A Mouse in Wolf's Clothing (Part VI)

The method. The prefix “meta-,” as in meta-physics, means “beyond.” Metaphysicians study those subjects that lie beyond physics, that is, those things that cannot be explained by a study of the physical world (hence, the scarcity of materialist metaphysics). A true materialist may wonder about metaphysical questions, but will never put trust in any of the answers. He may reply to “What’s it all about?” with a meaningful shrug, and to “Where did it all come from?” with a less meaningful equation, but his heart will be involved in neither answer. The term, “his heart,” will actually have no meaning for him (or if it does, his heart will not be in it). He will regard any emotional attachments as mere effects of atoms in motion. I have no idea how the materialist deals with his joyful attachment to materialism, but I am convinced that he does. Consequently – and almost by definition – the materialist divorces himself from metaphysical concerns. He remains comfortable with the road he travels, and would feel no urge to get off it.

The suffix “-logy,” as in theo-logy, derives from the Greek and, in nearly all cases, means “study.” Theologians thus study God (theo-). I would like to continue in this paragraph to parallel the previous one. But the days have passed when theologians could study God without considering that the physical universe might be an important aspect of God’s Being. No longer can they begin with the assumption that God is one thing, his creation another. They have to consider that the two may be one. Consequently, the theologian is less comfortable than the materialist on the road he travels, or at least less assured that his orthodox position can be maintained.

The belief is ancient in eastern cultures that God and His creation are one. The Tao-Teh Ching of Lao Tzu, which predates Aristotle by as much as two centuries, speaks of the unmoved and unmovable Tao, the nothing in and beyond all things. In the west, 2100 years later, Giordano Bruno spoke of body and spirit as one substance, and even though the details of his theories went up in smoke with his body, enough remains that we know he envisioned a theology in which God and His creation were viewed as one. Nowhere, however, in east or west, has the notion of Oneness been more convincingly described than in Spinoza’s philosophy. Those able to follow the sometimes tortured logic of his masterpiece, Ethics Geometrically Demonstrated [click on the link], will see that reality is One, and that consequently, God and His creation must in some sense be the same. After Spinoza, those who doubt the oneness of God and Nature must either doubt existence itself or content themselves, as Aquinas suggested, with a religion or a metaphysics “founded on empty reasonings.”

Of course, nothing prevents the latter. Spinoza’s method and Aristotle’s were essentially the same – start with definitions and axioms and work logically top-down from there. Spinoza may thus be doubted. Aristotle’s passel of errors can be used – and is used – as evidence against all forms of deductive metaphysics. But Spinoza did his “meta-physicking” differently. Almost immediately he linked his metaphysics to the real world, and thereafter, got results remarkably different from Aristotle’s. He started with the most fundamental premise of the physical sciences, the idea that all effects have causes, and deducing from that idea all that it implies, he demonstrated that much of what we thought we knew about the world and about ourselves was flat wrong. It was still true that logical deduction added nothing new to our knowledge, but the fact had not been fully appreciated that logic, by removing errors, could also subtract from our purported “knowledge.”

The Aristotelian synthesis developed by Aquinas was burdened with premises that were nowhere near self-evident. It treated many of his world’s current and ancient beliefs as the truth and thus could deduce no metaphysics other than one that verified the status quo. Spinoza, taking the same general approach, selected beliefs that stood a better chance of being true. Aquinas could not have adopted the law of causes as a premise because the book that served as the source for much of what he treated as the truth contains scores of causeless effects, so-called miracles. If he had used the law of causes as an axiom, he would have been forced to question the stories in the book, and that he could not do.

Spinoza was under no such compulsion. The law of causes stands front and center in his philosophy.

From a given definite cause an effect necessarily follows; and, on the other hand, if no definite cause be granted, it is impossible that an effect can follow. (E1ax3)

This does not mean that all of Spinoza must be taken as the truth. It does mean that those who believe that the third axiom of Part One of the Ethics is true, and who wish to remain logical, must believe that nothing can happen without an intelligible cause.

Please note – and be guided by the fact – that the sentence previous to this one contains two premises, (1) if E1ax3 is true, and (2) if the believer remains logical. Doubt either of those premises and all restrictions are removed from what anyone can believe. Those who fly airplanes into tall buildings and those who seek revenge in the bombing of innocent nations, are equally justified. If there is no obligation to be logical, and/or no understanding that all effects have causes, there is no obligation to be morally consistent. But once we believe both premises, and treat them with reverence, we can then be fully justified in holding madmen “of all parties” accountable for their actions. We escape the horror of might makes right only by acts of reason.

Spinoza has done nothing that any commonsensible person cannot do. He has followed Bernard Lonergan’s advice (without reading it). He has seen the data and has made sense of it, asking again and again, “is this the right of it,” trying to get it right, until at last, he has run out of questions to ask, and has thus arrived at what he calls “an adequate answer,” and what Lonergan calls, “virtual certainty.”

The careful reader might murmur, “Why are these two smart guys so hesitant? Why only adequate? Why only virtual?” Complete answers to these great questions involve a much longer story than I intend to tell, but the short version runs something like this....

Answers about answers. [I will refer to Spinoza’s thought process, calling it his, but it’s anyone’s who chooses to think reasonably.] If Lonergan is correct when he says that we humans come to our defensible knowledge by way of data, by way of analysis, by way of judgment, in that order, then Spinoza, being human, and having produced a highly defensible body of knowledge, must also have done it that way. Baruch was not born with axioms in his head. He discovered them as Lonergan suggests we have all discovered what we validly may claim to know – by questioning what we think we know and why we think we know it.

Spinoza’s thought process might be likened to an “either-or” logic machine. Either the law of causes is true or it’s not. Either a thing is self-contained or it’s contained in something else. Either God is infinite or He’s finite. And so on. Spinoza chose one alternative then the other, and observed which could be made logically consistent with the other choices. As he proceeded, a coherent view of reality gradually unfolded. When he had resolved all the “either-ors” he could think of, he wrote the book and considered his work done.

This does not mean that some later philosopher, scientist, or theologian will not think of questions Spinoza failed to ask. It also may be, as I said before, that the law of causes (or some other idea Spinoza treated as the truth) might be false. By claiming that Spinoza got it right, I do not deny that better thinkers might prove him wrong.

But so long as we trust the law of causes, and until we or someone else asks the questions Spinoza may not have asked, we can claim with adequate certainty that Spinoza got it right. If we have examined his premises, and found no fault in them, if we have looked and found no fault in his logic, then we are more or less obliged to trust that he has derived from his premises exactly what can logically be inferred from them.

But it’s really not all that important that we examine Spinoza’s premises, or that we believe his philosophy. It is, however, ultimately important that we employ his method, that we examine our own premises, that we ask all the questions, try to answer them, and finally run out of questions to ask about our beliefs. If we default to the much easier “Fiddle-de-dee,” Scarlett O’Hara syndrome, if we really don’t know (and don’t care) why we believe what we believe, we’ll have to acknowledge – personally – that we’ve opted out of the possibility of a world ruled by Reason. And since Reason, like any other talent, has real effects only when put to use, by defaulting to the unexamined, passive life, we’re in effect denying to ourselves – personally – the benefits of Reason and an understanding of all things reasonable. By taking that easy (and sure) road to serfdom, we’re saying – to put it more bluntly – that it’s really okay for foolish people to fly airplanes into tall buildings, and for other foolish people to bomb the shit out of innocent others.

But no problem. Either way, life goes on...or it doesn't.

[This concludes the six-part series.]