Tag: Process

Habermas on Disenchantment

Again we come to the difficult topic of modernity. In company with the pragmatists Dewey, Rorty, and Brandom, Jürgen Habermas speaks of modernization as a progressive rationalization, carrying forward the spirit of the Enlightenment. But in this area Habermas principally draws on the great early 20th century neo-Kantian founding father of sociology Max Weber, who further analyzed this as a “disenchantment” (Entzauberung) of (our understanding of) the world. Literally, the German means something like “de-magicking”.

Neither Weber nor Habermas sees the rationalization associated with modernity in terms of a simple global opposition between science and religion. Following Weber, Habermas treats rationalization as a development within the world’s religious traditions, in which religion itself moves progressively away from magical thinking and supernaturalism, and toward universalizing ethics. This is at the same time a movement away from particularism, toward greater degrees of universalism. However, I don’t think Habermas adequately recognizes the extent to which such an approach is already anticipated by Hegel.

I would not want to lose sight of the poetic and artistic kinds of “enchantment” that in no way depend on irrational belief in the supernatural. Such artistic, musical, or dramatic expression may itself be of high spiritual import. As Habermas also points out, while it is appropriate to condemn superstition and prejudice, the metaphorical and indeed spiritual “magic” associated with poetry, music, and other artistic creativity need be in no way contrary to reason.

As background for his development in Theory of Communicative Action, Habermas briefly surveys some of the more influential 20th-century accounts of modernity. He holds that the most thorough and well-rounded investigations are still those conducted a century ago by Max Weber. In distinction from cultural anthropology, sociology defined itself as an account of specifically modern society.

“Among the classical figures of sociology, Max Weber is the only one who broke with both the premises of the philosophy of history and the basic assumptions of evolutionism and who nonetheless wanted to conceive of the modernization of old-European society as the result of a universal-historical process of rationalization. He opened up rationalization processes to an encompassing empirical investigation without reinterpreting them in an empiricist manner so that precisely the aspects of rationality of societal learning processes would disappear” (Habermas, Theory of Communicative Action vol. 1, p. 143).

That empirical investigations need not be conducted in a narrowly empiricist manner strikes me as very true. One hint of where he is going with this is his interest in applying the expansive outlook of the developmental cognitive psychologist Jean Piaget on children’s learning to the understanding of social processes of rationalization. Brandom has similarly highlighted the social importance of an account of learning from our errors.

I don’t believe most of the stories about so-called Western rationalism. It is just too vague a category, an uncritical joining together of disparate things. It is highly unhistorical to assume a direct cultural continuity from classical Greece to Western Europe. In Roman times, Greece was considered part of the East. Greek learning was introduced to Europe only in the high middle ages. I maintain that the birth of ethical reason and the extraordinary flowering of culture in classical Greece are not the unique heritage of the West, but a part of the heritage of humanity. That said, I still think Habermas makes a good case for the seriousness of Weber’s approach to this “historiographical” question.

“Weber analyzes the process of disenchantment in the history of religion, which is said to have fulfilled the necessary internal conditions for the appearance of Occidental rationalism; in doing so he employs a complex, but largely unclarified concept of rationality. On the other hand, in his analysis of societal rationalization as it makes its way in the modern period, he allows himself to be guided by the restrictive idea of purposive rationality [Zweckrationalität]” (ibid, emphasis in original).

The history of such disenchantment has been widely interpreted as a global, polar conflict and inverse proportionality between “reason” and “religion”. This makes both reason and religion way too monolithic.

In comparison with this unfortunate state of affairs, Habermas’s account, grounded in Weber, is highly valuable for its relatively less monolithic character. He treats “disenchantment” as part of a progressive development of world religions themselves. (In his recent Also a History of Philosophy, he adopts Karl Jaspers’s notion of the “axial age” — the thesis that in several disparate parts of the world, around roughly 500 BCE, religions simultaneously became less oriented to myth, magic, and ritual, and more oriented toward ethics and something resembling metaphysics. Habermas thinks that recognizing this positive role of the great world religions on a long time scale is important as a counterweight to eurocentrism.)

“According to Marx, the rationalization of society takes place directly in the development of productive forces, that is, in the expansion of empirical knowledge, the improvement of production techniques, and the increasingly effective mobilization, qualification, and organization of socially useful labor power. On the other hand, relations of production, the institutions that express the distribution of social power and regulate a differential access to the means of production, are revolutionized only under the pressure of rationalization of productive forces. Max Weber views the institutional framework of the capitalist economy and the modern state in a different way — not as relations of production that fetter the potential for rationalization, but as subsystems of purposive-rational action in which Occidental rationalism develops at a societal level. Of course, he is afraid that bureaucratization will lead to a reification of social relationships, which will stifle motivational incentives to a rational conduct of life. Horkheimer and Adorno, and later Marcuse, interpret Marx in this Weberian perspective” (Theory of Communicative Action vol. 1, p. 144).

“On the one hand, Marx, Weber, Horkheimer, and Adorno identify societal rationalization with expansion of the instrumental and strategic rationality of action contexts; on the other hand, they all have a vague notion of an encompassing societal rationality — whether in the concept of an association of free producers, in the historical model of an ethically rational conduct of life, or in the idea of fraternal relations with a resurrected nature — and it is against this that they measure the relative position of empirically described processes of rationalization…. The action concepts that Marx, Weber, Horkheimer, and Adorno take as basic are not complex enough to capture all those aspects of social actions to which societal rationalization can attach…. The rationalization of action orientations is not the same as the expansion of the ‘rationality’, that is, complexity of action systems” (pp. 144-145).

“However, I would like to make clear at the start that Weber took up the rationality theme in a scientific context that had already discharged the mortgages from philosophy of history and the nineteenth-century evolutionism encumbered by it” (p. 145).

“As sociology developed in the wakes of Scottish moral philosophy …, it found the theme of societal rationalization already at hand” (ibid).

“The most important motifs of the philosophy of history are contained in Condorcet’s Sketch for a Historical Picture of the Human Mind of 1794. The model of rationality is provided by the mathematical sciences of nature. Their core is Newtonian physics; it has discovered the ‘true method of studying nature’…. It becomes a paradigm for knowledge in general because it follows a method that raises the knowledge of nature above the scholastic debates of philosophers and reduces all previous philosophy to the status of mere opinion” (ibid).

“Condorcet wants to conceive the history of mankind on the model of the history of modern science, that is, as a process of rationalization…. The advances of the human mind are not limited by a telos inherent in it…. The human mind owes its advances not to approaching a telos, but to the unimpeded operation of its intelligence, that is, to a learning mechanism…. The concept of knowledge developed on the model of the natural sciences devalues, as if with one blow, inherited religious, philosophical, moral, and political opinions” (p. 146).

For me, the telos of a rational being is not a predefined limit or fixed configuration, but an endlessly branching source of alternatives that have some focus, but always have a hypothetical character.

Here we see Habermas’s usual negative view of teleology. For the most part, he only considers the false, non-Aristotelian kind of teleology that was so eloquently denounced by Spinoza. There is one passage later on that I previously quoted, where he does give the word telos a positive sense, in speaking of shared understanding as the inherent telos of human speech. The ambitious norm to which he gives voice is the idea that mature humans learn to think for themselves, and furthermore naturally collaborate in so doing.

“In the battle against the traditional powers of church and state, enlightenment requires the courage to make use of one’s own reason, that is, autonomy or maturity” (p. 147).

Here we are on the ground of Kantian autonomy. Habermas uses his summary of Condorcet to develop the social implications of rationalization.

“Like Kant, Condorcet sees the progress of civilization along the lines of a republic that guarantees civil liberties, an international order that establishes a perpetual peace, a society that accelerates economic growth and technical progress and does away with or compensates for social inequalities. Among other things, he expects ‘the complete annihilation of the prejudices that have brought about an inequality of rights between the sexes’; he expects the elimination of criminality and degeneration, the conquest of misery and sickness” (p. 148).

“This conception is representative of eighteenth-century philosophy of history, even if it could only reach such a pointed formulation from a contemporary of the French Revolution. Precisely this radical quality makes the cracks in the type of thinking characteristic of the philosophy of history stand out” (ibid).

“Victorian theories of social evolution can be characterized in a simplified manner as follows: They questioned neither the rationalism nor the universalism of the Enlightenment and were thus not yet sensitive to the dangers of Eurocentrism; they repeated the naturalistic fallacies of the philosophy of history, albeit less blatantly…. From the standpoint of the history of science, the situation in which Max Weber took up the rationalization thematic again and turned it into a problem that could be dealt with sociologically was defined by the critique of these nineteenth-century theories of evolution” (pp. 152-153).

Habermas points out a positive role of neo-Kantianism, particularly its perspective that a seriously scientific orientation does not require the abnegation of all serious value judgment.

“Weber himself stands in the tradition of Southwest German Neo-Kantianism…. Beyond its dualistic philosophy of science, Neo-Kantianism gained special significance for the critique of evolutionist approaches in the social sciences because of its theory of value. It brought to bear at the methodological level a distinction between ‘is’ and ‘ought’, between statements of fact and judgments of value, and in practical philosophy it emphatically criticized all varieties of ethical naturalism. This is the background to Weber’s position in the controversy over value judgments in social science. He is critical of concepts of progress and evolution precisely when they play an implicitly normative role in social science” (p. 154).

“Max Weber adopted in this controversy a cautiously universalist position…. He mistrusts the rationalization processes set loose and detached from ethical value orientations — so much so that in his theory of rationalization, science and technology forfeit their paradigmatic status. Weber’s research is focused on the moral-practical bases of the institutionalization of purposive-rational action” (p. 155).

This is an interesting variant. The “purposive” rationality associated with means-ends calculations is here circumscribed by a “moral-practical” layer. This falls short of the full view that ethics is the one self-bootstrapping discipline, and still gives an elevated role to efficient causality. But it puts important qualifications on any claim that efficient causality comes unconditionally first.

“Weber regards not only science but autonomous art as a form of manifestation of cultural rationalization…. Aesthetically imbued counterculture belongs, together with science and technology on the one hand, and with modern legal and moral representations on the other, to the whole of rationalized culture. The complex that is taken to be central to the rise of modern society is, however, this ethical and juridical rationalism” (pp. 161-162, emphasis in original).

“This ethic is distinguished, from a formal point of view, in that it is based on principles and is universalistic. The soteriological religiosity of congregations grounds an abstract ethic of brotherliness that, with ‘one’s neighbor’ as a point of reference, supersedes the separation between in-group and out-group morality…. From the perspective of a formal ethic based on general principles, legal norms (as well as the creation and application of laws) that appeal to magic, sacred traditions, revelation, and the like are devalued” (p. 162, emphasis in original).

“Weber sees in this ‘a very general, and for the history of religion very important consequence of the development of innerworldly and otherworldly values toward rationality, towards conscious endeavor, and towards sublimation by knowledge‘” (p. 164, emphasis in original).

“Weber starts with a broad concept of ‘technique’ [Technik] in order to make clear that the aspect of regulated employment of means, in a very abstract sense, is relevant to the rationality of behavior…. Every rule or system of rules that permits reliably reproducible action, whether methodical or customary, that can be predicted by participants in interaction and calculated from the perspective of the observer, is a technique in this sense. ‘Thus there are techniques for every conceivable type of action: techniques of prayer, of asceticism, of thought and research, of memorizing, of education, of exercising political or hierocratic domination, of administration, of making love, of making war, of musical performances, of sculpture and painting, of arriving at legal decisions. And all of these are capable of the widest variation in degree of rationality” (p. 169).

Again we have an ambivalence. Technique clearly has a relation to efficient causality, but Weber greatly broadens its meaning.

“We can speak of techniques in this sense whenever the ends that can be causally realized with their help are conceived as elements of the objective world…. To the conditions of purposive action there belongs not only an instrumental rationality of means, but a rationality of choice in setting ends selected in accord with values. From this standpoint an action can be rational only to the degree that it is not blindly controlled by affects or guided by sheer tradition…. ‘Actions are purely value-rational when the agents, regardless of foreseeable consequences, act according to their convictions of what seems to them to be required by duty, honor, beauty, a religious call, piety, or the importance of some “cause”‘,” (pp.170-171, emphasis in original).

Habermas speaks of the historical advent on a world scale of what he calls “religions of conviction” (as opposed to a primacy of myth, magic, and ritual) as providing the basis for what he calls an “ethics of conviction” (as opposed to an ethics of obedience). He clearly sympathizes with the neo-Kantian critique of “enlightened self-interest” as an adequate basis for ethics.

“Interest positions change, whereas generalizable values are always valid for more than merely one type of situation. Utilitarianism does not take into account this categorical difference worked out by the neo-Kantians; it makes a vain attempt to reinterpret interest positions into ethical principles, to hypostasize purposive rationality itself as a value” (p. 172).

“Weber differentiates the concept of practical rationality from the three perspectives of employing means, setting ends, and being oriented to values. The instrumental rationality of an action is measured by effective planning of the application of means for given ends; the rationality of choice of an action is measured by the correctness of the calculation of ends in the light of precisely conceived values, available means, and boundary conditions; and the normative rationality of an action is measured by the unifying, systematizing power and penetration of the value standards and the principles that underlie action preferences” (ibid, emphasis in original).

This “rationality of choice” as an alternative to a sole focus on instrumental reasoning is a step in the right direction. I think, though, that ethical deliberation involves interpretive judgment, and not just “calculation in light of precisely conceived values”.

“When persons and groups generalize this type over time and across social spheres, Weber speaks of a methodical-rational conduct of life. And he sees the first historical approximation to this ideal type in the Protestant vocational asceticism of Calvinism and the early Puritan sects” (pp. 172-173, emphasis in original).

“The complex concept of practical rationality, which Weber introduces as an ideal type in connection with the methodical conduct of life in Protestant sects, is still partial” (p. 174).

Weber famously correlates capitalist economic rationality to Calvinist ethics. But he also sees the world history of religions in terms of a larger development toward reason and enlightenment. I will dwell more on the latter than on the former.

“On the one side, rationalized worldviews satisfy to a greater degree the requirements of formal-operational thought…. On the other side, however, rationalized worldviews also satisfy to a greater degree the requirements of a modern understanding of the world, which categorically presupposes the disenchantment of the world. Weber investigates this aspect of rationalization primarily in connection with the ‘ethical rationalization’ of religions of salvation. With regard to ‘all kinds of practical ethics that are systematically and unambiguously oriented to fixed goals of salvation’, Weber applies the term ‘rational’ (in the sense of a categorially disenchanted world) to ‘the differentiation between the normatively “valid” and the empirically given’. He sees in the overcoming of magical beliefs the essential achievement of the great world religions as regards rationalization” (p. 175).

Habermas has a rather high estimate of what formalism can achieve. He highlights Weber’s interesting suggestion that rationality has to do with distinguishing between normative validity and empirical givenness.

“We would fail from the start to grasp Weber’s theory of rationalization if we did not explain the sociological concept of an order of life [Lebensordnung] with the help of the philosophical concept of the actualization of value [Wertverwirklichung]” (p. 186).

Neither Weber nor Habermas is a fan of Hegel, but here we nonetheless meet one of the most important Hegelian concepts, that of processes of actualization.

“Weber could not have put forth a theory of rationalization had he not been convinced as a neo-Kantian that he could view processes of value actualization from the outside and from the inside simultaneously, that that he could investigate them both as empirical processes and as objectivations of knowledge, that he could tie together the aspects of reality and validity. The disenchantment of religious-metaphysical worldviews calls for an analysis of just this kind” (p. 187).

This seems to lay the ground for a happy convergence between this neo-Kantian view of value both from the outside and from the inside and a Hegelian view of processes of actualization.

“Weber speaks of normative validity and legitimacy when an order is subjectively recognized as binding. This recognition rests directly on ideas that harbor a potential for grounding and justification, and not on self-interest” (p. 189, emphasis in original).

Habermas directs our attention to questions of grounding and justification, and our handling and pursuit of them. This, he argues, will yield better sociological interpretation than the appeals to interests that are standard in the tradition derived from utilitarianism. He points out how Weber applies the standard neo-Kantian distinction between facts and norms to criticize different manifestations of ethical naturalism.

“In his exchange with Stammler, Weber, in the tradition of neo-Kantianism, stresses two differentiations: the difference between de facto regularities of behavior and normative regulations of conduct and the difference between the meaning of a validity claim and the fact of its actual recognition. Weber then criticizes the confusion of descriptive statements about accepted standards of evaluation and established norms with statements that recommend, express, or justify norms” (p. 191).

Next he returns to Austin’s notion of performativity, or doing things in language. When we do things in language, we are implicitly taking what I would call a second-person attitude. Habermas contrasts this with an “objectivating third-person attitude”. What we call facts are implicitly third-person expressions; by analogy, I want to suggest, interpretations are implicitly second-person expressions.

“Questions regarding the ideal validity of norms, whether for the theoretician or for those involved themselves, can be posed only in the performative attitude of an actor (or of a participant in discourse), whereas questions concerning the social ‘validity’ or currency of norms, questions of whether norms and values are or are not actually recognized within a group, have to be dealt with in the objectivating attitude of a third person. Corresponding to this at the semantic level is the distinction between value judgments and judgments of fact. Weber rightly insists that statements of the one type cannot be inferred from statements of the other type” (ibid).

In Habermas’s terminology, “social validity” is expressly defined as having an empirical, factual reference. But he also recognizes “ideal validity”, which applies to questions of value, and is linked to performative, second-person, doing-in-language.

“In this rational reconstruction of processes of cultural (and societal) rationalization, the social scientist can not confine himself to describing de facto views; he can understand the empirical power of convincing new ideas, and the devaluation, the loss of power to convince, of old ideas only to the degree that he becomes aware of the reasons or grounds with which the new ideas established themselves” (p. 192, emphasis in original).

We should seek not a history of ideas, but a history of reasons.

“In the analysis of the development of religious and metaphysical worldview, it is especially important to separate constellations of validity from constellations of causality” (p. 195).

The investigation of validity has to do with reasons, and is different from the investigation of causality. He looks beyond what Weber achieved.

“What first strikes one is that Weber limits the rationalization of worldview to the standpoint of ethical rationalization [Ethisierung]; he traces the development of a religiously grounded ethic of conviction — more generally, the development of posttraditional legal and moral representations…. But the rationalization of worldviews could have been traced equally well in two additional dimensions: Weber could also have investigated the transformation of cognitive and expressive elements looking back from the perspective of modern science and autonomous art” (p. 197).

From the point of view of debates about the furtherance of enlightenment, it is interesting that Weber does not follow the cliché that Habermas illustrated in referring to Condorcet above. Where Newtonian physics serves as role model and driver of enlightenment for Condorcet, Weber apparently applies instead a somewhat empirical variant of the Kantian primacy of practical reason.

“Rationalization is tied to a theme that is common to all world religions: the question of justifying the unequal distribution of life’s goods…. What is new is the idea that individual misfortune can be undeserved and that the individual may cherish the religious hope of being delivered from all evil, from sickness, need, poverty, even from death” (p. 201).

The unequal distribution of life’s goods is a serious ethical matter. I would however not at all call it a cornerstone of the world’s religions, though it is true that institutionalized religion has often played a less than admirable role in relation to matters of economic justice.

“The revaluation of individual suffering and the appearance of individual needs for salvation — which made the question of the ethical meaning of what is meaningless the point of departure for a religious thought pushing beyond local myths — did not fall from heaven. They are the result of learning processes that set in as the ideas of justice established in tribal societies clashed with the new reality of class societies” (ibid).

I have grave doubts about the trope of individual salvation, and about an “ethical meaning of what is meaningless”. I am doubtful about the applicability of Piagetian learning processes to transitions from tribal societies to class societies..

“The question of the justification of manifest injustices is not, however, treated as a purely ethical question; it is part of the theological, cosmological, metaphysical question concerning the constitution of the world as a whole. This world order is so conceived that ontic and normative questions are blended together” (p. 202).

I must be blunt here. On behalf of the universe, let me just say that there is no justification of manifest injustices. But I assume Habermas does not really mean that there is such justification, only that many or some people have come to believe that there is. I am surprised that he is not more clear about it though.

He mentions theodicy in this context, with very little detail. The Theodicy of Leibniz is actually a quite interesting work, in the tradition of the arguments of Proclus on the goodness of the world. To say that the world is good, and to say that particular manifest injustices are justified, are two entirely different things. Proper theodicy in the sense of Proclus and Leibniz is concerned with the former, and not with the latter.

Nonetheless I think Habermas is onto something important with this, when he says above that the justification of injustices is not treated as a purely ethical question, and that ontic and normative questions are blended together in the constitution of the world as a whole. Ideology falsely ontologizes contestable value judgments.

Neo-Kantianism often seems to work by developing contrasts. Habermas follows Weber’s development of what I would call a rather lame schematic contrast between Eastern and Western religion, although it was relatively enlightened for its time. Its limits are noticeable for example when in passing he repeats Weber’s summary judgment, without any explanation, that the practice of yoga is irrational.

“Weber contrasts above all the two basic conceptual strategies: one, the Occidental, employs the conception of a transcendent, personal Lord of Creation; the other strategy, widespread in the Orient, starts from the idea of an impersonal, noncreated cosmos. Weber also refers to these as transcendent and immanent conceptions of God…. In the one case, the believer seeks to win God’s favor, in the other to participate in the divine” (ibid).

This very coarse schematism can only be fitted to the case of Greek philosophy by classifying Greek philosophy as Eastern rather than Western. In the Roman world, Greece was in fact considered part of the East. With Aristotle and Plotinus, I too consider that the participatory view is rational and ethical, while the favor-seeking one is not.

“The religious foundation of ethics is also different in the two traditions; the hope for divine grace stands in contrast to the idea of self-deliverance through knowledge in Asiatic religiosity” (ibid).

This also is too simple. Speaking at this very shallow level, Buddhism classically denies the reality of the substantial self whose divinity Hinduism classically aims to recover. The notion of an (implicitly active) self-deliverance does not fit well with Taoism either. Some translations literally have the Tao Te Ching advocating “non-action”. In any case, the Tao seems closer to a notion of grace, even if its workings are impersonal.

“A negative attitude to the world first became possible through the dualism characteristic of the radical religions of salvation” (p. 203).

Following Weber, Habermas seems to consider a negative attitude toward the world to be an essential dimension of the rationalization that led to modernity. That is because Weber’s model for the origin of modernity is the ethical severity of Calvinism and Puritanism, which is taken to represent a negative attitude toward the world. By contrast, I would hold that there is nothing inherently progressive or ethical about a negative attitude toward the world, or dualism, or an emphasis on individual salvation.

“To be sure, Weber is inclined to assume that a world-affirming attitude can be maintained only where magical thought has not been radically overcome and where the stage of a dualistic (in the strict sense) interpretation of the world has not been reached. But he could have tested whether or not this was the case only through a comparison of Confucianism and Taoism with Greek philosophy; such a comparison could have determined whether radical disenchantment, a dualistic worldview structure, and affirmation of the world might not also go together. World rejection would then depend more on a radicalization of the thought of salvation, which led in religions of conviction to an accentuation of the dualism found in all world religions” (pp. 203-204).

“A negative attitude toward the world resulting from an orientation to a sacred value that transcends the world or is hidden in its innermost recesses is not, however, per se conducive to the ethical rationalization of life-conduct. World rejection leads to an objectivation of the world under ethical aspect only when it is connected with an active mode of life turned toward the world and does not lead to a passive turning away from the world” (p. 207).

Here we see Habermas is to an extent at least tentatively trying out possibilities. I appreciate his acknowledgement that a negative attitude toward the world is not a requirement. I also appreciate the explanatory role he gives to practical reason in a Kantian sense. On Hegelian grounds though, I am doubtful about the positive role he assigns to “objectivation of the world”.

“The essentials of a rationalizable worldview are as little lacking in Confucianism and Taoism as they are in Greek philosophy” (p. 210).

I would tend to agree, at least as far as Confucianism is concerned. Taoism is a more difficult case. Habermas sincerely wants to be both universal and definite, and to avoid a “Western” ethnocentrism. I think he deserves to be given the benefit of the doubt on that. But there are still real limits to what can be achieved with formal analysis of historical material at this level of generality.

Pragmatism and the Enlightenment

Brandom adds some more background in support of Rorty’s claim that American pragmatism represents a kind of second Enlightenment.

“The motor of the first Enlightenment was the rise of the new natural science — in particular, the mathematized physics of Galileo, Descartes, and Newton…. Because their thought was principally oriented by this project, all of the canonical philosophers from Descartes through Kant can sensibly be seen as at base philosophers of science” (Pragmatism and Idealism, pp. 18-19).

“The physical science they were inspired by and interpreters of put forward mathematical theories in the form of impersonal, immutable principles formulating universal, eternal, necessary laws. Enlightenment empiricism sought to ground all our knowledge in self-contained, self-intimating sensory episodes whose brute occurrence is the most basic kind of knowing. Just how the natural light of reason could extract secure and certain knowledge of things as law-governed from those deliverances of fallible perception was a perennial puzzle” (p. 19).

To put it bluntly, the empiricist theory of knowledge lacks the resources to explain the results of modern mathematicized science. The emperor has no clothes.

“Even had Hume succeeded in his aspiration to become ‘the Newton of the mind’ by perfecting Locke’s theoretical efforts to understand the psychological processes of understanding in terms of the mechanisms of association and abstraction, the issue of how the subject of that science was to be found among the furniture of the universe described by the real Newton would have survived untouched, as an apparently intractable embarrassment” (ibid).

“The founding genius of American pragmatism, Charles Sanders Pierce, was, like the original Enlightenment philosophes, above all, a philosopher of science…. He was impressed by the broadly selectional forms of explanation that he presciently saw as common to Darwinian evolutionary biology, at the level of species, and the latest psychological theories of learning, at the level of individual organisms. And he was impressed by the new forms of statistical explanation that were both essential to the new physical science of thermodynamics and becoming increasingly central to the new social sciences of the late nineteenth century” (pp. 19-20).

“Accounts that appeal to natural selection in biology, or to supervised selection in learning, or to statistical likelihood (whether in physics or sociology or economics), show how observed order can arise, contingently, but explicably, out of an irregular background of variation…. Pierce saw this as nothing less than a new form of intelligibility. Understanding whose paradigm is Darwin’s evolutionary theory is a concrete, situated narrative of local, contingent, mutable, practical, reciprocal accommodations of particular creatures and habitats. Pierce speculatively generalized this model to a vision in which even the most fundamental laws of physics are understood as contingently emerging by selectional processes from primordial indeterminateness. No less than the behavior of biological organisms, those laws are to be understood as adaptational habits, each of which is in a statistical sense relatively stable and robust in the environment provided by the rest” (pp. 20-21).

My late father would have appreciated this tribute to the importance of Pierce, in the face of Dewey and Rorty’s neglect. While writing his dissertation on Pierce in the 1950s, he was denied access to various manuscripts by the executors of the Pierce archive at Harvard. He speculated that the executors, who were very concerned to make Pierce “fit in” with the narrow orthodoxy that dominated American academic philosophy at the time, were suppressing evidence of Pierce’s broader interests. Years later, it turned out he was right.

Many writers in the late 19th and early 20th centuries treat a new appreciation for process and the emergence of new forms as characteristic of modernity. Of course, they were preceded in this by Hegel. (And if we read Aristotle on his own terms, rather than in ways beholden to later religious traditions, then behind Hegel stands Aristotle as a philosopher of process and emergence.)

“On the pragmatist understanding, … knower and known are alike explicable by appeal to the same general mechanisms that bring order out of chaos, settled habit from random variation: the statistical selective structure shard by processes of evolution and of learning. That selectional structure ties together all the members of a great continuum of being stretching from the processes by which physical regularities emerge, through those by which the organic evolves locally and temporarily stable forms, through the learning processes by which the animate acquire locally and temporarily adaptive habits, to the intelligence of the untutored common sense of ordinary language users, and ultimately to the methodology of the scientific theorist — which is just the explicit, systematic refinement of the implicit, unsystematic but nonetheless intelligent procedures characteristic of everyday practical life…. This unified vision stands at the center of the classical American pragmatists’ second Enlightenment” (pp. 24-25).

The selectional structure Brandom speaks of here is not necessarily normative. Darwinian natural selection in terms of utility and practical success is its main inspiration. But it does already go beyond a narrowly mechanical view of causality.

“This happy concord and consilience between the distinctively pragmatist versions of naturalism in ontology and empiricism in epistemology stands in stark contrast, not only to the prior traditional British empiricism of the Enlightenment, but also to the subsequent twentieth-century logical empiricism of the Vienna Circle. The reductive physicalist version of naturalism and the reductive phenomenalist version of empiricism they inclined to endorse were exceptionally difficult to reconcile with each other. Hume had already shown how difficult it is to provide suitable empiricist credentials for the way in which mathematical laws supporting subjunctive reasoning — the crowning glory of Newtonian physics — outran observable regularities, not only epistemically, but semantically. Adding the powerful methods of modern logic to articulate the phenomenal deliverances of sense did not alter this fundamental mismatch. A threatening and recalcitrant tension accordingly concerned how to proceed when respect for the deliverances of natural science as the measure of what there is and how it is in nature collides with empiricist strictures on when we are entitled to claim to know what there is and how it is” (p. 25).

Without hyperbole, Brandom points out the conflict between mechanist and phenomenalist strategies for explanation.

He exalts the original Enlightenment in the following terms.

“The Enlightenment marks the ending of humanity’s self-imposed tutelage, the achievement of our majority and maturity, for the first time taking adult responsibility for our own character and destiny. It is our emancipation from submission to the alien, nonhuman-because-superhuman authority of Old Nobodaddy in matters of practical conduct. Henceforth we should deem it incompatible with our human dignity to understand ourselves as subject to any laws other than those we have in one way or another laid down for ourselves. No longer should our ideas about what is right and good be understood as having to be dictated to us by a superhuman authority” (p. 27).

“Old Nobodaddy” is a reference to the poetry of William Blake.

(I like to tell a similar story about the birth of ethical reason with Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle. For me, it is Plato and Aristotle (humanity’s greatest teachers, in Hegel’s words) who are the original sources of this “adulthood” of humanity that Brandom so eloquently commends. They certainly did not take what is right and good to be dictated to us by a superhuman authority.  Most of the leading lights of the Enlightenment were more timid by comparison. But Brandom also does not acknowledge the ways in which Hegel uses Aristotle to solve Kantian problems, pointed out so well by Robert Pippin. Dewey, Rorty, and Brandom all show little interest in pre-modern philosophy. Even the great have weaknesses.)

“The first Enlightenment, as Rorty construed it, concerned our emancipation from nonhuman authority in practical matters: issues of what we ought to do and how things ought to be. The envisaged second Enlightenment is to apply this basic lesson to our emancipation from nonhuman authority in theoretical, cognitive matters” (p. 28, emphasis in original).

The “non-human authority” in this latter case is what Rorty calls Reality with a capital R, which is supposed to be what it is completely independent of human discourse and judgment, and which is nonetheless claimed to be somehow known as such by some humans. This was already an implicit target of Kant’s critique of dogmatism. (And once again, Aristotle discusses being principally in terms of the normative saying of “is”, and everywhere inquires about the natures of real things in ways that cannot be separated from a consideration of discourse, language, and judgment. Our nature is to be animals that are in some degree capable of discourse, which is the origin of second nature.) But Rorty and Brandom are quite right in the sense that the kinds of things that Kant collectively called dogmatism have by no means disappeared from the scene today, even though they have long been called out by name.

Eternal Sensibles

Metaphysics Lambda chapter 8 returns to a consideration of astronomical entities as eternal sensible substances. While this “appears to be an insertion of physics (or of astronomy) into the metaphysical discourse” (Dieu san la puissance, 2nd ed., ch. 5, p. 194, my translation throughout), Aubry sees it as fulfilling part of the program laid out in Lambda 1 for a unified account of the principles of all substance.

“Thoroughly interrogating [the principle’s] relation to the other substances allows the efficacity of the act without power to be shown” (p. 195).

Modern people are not generally used to thinking of the causality of a substance in relation to another substance. We are taught to approach causality in terms of events leading to other events, or to states of affairs. Aristotle on the other hand is less concerned with explaining particular events or states of affairs than with the much more general and multifarious question of why things are the way they are. He argues that “substance” (ousia) and final causality play the pivotal role in any account of the way things are.

Aristotelian substance is far from being simply the “kingdom of nouns”. For Aristotle no more than for Kant is the what-it-is of things a simple primitive that is just given to us. The “identities” of things are consequences of an involved process, and not a starting point. A substance is explained by its characteristic act, which can be further explained as aiming at a kind of entelechy. These can only be discovered by indirect means, through thoughtful interpretation.

“First, it is a matter of establishing against the Platonists that the principle is a cause, that it has efficacy, and in particular is able to explain the movements of the different substances, of which the theory of Ideas had failed to give an account…. Secondly, it is a matter of identifying the causality proper to the Good, while showing that the Good acts, not insofar as it has a dunamis, as suggested by the formula of Republic book VI, but insofar as it is energeia…. Finally, and this time against the Platonic episodism, it is a matter of marking not only that the Good is efficacious insofar as it has no power, but also that the separate substance is not disjoint from the other substances, though it has a primacy over them: or better, separation if it is conceived as being that of act and no longer that of form, determines the ordering, the very taxis of the ensemble of mobile substances” (ibid).

I am fascinated by this suggestion that the separate first substance is “not disjoint from the other substances”, and that “separation” is also a connecting link. Aristotle wants to emphasize the extent to which the astronomical substances are connected to the first cause by the nature of their ordering. Lambda 10 will extend this to earthly substances.

(We have seen the enumerated criticisms of Platonism before. While agreeing that Aristotle’s formulations in these areas represent a major advance, I also continue to find great value in many of Plato’s other insights.)

“It falls to Lambda 8 to show, against the Platonists, that if we conceive the principles and the separate substances as acts and not as Forms, we can give a complete and precise account of movement: not only that of the sphere of the fixed stars, but also those of the other spheres and planets” (p. 196).

The connection between astronomy and first philosophy that Aristotle works so hard to establish strikes me as poetically beautiful, but I don’t know what to do with it philosophically, except in the very broad sense that astronomical phenomena do affect earthly things, and represent a more inclusive cosmic whole of which our earth is but a part. I am personally inclined to de-emphasize this aspect in favor of his other characterizations of the first cause as the good, and as thought thinking itself. But on the other hand, his idea that the first cause moves other things as a final cause but not as a direct agent seems extraordinarily well argued, and incredibly fruitful and auspicious.

“But now is posed the problem of the relation between the unmoved prime mover and the others. These are ordered according to a hierarchy (taxis) , which follows that of the celestial movements. It appears nonetheless that this hierarchy is also ontological: unlike the first among them, which Lambda 7 had ended by identifying with god, the other unmoved movers are neither characterized in Lambda 8 as pure energeia, nor as identical with the first intelligible and with the best. Of them, it is said that they are immutable and eternal, but also impassible, and that ‘they have on their own attained the supreme good’…. This is insofar as they are ends, telos. Thus, unlike the prime mover, the others are not ends insofar as they are already themselves the good, but insofar as they have attained the good” (ibid, emphasis in original).

“But since it is said of them that they have attained the good, we can suppose that they have been in movement, and indeed that they have been in-potentiality: if the prime mover is always already an act without power, we can suppose that they are powers fully actualized and stabilized in their end” (p. 197).

This is an ingenious solution, within the context of Aristotle’s desire to link astronomy to first philosophy.

Next in this series: The Ideal

Act in Process

At this point we are starting to sum up the results of Aristotle’s Metaphysics book Theta on potentiality and act. Aubry now makes a stronger statement that what it is in itself to be something in potentiality or in act can only be made clear by considering the relation between the two.

“In fact, and always in continuity with the analogy of Theta 6 [between various particular cases of something being in-potentiality and in-act], we begin by considering the relation of dunamis and energeia — that which, according to Theta 6, is the unique means of understanding these notions in themselves, but which also serves to justify the various equivalences posed by the analogy” (Aubry, Dieu san la puissance, 2nd ed., ch. 4, p. 135, my translation throughout, Becker number citations to the Greek text omitted). 

“This relation is defined according to a triple anteriority: energeia is anterior to dunamis at once according to the formula, logoi; according to the substance, ousiai; and, but only from one point of view, according to time” (ibid).

“Of an individual in-act, one must say in effect that she is engendered from in-potentiality by another individual in act…. In-potentiality is no longer presented here as a principle of movement, but as a transitory state between two acts. And energeia in its turn is no longer identified with movement, but with the state of that which moves [something else], insofar as it is identical in form with the moved” (p. 136, emphasis in original).

This case applies to biological reproduction.

“Anteriority according to the formula is qualified as evident: it is in relation to act that one defines in-potentiality” (ibid).

“From [Becker index] 1050a4 on, we go on to explore the third relation of anteriority, that according to ousia [“substance”; what it was to have been a thing]. Here we are at the heart of Theta 8, and indeed of Theta in its entirety, since here the triple transition will be accomplished — from the kinetic sense to the ontological sense; from the model of the transitivity and the correlation of powers to the model of the dunamis–energeia correlation insofar as it applies to transitive change as well as to immanent change; and finally, from the model of efficiency to the teleological model.”

“The anteriority according to ousia is not initially given as an anteriority in the order of existence, but as an anteriority in that of form and of essence…. That which is anterior according to ousia is posterior according to generation: the adult is posterior to the infant…, even though in the latter is found the form that is not fully present. But this inversion from one order to the other is explained by the fact that the anteriority of act according to ousia is that of form as end: the act [the adult] is ‘that for the sake of which’ for generation.”

“Here we rejoin the analyses of books Zeta and Eta, where the substitution of the notion of act for that of form proceeds from the adoption of an etiological, and not only logical, point of view, by which the form is considered in its causal function, and envisaged as end” (ibid).

In a composite of form and matter, the form that is considered as end and not only “logically” will be in a sense identified with the composite as a whole, i.e., with the form as realized in matter.

“The anteriority of act according to ousia is that of the end, that is to say of the form as the term of a process that realized it in a matter — and indeed, in the composite that book Zeta qualifies as ousia malista [ousia most of all].”

“For it is this anteriority of act as end that provides the key to the necessary correlation of dunamis and energeia. One does not say only that energeia is to dunamis as that which builds is to the art of building, or as that which sees is to that which is given to view, but that it is for building that one understands architecture; for sight that one has sight; for contemplating that one has the power of contemplating. Act, from this point on, does not appear only as that in relation to which one defines power, but as that for which power is” (p. 137, emphasis in original).

She quotes Aristotle, “The act is the end, and it is in view of it that the power is acquired” (p. 137).

“We integrate here the results of Theta 7 for justifying the equivalence between matter and in-potentiality; for what justifies this equivalence is that the matter is teleologically determined by the form…. As at the end of book Eta, act serves here to name the unity realized from the matter and the form” (ibid).

Act serves “as another name for the ousia malista [ousia most of all] of book Zeta” (p. 138). And this is none other than the composite of form and matter.

“The ontological sense of energeia nonetheless is presented as being at the foundation of the kinetic sense; if movement can be called energeia, it is insofar as we take it as an index of being…. From now on, what justifies the equivalence between energeia and kinesis is that movement can also be telos. And if energeia and kinesis can be called entelekheia, it is not only in the sense where they name effective and complete being in opposition to the incomplete being that in-potentiality says, but because they name that being which, for in-potentiality, is its end” (ibid).

She quotes Aristotle, “For the ergon [completed work] is the end, and energeia is ergon. This is why the term energeia is derived from that of ergon, and tends toward entelekheia” (p. 139).

She continues, “Ergon thus intervenes as the mediation between energeia and telos, and indeed also between energeia and entelekheia. It was present, we saw, from the first lines of Theta 1, presented alongside dunamis and energeia as a sense of being. We find it also, in a sense at the same time normative and teleological, in the Protrepicus. The term serves here to allow the kinetic sense and the ontological sense of energeia to be unified, and at the same time to range the first under the second.”

“If it can play this role, it is thanks to the double sense that it carries: in fact, ergon signifies at the same time the proper function, understood as the act in which the essence is accomplished, and the oeuvre [completed work]. For the remainder of the text goes on precisely to distinguish between two kinds of act: one intransitive, in which nothing else is accomplished but itself, and the other transitive, which produces a being exterior to itself. To illustrate the first, one gives the example of vision, which is the ergon-function of sight, and serves in itself as a telos, an end; for the second, the example of the construction which, resulting in an ergon-work, the house, is only fully [an end] when taken together with the latter. From this we understand that movement can be called energeia: because it indeed has an ergon and a telos, which are not confused with it, but are its work, or that which it produces, and in which, thenceforward, we can say that it is.”

“In fact, ‘the action of building a house resides in the house that is built, and it comes to be and is at the same time as the house’. This affirmation can appear problematic at first glance: one tends spontaneously to distinguish the transitive activity from what it produces, and the being of the house from that of the movement of its construction, since the house only fully is when, precisely, the movement is no longer. We can nonetheless understand this in the light of the analysis of movement in Physics III, and of its characterization as the act common to the mover and the moved: Aristotle already affirmed that the ergon and the telos of the agent and the patient, or of the mover and the moved, reside in one sole and same energeia. In the same way, it seems that the phrase of Theta 8 has no sense unless by the house we understand not the completed house, but the house as object of the movement of construction. We thus understand that the act of construction comes to be at the same time as the house in the process of being constructed, since the two movements (construction/being constructed) are one. The work and the end of transitive activity do not reside in the achieved product, but in the production itself…. The distinction between immanent activity and transitive activity is no longer so great” (pp. 139-140, emphasis in original).

A being that is “in process” can also be an “achieved” being, in varying degrees insofar it also represents an incremental achievement.

“We have seen in effect that act was identical to form as the end and term of in-potentiality, indeed to the form as realized in a matter. If act is anterior to power from the point of view of ousia, this anteriority is not only the logical one of the form-essence and the ousia prote, but also that of substance and ousia malista” (pp. 140-141).

Here we see Aristotle’s strong vindication of immanence and concrete being. Ends — and indeed “perfection” according to a particular kind — are intended to be understood as realizable in form and matter. This is far indeed from the perspective that all finite things necessarily fall infinitely short of a perfection conceived as infinite. For Aristotle, the highest being will be characterized not as infinite, but as pure act and as the good.

Next in this series: Act as Separable

Critique of the Megarians

Euclid of Megara (not to be confused with the geometer) was a student of Socrates who combined Socratic and Eleatic ideas. He reportedly claimed that virtue is knowledge of the Parmenidean One Being, which he also identified with the Good, God, reason, and mind. At a time when Megarians were banned from Athens for some reason, he is said to have entered the city disguised as a woman in order to listen to Socrates. He was present at Socrates’ death, and afterwards offered refuge to Plato and others in Megara. Socrates reputedly rebuked him for arguing more for the sake of winning than for the truth, but Euclid was said to have been very concerned with moral virtue. Plato credits him with having written down an actual conversation between Socrates and Theaetetus, which became the basis of Plato’s dialogue Theaetetus.

Euclid’s students were mainly interested in logic and argument. Some of them apparently founded a separate school, known as the Dialecticians, which developed a form of propositional logic. This latter group is considered to have been the major source for Stoic logic.

In chapter 3 of book Theta of the Metaphysics, Aristotle criticizes Megarian arguments that there is no distinction between power and act. Aubry quotes Aristotle’s restatement of the Megarian claim, “It is when a thing acts that it can act, but when it does not act, it cannot act” (Dieu san la puissance, 2nd ed., ch. 4, p. 122, my translation throughout).

Independent of Aristotle’s development of a normative and teleological dimension of act that plausibly extends even to physical motion, he is also very concerned to carefully distinguish between power and its exercise. Thus he had to confront the Megarians, who argued that there is no such distinction.

Later writers of quite varying persuasions have wittingly or unwittingly developed variants of this Megarian position. Nietzsche, for instance, explicitly denied the reality of anything that is not actual. Any kind of argument for complete determinism has a similar effect, as does theological occasionalism, which subsumes all becoming under the model of creation.

“Against this thesis, it is necessary to affirm not only the distinction of act and power but, more precisely, that with a given act can coexist not only the power of which it is the effect, but the power for another, opposed, act” (ibid).

Aubry noted a bit earlier that the emphasis on contraries in the discussion of rational powers is rather accidental. The more general point — expressed at the level of potentiality rather than power — is that potentiality includes multiple alternate possibilities concretely grounded in the same state of actuality. The more specific notion of contrariety only comes into play because — due to the fact power is consistently understood by Aristotle as power to do or undergo something definite — related deliberation may be conceived as about exercising a power or not.

She quotes Aristotle, “It is possible for a thing to be capable of being and nonetheless not be, or capable of not being and nonetheless be” (ibid).

This, it seems to me, is an unavoidable presupposition of any coherent account of becoming. It is again also the foundation of Aristotle’s account of human freedom. This way of approaching freedom is greatly to be recommended, because it avoids both the dubious and dangerous concept of a separate faculty of will distinct from reason, and the worse concepts of arbitrary will, or will as “superior” to reason.

“The critique of the Megarians indeed carries a double, and paradoxical, positivity: it invites us to think at the same time becoming in relation with dunamis, and energeia in relation with being. In doing this, it indicates also the double stakes of the inquiry: to think becoming and being at the same time; to determine the mode of their articulation.”

The dynamis–energeia pair is what uniquely enables Aristotle to think of being and becoming in a non-opposed way, though this is far from exhausting its significance.

“The extension from the kinetic sense of energeia to the ontological sense is presented as a deepening: otherwise said, and in conformity to what Theta 1 noted already, it is the ontological sense that is primary. In effect, if we have a tendency to consider that energeia is manifested above all in movement, this is insofar as we take it as an index of being” (p. 123, emphasis in original).

“For not to be in act but to be capable of being so, is also a mode of being: that which in-potentiality names. Of certain things that are not, but are nonetheless capable of being, one says thus that they are dunamei” (pp. 123-124).

Here we have a good example of the explicitly dative grammatical form of dynamis (dynamei) that she finds to be associated with Aristotle’s distinctive notion of being in potentiality. These are things that have being potentially, or are potentially thus-and-such. Here the emphasis is all on “things” in a state of potentiality, or potential “states of affairs”. Potentiality (as distinct from actuality) is the modality in which these have being and are said. This is indeed clearly different from a power to do, cause, or undergo.

“That which is in-potentiality, nonetheless, is not, ‘because it is not an entelechy‘” (p. 124).

We do not say of that which is in-potentiality that it “is” simply, or in an unqualified sense.

At the link above, I suggested that entelechy is probably the most important guiding concept of the Metaphysics. I have also suggested that entelechy serves as a kind of explanation for how ousia or (substance or essence, or what Sachs calls “thinghood”) works. In turn, Aristotle uses ousia to help disambiguate and organize what is meant by the various ways in which we say something is something. In the quote above, he directly uses entelechy as the criterion for what we do and do not say “is”. It is vitally important that he appeals to this much more nuanced concept, instead of referring back to the blunt instrument of a common-sense notion of existence or reality. For Aristotle, being, existence, or reality is not an explainer; instead, it needs to be explained.

Nonetheless, Aubry points out that here, Aristotle does not explicitly invoke the normative aspect of entelechy. We are still primarily investigating the more common “kinetic” sense of dynamis and energeia that accounts for physical motion. The aspect of entelechy that is to the fore is therefore that of the continuing activity that constitutes a substance as something persisting, or a motion as ongoing.

Next in this series: Potentiality and Possibility

Entelechy and Hylomorphism

The remainder of Aubry’s third chapter analyzes book Eta of the Metaphysics, following on her analysis of book Zeta.

In Zeta, matter had been dismissed as a candidate for ousia or “substance” taken simply. But Eta chapter 1 “allows matter to be characterized not simply as ousia, but as ousia in potentiality. And in its turn, it invites us to consider not simply ousia but ousia as act” (Dieu sans la puissance, 2nd ed., p. 89, my translation throughout).

“In the text that follows, the term energeia [act] is found systematically associated with that of eidos [form]” (ibid). “Energeia thus inherits, in Eta, all the characteristics of eidos brought to light in Zeta” (ibid).

“What Eta 3 shows, nonetheless, is that it is not always easy to distinguish the act from the composite: for example, does the term ‘house’ designate ‘a shelter made of bricks and stones in such and such a way’, or only a shelter? The term ‘animal’, a soul in a body or a soul? It appears that the distinction between material element and formal element has something artificial about it; form is not only that which makes the stones erected into walls, the wood made into a roof, into a house: it is the very organization of the stones into walls, of the wood into a roof (and in the same way, the soul is not superimposed on a body that would be already provided with organs, already able to grow, to be nourished, to move, etc.: it is that very organization and those very capacities. Thus, the composite substance is a unity, the unity of the material element and the formal element — and in such a way that it can be called an entelechy, and a certain nature” (ibid).

(I would say it is really the entelechy of a composite substance — its embodied, realized, and continuing purpose — that gives it unity, and makes it a substance in the Aristotelian sense at all. Any ousia involves stronger unity than a mere coexistence of elements. Entelechy is a higher-order persistence of purpose and its realization that explains the unity of a substance. The stronger degrees of unity that we see in living things and artifacts don’t just happen, and knowledge of them isn’t just somehow immediately given. Entelechy expresses the intelligible cause or reason for there being a unity strong enough to be called a substance. Perhaps we might even say that entelechy is a final cause in act. Every Aristotelian substance would in this way be an end unto itself. Kant explained respect for others in terms of regarding the other as an end in herself. Thus I think Kantian respect ought to apply to all Aristotelian substances.)

“To this, Eta 4 adds that just any thing cannot have just any matter” (p. 90). “It thus appears that, considered as potentiality, matter is an element of substance, and that if it is determined by form, it is a determiner also” (ibid).

So here we have a clear expression of reciprocal determination between form and matter. (Aristotle’s biological works contain many other examples of this.) She quotes from Eta 6 that “the most proximate matter of a thing and its form are one and the same thing” (p. 91). The mutual determination noted above is why that is true.

“Adopting the language of in potentiality and in act is indeed to think the unity of what the Platonic and abstract language of matter and form invites us to distinguish” (p. 91).

“Potentiality is the unity of the matter and the form seen from the side of the matter, act the unity of the matter and the form seen from the side of the form. Matter and form are nothing but abstract points of view adopted toward the concrete individual” (ibid, emphasis in original).

The superficial clarity of quasi-syntactic distinctions between matter and form is belied by the reality of mutual determination that underlies the Aristotelian thesis of hylomorphism.

“Eta does not just repeat the analysis of Zeta while modifying the terms: in substituting the etiological point of view for the logical one, … it offers a solution, which will again be completed in Theta, and will only acquire its full meaning in Lambda, to the problem of ousia” (ibid).

What she calls the etiological point of view consists in explanation in terms of Aristotelian causes or “reasons why” — especially final causes, or internal teleology — and may include an aspect of process. What she calls the logical point of view consists in what I called quasi-syntactic distinctions between matter and form, which are purely static.

“Ousia is neither the matter nor the form, it is the composite, but it is also the matter as potentiality for the form, the form as in-act in a matter — the two constituting the unity of an individual at the same time determinate and separable. Act responds in fact to all the criteria of ousia: insofar as it inherits the characteristics of form, it says determination and permanence; insofar as it names the form as linked to a matter, it says also the individual and the separate. Act indeed says ousia at the same time as substance and as essence…. Through the notion of act, the conflict with which Zeta ended, between the Platonic criterion and the Aristotelian criterion for ousia, between ousia prote and ousia malista, and also between the candidate of form and the candidate of the composite, is indeed found to be resolved” (pp. 91-92).

Although my own readings here of Zeta and Eta did not catch the nuance of the prote/malista distinction that Aubry makes a good case for based on the Greek text, my general sense of the respective results of Zeta and Eta is quite similar to hers. The long development of Zeta ends — and Eta begins — with an unresolved tension between the requirements of knowledge, and what I would call an ultimately ethical focus on independent things as concrete wholes. Eta ends up much more optimistically suggesting that we can respect independent things and have knowledge.

Next in this series: Dynamis Before Aristotle

Distinguishing Act and Form

“In fact, the notions of form (eidos) and of act (energeia or entelecheia) are not equivalent; and if the first belongs to a Platonic vocabulary, the second is an Aristotelian invention. It belongs, as such, to an anti-Platonic project: there is no sense, for Aristotle, in posing ‘pure’ or ‘separated’ forms, that is to say forms subsisting outside of and independent of the composites that they define. Form is not separable except ‘by logos‘, ‘according to the formula’, which signifies also that form is not fully ousia, fully substance” (Gwenaëlle Aubry, Dieu sans la puissance, 2nd ed., part 1, introduction, p. 23, my translation throughout).

For Aristotle, form is only separable from the embodied composite analytically, in speech or in thought. Though he was Plato’s star pupil for 20 years and continued to be influenced by Plato in other ways, his project is “anti-Platonic” in the sense that he specifically criticizes the notion of separate form, with which Plato is famously associated.

“It goes otherwise for act, which implies separation, understood as autonomous subsistence, and therefore has the value of another name for ousia. Act, nonetheless, is not only another name for substance. Identified with the end, it is also [identified] with the good. Being in act is not only to subsist, it is to subsist as adequate to its form and to a form that, posed as end, is also posed as good…. Act thus is not only another name for being, but also for the good: or more, insofar as it says the good as real, or as realized, [it] names the identity of being and the good” (p. 24).

Here it is important to recall once again that all the senses of “being” Aristotle discusses in the Metaphysics involve being as a transitive verb (i.e., being this or that), not being as a noun. Being in the sense of existence simply has no place in this account. The identity of the senses of being as a transitive verb with those of the good tells us that the saying of transitive being for Aristotle has a normative character. Talking about the being or essence of things is talking about value, and making value judgments.

“Certainly, [the idea of] the unmoved First Mover does not come in response to the question of the emergence of being, but to that of the eternity of movement — both the continuity of the movement of the stars, and the perpetuity of the cycle of generation and corruption. This is why [book] Lambda [chapter] 10 [of the Metaphysics] can also designate the good as the cause of taxis [order], associated both with the movement of the eternal sensibles and that of the corruptible sensibles. If it is not an efficient cause, the First Mover nonetheless has an efficacity, or an influence on the world, which follows from the very fact that it has no power. For the purely actual substance, indeed excluding power as much as movement, is required as the condition of movement (Lambda 6 and 7). Again, it is necessary to determine the way in which it is [required]; Lambda 7 invokes the notion of final cause, which it is nonetheless necessary to understand in a particular sense: not in a sense in which the unmoved substance is itself the act and the end of the other substances, but in the sense in which, aiming at their proper act, the latter aim at the same time at its characteristic necessity. To understand this, it is not necessary to have recourse to the notion of imitation: the relation of the pure act to the substances mixed of act and potentiality is determined by the different relations of the anteriority of act to potentiality distinguished in Theta 8.” (p. 25).

Aristotle is saying that the good in general or value in general is a condition for the possibility of all movement, both celestial and terrestrial. Every being is moved by some good or other. Aubry is here explaining the difference between Aristotle’s own view and the “ontotheology” that Heidegger and others have attributed to him.

“[The pure act’s] efficacy could be called non-efficient; its strength merges with the desire it arouses. Designating god as act, Aristotle identifies his mode of being; determining the mode of relation of act to potentiality, he identifies his mode of action….”

“But by this, Aristotle also identifies the mode of being and the mode of action proper to the good. It is perhaps thus that it is necessary to understand his insistence in affirming that he is, of all the philosophers, the first and the only to have posed the good as a principle….”

“The singularity of the Aristotelian theology as a theology of the good, and of the power proper to the good, can nonetheless not be known except on the condition of taking seriously the designation of the First Mover as pure act. This supposes in particular that the Aristotelian inventions that are act and potentiality are not reduced to form and power. The Aristotelian theology, that is to say the science of unmoving and separate substance, appears only in effect as one of the areas of application of an ontology or, at least, a general ousiology, which has for its foundation the notions of act and potentiality” (p. 26).

In contrast to the ways being is said in the senses of the Categories, which are “inadequate for speaking about the first unmoving being, [act and potentiality] allow both the difference and the relation of moved and unmoved substances to be thought. In a more general way, act and potentiality are at the foundation of an anti-Parmenidean ontology, …allowing being, movement, and their correlation equally well to be thought” (p. 27).

Aubry points out that the notions of act and potentiality first arise in the discussion of motion. But book Theta of the Metaphysics is dedicated to reshaping them in a way that applies to “being” as well as to motion. It is more particularly through act and potentiality that beings are constituted as the beings they are.

“Movement, in effect, should not be understood only in the order of interaction, but also in that of actualization. Or again: movement should not be understood only in the order of the correlation of an active dynamis and a passive dynamis, partitioning the field of efficiency into an agent and a patient, but in that of the correlation of dynamis and energeia” (ibid).

“But the dynamis found thus to be correlated to act, and which designates a state of being, is therefore irreducible to power: being in potentiality, coordinated with and determined by act, is neither passive nor efficient. Or again, potentiality is reducible neither to active power nor to passive power. The notion of potentiality serves to name the very possibility of the interaction of an agent and a patient in view of a change determined and finalized by act.”

“The correlation of potentiality to act nonetheless does not exclude that of passive power to active power: but it subsumes it, or subordinates it, insofar as it carries a greater intelligibility. It invites us to consider that which, in an impact, a meeting, or an interaction, is the occasion of an accomplishment. It is a point of view taken on that which, in movement, makes itself, that is to say not only makes itself but perfects itself…. Aristotle’s universe is not exempt from impacts and meeting: the substances that populate it are not Leibnizian monads…. The order of efficiency is a real order, but subordinate to that of finality” (pp. 28-29; see also The Four Causes Revisited).

“Potentiality is indeed for a being the real possibility, inscribed in the very qualities that give it its essence, of realizing that essence. Potentiality is the index and the principle of the becoming that leads a being to its accomplishment. It bears at the same time the distance between a being and what it has to be, and the possibility of crossing that distance. If act names the identity, real or realized, of being and the good, potentiality names this identity as to be realized. It inscribes into being at the same time as the concreteness of mediation, the possibility of perfection” (p. 29).

“The ontology of potentiality bears with it at the same time the thought of a possible perfection, realizable here and now, and that of failures, of accidents, of bad encounters, of unsuccessful mediations that could counter it” (ibid).

For Aristotle there is no “problem of evil”. Things are at one and the same time both imperfect and perfectible.

Again, I prefer to drop the term “ontology” altogether, because it is strongly associated with a (non-Aristotelian) approach to first philosophy that focuses on being as a noun, and in the sense of existence. Aubry retains the traditional term, but gives it a different meaning that is less prejudicial.

Far be it from me to claim to have the one true interpretation of these sharply contested points about Aristotle’s Metaphysics, but the key features of Aubry’s account seem to fit very well with my own examination of the text.

Aubry has emphasized the role of Plotinus in the historic re-interpretation of Aristotelian act and potentiality. I would note that the later neoplatonic school at Alexandria under Ammonius (5th/6th century CE) — especially Ammonius’ students Simplicius and John Philoponus — also produced extensive commentaries on Aristotle with a neoplatonic slant, which helped shape the way Aristotle was read in medieval times.

Ammonius argued that Aristotle’s first cause is after all also an efficient cause. Simplicius, who is also a major source for quotes from lost works in the history of Greek philosophy, added two more distinctly neoplatonic kinds of causes to Aristotle’s four. Philoponus was a Christian Aristotelian who defended creation from nothing, and was cited by Galileo as an inspiration for the impulse theory of motion. The impulse theory decouples physical motion from any teleology, paving the way for early modern mechanism.

Next in thus series: Aristotle on the Platonic Good

Hegel on Hegel’s Logic

By his own account, Hegel makes a “completely fresh start” in what he calls logic (Science of Logic, di Giovanni trans., 1st preface, p. 9). Robert Pippin points out that insofar as it has precursors, the principal debts of Hegel’s effort are to Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason and Critique of Judgment and to Aristotle’s Metaphysics, none of which are ordinarily viewed as works of “logic”. Translator George di Giovanni calls it a “discourse about discourse” (p. xxxv). Fundamentally, it is about meaning, and the conditions for anything to be intelligible.

“[A]n altogether new concept… is at work here…. [Philosophy] cannot borrow its method from a subordinate science, such as mathematics, any more than it can remain satisfied with categorical assurances of inner intuition, or can make use of argumentation based on external reflection. On the contrary, it can only be the nature of the content which is responsible for movement in scientific knowledge, for it is the content’s own reflection that first posits and generates what that content is” (pp. 9-10).

He emphasizes “the nature of the content” (which is to say meaning), and “content’s own reflection”. That reflection, moreover, “first posits and generates what that content is“. Meaning’s own reflection “posits and generates” what it means. We are not far from Aristotle’s thought thinking itself that is the cause of the what-it-is of things. Hegel shares with Kant and Aristotle a discursively reflective view of thought and meaning.

I still prefer to speak of “knowledge” rather than “science” in a philosophical context. But Hegel just means a disciplined form of knowledge. The German word for science (Wissenschaft) literally means something like the art of knowing (wissen). Our word “science” comes from Latin scientia (knowledge in a strong sense). According to di Giovanni, wissen for Hegel “signifies the product or the origin, rather than the process, of reason” (p. lxx). It is distinguished from Erkenntnis (confusingly also rendered by some translators as “knowledge”), which starts from a root meaning of acquaintance or recognition, and comes to refer to the process of reason.

“The forms of thought are first set out and stored in human language…. In everything that the human being has interiorized, in everything that in some way or another has become for him a representation, in whatever he has made his own, there has language penetrated, and everything that he transforms into language and expresses in it contains a category, whether concealed, mixed, or well defined. So much is logic natural to the human being, [it] is indeed his very nature. If we however contrast nature as such, as the realm of the physical, with the realm of the spiritual, then we must say that logic is the supernatural element that permeates all his natural behavior, his ways of sensing, intuiting, desiring, his needs and impulses; and it thereby makes them into something truly human, even though only formally human — makes them into representations and purposes” (2nd preface, p. 12).

Our involvement with linguistic meaning is “our very nature”, or is the “supernatural” element in our natural behavior that makes us truly human. As one reading of Aristotle puts it, what makes us human is that we are talking animals.

“But even when logical matters and their expressions are common coin in a culture, still, as I have said elsewhere, what is familiar is for that reason not known…. To indicate the general features of the course that cognition goes through as it leaves familiar acquaintance behind, the essential moments in the relationship of scientific thought to this natural thought, this is the purpose of the present preface” (p. 13).

“First of all, it must be regarded as an infinite step forward that the forms of thought have been freed from the material in which they are submerged in self-conscious intuition, in representation, as well as in our desires and volitions or, more accurately, in ideational desiring and willing (and there is no human desire or volition without ideation); a step forward that these universalities have been brought to light and made the subject of study on their own, as was done by Plato, and after him by Aristotle especially” (pp. 13-14).

He credits Plato and Aristotle with first clearly articulating notions of thought and meaning in a way that is independent of particular subjectivity. Next he cautions against the illusion of mastery.

“We do not indeed say of our feelings, impulses, interests, that they serve us; on the contrary, they count as independent forces and powers, so that to have this particular feeling, to desire and to will this particular thing, to make this our interest — just this, is what we are. And it is more likely that we become conscious of obeying our feelings, impulses, passions, interests, not to mention our habits, than of having them in our possession, still less, in view of our intimate union with them, of their being means at our disposal. Such determinations of mind and spirit, when contrasted with the universality which we are conscious of being and in which we have our freedom, quickly show themselves to be particulars, and we rather regard ourselves to be caught up in their particularities and to be dominated by them. It is all the less plausible, therefore, to believe that the thought determinations that pervade all our representations — whether these are purely theoretical or hold a material belonging to sensation, impulse, will — that such thought determinations are at our service; that it is we who have them in our possession and not they who have us in theirs” (p. 15).

We are masters neither of our feelings nor of our thought.

“[W]hen the content that motivates a subject to action is drawn out of its immediate unity with the subject and is made to stand before it as an object, then it is that the freedom of spirit begins” (p. 17).

True freedom of spirit is the very opposite of following one’s arbitrary will or impulse.

“The most important point for the nature of spirit is the relation, not only of what it implicitly is in itself to what it actually is, but of what it knows itself to be to what it actually is” (ibid).

Here he already raises the Aristotelian theme of the priority of actuality.

“As impulses the categories do their work only instinctively; they are brought to consciousness one by one and so are variable and mutually confusing, thus affording to spirit only fragmentary and uncertain actuality. To purify these categories and in them to elevate spirit to truth and freedom, this is therefore the loftier business of logic” (ibid).

Hegel’s logic thus serves a profound ethical purpose.

“It is soon evident that what in ordinary reflection is, as content, at first separated from the form cannot in fact be formless, … that it rather possesses form in it; indeed that it receives soul and substance from the form alone and that it is this form itself which is transformed into only the semblance of a content…. By thus introducing content into logical consideration, it is not the things, but rather the fact [Sache], the concept of the things, that becomes the subject matter” (pp. 18-19).

What the moderns call “content” is a special case of what Plato and Aristotle call form. Hegel calls it a “semblance” of content. But its role in his logic is pivotal. Logic is concerned not with things as such but with meanings, Aristotelian forms, the what-it-is of things. What the translator calls “fact” seems rather different from ordinary English usage.

Reflection, Judgment, Process

Reflection is a key concept both for later Kant and for Hegel (see, e.g., Reflection, Apperception, Narrative Identity; More on Contemplation). We have seen that it led Kant to deepen the notion of judgment he had already used in the Critique of Pure Reason, giving more explicit attention to what I have called the process of interpretation, in contrast to the eventual conclusions that had been the exclusive preoccupation of early modern logic. He had already criticized the latter for confusing judgment with predication.

When judgment is identified with simple predication, the process of interpretation entirely disappears. Indeed, both early modern and contemporary formal logic are explicitly concerned with mechanical syntactic manipulation of uninterpreted terms.

Kant’s narrower point in the first Critique had been that only categorical judgments (those having the simple form A is B) can be analyzed as linguistic predications. Against the early modern tradition, Kant pointed out that neither hypothetical judgments (if A then B) nor disjunctive judgments (if A then not-B) can be understood in this way.

Whereas the early modern tradition strongly privileged categorical judgments, taking simple predications straightforwardly as simple assertions, Kant argues that hypothetical and disjunctive judgments have at least equal significance for thought, if not more. Hypothetical and disjunctive judgments are irreducibly inferential, as can be seen from the presence of “if” and “then” in their forms. What Kant suggests about this in the first Critique is that the inferential aspect of judgment is more fundamental than its assertive aspect. Brandom makes the further suggestion that the kinds of inferences Kant is primarily concerned with in this context are informal “material” inferences, which are grounded in the meanings of terms rather than in formal syntax.

With the enhanced concept of reflective judgment developed in the Critique of Judgment, Kant begins to take an even wider range of interpretive processes into account in his view of judgment overall. Reflective judgment is primarily focused on the process of interpretation, though it also reaches conclusions. This makes the contrast between Kantian judgment and judgment in early modern logic even more profound. Early modern logic codifies a “conclusory” notion of judgment grounded in simple assertion, and makes the formal manipulation of such assertions the paradigm for all reasoning. Kantian judgment on the other hand begins as primarily inferential, and comes to emphasize the wider, open-ended, reflective process of interpretation.

The “logic of being” that Hegel presents as a kind of necessary preliminary failure in his Logic is precisely the logic of simple assertion. From any arbitrary assertions, we can deductively generate more assertions that will be consistent with these, and we can classify other assertions according to whether they are consistent with the accepted ones or not. But Hegel is concerned with the possibility of genuine intelligibility and knowledge. Starting only from mere assertions, we can never reach these. The most we can achieve is some kind of relational discrimination between the implications of different assertions, whose meaning is merely assumed.

Kantian reflection is the main theme of Hegel’s “logic of essence”. Hegel’s conclusion is that the ultimate ground of essence is none other than pure reflection, which embodies a kind of reflective infinity of mutually referencing relations, that presupposes no fixed terms. Essence, as a kind of deeper truth of things than the shallow one of logical consistency alone, is not based on “fixed” concepts of the sort that are always assumed in formal logic. Rather, essence for Hegel is grounded in reflection all the way down, which we can pursue as deeply as we like. Socratic inquiry can be seen as a foreshadowing of this.

I see an important parallel to book Lambda of Aristotle’s Metaphysics here. There, the ground of the what-it-is of things is the pure contemplation of thought thinking itself. In other words, the ground of essence is pure reflection, just as Hegel says. The pure actuality or pure entelechy of Aristotle’s first cause is an actuality or entelechy of what Hegel calls pure reflection.

A major difference between Aristotle’s first cause and ourselves, as I read it, is that the purity of the first cause makes it only concerned with essence or deep truth, whereas we rational animals also live in a world of appearances, and therefore also have to deal with these. Because we live in a world of appearances, we humans have a need for judgment that Aristotle’s first cause does not share.

In the “logic of the concept” with which he concludes his Logic, Hegel gives a thoroughly Kantian treatment of judgment, effectively identifying all judgment with reflective judgment in Kant’s sense. If the logic of essence was concerned with the objective determination of essence from pure reflection, the “subjective” logic of the concept is concerned with applying reflection to particular appearances that we encounter in life. This is something we rational animals have to do that Aristotle’s first cause does not.

Pure reflection is a kind of ideal thing that is analytically separable from process, but the kind of reflection that we embodied beings engage in only occurs as part of a concrete process that involves particular appearances and development in time.

Reflection, Apperception, Narrative Identity

Robert Pippin recounts how in writing what became the Critique of Judgment, Kant developed a new notion of reflection, which transformed his whole philosophy from the inside:

“In early 1789 Kant began to formulate the new problem of reflective judgment, as well as a new a priori principle for such a faculty, the purposiveness of nature. What is important to notice for our purposes is that with that development, the shape of the entire critical project began to change dramatically” (Hegel’s Realm of Shadows, p. 290).

“Kant had realized that something like the deep structure of judgments like ‘this rose is beautiful’ actually contravened its own surface structure, that the predicate ‘beautiful’ was not really functioning as a standard predicate, as it appeared to. It referred to no objective property or mere secondary quality. Instead, he concluded, it involved a nonconceptually guided reflective activity on the part of the subject of the experience, whose novel logic required notions like a free play of the faculties, purposiveness without a purpose, disinterested pleasure, a commonsense and universal subjective validity” (pp. 290-291).

“The realization of the distinct features of this reflective activity was only the beginning of a series of more strikingly novel claims of interest to us…. [T]he reflective judging that resulted in aesthetic judgments, also constituted the basic structure of teleological judgments, and so could account for the unique intelligibility of organic beings” (p. 291).

“And then a number of other issues seem to be thrown into the same reflective judgment pot. The formulation of scientific theories not fixed or determined by empirical generalizations involved this activity and its logic, as did the systematizing of empirical laws necessary for genuine scientific knowledge. Finally, even the determination of ordinary empirical concepts now seemed to require this newly formulated reflective capacity…. So reflective judging and its a priori principle were now necessary not only for explaining the possibility and validity of aesthetic judgments, but in accounting for the necessary distinction between organic and nonorganic nature, the formation of empirical concepts, the proper integration of genera and species, the general unification of empirical laws into systems of scientific law, theory formation itself, and the right way to understand the attribution of a kind of necessity to all such principles, judgments, concepts, laws, and systems” (ibid).

Much of the discussion of judgment in the Critique of Pure Reason sounds like it is a simple matter of “applying” pre-existing concepts to things. But in reality, applying even pre-existing concepts is not a simple matter at all, if we care about the soundness of the application (as Kant certainly did), or about how anyone preliminarily judges what concepts might be applicable in a given case. This is what Kant began to consider in more detail with his new notions of reflection and reflective judgment.

Reflection is characterized above by Pippin as “nonconceptually guided”. I don’t think this means at all that reflection is nonconceptual, but rather only that it is fundamentally guided by something other than the kind of pre-existing concepts that Hegel would call “fixed”. Reflection involves the formation and interpretation of concepts that are not treated as already fixed. That is why it does not presuppose particular fixed concepts.

I want to relate this back to the Aristotelian deliberation and practical judgment (phronesis) that are concerned with particulars as such. The significance of addressing particulars as such is that we do not assume in advance what universals (i.e., Kantian concepts) apply to them, but rather let the particulars “speak” for themselves, and thoughtfully consider what they might mean or be in their own right. By particulars I mean in an Aristotelian way independent or non-independent “things”, not putative raw phenomena.

Aristotelian deliberation and practical judgment, I want to say, involve a “free play of the faculties” of the sort that Kant associates with reflection. Aristotle’s commonly cited conclusion that practical judgment is inferior to contemplative wisdom is entirely tied to the fact that he considers practical judgment’s outcome to be an action. I think the term practical judgment ought to apply just as much or more to the activity of interpreting particulars, without prejudice as to how the interpretation is used.

Kantian reflection seems to me to have the great virtue of uniting Aristotelian theoria (contemplation) and sophia (contemplative wisdom) with deliberation, thinking things through (dianoia), and practical judgment (phronesis). Kant also explicitly argues for the primacy of practical reason, which ultimately involves the reflective normative evaluation of particulars, even though he foregrounds a separate effort to articulate ethical universals. An Aristotelian sense for the Kantian primacy of practical reason would start from the interpretation of particulars mentioned above.

Kantian reflection also has an important relation to the Critique of Pure Reason‘s key term of apperception. The term “apperception” was coined by Leibniz, originally to imply a kind of “higher order” perception — a perception of perception. Kant gives it a more explicitly discursive character. If we add a Hegelian dimension, the dialectical character of discourse makes discourse inherently reflective in Kant’s sense. By virtue of their common reflective, discursive character, apperception in Kant is closely related to what is called “self-consciousness” in Hegel.

Kant famously speaks of the effort to maintain a unity of apperception. Here is where I think phronesis comes to the aid of theoria and sophia. Contrary to what both Kant and Aristotle sometimes suggest, it seems to me that the interpretation of particulars is actually prior to and more governing than the articulation of universals, although there is much interplay between the two. It is the interpretation of particulars that mainly provides occasions for the articulation of pertinent universals. This comes back to Aristotle’s other point that universals do not have independent reality in their own right, and to Kant’s other point about the primacy of practical reason.

The effort to maintain a unity of apperception is the effort to maintain a unity of self-consciousness. Self-consciousness is not simple “consciousness” of a pre-existing “self”, as if the latter were a discrete, pre-existing object. Rather, self-consciousness is grounded in reflection that has potentially indefinite extent. I think a similar grounding in reflection is what makes intellect “something divine in us” — and more than just a part of the soul — in Aristotle.

Aristotle speaks of thought thinking itself as contemplation. He tends to emphasize that thought thinking itself is an identity. But with any kind of identity, we must consider the way in which it is said.

What then could constitute any persistent identity for a unity of apperception? Here we come to the problems that Paul Ricoeur discussed under the more general rubric of narrative identity. Strictly speaking, any particular unity of apperception is a concrete constellation of what Aristotle would call particular relations that hold at a given moment. It is something like the totality of what we are currently committed to. Insofar as we speak of it as existing in fact, its unity and coherence are relative. Only as a kind of ideal or ethical goal can its unity be considered to be unqualified.

Insofar as we want to speak of the relative persistent identity of a unity of apperception — or anything like the unity of a person — we also need the Aristotelian concept of entelechy. The narrative identity of a unity of apperception is a kind of entelechy in which the thing whose identity is maintained is itself a work in progress, as all living beings are. We only have the final form of a life when it is over (see Happiness).

The narrative identity of a unity of apperception, then, is a kind of entelechy of apperception. More generally, Aristotelian entelechy is the narrative identity of a unity, or just is a kind of narrative identity. An entelechy of apperception is the entelechy of a process of reflection. (See also More on Contemplation; Hegel on Reflection; Apperceptive Judgment.)