an account complementary to, and supporting the philosophical account of the natural world.

One stream of thought running counter to the speculative physics and metaphysics of the Greeks was that of the Medieval speculative mystics. The nature of the mystical experience, which is in effect a miracle in both the order of creation and the order of cognition, abrogated the need to philosophically investigate the causes in nature in order to arrive at a mode of certitude concerning the nature of the divine.

According to the mystics, discursive reasoning is not the only means by which the nature of God is known.1 The mystical experience involves a direct internal experience of the divine that passes over the philosophical process of searching out univocal connections, or fixing dualities between the creator and the creation; the rules of deductive reasoning become irrelevant because the mystical union with God tends decidedly toward the irrational and intuitive. Hence, the experiences of the mystics led to the creation of a branch of negative theology running counter to the natural theology of Aristotle and his Medieval followers.

As the Ockhamists had demonstrated by the close of the Middle Ages, the rational mind of man is unable to adequately or accurately fathom the divine nature. Thus, the innovation introduced by the mystics into Medieval Theology was to uncover a direct experience of the divine that circumvented man’s limited natural knowledge of God. The writings of the mystics lay emphasis on the certitude of the knowledge of God through mystical interior experiences and visions, and count their knowledge superior to the work of reason unaided by the divine light. According to the speculative mystics, there is nothing to preclude the experience of God from being an interior experience; thus it became necessary to extend the possibility of what could be included under the category of experience as such.

The mystical encounter with God bypassed the sterility of Scholastic speculation, which was largely a failure at intensifying religious life, and served to show that a philosophical consciousness of one’s internal acts, such as will and reason, is not the sole means of arriving at certitude regarding how God is known or understood.

Under the influence of the neo-Platonists, the speculative mystic’s conception of God necessitated the expansion and spiritualization of the category of experience, which had hitherto been rendered inoperative beyond the philosophical threshold of sensory experience. Because the God of the mystics is rationally unintelligible, the well-trodden avenue of reason is of no avail in circumscribing the spiritual nature of the mystical experience. The God of the mystics is no more philosophically intelligible than the neo-Platonist Plotinus’ hierarchy of abstractions crowned by the One, which is beyond Intellect and Being, and is not a philosophically intelligible object in any sense. However, the difference between the two respective conceptions lies in the realm of possible experience. Any experience of Plotinus’ One is unattainable; on the other hand, experience of the God of the mystics is possible through a spiritual process variously referred to as “degrees of communion with God,” the “divine birth in the soul,” and “degrees of prayer,” among other designations.

As illustrated in the writings of the mystics themselves, the encounter with God is set out in terms reminiscent of Plotinus’ self-refuting endeavor to give an adequate description of the nature of the One, which is indescribable, or Pseudo-Dionysus’ attempt to communicate his incommunicable vision through fantastic images drawn from the world of mutable things. The self is all but extinguished in the mystical union with God, and a soul thus enraptured is unable to convey any positive impression of what occurs, or how. The stream of negative theology that began with the neo-Platonists, and which the speculative mystics were to inherit, culminated in a unique conception of God mirrored in the soul’s ecstatic experience of the divine. Because the mystical experience was an experience of the ineffable, the abstract philosophical attributes of God formulated by the Medieval Aristotelian philosophers fell uselessly away, leaving a quasi-theological, or mystical-theological certitude that functioned independently of the philosophical subtleties of Ancient Greek origin.

1 Neither theosophy nor revelation is mentioned here on account of the fact that the entire crux of Medieval mysticism lies in its apocalyptic and theosophical character.

The Question Of The Immortality Of The Soul In Descartes’ Epistle To The Sorbonne

Pterodactyls

I. The Question of Immortality

In his Dedicatory Letter to the Sorbonne, Descartes presents his Meditations to the Dean and Doctors as a work of Christian apologetics, while suppressing his incendiary goal of demolishing the entire Aristotelian metaphysics, physics, and psychology with the critical principle of rationem dubitandi. Descartes’ methodological doubt functions as a general principle for critiquing what Aristotle and his Scholastic followers took for granted — the reliability of the rational soul’s knowledge of the material world gained through the senses.1 The Aristotelian-Scholastic’s proofs for the soul typically began with some form of evidence derived from the order of corporeal being, such as the fact that living things possess the power of self movement and growth, then causally deduced the formal principle from the material principle — for example, living things that move and grow and reproduce are animated by soul. However, concerning the survival of the incorporeal soul after the dissolution of the body, Aristotle does not give a consistent opinion, except on the point that the rational soul is “capable of existence [i.e., functioning] in isolation from all other psychic powers.”2

The demonstrable fact that the rational soul engages in operations such as calculation, speculation and contemplation, in which the body has no share, is not tantamount to the Thomistic claim that the soul has an existence — not merely an operation — entirely independent of the body that it is the form or actuality of. In his Summa Contra Gentiles, Thomas maintains, contra the view of Aristotle, that if the human intellectual soul, which is the actuality of the human body, possesses operations that are in no way dependent on the body’s operations, 3 then it follows that the intellectual soul is capable of continuing its operation of intellectual apprehension (intelligere corrumpitur) after the death of the body.

Descartes maintained that such proofs were not conclusive because man’s knowledge of the ontological order was made to depend on the perception of the fallible senses as the first principle of knowledge. For Descartes, the necessity for providing indisputable proofs for the existence of God and the separability of the soul from the body was of particular importance,4 considering that the dubitability of the evidence obtained through the senses, and the hypothesis of the malin génie, called into question the validity of any proof that presupposed the reliability of the senses, such as Thomas’ proofs for the existence of God and the immortality of the soul. By calling his addressee’s attention to the point that his project for proving the existence of God, and that the soul does not perish with the body, corresponded to the traditional Scholastic enterprise, Descartes sought to align his proofs with the long-accepted attempts of his Scholastic predecessors.

Citing the Lateran Council held under Pope Leo X in session eight, Descartes attempted to further legitimize his philosophical investigation into the nature and immortality of the soul by supporting his quest for epistemological certainty with Leo X’s mandate for Christian philosophers to refute the arguments of irreligious philosophers who hold “that the soul dies along with the body.”5 Be that as it may, Descartes’ mission as a philosophical apologist for the truth of Christian doctrine involved more than simply upholding the tenets of the Faith with rational arguments, as there was nothing innovative or new in doing so.

The sense that Aristotelian philosophy was a stagnant body of knowledge was part of the impetus behind Descartes’ desire to look afresh at the foundations of philosophy. That the Church had, in making Aquinas its representative theologian, implicitly “Christianized” the thought of Thomas’ master, Aristotle, was an alliance that made the doctrines of Christianity dependent in crucial ways on the philosophic principles and reasoning of a pagan philosopher.6 Hence, Descartes hoped to free Christian philosophy from the influence of, and dependence on Aristotelian philosophy, while setting the traditional questions of natural theology on a philosophically indubitable and Christian foundation.

When he broaches the question of the nature of the soul, Descartes could have had nothing other than the opening of Aristotle’s De anima in mind, writing, “As regards the soul, many people have considered that it is not easy to discover [non facile investigari] its nature…”7 Aristotle’s procedure for inquiring about the soul in De anima begins with what is perceptible or intelligible, and moves to the underlying principle or mechanism: “…in the order of investigation the question of what an agent does [movement] precedes the question, what enables it [i.e., the soul] to do what it does.”8 Aristotle does not begin his inquiry into the nature of the soul with thinking, since thought itself is neither perceptible, nor is it an intelligible species that takes itself as its own object; that is, Aristotle’s account of the rational soul does not begin with a demonstration of rationality.9 Descartes reverses Aristotle’s procedure for inquiring into the nature of the soul, and begins his Meditations by inquiring into a type of purely rational mental activity that is comparable to Aristotle’s conception of theoria, or contemplation, and then moves, in the Sixth Meditation, to where Aristotle’s investigation begins, which is an account of the perceptible activity of the agent that the soul/mind informs.

II. From Immortality to Separability

In his letter to the Dean and Doctors of the Sorbonne, Descartes claims that the existence of God and the immortality of the soul “are prime examples of subjects where demonstrative proofs ought to be given with the aid of philosophy rather than theology;” and further, “that the only reason why many irreligious people are unwilling to believe that God exists and that the human mind is distinct from the body [mentemque humanam a corpore distingui] is the alleged fact that no one has hitherto been able to demonstrate these points.” That no prior proof for the existence of God and the immortality of the soul is immune to contradiction or refutation is precisely what Descartes is claiming to be the case, bluntly stating that, “I would add that these proofs are of such a kind that I reckon they leave no room for the possibility that the human mind will ever discover better ones.”10

However, a rational proof for the existence of God and the immortality of the soul would invalidate the necessity for God’s participation in revealing Himself to man, and the soul’s salvation would not require God’s intervention any more than its survival after the death of the body. Aquinas was particularly aware of the religious or fideistic dimension to the question of the soul’s immortality. If the self-subsistence of the soul could be conclusively demonstrated, then God’s act of preserving the soul after the body dies would become superfluous, since the soul would be inevitably immortal, and without any need of divine support.11

Prior to addressing the matter of the nature and immortality of the soul in his letter, Descartes draws on Biblical passages that declare man’s knowledge of the existence of God to be “manifest” in order to build a case for the proof for the existence of God given in the Meditations. As Descartes’ proof for the separability of the soul from the body in the Second Meditation hinges dialectically on his proof for the existence of God as an innate idea of the mind, the soul is conceived of as tantamount to mind.12 The conflation of soul with mind leads Descartes to allude in his Sorbonne letter to his doctrine of innate ideas, writing that “everything that may be known of God” through the Scriptures, including man’s knowledge of God’s existence, “…can be demonstrated by reasoning which has no other source than our own mind.”13

Descartes’ phrase, “no other source than our own mind,” introduces a subtle shift in the argument, and is intended to transfer man’s knowledge of the existence of God from the sensible effects wherein God’s existence is evident throughout His creation, to a knowledge of God’s existence that is neither discursive, nor requires any recourse to the theological Biblical tradition. Knowledge of the existence of God derived from His sensible effects is, according to Descartes, a fallacy in the order of knowledge; the corporeal organs of sense only sense what is sensible, and God, who is incorporeal, cannot be apprehended in His existence through the corporeal senses. The dubitability of sensible objects and their effects undermines the validity of knowledge derived from the material world; hence, if man’s knowledge of the existence of God is drawn from sensible effects, then the existence of God can be called into doubt through the same channels by which His existence was asserted.

On the other hand, in the Third Meditation, the necessity of the mind’s a priori knowledge of the existence of God is deduced from the infinite nature of God, as there is no other means by which a finite mind could be in possession of the idea of an infinite being.14 Further, Descartes maintains that,

the mere fact that God created me is a very strong basis for believing that I am somehow made in his image and likeness, and that I perceive that likeness, which includes the idea of God, by the same faculty which enables me to perceive myself.15

The thesis that the mind is made in God’s image and likeness rests upon the assumption that the mind possesses judgment, rationality, and will — in other words, those communicable attributes that God possesses infinitely and perfectly, and the human mind, to a limited and finite degree. Because the meditator perceives both God and the ego through the same faculty, i.e., the understanding, what is predicated of God — infinity and perfection,16 is also predicated of the mind, but to a diminished degree of perfection.17 The quasi-univocity between the innate contents of the mind and the mind’s simultaneous apprehension of the knowledge of the existence of God and the ego confirms that the mind has natural knowledge of God in the same way that the mind perceives itself — the force of the intuition that to think (i.e., to act), one must exist, impresses itself on the understanding with the same indubitable force as the fact that if a finite mind has an idea of an infinite, perfect being, it follows that an infinite perfect being must perforce exist.

The Sorbonne faculty, as Descartes was well aware, were Aristotelian-Thomists, and held that the first principle of man’s knowledge was the grasping of concrete existence in its singularity, which apprehension depended upon the sensible object received by the active intellect via the phantasm. Without the sensible object, neither the active nor the possible intellect could be activated, and the intellect’s abstraction from the particular thing to grasp the intelligible species could never take place. Man’s knowledge of the existence of God, deriving from the order of created things, points to the necessity of His existence as the first cause of the material world, and the requirement that there exist in the universe intellectual creatures that bear “a likeness to its source, according to its being and its nature, wherein it enjoys a certain perfection.”18

Man’s rational soul, or intellectual nature, cognizes the existence of God by the rational faculty that has its basis in the priority of the sensible object given to the active intellect through the phantasm. Descartes’ emphasis on the ease with which the existence of God is thinkable subordinates the chain of causes in the sensible order to the chain of causes in the order of ideas. That the existence of God, according to Descartes, is more self-evident than the existence of the sensible world, alters the Aristotelian/Thomist conception of the intellectual soul, which apprehends its object via the simple class of objects that Aquinas refers to as “sensible by accident,” or objects which are intelligible in themselves.19 However, Descartes wished to gain the commendation of the Sorbonne for his Meditations, and to do so required a subtle method of aligning his ostensibly anti-Aristotelian conception of God and the human soul with the views upheld by the staunchly traditional Sorbonne faculty:20

I have noticed both that you and all other theologians assert that the existence of God is capable of proof by natural reason, and also that the inference from Holy Scripture is that the knowledge [cognitionem] of God is easier to acquire than the knowledge we have of many created things…”21

In this rhetorical gesture, Descartes first presents his conception of man’s knowledge of God’s existence as an innate idea of the mind, which is a pivotal move in his attempt to persuade the theologians that his metaphysics does not diverge from the main topics of prior systems, but serves to reckon together and codify all “arguments that have been put forward on these issues by the great men,” whose arguments Descartes praises as having “the force of demonstrations.”22

In his letter, Descartes strategically combines established doctrines of the Church with the traditional Scholastic endeavor to generate proofs for the existence of God and the immortality of the soul, and then, in the Meditations, ingeniously modifies the purpose of speculative philosophy and natural theology to support the practical ends of physical science. It is noteworthy that the Sorbonne letter only contains one passing mention of science, when the wider purpose of the Meditations was the establishment of a firm foundation upon which to raise the sciences.23 Because Descartes scientific thought derives entirely from his metaphysics,24 he is able to sidestep the need to deal directly in his letter with the fact that his speculative physics overturns the speculative physics of Aristotle — the main points that Descartes address in his letter, viz., proving the existence of God and the immortality of the soul, are framed in terms of definitive proofs that can be used to combat atheism, materialism, and religious skepticism.25

Descartes’ project of providing a firm metaphysical foundation for the sciences is carried out according to the established template of the Scholastic philosophers, consisting of a synthesis of speculative metaphysics and Christian theology. But by taking a reductionist approach to the history of philosophy, and indeed to the act of philosophizing itself, at one stroke Descartes is able to critique and sweep aside the writings of his Scholastic predecessors with his claims of logical soundness and indubitability for the proofs in the Meditations.26 Descartes’ conception of one universal science, whose “roots are metaphysics, the trunk is physics, and the branches emerging from the trunk are all the other sciences…,”27 required that the method used for augmenting the sciences be single, in order that truth could be demonstrated in a systematic order. The indisputability of Aristotle’s indemonstrable principles for reasoning was transformed, under the auspices of the Cartesian method, into the test of indubitability for arriving at epistemological certainty in derived propositions.

Descartes synthesis of speculative metaphysics and Christian theology differs, then, from the Scholastic’s metaphysics and theology in that the aim of discovering a method from which to derive indubitable metaphysical principles with which to augment physics and all the other branches of science was never present for Scholastic philosophers such as Aquinas. For Descartes, the theological imperative to demonstrate the existence of God and the immortality of the soul developed out of a rationale opposed to the Aristotelian/Scholastic concept of theoria (the contemplation of truth) as the utmost goal of philosophizing.28

Descartes rejected not only the contemplation of truth as the goal of philosophic activity by replacing it with an end in practical activity, but took skepticism as his chief philosophic enemy from the beginning, rather than the thought of Aristotle and the Scholastics.29 Moreover, Descartes’ held that the rational proofs found in the writings of the Schoolmen for the existence of God and the immortality of the soul failed to attain their objective, and amounted in the end to mere demonstrations that the truths of faith and the truths of reason do not lie in opposition to each other; or, that there can not exist something which is both true and not true at the same time.

Such demonstrations, Descartes held, were insufficient to combat the tendency in the 17th century toward atheism, materialism, and religious skepticism. Only the perception of truth impressed with such force and vivacity that the mind cannot help but assent to it could be a sufficient criterion for the test of the indubitability of knowledge — what is true is what the mind perceives “clearly and distinctly.”

1 It should be noted that, in regard to his Principles of Philosophy (1644), Descartes’ desire to have his textbook adopted and instituted into the Jesuit educational programme led him to soften his tone concerning the anti-Aristotelian and anti-Scholastic positions found in such works as his Discourse on the Method (1637) and Meditations (1641). Writing to his former teacher, Charlet, in October 1644, Descartes states in regard to the contents of his Principles that, “I know that people have thought my views were new; yet they will see here that I do not use any principles which were not accepted by Aristotle and by all those who have ever concerned themselves with philosophy. People have also imagined that my aim was to refute the received views of the Schools, and to try to render them absurd; but they will see that I do not discuss them any more than I would if I had never learnt them” (AT IV, 141; CSMK 3, p. 238); and four months later, again writing to Charlet, Descartes expresses his wish that his textbook would “serve effectively to explain the truths of the faith without, moreover, contradicting the writings of Aristotle” (AT IV, 157; CSMK 3, p. 240).

2 DA, p. 558 (413b 25). Cf. DA, p. 548 (408b 24): “The incapacity of old age is due to an affection not of the soul but of its vehicle… Thus it is that in old age the activity of mind or intellectual apprehension declines only through the decay of some other inward part; mind itself is impassable.”

Regarding Aristotle’s opinion of the immortality of the soul in De anima, and how those opinions formed a basis for debate among Christian philosophers C.F. Fowler notes that, “His [Aristotle’s] enigmatic comments throughout the De anima on the possibility of the survival of the human soul only added to the difficulties for his Christian followers and gave rise to the various schools of interpretation.” Descartes On the Human Soul: Philosophy and the Demands of Christian Doctrine (International Archive of the History of Ideas, 160; Kluwer Academic Publishers, Dordrecht, Boston, London, 1999), p. 80. Brackets mine.

3 Cf., SCG 2, 68: 12: “Above all these forms [nutritive and sensitive souls], however, is a form like to higher substances even in respect of the kind of knowledge proper to it, namely, understanding. This form, then, is capable of an operation which is accomplished without any bodily organ at all. And this form is the intellective soul; for understanding is not effected though any bodily organ. That is why this principle, the intellective soul by which man understands and which transcends the condition of corporeal matter, must not be wholly encompassed or imbedded in matter… This is proved by its intellectual operation, wherein corporeal matter has no part. But since the human soul’s act of understanding needs powers — namely, imagination and sense — which function through bodily organs, this itself shows that the soul is naturally united to the body in order to complete the human species.”

4 Cf. AT VII, 3; CSM 2, p. 4: In his Dedicatory Letter, Descartes is in earnest with his assertion that, “I think there is no more useful service to be rendered in philosophy than to conduct a careful search, once and for all, for the best of these arguments [for the existence of God and the immortality of the soul], and to set them out so precisely and clearly as to produce for the future a general agreement that they amount to demonstrative proofs.” Brackets mine.

5 AT VII, 3; CSM 2, p. 4.

6 In 1613, Aquaviva, the General of the Jesuit order, renewed the Jesuit’s commitment to Thomas’ theology.

7 AT VII, 3; CSM 2, p. 4, brackets mine. Cf. DA, “To attain any assured knowledge of the soul is one of the most difficult things in the world,” p. 535, 402a 10. Cf. Discourse on the Method, “But many are convinced that there is some difficulty in knowing God and even knowing what their soul is,” AT VI, 37; CSM 1, p. 129.

8 DA, p. 561, 415a 15. Brackets mine.

9 Cf. Aristotle’s Metaphysics: “There are… some who raise a difficulty by asking, who is to be the judge of the healthy man, and in general who is likely to judge rightly on each class of questions. But such inquiries are like puzzling over the question whether we are now asleep or awake. And all such questions have the same meaning. These people demand that a reason shall be given for everything; for they seek a starting-point, and they seek to get this by demonstration, while it is obvious from their actions that they have no conviction. But their mistake is what we have stated it to be; they seek a reason for things for which no reason can be given; for the starting-point of demonstration is not demonstration,” p. 747-748 (1011a 1- 15).

10 AT VII, 4; CSM 2, p. 4.

11 In order for the philosophical proof for the immortality of the soul to be consistent with the Church’s doctrine, Aquinas postulated that God would have to act in order to preserve the soul after the death of the body: “Separated souls know some singulars but not all (even those that are temporally present). For evidence on this we should consider that there are two modes of understanding. One is by abstraction from sense images, and in this manner singulars cannot be known by the intellect directly… The other manner of understanding is by the infusion of species [per influentiam specierum] by God, and according to this manner the intellect can know singulars… immaterial substances can know singulars by way of species which are participated likenesses of the divine essence,” ST, 1a, 89, 4, reply; pp. 149-151. Brackets mine.

12 Cf. footnote 3 in CSM 2, p. 10, where the additional phrase from the French translation of the Meditations, “…or the soul of man, for I make no distinction between them,” is noted in relation to the passage from the original text that reads, “And it follows from this that while the body can very easily perish, the mind is immortal by its very nature.”

C.F. Fowler note of Descartes’ predominant use of the term mens over anima, animus, ingenium, and spiritus in the Meditations to describe the human soul (Fowler 1999, pp. 161-175). Fowler concludes with the observation that, “The novelty of the Cartesian notion of the human soul was highlighted by a refusal of the traditional vocabulary and the deliberate choice of the word mens,” ibid., p. 186.

13 AT VII, 2; CSM 2, p. 3. Brackets and italics mine. The Latin original is as follows: “…videmur admoneri ea omnia quae de Deo sciri possunt, rationibus non aliunde petitis quam ab ipsamet nostra mente posse ostendi.”

14 Third Meditation, AT VII, 51; CSM 2, p. 35: “…when I turn my mind’s eye on upon myself, I understand that I am a thing which is incomplete and dependent on another and which aspires without limit to even greater and better things; but I also understand at the same time that he on whom I depend has within him all those greater things, not just indefinitely and potentially but actually an infinitely, and hence that he is God.”

15 Third Meditation, AT VII, 51; CSM 2, p. 35.

16 The fact that man is created in the “likeness” or “image” of an infinite and perfect God has its parallel in: 1) infinite — the human will that extends indefinitely; 2) perfection — the mind’s reflexive apprehension of clear and distinct ideas.

17 Cf. Third Meditation, AT VII, 42; CSM 2, p. 29: “An although one idea may perhaps originate from another, there cannot be an infinite regress here; eventually one must reach a primary idea, the cause of which will be like an archetype which contains formally [and in fact] all the reality [or perfection] which is present only objectively [or representatively] in the idea. So it is clear to me, by the natural light, that the ideas in me are like [pictures, or] images which can easily fall short of the perfection of the things from which they are taken, but which cannot contain anything greater or more perfect.” Brackets in original.

18 Thomas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles, 2, 46: 2.

19 Cf. SCG 2, 77: 2: “…the intellectual soul itself remains potential with respect to the determinate likeness of things that can be known by us, namely, the natures of sensible things. It is the phantasms which present these determinate sensible natures to us. But these phantasms have not yet acquired intelligible actuality, since they are likenesses of sensible things even as to material conditions, which are the individual properties, and, moreover, the phantasms exist in material organs. Consequently, they are not actually intelligible.”

20 In a letter to Mersenne of January 28, 1641, Descartes writes in regard to his physics, “…I may tell you, between ourselves, that these six Meditations contain all the foundations of my physics. But please do not tell people, for that might make it harder for supporters of Aristotle to approve them. I hope that readers will gradually get used to my principles, and recognize their truth, before they notice that they destroy the principles of Aristotle,” AT III, 297-298; CSMK 3, p. 173. Like Aristotle’s, Descartes physics are founded on his metaphysics; hence, to destroy the principles of Aristotle’s physics is to cast doubt on the validity of his metaphysics as well — which Descartes does not fail, in his Meditations, to do.

21 Letter to the Sorbonne, AT VII, 2; CSM 2, p. 3.

22 Letter to the Sorbonne, AT VII, 3; CSM 2, p. 4.

23 “And finally, I was strongly pressed to undertake this task [producing demonstrative proofs for the existence of God, and that the human mind is distinct from the body] by several people who knew that I had developed a method for resolving certain difficulties in the sciences…” AT VII, 3; CSM 2, p. 4. Brackets mine.

24 In a letter to Mersenne of November 11, 1640, Descartes discusses some possible difficulties in the Sorbonne’s reception of his Meditations, which he refers to as his “metaphysics, due to controversies that might arise concerning certain other projected publications: “It might also hold up the approbation of the Sorbonne, which I want, and which I think may be very useful for my purposes, for I must tell you that the little book on metaphysics which I sent you contains all the principles of my physics.” (AT III, 233; CSMK 3, p. 157).

25 “What I have done is to take merely the principle and most important arguments and develop them in such a way that I would now venture to put them forward as very certain and evident demonstrations. I will add that these proofs are of such a kind that I reckon they leave no room for the possibility that the human mind will ever discover better ones.” (AT VII, 4; CSM 2, p. 4).

Contra the materialistic view of the soul propounded by early natural philosophers, Descartes briefly alludes to such claims in the Second Meditation: “But as to the nature of this soul, either I did not think about this or else I imagined it to be something tenuous, like a wind or fire or ether, which permeated my more solid parts.” (AT VII, 26; CSM 2, p. 17). Cf. SCG: “This, then, does away with the error of the early natural philosophers. Who supposed that no substance exists except the corporeal, and who therefore said that the soul is a body, either fire or water or air, or something of the kind…” (2, 49: 11). Cf. DA, p. 540-542 (405a 5-505b 30) for Aristotle’s review of his predecessor’s opinions of the soul as “either an element, or constructed out of the elements.” The respective summaries of the opinions of early natural philosophers found in the writings of Descartes and Aquinas’ are an obvious echo of remarks made in Aristotle’s treatise on the soul.

26 “I do not think that the diversity of the opinions of the scholastics makes their philosophy difficult to refute. It is easy to overturn the foundations on which they all agree, and once that has been done, all their disagreements over detail will seem foolish.” (AT III, 232; CSMK 3, p. 156).

27 Fifth Set of Objections, AT VII D; CSM 1, 186.

28 Cf. Nicomachean Ethics, “…the activity of God, which surpasses all others in blessedness, must be contemplative; and of human activities, therefore, that which is most akin to this [contemplation] must be most of the nature of happiness,” p. 1104 (1178b 20). Brackets mine. Cf. SCG 1, 1: 2: “The ultimate end of the universe must… be the good of an intellect. This good is truth. Truth must consequently be the ultimate end of the whole universe, and the consideration of the wise man aims principally at truth.”

29 Cf. Frederick Copleston, S. J., A History of Philosophy: Modern Philosophy: Descartes to Leibniz, volume 4 (Image Books, Garden City, New York, 1960), p. 80.

By Our Own Quickening Power: The Devil, Descartes & Milton On The Question of Theodicy

In the long tradition of Western philosophy, the question of by what means, if at all, do humans comprehend the ways and designs of God, dates back to the earliest efforts of the pre-Socratic philosophers. The later tradition of Christian philosophical inquiry, which commenced with the writings of Origen in the 2nd century A.D., carried with it from its inception the burden of the question of theodicy, and expanded the nature of the investigation to account for the agonistic struggle for the souls of men between an infinite, providential God and His adversary, the fallen angel called Satan.

One subcategory within the general issues investigated by the question of theodicy examines one of the oldest questions facing man’s experience of the world: whence evil? As the antithesis of good, evil is necessarily the privation, negation, or deception of the good. To rephrase the question, because I am afflicted in some way, or deceived, God cannot be good; were God good, I would not be afflicted or deceived; hence, my being subject to affliction and deception contradicts God’s goodness, and implies that if it was an omnipotent and benevolent God who created me, I would not be afflicted or deceived in any way. A multitude of responses have been advanced to elucidate the question and to absolve or convict God of responsibility for the evils that dominate human life, and in reading Milton’s Paradise Lost, we come upon a late contribution to the argument, and in a poeticized rather than a systematic or analytic form.1 The particular concern in Milton’s poem is with accounting for the origins of things, be it the creation, evil, rationality, man— in short, he is concerned with accounting for not only the origin of all things, but with their respective destinies as well. As a Christian poet, Milton holds that only the proper understanding of the eternally existing foundation of things facilitates true human knowledge, and only with this proper understanding can life be rightly lived; all else is a sinful perversion and corruption of the designs and intentions of God. Hence, the light of God’s revelation gives assistance to the fallen human understanding only to a certain and limited extent; knowledge of divine truth must be actively sought, insofar as it remains unrevealed in particular practical matters and cases in human experience. With the limited battery of tools that revealed knowledge provides as a guide for conduct, the cognitive faculties of the will and reason can either act as aides for the understanding and for proper conduct, which ultimately leads souls to God, or as misguided vehicles for justifying sinful and irrational behavior, which lands unrepentant souls in the immortal fry of perdition. The faculty of reason, or what Milton calls “right reason” (ratio recta) is the vehicle for coming to a proper and general— which is not to say a full— understanding of why God created the kosmos, why God allowed the fall of man to occur, and the means by which God will redeem humankind from the consequences of original sin. While man only through the light of revelation knows all of the latter truths, according to Milton, the right exercise of the faculty of reason exclusively coincides with a sincere belief in the truths of faith. According to Milton, the truths of reason and the truths of faith are not mutually exclusive epistemic categories; they are, in fact, two sides of the same epistemological coin.

While Milton’s conception of theodicy in Paradise Lost has no doubt been explored from many angles by many commentators, one side note of interest lies in the similarity between how the question of the origin of conscious beings is explored in Milton’s characterization of Satan in Paradise Lost, and also in Descartes hypothetical “evil genius” (deus deceptor) from the Second and Third Meditations. Satan’s argument for self-creation in book five of Paradise Lost bears a strong, though likely inadvertent correspondence to the fallacious logic of the argument for self-creation employed by Descartes in his Meditations. Descartes was the “father” of modern philosophy in the sense that mind, or the content of mind takes precedence over the fallible operations of the senses. Cartesian philosophical idealism does not have a direct parallel to Milton’s conception of rationality and the freedom of the will, yet Milton is arguably a philosophical idealist in the same sense as Descartes, in terms of the priority of reason over the data or content of sensory experience.

Milton’s idealism, as well as Descartes’, is evident in the comparison of the two respective arguments for self-creation. The philosophical thrust of these arguments is contained in the philosophical question of theodicy, which is that God, whatever His purposes or designs might represent to human consciousness, is ultimately incomprehensible in His purpose for allowing evil (Milton) and error (Descartes) to actively impair man’s ability to reason, and thus come to knowledge of the truth. Under these conditions, theodicy is either impossible, or there is no such thing as a consistent theodicy. The faculty of reason, or what Milton calls “right reason” (ratio recta) is the vehicle for coming to a proper and general— which is not to say a full— understanding of why God created the kosmos, why God allowed the fall of man to occur, and the means by which God will redeem humankind from the consequences of original sin.

In the First Meditation, Descartes introduces the hypothesis of the deus deceptor in order to push the limits of skepticism further than have Sextus Empiricus and all previous philosophical skeptics, including Montaigne and Pierre Bayle:

And yet firmly rooted in my mind is the longstanding opinion that there is an omnipotent God who made me the kind of creature that I am. How do I know that He has not brought it about that there is no earth, no sky, no extended thing, no shape, no size, no place, while at the same time ensuring that all these things appear to me to exist just as they do now? What is more, because I sometimes believe that others go astray where they think they have the most perfect knowledge, may I similarly go wrong every time I add two and three or count the sides of a square… But perhaps God would not have allowed me to be deceived in this way because He is said to be supremely good. But if it were inconsistent with His goodness to have created me such that I am deceived all the time, it would seem equally foreign to His goodness to allow me to be deceived even occasionally; yet this last assertion cannot be made.2

Note that the structure of the second part of the hypothesis of the deus deceptor resembles the famous Epicurean argument: because there is evil, then God is either evil or impotent or both. Descartes’ argument is analogous: because I have a nature which sometimes deceives me, God is either evil or impotent or both. In other words, the fact that I have a nature subject to deception is proof that God did not create me.3 One notable fact is that in Paradise Lost, neither Adam nor Eve question how they originated,4 whereas Satan, in book five, argues that since none of the fallen angels, including himself, recalls being created, if follows that, “We know no time when we were not as now;/Know none before us, self-begot, self-raised/By our own quickening power…”5 The argument for self-creation questions the existence of God, and from this it follows that Satan’s adversary is not an omnipotent and benevolent God at all, but a demiurge imposter who has set himself up as a tyrant. Accordingly, Satan and the fallen angels have just as much right to heaven as the imposter posing as God. In similar fashion, in the Third Meditation, Descartes inquires as to whether or not the idea of a being more perfect than himself must necessarily proceed from some being which is in reality more perfect, and examines the possibility of whether he himself, who has such an idea of a more perfect being, could exist if no such being existed:

For whom, in that case, would I derive my existence? From myself, presumably, or from my parents, or from some beings less perfect than God… Yet if I derived my existence from myself, then I should neither doubt nor want, nor lack anything at all; for I should have given myself all the perfections of which I have any idea, and thus I should myself be God… And if I had derived my existence from myself, which is a greater achievement [than to emerge out of nothing], I should certainly not have denied myself the knowledge in question [i.e., the knowledge of the many things of which he is ignorant, such as his origin]…

The logic of the argument for self-creation mirrors not only the terrifying logic of the deus deceptor, in which all knowledge is made absurd and impossible, but also the perverted logic of Milton’s Satan, where all manifestations of God’s goodness are inverted so as to seem absurd and unjust. If we consider Milton’s invocation to Book III in light of the question of the source of things— be it creation, revelation, Christian epic poetry, then the fear that the poem may well be nothing more than a self-created fantasy becomes apparent:

Thee I revisit now with bolder wing,

Escap’t the Stygian Pool, though long detain’d

In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight

Through utter and through middle darkness borne

With other notes than the Orphean Lyre

I sung of Chaos and Eternal Night,

Taught by the heav’nly Muse to venture down

The dark descent, and up to reascend,

Though hard and rare…6

Milton distinguishes his source from that other than Satan, who had proclaimed himself in Book II as “Alone, and without guide,”7 though by the ninth book, Milton seems less certain that an appeal to the muse will procure the inspiration that he relies on: “If answerable style I can obtain/ Of my Celestial Patroness,” he will succeed, but not “if all be mine,/ Not Hers who brings it nightly to my ear.”8 This echoes, albeit in a different mood, Satan’s fatuous speculation that he and the other angels were “self-begot, self-raised/By our own quickening power.”

In book seven of Paradise Lost, God speaks illuminatingly of his own character:

Though I uncircumscribed myself retire,

And put not forth my goodness, which is free

To act or not, necessity and chance

Approach not me, and what I will is fate.9

The philosophical distinction between necessity, fate, and foreknowledge is complex, and need not detain us. Milton’s project of justifying the ways of God to men becomes less relevant and less meaningful when the answer to the question of why is such-and-such state of affairs so receives the answer “because men and angels have chosen,” which is tantamount to something to the effect that “it is so because it is so.” In Milton’s cosmology, evil and good are ultimately of a piece because God, from which these two principles are derived, is Himself a unity; in the end, evil is good because the source of all things is good, and what seems like needless suffering (good as evil) is, in the end, necessary for immutable goodness to remain self-identical and infinitely free.

In his book Christian Doctrine, Milton writes that, “From the concept of freedom… all idea of necessity must be removed… The matter or object of the divine plan was that angels and men alike should be endowed with free will, so that they could either fall or not fall.”10 In terms of Milton’s conception of theodicy, such an a posteriori case for the freedom of the will is weak when the breakdown of the rational faculty seems to be part and parcel of the human condition. All men inevitably go wrong in thought, word and deed, and no matter how efficaciously the intellect is exercised, men and angel’s willful choice to fall or not fall cannot be considered a genuine choice extended by a benevolent and omnipotent God. Yet, according to Milton, “divine foreknowledge can no more affect the action of free agents than can human foreknowledge… because in both cases the foreknowledge is within the mind of the foreknower and has no external effect.”11 How can Milton reconcile the “free agent” who exists under the crippling curse imposed under Adam and Eve’s first disobedience, with the passive foreknowledge of God that redeems men according to merit rather than predestination?

As the presence of a rational faculty, which is tied directly to the freedom of the will in men, questions the justness of paralyzed divine foreknowledge, so too does the respective Miltonic and Cartesian arguments for self-creation question the existence of God, as well as the justness of God’s actions. Yet what both arguments fail to account for, as both Milton and Descartes were aware, is the palpable limitation in the exercise of cognitive faculties that finite entities such as Satan, the res cogitans of the Meditations, and normal human beings necessarily experience: thinking is not tantamount to creating, nor is the flawed assumption that to be unable to recall a time before one existed mean that either one is the creator of oneself, or that one has always existed. The claim of self-creation made by the deus deceptor and Satan, respectively, and the difficulty with which man apprehends goodness and truth in a world that has come under the dominion of sin and death,points to the origin of error or evil, insofar as it is a byproduct of a perversion of Milton’s principle of right reason, and the Cartesian principle of the light of nature. Under these conditions, the faculty of reason, like the freedom of the will, mirrors the self-identical nature of the divine mind in some respects, rather than the indeterminacy of the way in which the material world is ordered.

In his Meditations, Descartes argues that the data apprehended by the senses are an obstacle to knowing the truth, and that only the rational mind, which inspects the a priori contents of mind, can apprehend the indubitable truth of the existence of God the creator and the immortality of the soul. While there is an apocalyptic element to Descartes’ thinking, Milton’s ontologically ambiguous portrayal of Eden in Paradise Lost presents the reader, on the one hand, with a picture of the most perfect habitation for man; and on the other, Eden as a wilderness that ever exists in a perilous balance between self-generating over-ripeness and rapid decomposition. In the brief period after man was created by God, and before his fall, the question of the reliability of the rational faculty (intellect plus will) as an effective means for coming to an understanding of truth comes under an ironic scrutiny in Milton’s portrayal of Adam and Eve as inexpert stewards and tenders of paradise:

forth came the human pair…

Then commune how that day they best may ply

Their growing work; for much their work outgrew

The hands dispatch of two gardening so wide…12

Because Eden in “One night or two with wanton growth derides,/ Tending to wild,”13 Eve argues that “till more hands/ Aid us, the work under our labor grows,”14 and thus she enjoins Adam to divide their labors in order that their efforts may be better rewarded. As any good capitalist would argue, the division of labor makes perfect rational sense; yet in the antediluvian world of Eden, rational argument must either contend with or align itself to the content of revelation, as in the case of the angel’s warning to Adam that he and Eve must not separate, unless she unduly expose herself to the wiles and seductions of the serpent. Eve’s argument that she and Adam divide their labors is in accord with reason, but out of sync with the content of revelation; the question then arises, precisely where does free and rational human choice intersect with the infinite will and foregone decrees of God?

While the rationally underprovided author of this paper can offer no settlement, it is clear that in terms of human action, for a decision to be made, one has to be attracted or repulsed by the good or evil that presents itself. Objects attract the will, but not when objects are identical, as in the case of “Burdian’s ass.”15 In his dialogue Crito, Plato argues that men are incapable of doing evil because they cannot do good, thus everything men do is by chance rather than method or intentionally; hence the necessity for the iron hand of the Philosopher King to rule men who cannot rule themselves. Yet men do ostensibly know what is right and wrong, whether it is according to societal norms or natural law, and Christians are refreshingly commonsensical in their explanation of the moral distinction of good and evil as the result of original sin— knowing good and evil comes through the everyday experience of being either wronged or benefited, and then acting in accordance with the circumstance. The Greeks gave a very rational answer to why men pursue what they pursue, but it is morally vacuous, commands a totalitarian solution, and runs counter to everyday experience. So why, according to philosophical idealists Milton and Descartes, do we pursue evil when we know the good? The answer, in both cases, is that the contents of our perceptions deceive us, and only reason is a sure and able guide between one choice and another, between sin and redemption. So, to reiterate the question posed above, i.e., how fit are the recipients of reason to employ the faculty of reason, it should be pointed out that the question presupposes the human faculty16 of reason as a perfection in the human genus; but it is clear that the rational faculty, in a fallen world, is far from perfect or reliable for performing the critical judgments necessary to be constantly in accord with right reason, or otherwise avoid error. If we add sense perception into the will/intellect equation, the faculty of reason must either stand on its own (per se), operating without any influence from the senses, and neither the will or intellect goes wrong; or, reason, operating with the senses, is constantly assailed with misleading and erroneous sense data, thus impeding the will and intellect with an admixture of falsehood, which may even be mistaken betimes for truth. Reason does not supply foresight, and thus Eve’s decision to divide the share of labor with Adam was indeed rational; and yet without the apocalyptic knowledge possessed only of Adam to avoid the consequences of dividing their labor, it was impossible for Eve, though she be rational, to be cogitatively in accord with Milton’s conception of right reason.

Where is the question of theodicy in all of this? With the popularization of Newtonian, and later, Cartesian mechanistic physics, the gloriously romantic universe of Milton, that set no bounds to the imagination of man as it played over space and time, was swept away. In its stead reigned a conception of space that was identified with the realm of geometry, and time with the continuity of number. Instead of the miraculous creative and conserving powers of God, the ultimate elements of the kosmos, in a geometric sense, were reduced to portions of space. As Descartes famously announces in his Fourth Meditation, the Aristotelian search for final causes in the natural sciences and physics is useless to any understanding of immediate, or efficient cause. Asking the question of why, in the ultimate sense, is such-and-such state of affairs the way it is, is devoid of content in the face of the practical question of how is such-and-such a state of affairs the way it is. While Milton and Descartes were in relative intellectual agreement regarding the necessity for asserting the freedom of the will over any theological or philosophical formulation that asserted the bondage of the will, they were out of agreement in terms of whether or not the kosmos operated according to mechanistic laws. Milton was a theo-philosophical contemplative in terms of his investment in the question of theodicy and right reason, yet he was also a hard-line consequentialist ethically. Safeguarded, then, somewhere between action and contemplation lies Milton’s conception of man and God, and his conception of man’s relation to God. In both Milton and Descartes’ respective writings, preserved is a version of man’s moral nature that is structured by a formal conception of God that, at least superficially, is built on the evidences of Scripture. Such a conception of God retains (much according to the philosophical tradition) the monotheistic attributes of omnipotence, omni-benevolence, and infinity, among others. As opposed tothe philosophes naturelles of the latter 17th and 18th centuries, neither Milton nor Descartes ever abandoned the question of theodicy for the life-raft of materialism and fictionalized historicism, maintaining until the end, in their several ways, that morality cannot be cashed out in mechanical terms any more than beauty or truth.

1 Cf. Paradise Lost, V: 99: Best image of myself and dearer half,

The trouble of thy thoughts this night in sleep

Affects me equally; nor can I like

This uncouth dream, of evil sprung I fear;

Yet evil whence? In thee can harbor none,

Created pure. But know that in the soul

Are many lesser faculties that serve

Reason as chief…

All references to Milton hereafter are cited as PL, and otherwise as the respective work quoted in the text body.

2 Descartes, Meditations,AT VII, 21; CSM II, p. 14.

3 To expand the argument, if God were evil, he could not create, since evil is a privation of good; and because the act of creation is a perfection, if God were evil, he would necessarily be impotent to create the kosmos; thus, neither the kosmos nor mankind could be the work of God.

4 Cf. PL, VIII: 250 ff: For man to tell how human life began

Is hard; for who himself beginning knew?…

But who I was, or where, or from what cause,

Knew not…

To which God replies : “Whom thou sought’st I am…”

“Author of all this thou seest

Above, or round about thee or beneath…

5 Ibid., V: 859-61.

6 Ibid., III: 13-21.

7 Ibid., II: 975.

8 Ibid., IX: 20-21.

9 Ibid., VII: 170-74.

10 Milton, Christian Doctrine, 1:iii.

11 Ibid.

12 PL, IX: 197, 201-203.

13 PL, IX: 211-12.

14 PL, IX: 207-8.

15 An ass find himself in a pasture with two identical bails of hay on either side of him; because there is no difference in quality or quantity between the two bails, the will of the ass is paralyzed, and he starves to death because he cannot choose betwixt them.

16 Human reason as opposed to God and angels, which are ontologically distinct, immutable, and, by degrees of perfection, more rational beings.