One God Apart

God: The Greatest Question

Man is a creature with needs and desires. As such, we have always sought both comfort and truth—since we like to feel special and we also possess a natural desire for knowledge. With regards to this, different cultures in separate regions throughout time have gone about in very peculiar ways to find out why nature works as it does and trying to unite how it relates to us. The result has been a rich pantheon of gods throughout history—from Apollo to Zeus—as well as a variety of religious traditions in honor of these deities.

Today, of course, many of these so-called gods are rightly seen as manmade fabrications. Take for instance the Greek gods we find in a typical mythology book. Their purpose was oftentimes to explain different sorts of mysterious phenomena such as lightning and fire. As such, they were invoked to bridge the gaps of our knowledge. However, as soon as science started telling us how things work, they were rendered more and more useless. By simply utilizing Ockham’s razor, there was no rational choice but to disbelieve in such deities. But science, of course, will never eliminate one particular divinity.

Philosopher G.W. von Leibniz famously asked “Why is there is there something rather than nothing?” The question, I believe, can be tied to the existence of this “God” that science cannot reject or discover. This is because the God I speak of is one that is the source and reason for all of nature in general, whether directly or indirectly. Lying outside the limits of the scientific method, i.e. the natural world, the question of this God’s existence is one of philosophical interest and will never be eliminated by scientific advances.

But why is the topic philosophical? There is a whole host of reasons. Take, for instance, the way it impacts our ethics. If there is a God, particularly one which is personal and cares for us, such as the one espoused by the Judeo-Christian tradition, it is quite obvious that we would have to act in a specific way during our short stays on Earth. If there is no God, then it may very well be possible, to paraphrase Dostoevsky that “everything is permitted.” As such, the proper way to live is influenced by whether or not God exists. This then influences our views on equality, liberty, justice, and other topics of philosophical interest.

The existence of God would also potentially impact our notions of matter. If there is a God, for instance, then reductionist materialism like that of Daniel Dennett would have to be flatly rejected unless God is a placeholder for the word “nature,” as a pantheist may believe. God’s substance would have to be non-physical, i.e. spiritual, and this would force us to accept the possibility of people having souls, which like God, would have to be real and outside of time, or eternal.

The existence of God is also a philosophical topic because the answer can give us clues to the deepest questions our reason can ever come up with. For instance, it is not hard to accept that a nihilist’s depressing views on life would be radically altered if he or she found some revelation from God. As such, it is the case that God impacts the way we should conceive of both of ourselves and nature in general. Questions that deal with such issues are the ultimate “Why” questions, which are those which we want to know the answer to the most. These deal with our purpose, the purpose of the cosmos, as well as the meaning of it all. Therefore, we can claim with much confidence that God’s existence is in a sense the ultimate topic in philosophy.

It should come as no surprise then that philosophers have tried hard to come up with solutions to the issue of God's existence. A notable example is found in St. Thomas Aquinas, the Catholic Aristotelian who formulated “Five Ways” to affirm the existence of God. As a man of faith, his “Ways” should not to be seen as distinct and rock-solid rational proofs for God. Nevertheless, they are often seen in such a light and are thus prone to severe misinterpretation. What I wish to do is highlight two of his ways. One will be that which appears to me most convincing as well as that which is most sorely lacking. Contrasting such modes of demonstrating God will allow us to see very different approaches to the issue and will let us make a balanced judgment of what Aquinas wishes to express.

In my opinion, the most convincing demonstration offered by Aquinas is the second way, which stems from “the nature of efficient cause” (526). In it, he claims that there must have necessarily been a first cause which allowed all the effects with intermediate causes to ultimately occur. This cause must exist in order to avoid effect-negating infinite regresses. To clarify this, one need only read his well-put wording:

“Now in efficient causes it is not possible to go on to infinity, because in all efficient causes following in order, the first is the cause of the intermediate cause, and the intermediate is the cause of the ultimate cause, whether the immediate cause be several or one only.”

What is it that makes it convincing? The answer is simple, there really does not appear to be a clear-cut logical way around it. Opposing it seems to entail either thinking that not all effects have causes, that there is an infinity of previous causes, or that something is the efficient cause of itself. Let us see how effective this really is, though.

Suppose we believe the first possible objection, namely that not all effects must have a cause. Would this not entail, that the universe, or Big Bang, could have popped into being ex nihilo? Defenders of this view will say that phrasing it in such a way is erroneous, since the Big Bang was the beginning of both space and time. But still, is there a doubt that admitting such a possibility still entails assuming something causes itself unless it is eternal? Aquinas makes a good case for rejecting such a notion, as he writes that there “is no case known (neither is it, indeed, possible) in which a thing is found to be the efficient cause of itself; for so it would be prior to itself, which is impossible.” This is not to say the problem is totally solved, but it is certainly difficult to rationally give credence to a wholly causeless event with a particular origin.

As for Aquinas’ weakest way to demonstrate God’s existence, I point to the fourth way. The fourth way deals with “the gradation to be found in things.” It essentially claims that since some things are certain ways, they are all reflective in different degrees of that which most possesses such a certain quality. Aquinas writes that it is “as a thing is said to be hotter according as it more nearly resembles that which is hottest” (526-527). Therefore, it follows that there is something “which is truest, something best, something noblest, and consequently, something which is most being.” This of course, is said to be God.

I find the fourth way unconvincing because it simply treats evil as privation instead of giving it enough consideration. I believe that had Aquinas carried things out more efficiently, he may have to had to conclude that there is something along the existence of an anti-God, assuming God is as described. This is because had he seen evil as something that is not just a privation of something else, he would had to accept that which is most ignoble and worst. On the other hand, as Professor Gabbey said, Aquinas could simply have posited that goodness is a privation of evil. I believe the proof does not deserve much more consideration in helping conclude something about God’s existence, since it appears to sidestep the issue of evil’s relation to goodness and God.

Judging by the two ways seen above, Aquinas certainly had different approaches to the issue of God, at times sounding very convincing and at others sadly unconvincing. Are his two ways, along with the other three, totally demonstrative of God? Probably not, as these have been at our disposal for quite a while and debate still goes on over each and every one of the five ways. But at the very least what we see in action is a philosopher performing the highest kind of philosophy, since what Aquinas seeks to make understandable is an object of faith that has the greatest implications on everything we can imagine. Therefore, even if not entirely convincing, his effort is entirely commendable.

WORK CITED

Aquinas, Thomas. “Latin Philosophy in the Thirteenth Century” Philosophy in the Middle Ages: The Christian, Islamic, and Jewish Traditions. Ed. Arthur Hyman and James J. Walsh.

Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 1986.

Kant and Berkeley: Friends or Foes?

Some philosophers are known for holding counterintuitive views on important issues like the nature of reality. A perfect example of this is George Berkeley. He is known, rather notoriously, for denying the existence of matter, also known as corporeal substance. In James Boswell’s Life of Johnson there is a humorous anecdote making fun of said belief, as the great Dr. Samuel Johnson kicks a stone in order to refute his point. More seriously, the issues his philosophy brings up are quite difficult to tackle. However, in the reader-friendly Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous, Berkeley presents several of his ideas in an engaging format. Years later, however, German philosopher Immanuel Kant came up with his own system designed to oppose the “dogmatic idealism” represented by figures like Berkeley. Unfortunately for Kant, however, his ideas were in fact seen as supporting Berkeley. But, as we shall see, Berkeley and Kant cannot be reconciled. The latter’s transcendental idealism is both fundamentally different as well as too much to handle for defenders of Berkeley.

Before comparing Berkeley’s idealist philosophy with Kant’s transcendental idealism, it is necessary to present the former’s arguments for believing that only minds and their ideas, unlike material substrates, can possibly exist. This, it must be noted, entails that to exist is to be perceived, or esse est percipi. It follows because if only minds with ideas exist, then there cannot exist anything that is not perceived, since every idea belongs to some mind. And since these ideas are mind-dependent, nothing we perceive is external in the sense that it contains a chunk of matter that underlies it. Rather, what we perceive are intertwined bundles of qualities. An easy way to visualize some of these brief remarks is by imagining what would happen if stripping X object of every quality it possessed. Would there be nothing left at some point? If you believe there would not be anything else, you approach things in a Berkelian manner. Others, however, will obviously disagree. A startling consequence of Berkeley’s thinking is that appearances become all there is—i.e. there is no such thing as an underlying “thing-in-itself.” To hold such a view entails expecting opponents. Berkeley’s challenge was to convince those who doubted him.

In his Dialogues, Berkeley offers a number of points in the quest to make converts to the considerably radical “phenomenalistic” ideas described above. For one, he has to demonstrate that what is sensible depends exclusively on what our minds say. One of several ways he attempts this is by positing an argument based on how subjective our opinions are when it comes to something’s qualities. Philonous tells Hylas that “that which at other times seems sweet, shall to a distempered palate appear bitter” (180). This is called the argument from illusion. From this Berkeley believes that we can generalize all sensory qualities such as those mentioned at the beginning of Dialogue I (175: colors, sounds, odors, etc.) as ideas.

But what about those other qualities we generally call “primary” such as number and extension? Surely, it would seem, these do not depend on our minds, but rather are independent of it. Shockingly enough, Berkeley groups them together with the other sensible qualities mentioned above, which are commonly known as secondary qualities. He recycles his same arguments from the earlier parts of Dialogue I. For instance, Berkeley uses the same illusion argument used earlier for motion and solidity (188-191). Collectively these sensory qualities are the only things we can sense.

If ideas are in the mind, then why do we come across “ideas” that oppose our will and seem to belong to an external world? To explain these sorts of ideas (the things we come across with in daily life) Berkeley postulates that they are unfolding in God’s mind. And by making God the existential ground of everything, Berkeley also makes his philosophy theo-centric like Leibniz and Descartes did in their respective ways. As Philonous tells Hylas, “I…immediate and necessarily conclude the being of a God, because all sensible things must be perceived by him” (212). God becomes an infinite mind and we live in a narrative taking place inside it.

Now that we have gone over the basics of Berkeley’s idealism, it is time to clarify any lingering doubts before moving on to Immanuel Kant. For instance, we have said that if we accept with Berkeley that minds and their ideas are all there is, then there can be no material things in the sense that Pierre Gassendi and René Descartes believed in. But would that mean that there are no things with causal power? The answer is both yes and no, depending on whether we are conceiving of such things in terms of ideas. And again, someone may ask what impact Berkeley has on instruments on measurement. Are they helpful or true in any way? Interpret it as you may, Berkeley would endorse anything that increases our knowledge of the world, and objects like these clearly do. Thus, as we can observe, it is important to know that Berkeley’s project is not to turn all our commonly held beliefs upside down. It is just that from the perspective of the way language is typically used, his theories are hard to swallow. But as mind-loving Philonous says in Berkeley’s place, he is “not for changing things into ideas, but rather ideas into things” (244).

Immanuel Kant, some will say, is extremely similar to Berkeley. Hopefully this hypothesis can be dispelled more easily by looking first at the definition of transcendental idealism before plunging into his ideas in more detail. For one, the word “transcendental” does not come from “transcendent”—and to associate the two is a mistake which can lead to severe misinterpretations. Instead of having to do with that which lies beyond the realm of experience, the transcendental “precedes…all experience” and is “not destined for anything more than solely to make cognition by experience possible” (Kant 373n). As for the “idealism” part, it is necessary to conjoin it with “transcendental,” for otherwise it may be confused for what Kant means simply by “idealism”—which is something he actually opposes. With regards to his “idealism,” we can define its purpose as allowing us to conceive “the possibility of our cognition a priori of the objects of experience” (374n). On the other hand, the other idealism that demarcates the philosophy of Berkeley and others is defined by Kant as holding the belief that there is “none other than thinking beings” (4: 289). This goes to show how careful we must be in interpreting Kant’s terminology. And to sum up what is meant by both terms together as meant by Kant, we can say that transcendental idealism in general asserts that what we can perceive are only representations, not the noumenal world of things-in-themselves. Furthermore, it considers that these representations are fixed into an intuition-based time and space framework in order to give them coherence in our minds.

With the definition of transcendental idealism in mind, as well as Kant’s definition of “idealism,” it is time to turn to the relationship his thought has with the ideas that make up Berkeley’s philosophy. Firstly, we will discuss a very fundamental difference between the two. Berkeley, it is clear, claims that appearances make up what there really is. It is impossible, according to his system, to think otherwise. In contradistinction, Kant obviously does not adhere to that. Appearances, as mentioned earlier, are mere representations of an external (i.e. mind-independent) world which becomes synthesized by our minds in a complex interplay of its faculties. They fall in the realm of experience, while the noumenal world of things-in-themselves does not. Kant writes:

“…I do indeed admit that there are bodies outside us, i.e. things which, although wholly unknown to us, i.e. as to what they may be in themselves, we know through the representations which their influence on our sensibility provides for us, and to which we give the name of bodies.” (Kant 4: 289)

Thus Kant, as seen in the passage, disagrees with a central tenet of Berkeley’s idealism.

Why, one may ask, can we not know anything about the noumenal world which causes our experience? The answer lies in the very question: it causes our experience and is not part of it. We can make truthful and verifiable claims that lie in the realm of what we can sense, but once we venture beyond that, our reason has already reached its boundaries (4:354)—thus making any proofs concerning God, the soul, etc. not conclusively demonstrable. In fact, when philosophizing on difficult and topics such as these, equally valid opposite proofs can be formulated. And the antinomy, as this is called, is referred to by Kant as “the strangest phenomenon of human reason” (4:340). This is important when comparing Kant’s transcendental idealism with Berkeley’s idealism because the latter’s theo-centric philosophy is metaphysically daring, making confident claims about the most mysterious topics and the nature of reality proper. Also worth noting when considering their differences is that Kant believed that if metaphysics were to be possible at all, we would have to be able to make claims about the world that are not found in the world. These are synthetic a priori statements (4:276). Berkeley, on the other hand, denied any a priori knowledge at all, yet still believed metaphysics was possible. This is a result of his empiricism. And what does this tell us? It tells us that despite any appearances to the contrary, there are some powerful differences in the two philosophers’ mode of operation that cannot allow them to reach the same conclusions under any logical circumstances.

Since we have seen why Berkeley and Kant think as they do, it is only right to refresh ourselves and sum up the conclusions of Kant’s transcendental idealism and Berkeley’s phenomenalism in order to make the differences clear so as to be able to judge which is sounder. Berkeley denies a priori knowledge and the existence of matter while accepting the fact that everything we encounter takes place in God’s mind. By positing a system of ideas and minds, appearances become things-in-themselves, or more coherently, things-in-themselves are rejected. On the other hand, Kant believes in the existence of a priori knowledge. In fact, our own notions of time and space are a priori and give the world we experience structure. As such, appearances are mere representations, since we are distorting them, or synthesizing them through our understanding, so that they make sense to us. And, most importantly, our reason is bounded and unable to go beyond these “mere interpretations”—as there is a noumenal world of things-in-themselves. And while it may sound Berkelian to claim that we can only know appearances, by accepting the possibility of a noumenal world any chance of reconciliation between Kant and Berkeley remains impossible. If they could be united in some way, it would have to be by positing Kant’s transcendental idealism as a rationalistic version of Berkeley’s idealism (which, of course, does not reconcile them). It would have to be rationalistic because the role of the a priori is too important to dismiss in Kant’s system, as it is what makes metaphysics possible.

So who holds the sounder position? It would seem that Kant has the edge, as tabula rasa beliefs about our minds do not seem to be supported today, since our brains are seen as having modules for certain things and as being hardwired to act in certain ways. But speaking from a more philosophical perspective, there is a problem in accepting Berkeley’s claim that to exist is to be perceived. As Kant points out in his Critique of Pure Reason, some things may be too small to be perceived. On Berkeley’s grounds, it would seem as if we have to deem these things as inexistent. Yet that, surely, is nonsensical. Furthermore, it seems as if there appears to be no truly defensible way to demonstrate that other human minds exist if we use Berkeley’s philosophy, as he seems to believe there are. Also in favor of Kant, there is the advantage that his philosophy has in assuring me of the presence of external things. Whereas with Berkeley I need to have faith that what I am seeing is real, with Kant I need only know that since I am deploying my mental faculties in producing a representation, there must be something external to me. This, in turn, ratifies that I am a self with an identity, going even beyond Descartes’ cogito.

WORKS CITED

Berkeley, George. Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous. New York: Oxford

University Press, 2005.

Kant, Immanuel. Prolegomena to any Future Metaphysics. Trans. Peter Lucas and Günter

Zöller. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005.